American Spring: The Rising

By Leigh Hiott

Can the hope of the world survive?
Has our shining City on a hill lost its luster?
Is Lady Liberty just a jaded icon of bygone days? Has the torch by the sea been extinguished?
On a bend of the Congaree River outside Columbia, SC, a well-developed militia has been hewn from 200 hundred acres of virgin forest of the Congaree Preserve. They fly the ubiquitous Stars and Bars of the Confederacy. It is land locked on three sides by the national forest and accessible only by boat. A large barge and a flotilla of boats service the unit. High Crimes and Treason are afoot.
Jiggs Malone an officer unjustly cashiered out of the Army under a cloud, accidently hits and kills the daughter of the Palmetto Brigades commander. He is caught up in the nationwide Militias planned uprising against our duly constituted government. They view the Second Amendment as a right to keep and bear arms for protection against a government that has overreached its constitutional authority. The hand of Destiny has dealt Jiggs a chance to redeem himself and remove the cloud of dishonor hanging over his head.
Bold and diabolical attacks are coordinated to hit chemical plants, gasoline refineries, both nuclear and fossil fuel generating plants. America is in flames as the President looks out from the Oval Office.
The novel rests with an audacious attack on the venerable George Washington Bridge. If the terrorist can lay the span of the George in the murky waters of the Hudson River, they will achieve a major coup.
Can the attacks be foiled as Jiggs is reunited with his former comrades, who serendipitously execute a low level drop at dusk, as he returns from reconnoitering the militia?
Can our democratic government, the envy of the world, prevail?

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Nov 6, 2015
• ISBN: 9781504950152

Leigh Hiott

Leighton R. Hiott was born April 24, 1943, on the Braham farm near Olar, South Carolina, to a family of sharecroppers. The family moved to the town of Bamberg in 1944. The second of ten children, he attended grades 1 through 12 in Bamberg, South Carolina. Upon graduation from Bamberg HS in 1961, he enlisted in the US Army. Leigh Hiott worked in construction work as a pipe fitter and ultimately as a mechanical superintendent for over forty-five years. He retired in 2009 to care for his wife, who had heart valve surgery. He has published a collection of short stories, Palmettoes and Moonbeams (Carolina Vignettes), with American Star. He has also written seven songs that have been recorded as demos: http://www.jango.com/music/Leigh+Hiott+Songwriter.

Book preview

Prologue

U nrest and insurrection is sweeping the world. Will these new political states be friendly or inimical to American interests? Meanwhile in our own country, intransigent and vitriolic rhetoric deeply divides our nation. Dissidents show up at political rallies with guns strapped to their waists. Gun enthusiasts hoard caches of weapons and ammunition waiting for the day when some catastrophic natural or financial disaster befalls our beloved democracy. They do not even like our Democratic form of government; they favor a Republic with power held by an oligarchy of the elite. As presidents Lincoln and Johnson quoted Jesus; when the nation was at loggerheads, A house divided against itself cannot stand.

At present, there are over a hundred active militia groups, who preach demagogic rhetoric. They have laid the groundwork with revisionist history interspersed with hate and misinformation. Their warped reasoning, gives credence to the lie that ethnicity and the poor are the causes of all of America’s ills.

Those that possess the lion’s share of Americas’ riches praise their own work ethic for their success. They overlook the dedicated and loyal work of the little man on whose backs they attain their wealth, and who are the backbone of our success as a nation, not those of the pinched paychecks and paltry or little benefits.

We overlook those who advocate violence and greed at our peril. Beware!

Chance Encounters

S ome maintain there is no such thing as chance. Coincidences are merely the intervention of Fate of which we are often too obtuse to recognize. Some, through faith, believe they are not subject to chance; others maintain that all except a select few are subject to Fate’s fickle whims. It is hard to deny that some seem destined to play critical roles at crucial junctures in our history.

