Sunday, December 17, 2017

From Freedom's Sons: Courtship In The Northwest Republic




[How these things should go in a sane society.] 

At the last minute, it had been decided to clue Clancy and Kevin Myers into what was going on, so that they could give Bob personal messages he could deliver to Georgia when they met, adding to his credibility and persuasive power. Bob was glad he could bring the Myers men in on it, since he not only felt the loss of his childhood friend Peanut almost as keenly as they did, but he owed the professor a big favor. It was at the university that he had met his future wife, courtesy of Clancy Myers.

Eight years before, Bob had been a 19-year-old national serviceman just out of the School of Infantry at Fort Matthews, sporting full corporal’s stripes indicating he had maxed out the course. He was home on a week’s leave before reporting to his permanent unit at the Oroville border crossing into Canada, where he would spend the next sixteen months assisting fleeing migrants trying to Come Home, hunting down infiltrators coming in to spy and to plant land mines, and getting gloriously drunk in the NCO’s mess. Like most young men in a uniform, Robert wanted to show it off, and so he had swaggered over to the university to see his brother-in-law, the Chancellor Jason Stockdale, and his old friend Dr. Clancy Myers. Kevin Myers, being almost a year younger, was just starting his own military training at Fort Lewis himself, and so was absent that day.

Jason and Jason’s wife, Bob’s sister Jennifer, had treated him to lunch in the faculty lounge and introduced him around to some new faces he didn’t know, and then he had dropped around to Clancy Myers’ office to say hello. Clancy was now head of the combined Culture and Literature Department, which included the study of all the great writers and philosophers and poets of the Western canon and heritage. He supervised a staff of over sixty academics and their teaching assistants, taught two courses himself, and was always ready to sub in the classroom any time another professor was ill or otherwise unavailable. Immersing himself in his work had been his way of dealing with his daughter’s loss.

Bob was seated in Clancy’s office going over the usual stock in trade tales of basic training and military derring-do with the older man when the door opened, and in walked a young goddess, short and voluptuous, with a single blonde braid down her back, wearing a long, flowing blue velvet dress. She was bearing a stack of file folders like they were garlands to be laid reverently on a smoking altar in a forest glade, instead of plopped into a middle-aged egghead’s in-basket. Robert had leaped to his feet before the girl even looked at him, and when she turned her ringed eyes of crystalline blue on him, Robert only barely managed to shut his gaping mouth in time. Then he stared desperately at Clancy.

It had only been four years since the Revolution, but already mores in the Republic were changing due to a combination of subtle and not-so-subtle pressure and indoctrination from the Ministry of Culture and the Ministry of Education, and also because of a nearly instinctive desire on the part of the people to get back to the older and better ways, in every aspect of life. In the old American days, Robert would have practically chased the girl down the corridor gabbling every suggestive and flirtatious pick-up line in his repertoire, although actual touching would not have been allowed at that point due to considerations of political correctness. Depending on how she felt inclined toward her new admirer, she would either have responded with more of the same, implying that a squelch session in the near future was a distinct possibility, or else if not, she would have blown him off in the language of a nigger bitch. Throw in some crack and negroid hip-hop and raunchy tattoos, and that was the way such things were done in Amurrica.

But already social mores in the Northwest Republic were changing, going backward with amazing speed, as a whole people desperately tried to climb back on board the ship from which they had been hurled by Jews generations before. It was now understood by young men and women of their age that they were civilized white people, and not negroid animals in heat. Certain ancient courtship rituals were now once again required, such as an actual introduction, before the dance could begin. Simply walking up to a girl on the street or in the halls of a university and trying to force an acquaintance now came under the quaint, archaic description of an unwelcome advance, or even the century-old Guys & Dolls term of a “mash.” It invited a slap from the young lady or a physical assault from any nearby male relative. It also marked the young man who attempted it as a boorish whigger, and probably ruined his chances with the girl for good. Without an introduction, Robert was screwed at the starting gate.

Robert stood to attention, cleared his throat, and barely restrained himself from yelling at Clancy to be introduced. The girl was lingering and she didn’t seem averse, but they could hardly stand there like statues for minute after minute. Clancy stared back at Robert owlishly, puzzled as to what he wanted, and then he glanced at the girl and it hit him. “Oh, of course, where are my manners? Millie, this is Corporal Robert Campbell of the Defense Force, Fourth Infantry Brigade up at Oroville, or he will be. Robert, this is Millie, one of my part-time admin assistants from the high school. She graduates in June and she’ll be doing her Labor Service here at UM along with night school for a teaching degree, and so she’s getting a head start on things now, after school.”

“I’m pleased to meet you, Miss Millicent,” said Robert, ridiculously trying to sound like Rhett Butler.

“It’s Milada,” said the girl in a firm, pleasing contralto voice. “Milada Horakova. It’s Czech. My family is from Chicago, and before that from Bohemia. We Came Home in the year after Longview.” The girl extended her hand, which Robert took. Hand kissing wasn’t on the Ministry of Culture’s cards yet, so he merely gave it a quick firm clasp.

Clancy took in the situation at a glance. “Millie, I think you’re done for the afternoon.” She wasn’t, but all three of them got it. “You can clock out now.”

“I need to get going myself, Doctor Myers,” said Bob. “Have you got a car, Miss Horakova?” Many people in the Republic didn’t any more; not only was the fuel situation still a little dodgy, but there was no longer any need for them in any city or town because there was now safe, clean, efficient and nigger-free public transport. “If not, I would be happy to give you a ride home.”

“Thank you, Corporal Campbell,” she said demurely. “Let me clock out and get my coat. I’ll be back in a minute.”

After she had left, Clancy said, “So far as I know, she’s unattached, but she brought her family to our Independence Day bash last October, and I should warn you that she had a father and a brother both the size of tanks on either side of her. I get the impression that trifling with that young lady’s affections is rather high on life’s Not Recommended list. I seem to recall hearing somewhere that they had a rough time with their Homecoming. Had to run the border with nothing but the clothes on their backs. Other than that caveat, lay on, McDuff, and damn’d be he who first cries hold, enough.”

Before the week was out Bob had secured Millie’s permission to write to her from Oroville, since good old-fashioned letters were once again coming into widespread use in the absence of a nationwide internet e-mail system which would be vulnerable to monitoring and hacking by the Republic’s multifarious enemies. After several months of billet-douxs, on his next leave Robert was formally brought before the family for inspection. Eli and Ed liked the cut of his jib, and the rest was history.


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