His debauchery had a purpose. Harley knew the darkness in men, real men. Men who didn’t give a shit about political correctness and diplomacy. Men who knew that the corpses of their enemies formed the only lasting foundation for peace. Men who knew that power was useless without brutality.
These were the kind of men Harley had surrounded himself with. He had built the militia up slowly, finding more and more affable savages along the way. He found if he fed their dark sides, they pledged their lives to the cause more easily.
With this latest group of recruits, he had true soldiers. Hard men who were totally devoted to their master general, and on this day of their graduation from recruit to full-fledged members, he amped up the depravity.
The working girls from Vegas did not make the trip. Instead, the men were to be entertained by the mothers and daughters of the immigrant class, the illegals who had set their country on a course of ruin.
As the women were escorted in, hands bound, hoods over their heads, Harley gave his men one last instruction before he sat upon his throne to watch the carnage. “Bury the trash when you’re done with them, gentlemen.”