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At a harsh command, the first squad of racists thumped to a stop just fifteen feet before my line of veterans closest to their entrance but across the playing field from me. Even from here, I saw that their shiny, tall black boots were dulled by a fine film of dust from the march.
Through the files of men, I could see that the police had formed a wall of blue across the entrance to the playing field. Although local police had not known what we had planned, they were smart enough not to rush in to assert authority. It could have been a slaughterhouse. They stood on full alert, waiting to see how this played out.
The leader of the group stood just over six feet and was as broad-shouldered as any prison lifer. His face was red with exertion and rivulets of sweat streaked down to darken his stiff collar. His discomfort gratified me, and I smiled unconsciously.
In a deep voice that would have been the envy of any parade ground drill-sergeant, he bellowed at the crowd in front of him, “Stand aside, Jew-lovers. Enemies of America and the free White world will not force us from our path!”
Without my meaning to, a burst of laughter tore out of my throat. Even now, I cannot tell who was more surprised by it, him or me. But as my laugh moved outward, it gained in volume and substance as the ranks of all the other ‘Jew-lovers’ began to join in to laugh at the black-booted band at the gate and their cosplay outfits.
The faces in the Nazi ranks became scarlet with indignation and rage.
Once the field quieted, I pulled myself up from my chair, shaking off Simon’s helping hand. “The America we fought for,” I called out with a strength I’d almost forgotten (but helped with a little battery-powered bullhorn that someone handed to me) and gesturing toward the veterans that sat in their various-colored uniforms, looking regal on both sides of the field, “stood for freedom and equality. We fought against people like you and we’re ready to do it again. Right here and right now!”
To emphasize my words, I sat back down and traded the little bullhorn for my service pistol from the compartment in my chair and held it with my elbow on the top of my thigh. I made sure I aimed the barrel at the man.
Seeing a threat, the man’s nostrils flared, he shouted a harsher command and flicked his arm in a downward chop. A collapsible steel police baton appeared in his hand like a magician’s prop.
Others of his group pulled out knock-off 9mm Luger pistols from imitation-leather holsters making up part of their cosplay outfits. Farther back in their group, I watched AR-15s being cocked and pointed menacingly towards the sea of ancient servicemen and women.
“Big man!” I yelled into the bullhorn. “Threatening a bunch of old soldiers during their last days. Where is your cowardly leader, Joseph Russell? He started this and like the rest of you bullies, he’s scared to stand and face us, man to man.”
“Joseph stands with us,” said the leader with a snarl. “And old man, I’m here to fight for what I believe in. America was founded by and for the White race. There’s no room for the rest. We won’t stand down until the others leave.”
“You seem to forget your history, boy. It was Whites just like you who brought your ‘non-Whites’ and they’ve already paid for their freedom many times over. It’s you who are the last of your kind since the world doesn’t need haters and complainers. Like all of us, you can leave if you don’t like it here, but the rest of us are here to stay. Face it.”
“And you and these walking corpses are going to do something about it?”
I stared hard at him.
“Yes.”
I raised my hand over my head.
Across both flanks and directly behind me, there was a wave of movement as blankets that covered legs that no longer supported their weight were tossed aside. Carrying bags were opened and contents drawn out. There came a riot of clicking and snapping as hundreds of weapons, many vintage World War II, were armed and presented at the ready.
A brief bark of laughter rose from my right and my gaze shifted to see the tarps on the side of a parked garden wagon dropping. Somehow, one old soldier had managed to bring in a M1919A6 machine gun! A standard tripod bolted to the wagon supported it. He caught the flash of sun on links of brass cartridges as he slammed its cover plate into place and charged the deadly gun. Anything in front of this weapon would be rendered raw meat.
Alarm and sudden fear flashed across the line of movie-costumed Nazis. Confronted with a threat that carried more weight than just a busted head, the bullies froze, impotent with no backup plan . . . or even words.
The group before me seemed to shrink as they realized for the first time what they had walked into. The ropes that we had set up across the field for our veterans had, in fact, positioned our people so that there was no chance of overlapping fields of fire. With the primary group at the center, our lines were at ninety degrees to each other.
A baseball field is a perfect killing field.
As a unit, I could see the line of police at the end of the field move forward in alarm, but someone restrained them. So far, the confrontation had gone without gunfire or bloodshed, so they were content to give me my moment. I’m sure I would hear a more stringent protest later. Might even have Torres throwing my old butt into the clink.