Jiggs Malone fought strong headwinds as a driving rain came howling down in a deluge making the road hard to see as he barreled down Bluff Road where he worked as an ironworker at the new paper mill near Eastover, South Carolina. He drove the back roads in spite of the ever-present danger of deer leaping from the underbrush and unto the roadway. Powerful gusts of wind buffeted his car and at times seemed to stop his vintage Mustang in its track. Driving sheets of horizontal rain and wind howled around his windshield as he tore through the night.

At five o’clock in the morning, Jiggs had not quite shaken off the cobwebs from the previous night’s overindulgence. He groped in the darkness for his travel mug and hefted it to his mouth, finding the opening with his tongue, and took a long pull of wicked coffee. He lit up a Marlboro Light as he precariously gripped the wheel between his forearms and cupped the flame from the draft with his hands. He savored a long puff of the cigarette and hunched forward, squinting hard to make out the outline of the road and using all his skill to keep in between the shoulders. Traveling at high speed at night in a torrential downpour on a secondary road was pushing the limits he realized. Shrugging off the momentary concern, he refocused his attention to the swath of light cut by his headlights. He paid especial attention to the sides of the road for movement of any kind. There should not be any deer out in this he noted mentally as he continued to focus all his attention on the road. The storm and darkness seemed to erase the reality of his existence as he sped through the darkness. This brief moment in time passed rapidly as an old phrase from his military days kept rattling around in his head, ‘Darkness is my friend, and we own the night.’ It’s funny how some things you just never forget. Once a soldier, always a soldier, we are different, changed forever—a brotherhood formed in service and oftentimes in battle and blood.

Ahead in the void of twilight on the periphery of the Eisenhower Nuclear Fuel Plant with its huge clear-cut field surrounding the plant, for ostensible aesthetics, or more likely, for security purposes with motion detectors strategically placed throughout one would think. No such security existed as a team of militiamen had just discovered. A barely audible crackle of a radio headset set on low squelch shrieked into the earpieces of a group of shadowy figures without otherwise disturbing the night. There were six of them and they blended into the corpse of pine saplings planted several years earlier as a windbreak at the very edge of the forest on the north side of the plant. The storm provided good cover in the pitch-blackness of the stormy night.

Little Red, Little Red, shrilled into the earpieces of the phantom-like figures.

Little Red here, was the instantaneous reply from the smallest of the figures, who was crouched in the cover of the trees.

Car coming Wolf, shot back an imploring plea.

You can make it Little Red, was the terse reply.

Roger, signal when ready.

From the wooded area on the opposite side of the road, a flash from a red penlight blinked twice. Wolf was in a hurry and not happy about having a woman along. Little Red dressed in black camouflaged fatigues and a black ski mask leaped up from a prone position and attempted to sprint across the rain slick roadway, she never had a chance. Jiggs’ Mustang struck her hard causing the shadow-like figure to careen over the top in a giant cartwheel and into the heart of darkness and landed with a sickening thud.

Whoa! Jiggs exclaimed as he struggled with all his might to maintain control of his vehicle; that he had bestowed so much love and labor on over the years. Where in the hell did that come from? he said aloud, as his mind reeled in confusion. He finally managed to get some semblance of control over his battered car as it finally ground to a stop on the rain-softened shoulder as if it had a mind of its own and like an exhausted animal refused to go any further.

He groped under the front seat until he found a flashlight. The door was jammed shut so he had to exit through the driver’s side window. Water streamed down his handsome face as he stood dejectedly watching steam hiss from the radiator of his beloved 65 Fastback, as it sat sadly by the road mortally wounded. What did I hit? the thought hit him like a jackhammer.

Jiggs turned and ran hurriedly back down the rain drenched roadbed—his flashlight playing wildly across the surface of the road until he spotted a darkened mass lying on the blacktop. As he came closer, and his flashlight illuminated the fallen creature, much to his surprise, it appeared to be human. Jiggs reeled mentally in disbelief. It could not be. Yet, it appeared that there was no mistake, it was human and not a deer.

