Moss shook his head, like he didn’t want to speak.
“Was he wounded?”
“No. Dead.”
Their eyes met and John put a hand on the young man’s shoulder. “I’m so sorry.”
“That’s why the offensive turned into a rout. Once news spread that Marshall had taken a bullet, people got scared, lost the will to fight.”
“I’ve seen it happen, even to professional soldiers,” John told him. “Losing a commander is often like losing a parent.”
Moss looked up and John knew that was exactly how he felt. Marshall had been like a father to him.
“I remember he wanted nothing more than to see his wife and child receive a proper burial,” John mentioned. “I’m sure he’ll be happy to be laid next to them.”
Moss nodded, his hands folded behind his back.
Glancing over, John couldn’t help but notice the concern on Moss’ face. “As his second-in-command, I guess that makes you leader of the Patriots now,” John said.
Moss offered him one final glance, but didn’t say a word.
Chapter 49
“Don’t worry, you’ll do fine,” John was telling Moss the next day as he went over his speech. Moss was getting ready to address the townspeople of Oneida. As head of the Patriots it only made sense that he also lead the town.
“Do I look nervous?” he asked.
John smiled. “Apart from your green complexion, not really. Listen, the point you wanna get across is that we’re at war, but the US Constitution is still very much in effect and everyone will need to do his or her part in the coming days to ensure we’re not speaking a foreign language by the end of the week.”
“Okay,” Moss said. “I’m ready.”
The two exited the Mayor’s Office to the sound of rapturous applause. Close to two thousand people were standing before them. They represented the remaining residents of Oneida along with the Patriots who’d made it through the battle.
Moss spoke for a few moments, his voice cracking once or twice from the nerves which still hadn’t settled. Eventually, he mentioned that an election would take place shortly for a new mayor.
That was when someone from the crowd spoke up. “We’ve already conducted a vote,” the man said. “It was rather impromptu, but the tally was overwhelming.”
Both men were stunned into silence.
“With seventy-five percent of the vote, we’ve elected John Mack our new mayor.”
John’s eyes grew wide. Publishers Clearing House could have emerged from the woods, handed him an oversized check and he would have been less surprised.
“But I wasn’t running,” he told them. They’d seen the Chairman’s dramatic takedown and were attributing all the glory to him. Reese had been the one to take the shot and none of this would have been possible if the Patriots hadn’t launched that costly diversionary attack in the first place. John put his hands up, palms out. “I’m flattered by your vote of confidence, really I am, but I’m not the man for this. I have land and a cabin to—”
The crowd started to chant his name and John waved his arms to make them stop. This was becoming too much.
Next to him, Moss threw him an awkward smile. “Maybe I should call you Garth Brooks from now on.”
A hand touched John’s elbow. He glanced over to see Diane. “Do I need to remind you that both cabins are ash heaps, honey? These people need someone they can believe in. Someone they can trust.”
“Yes, but Willow Creek,” he started to say, before she put a finger over his lips.
“The past doesn’t equal the future,” she replied. “You’re the one who told me that, remember?”
“I did?”
“Yes, and you can do this. Your country needs you. They need you.”
And with that John begrudgingly accepted his nomination as mayor of Oneida. He spent the next few minutes in stunned disbelief, shaking people’s hands and issuing a series of orders.
It was at about that time that the young man who had replaced Rodriguez showed up. His name was Henry Chamberlain and apparently he knew a thing or two about working a radio.
“I’m sorry to disturb you, Mr. Mayor.”
“What is it, Henry?”
“I just heard from Colonel Higgs. He wanted to let us know that the Russians, Chinese and North Koreans have started their attack along the Mississippi.”
The news nearly made him flinch. “That’s about six or seven hours’ drive from here,” John said pensively.
“Affirmative, sir.”
“Then let’s hope that line holds,” he said, feeling that old knot working through his guts again.
“And if it doesn’t, sir?” Henry asked.
“If it doesn’t, then God help us all.”
Thank you!
Thank you for reading
Last Stand: Patriots!
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Copyright
Copyright © 2014 William H. Weber
Cover design by Keri Knutson
Edited by RJ Locksley
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.