A number of reporters to our right moved closer to stand along the chain-lined fence that ran parallel to the first-base line.
With armed men on either side, two lines of weapons confronted the enemy. There were enough M1 carbines to make it look like a wall of spears, both threatening and deadly.
The young Nazi leader’s face had taken on a sickly pallor, slick with perspiration. His eyes darted from side to side, and I wondered if he would lose his nerve altogether. He looked ready to bolt.
“What? You don’t seem so sure of yourself as you were a minute ago,” I taunted, glaring at the man.
His fist flexed on the handgrip of his extended baton with a kind of nervous energy. He clearly wasn’t expecting this kind of reception, and he had no clue as to how to extract himself or his group without losing face.
“The thing you really have to remind yourself is that these ‘walking corpses’, as you referred to my friends, have little time left.”
He turned from me as he surveyed the faces behind me and beside me.
“And with little time, they also have little to lose.”
His gaze snapped back in my direction at the implied threat, but this time I knew they were full of fear.
“You and your bunch need to ask yourselves if your ideology is something worth dying for.” More of his people were leaning forward in an attempt to hear exactly what I was saying and I remembered the little bullhorn still on my lap.
“What...?”
“Do you think we’re here just to trade insults, boy?” I spat, this time speaking with the megaphone and causing him to take a step back before he caught himself. “You bunch of racist assholes have been following me since I started speaking out against you. You made a point of coming to my hometown with your evil shit, even when the city denied your request for your parade of fools.”
I waved my arms towards the many armed soldiers who waited for my lead.
“And you knew that my friends and I would be here to oppose you, but you thought you’d be able to push us aside. But all of us have fought your kind before and we aren’t backing down. So, I hope you came to fight.”
He looked back through his own ranks for some sign of what his group wanted to do, but he saw only a sea of scared faces on the edge of panic. Boys with bad weapons dressed in Halloween party costumes facing rows of old soldiers, trained and armed.
“You’re talking crazy, Mister.” His eyes were wide, and his baton shook with his tension.
“Crazy? I’m not the one talking about killing or deporting people who might be different from me. Or worshiping one of the most evil groups in history.” I put down the megaphone and took a deep breath to force myself from really losing it. I had to stay in control. “We’re here to stop you idiots here and now. You decide, right now. Is this the hill you want to die on?”
Except for some nervous shuffling amongst the fascists, nothing moved on the field. I could feel the light breeze that blew across the grass sluggishly shifting the honor colors of one of the representative regiments.
The leader’s head was on a swivel as he kept moving his gaze from the veterans and their threatening arsenal to his own people, who looked as indecisive as he did.
“What... what do you want?”
I eyed the man, not believing that he was caving so quickly. Deep down, I didn’t want to kill these people, fucked up as they were. But being American, I figured they might still have some kind of backbone. I had hoped they would stand down, but was surprised at how easily they folded. I figured we might have to scare them with actual gunfire to get them to comply, but they were ready to sell the farm.
I began to speak, then remembered the megaphone. “After all the damage you and Russell did to me and my friends, there is only one way this will play out. It’s not up for negotiation. You and every one of your toy soldiers do exactly as I demand, or there’s no deal.”
He swallowed hard but his head bobbed in a rush as he nodded.
I looked at Simon, who nodded quickly, as if to get this over with before they changed their minds.
“First,” I began, leaning back in my chair and stifling a groan as a flash of burning pain erupted through my abdomen. I spoke slowly and plainly into the little megaphone to emphasize the point and hide my discomfort as I said, “Your weapons. Drop them on the ground and leave them.”
His arms dropped, fists curled tight. For the first time, I realized he no longer held the baton. I did not know what he had done with it. Was it tucked in the back of his trousers or in his jacket pocket? I prayed Mack or the others had seen where he had secreted it. Not knowing if he was still armed bothered me.
“You’re asking too much. You know the Constitution. We have a right to bear arms.”
I nodded, know this might be the tipping point. “You’re right, but there’s nothing saying that you have the right to use those arms on defenseless people who don’t agree with you.”
His arm went up, pointing at the weapons aimed at his men. “And what the fuck to do you call that?”
I leaned forward. “I said ‘defenseless.’ You and your men are not defenseless. You’re armed, most of you, to the teeth, and that’s not acceptable. I have no problem with you using those weapons to protect your home, but threatening American citizens is not constitutional.”