Dropping to one knee over the fallen body, Jiggs ran his light over the length of the fallen figure and was surprised to see that whoever it was, they were dressed in jungle combat boots—small for a man, he noted—and black camouflage fatigues. There was a military web belt with ammo pouches, enough to sustain a small firefight. He noted a rifle held in place by its sling across the body as he rolled the unresponsive body over on its back. He was shocked when he recognized a Bushmaster M-4 semiautomatic carbine with its smashed red dot optics.

Four armed men emerged silently in unison from the shadow of the trees immediately behind Jiggs. One of them moved swiftly, his movement covered by the incessant patter of raindrops upon the asphalt. In one swift move, one of the stealthy shadows struck Jiggs at the base of his skull with an AR-15 rifle butt, knocking him unconscious.

Their leader, Wolf had observed the takedown maneuver with approval from the safety of the tree line across the road, spoke urgently into his headset, Good work Lone Ranger,—you and Tonto bring Little Red with you. Police up the area—do not leave anything that will give us away. We don’t want anyone to even know we were here.

What do we do with him? The man designated as Lone Ranger asked gesturing towards Jiggs, who let out a low groan.

Kill him! Make it look like an accident, Wolf said dismissively.

Oh no, car coming, close too, Tonto interjected almost in a panic.

Crap! Wolf muttered. Leave him be then—the boss ain’t going to like that.

Roger, the Lone Ranger said as he and his shadowy companions disappeared into the cover of the swamp carrying Little Reds’ shattered body and the smashed rifle.

It was a good call as the approaching lights bearing down on the scene turned out to belong to a highway patrol car that narrowly avoided running over Jiggs’ prostrate body as he quickly brought his patrol car to a stop and switched on his blue lights. Pausing just long enough to call in to report the accident and his location, as required by regulations, the trooper donned his rain slicker and made his way back to where his headlights had picked up the prone figure lying halfway between the road and the shoulder. He jogged as fast as his out of shape body would carry him. Too many doughnuts and sitting behind the wheel on long shifts had taken their toll on the former high school star linebacker from Gilbert, SC. As he reached the stricken motorist, to his surprise, the big man let out a gut-wrenching groan and pulled himself upright on all fours.

How bad you hurt partner? the trooper wanted to know.

I’ll live, I think, Jiggs answered through the pain. The rainwater running down his face quickly restored him to consciousness. What hit me? He asked the state trooper.

Probably a deer, the officer answered excitedly Lots of them out this way.

No! I mean who hit me in the back of the head? Jiggs answered irritated at the man’s inability to understand him.

You sure you’re okay fella? The big black PFC asked. You probably hit your head when you were thrown from your car.

With anger rising in his voice, Jiggs said, Now look here officer, I wasn’t thrown from the car; I got out through the window. There was a body here. See the blood, Jiggs said pointing to the blood, which was rapidly washing away. When I leaned over the body, somebody cold-cocked me with something, Jiggs said, becoming even angrier with the disbelieving officer.

I don’t see a body, the big patrol officer said making Jiggs livid with rage. Was there anybody else with you in the car sir? the officer enquired just doing his job.

No I was by myself officer, Jiggs said as his anger abated and he tried a different tact.

The big officer backed off a little in case an attack was forthcoming.

There was no body, Jiggs could not argue with that and it did not appear that anything that he said would further the argument in his favor, so he decided to let the matter drop until the light of day when better sense would prevail.

Jiggs was rapidly losing his patience with the slow-witted trooper.

Deer probably ran off into the woods, the trooper explained. I’ve seen them run fifty yards or more after being shot clean through the body, he added matter-of-factly and quite pleased with his explanation.

Unable to control himself, Jiggs’ ire got the best of him and he angrily declared, But I tell you it was a person! Whereupon Jiggs rose to his feet, clearly irritated, and his stature and anger intimidated the young trooper. Bad things happen on this desolate stretch of road at night.

Take it easy fella, the startled young officer said assuming his best authoritarian voice, reserved for just such an occasion. That much he had learned as an MP in the Army. You want an ambulance? the trooper asked as compassionately as he knew how, trying to restore civility.

No. Everything is okay. I’ll be okay in a few minutes, he said as the rain subsided.

Wouldn’t hurt to go to the hospital—just to get checked out. You know what I mean?

Thanks anyway officer, Jiggs said submissively, not quite sure what to make of the situation. It was obvious that he could argue until dawn with this jackass and still not convince him that he had hit a real person. Just call me a wrecker for my car and I’ll ride in with him.

Okay partner, the officer said curtly, wanting to get rid of this hostile white man on a dangerous stretch of road in the dark miles from backup. Let’s go sit in the car and I’ll call you a wrecker. In the meanwhile, we’ll get the paperwork filled out.

Just another day at the office, Jiggs said, clearly agitated.

Did you say something? the young officer asked rather pointedly, after all he was the law.

No Officer, nothing, just call me that wrecker, Jiggs said dispiritedly.

As he looked up through the troopers’ patrol car windshield, the sun had just broken diffidently over the hazy horizon. He could hear the sound of birds and other creatures as the forest came alive with animals that forage by day in search of food. What a way to start a new day, he muttered under his breath, shaking his head in disbelief as the rain set in again in another depressing down pouring in huge goblets of rain.

Jiggs was relieved when the wrecker came. He sat in stunned silence with his head pounding as the wrecker driver tried in vain to strike up a conversation with his unresponsive passenger. Jiggs’ mind was a thousand miles away. Finally, the wrecker driver gave up completely on engaging in a dialogue with his strange client and devoted all his attention to keeping the truck on the road. When they reached the outskirts of Columbia, Jiggs finally spoke. Any chance of getting you to drop me at my house, he asked, "I’ll make it worth your while.

No problem partner, the three hundred pound wrecker driver said.

That was the extent of their conversation after Jiggs gave the man his address.

When they pulled up in front of Jiggs house, he slipped the big man a ten spot and thanked him. He could hear Buster inside, yapping and whining as he heard the truck come to a stop. A big smile crossed Jiggs face as he opened the door to his home and Buster went wild with excitement and joy as he almost bowled Jiggs over with his huge frame. Buster drooled salvia all over Jiggs as the two wrestled to the floor, as was their custom when Jiggs came home from work each day. Without Buster, Jiggs’ life would have been a solitary existence without love or purpose. There was a bond between the two that went beyond words or explanation. Lost deep in thought, he mentally paraphrased Charles Darwin, The love of a dog for man is almost enough to overthrow all of my theories. Evidently, Darwin had known a Buster or two in his time. Jiggs waxed poetic in his inner being as he eulogized Buster in his spirit, who was forever enshrined in his heart. His memory would follow him to the grave and beyond as if chiseled in stone. Some men turn to drink in despair, Jiggs had tried that and it only made things worse; instead, he turned to animals, antique cars and flipping houses in his spare time. Buster could return his love and that helped him to retain his sanity after his wife had left him for someone with more financial stability. In retrospect, he did not blame her; she simply wanted more from life than a lowly ironworker could give her.

Feelers

T he next day, Jiggs awoke with a splitting headache as Buster licked his face quizzically wondering why his master had been so slow to respond. He gave the English bulldog a playful hug and rolled out of bed around eight. Jiggs made his way to the kitchen with Buster nuzzling at his heels. He made himself a cup of Folgers coffee and sat relishing Buster’s excited yapping as he romped in the backyard. There was a special bond between the two and their love was mutual and deep. Jiggs could not help but laugh every time he thought of the English Philosopher, John Locke’s admonition that Beasts Abstract Not. Obviously, Mr. Locke had never met Buster; if he had, Jiggs wondered if he would have been so dismissive of Buster’s innate canine intelligence.

He reached over and picked up the phone, dreading to call his boss and tell him that he needed to take the rest of the week off to sort things out from the accident. Truly, there were things that he had to sort out. There were things that he had to follow up on. Something was just not right and he had a foreboding feeling in his gut that his life might be in danger. The whole affair just did not make any sense. Things did not add up, and Jiggs was not a man to let untidy things clutter up his life. He had to have some answers and he needed them fast.