He glared at me, his nostrils flaring in suppressed rage.
“We’re not thieves. I’m sure the police will return your weapons afterwards, but that is our first demand. I warned you from the beginning, it was all or nothing. Non-negotiable.”
He stepped back, running a hand across his face. Pacing in front of his group to help bleed off the worst of his rage, I thought he might lose it right there and then. His fists, almost as large as a child’s face, clenched and unclenched as every scenario he could imagine swept through his brain, but were discarded just as fast. Even with my weak eyes, I could actually see in his body language the intellectual battle he was having, but I was completely unsure of the outcome.
I became more certain as I felt Mack’s hand grip the back of my wheelchair, as if ready to draw me out of the line of fire. The grip on my own pistol, which lay flat on my thigh, was saturated with sweat; but I stopped myself from wiping it dry, as I feared any distraction that might set off this powder keg.
I swear, those few moments felt like hours. The black-uniformed leader finally stopped his pacing and stood directly across from me. “All right, old man. We’ll leave our weapons, but you are personally responsible for each one of them. If even one goes missing, you’ll be facing an army of lawyers that will strip you of everything you hold dear, any inheritance you planned for your family.”
I nodded, but kept my mouth shut. I knew better than to sprinkle salt over this very raw wound. To let them leave without a single confrontation was more than any victory I had ever dreamed of. I let my gaze flicker towards the groups of ancient servicemen, whose threat and vigilance were making this possible. Frank, who sat just down from me caught my eye and gave me an encouraging wink. This might really work.
The Nazi leader made an exaggerated show of laying his pistol on the ground, fully aware of the number of weapons that were aimed directly at him. He and his Untersturmfürer or lieutenant slowly made their way through the ranks to ensure that each man followed my directive. Carefully but defiantly, their weapons were laid on the ground beside their feet. As I’d expected, there was some very loud disagreement and I thought that all hell was about to break loose, but the leader managed to get every one of his members to lay down their weapons, even the red-necks at the back of the line.
Here, I thought I would be dead by now. The man trudged to the front of the column and glared at me, waiting for the next command.
“Second,” I said, not wanting to give him time to reconsider. “I want every stitch of clothing or flags that represent your vile group stripped off and dropped on the ground.”
To his credit, he began unbuttoning the jacket in rough but precise movements. Those closest to their commander, having heard the ultimatum, also pulled off their fear-inspiring garb. Those at the back of the formation were leaning forward, wondering what was happening.
“Best send someone to let your guys at the back know the terms.” Seeing one fellow in the front-rank tugging at his belt, I said, “You can keep your pants on. No sense offending the lady folk.” The man nodded his thanks and refastened his pants.
“I’ll pass on the orders,” the young man said to the leader.
Before he could move, I reminded him, “Move slowly.” I motioned my head to the rank of soldiers to his right sitting with fingers on many triggers. He nodded and, with hands halfway up, he moved through the loose line of Nazis.
“And finally,” I said into the megaphone, “every one of your people must denounce Nazism and everything it stands for, and do it on live television.” I pointed towards the line of media vehicles parked tight against the playing field’s metal fence.
I paused, so it sank in. As his eyes pulled from the battery of cameras back to me, and he nodded, eyes hooded in ill-contained anger.
I looked back at Mack who had stood patiently behind me through all of this drama. “Can we get one cameraman over here to witness these men making their pledge to denounce this shit?”
Mack simply lifted his hand and murmured into his wrist microphone. The leader of the group seemed to notice Mack for the first time and seeing the white curled cord that dangled from the security specialist’s ear must have assumed he was government, because he blanched, mouth open with wide eyes.
Standing in his black trousers and a white wife-beater shirt, the leader stood with arms crossed, waiting for the next demand. Without a uniform jacket, his physique showed that he was truly an enormous man. His two bulging arms sleeved with tattoos framed a well-muscled chest. I wondered if he’d had to fight for the position of leader. A monster his size would tear apart an average guy.
Behind him, uniforms were being tossed to the dirt and the messenger had to coerce only a few of his members who tried to refuse. He only had to focus the aggrieved protester’s attention on the battery of weapons facing them and the wagon-mounted machine-gun before the uniform was pulled off and angrily thrown to the ground.
Following the progress of his people, their leader finally looked back at me. “What else?”
“Nothing else. Once you’ve made your declaration, you and your people are free to leave the field.”
But then, the first rounds of automatic gunfire began to thunder over the field.