After he had hung up with his boss, Jiggs sat in silence savoring his coffee. Finally, he summoned up enough courage to call his ex-wife at work. Diane, his ex, was a nurse at Palmetto Richland Memorial Hospital. The duty nurse on the ward had some difficulty locating her, but finally, Diane’s familiar voice wafted out at him over the phone. He told her he needed to see her, and they made an appointment for lunch. Stirrings deep in his inner psyche troubled Jiggs long after he had hung up. The divorce was not of his choosing; she simply wanted more out of life than he could give her. He shrugged off the newly awakened feelings and put the past back to sleep, at least it was dormant for the moment and he intended to keep it that way.

Jeffery Wade Malone was a big man slightly over six feet tall. He was an imposing fifty inches through the chest with large muscular arms and a boyishly thirty-six inch waist. He had a sized down Indian nose that gave away part of his heritage on his father’s side of the family. His rough-hewn face, chiseled out of stone as it were, retained its youthful vigor and good looks. Straight well-groomed sandy hair and a dark yet attractive complexion graced a well-proportioned head that had an air of nobility about it. He had inherited piercing green eyes from his mother’s Irish people. His eyes had an uncanny ability it seemed to peer straight into the soul, as he made eye contact. There was a distinguishing cleft in his granite-like chin, which gave way to a disarming smile of perfectly even teeth. That smile could melt the heart of even the coldest of women and ingratiate him to men as well. He did not abuse his god-like attributes; Jiggs was no womanizer. The divorce had been hard on him, but he persevered and tried to accept—as best he could as the saying goes—what he could not understand or change.

In contrast to some of his contemporaries—at thirty-five—Jiggs still possessed a full head of hair and all of his teeth. Gifted with a quick wit and a deep probing intellect, which he honed to a fine edge by years of disciplined reading; he was something of an anachronism as an ironworker. Most of his workmates were barely literate. Most were hard callous men given to drink, who worked hard and played hard. In spite of all his manly attributes, Jiggs was somewhat of a loner with few friends on or off the job. Everybody simply wrote him off as another war vet with PTSD. He did not cultivate friends and he lived in a world of his own. It was a fragile peace, but at least it was peace, that and the desire for solitude. The only thing that could get a rise out of him was when someone passed around pictures of their dogs or their children.

His stint in the military had left an indelible imprint upon his soul, about which he said little.

It was as if his time served in uniform and especially in combat was a void which no one, not even his wife could get him to reveal. He was not a man who would brag of the men he had killed. When others tried to draw him out and to talk about his wartime experiences, he would clam up and move away to eat his lunch. He was not a broken man with issues that haunted him in dreams; but he was demoralized and he attempted to make the best of the life he had left. He would not talk about war; but he would talk the ears off anyone who was strong enough to listen to tales of Buster, his dog. It seems that he harbored an abiding love of all things canine and he showered Buster with love, which had an insatiable appetite for human companionship.

In spite of his size, Jiggs was extremely agile with quick boxer’s hands. His agile body and quick thinking had saved his life in combat on a number of occasions. It was in the military that he had picked up his nickname, Jiggs, which had somehow followed him into civilian life. Upon discharge, Jiggs had followed his father into the profession of ironworker. His catlike grace on the steel was legendary. In spite of his age, Jiggs was in remarkable physical condition due in part to the rigors of his daily livelihood. There had been offers of supervisory positions on any number of projects; all of which Jiggs steadfastly turned down. He could deal with the steel and the danger inherent to his occupation; but he preferred to let someone else deal with the people. Everyone assumed that something in his past had soured him on being in charge even though he was a natural leader. It was always him, to which others turned for leadership in a crunch. This innate ability caused him considerable grief and led to his frequent job changes.

Ironworkers are tough men cut from a different bolt of cloth than are most other men. Following the trade of an ironworker is an occupation that offers little job security and his natural leadership qualities over which he had no control only exasperated his plight. Over the years, Jiggs had become a loner if not by choice then by circumstances, perhaps both.

He met Diane in the hospital’s cafeteria for lunch as they have planned. How’s Lester? He said as they sat down with their food trays, not knowing how else to start the conversation. It was their first face-to-face meeting since their divorce.

Not like you Jiggs, she said allowing a slightly wicked smile to play across her face, which was still beautiful and extremely well preserved in spite of her age.

Jiggs smiled and turned on the charm with a devastatingly winning smile and chose not to respond. He just sat and waited for her to reply.

Okay Jiggs let’s cut to the chase. What do you want?

What makes you think I want something? He replied, realizing that he had met his match.

Jiggs, you never call me or even acknowledge that I’m alive. Now all of a sudden you call and want a meeting. So what gives? I know you well enough, you want something.

Yeah, well maybe, Jiggs said. She had hit the mark and he was obviously chastened.

Okay, let’s have it, she said.

Jiggs went right to the point as she had requested, I need some information.

What kind of information? Diane shot back guardedly.

Just need to know about any DOA trauma cases last night, he said with his steely eyes averted. He made sure to avoid eye contact out of deference to her being married to another.

Richland County and the others? She asked picking up the thread of the conversation.

Yeah, better check all the hospitals, just in case.

DOA’s—Jiggs what have you gotten yourself into—not hit and run? Have your been drinking again? she asked in horror.

No, it is nothing like that.

I hope so. Tell me all about it, she said relaxing somewhat. She knew that he had a hard time lying—it just was not in his nature.

I can’t do that just yet. You will have to trust your instincts on this. I’ve done nothing wrong. Just be discreet will you.

Jiggs you know I am the soul of discretion. You know, you are about the most secretive man alive. You never did tell me why they kicked your ass out of the Army—what with your being a commissioned officer and all at the tender age of nineteen.

Twenty, and they did not kick me out, I resigned for the good of the service, Jiggs replied testily with anger just under the surface.

In a pig’s eye, they were probably going to put your ass in jail.

Look—we’ve been through all this before—I can’t tell you.

More like you won’t tell me.

Whatever you say—you going to help me or not? Jiggs said turning off the charm.

Yeah, it’s against my better judgment. Yeah, let me see what I can do for you. Are you still sleeping with that dog? she asked sheepishly.

Buster you mean? he said as he quickly caught the drift of her question.

Who else would I mean? She said smiling smugly with a twinkle in her heavenly blue eyes. He had gotten lost in those eyes years ago, and it pained him to maintain eye contact.

Thanks babe—call me tonight, he said as he leaned over the table and kissed the only woman, other than his mother, he had ever loved on the cheek.

One of Diane’s fellow nurses came over and sat down uninvited. Who was that hunk? Love that grey hair in the sideburns; you got something going on the side girl?

No, Just my ex, Diane said barely able to contain her disgust.

And you left him for Lester? Girl you need your head examined.

Diane threw down her napkin and abruptly left the table without saying a word. A number of hungry eyes followed the attractive brunette as she made her way out of the cafeteria.

Diane Matthews worked in intensive care on the recovery ward. She no longer needed to work the demanding shift work to make ends meet; but to her surprise, she had grown to like the work in spite of the grueling hours and the toll it took on those who pursued it. She could see her co-workers age before her eyes and she was sure the same thing was happening to her. Still, she would not transfer to a less demanding job just yet, in spite of Lester’s urging her to do so. The work made her feel good about herself and she found her contribution to those holding on to life by such a tenuous thread gave her comfort and bolstered her self-esteem and since she and Jiggs had split up, she badly needed that.

During her marriage to Jiggs, she had gravitated into intensive care because of better pay. She had a phobia about all things financial. Insecurity was baggage from a stressed out childhood she now realized. Finances never seemed to faze Jiggs in the least. It was a constant cause of disagreement between them and the frequent layoffs and job changes only made things worse. In retrospect, she now realized, it had been beyond Jiggs’ ability to control. She recognized belatedly, that it had simply been the nature of his work. After all, they couldn’t both go to school. It was certainly true in her case that hindsight was twenty-twenty and she had been young and insecure.

For whatever reason, she had been unable to deal with it back then and the frequent droughts with little or no money had eventually led to