Читать книгу The Crusaders of the Saltire - William Speir - Страница 11

May 31, 8:30 AM

Nashville, TN.

Arnold Hutchinson, editor-in-chief of the Nashville Free Press newspaper, entered his office and picked up the morning edition that waited for him on his desk every day. He sat down in his old high-back, brown leather chair, ignoring the minor cracks on the arm rests and the sound made by the cold leather as he settled into the seat cushions. He thumbed through the pages like he did each day to make sure that there were no printing issues from the night before. Satisfied with the quality of the night shift’s work, he turned to the editorial page to look at the column he had written for that day’s edition.

Hutchinson had been in the newspaper business for several decades and couldn’t imagine ever doing anything else. He started his career as a copy boy, running errands for the reporters and staff. He loved the intensity of the newsroom, even though Nashville wasn’t known for having a lot going on back then. In time, he became a reporter and later joined the editorial staff. Now he was in charge and loved every minute of it.

Hutchinson was also an amateur historian, and he spent a great deal of time looking at current events through the eyes of the past to identify trends and recurring patterns. He firmly believed that history repeated itself when people stopped remembering WHY things happened in the past and ignored the warning signs that they were happening again. This was the main point of the editorial that was published that morning.

Hutchinson believed that the events going on around the country were dangerous, even though they were popular. He quoted Benjamin Franklin: “They who can give up essential liberty to obtain a little temporary safety, deserve neither liberty nor safety.” The editorial warned readers that sometimes the price of safety was too high and that Americans were getting dangerously close to having to pay too high a price. Hutchinson reminded his readers how Abraham Lincoln had illegally imprisoned people for years if they openly opposed the War Between the States and his Administration, and the editorial warned that America could be seeing the same thing happening again, if the rumors were true. The editorial ended with a call for all citizens of Nashville to be vigilant in ensuring that their constitutionally guaranteed freedoms were never taken away in the name of “safety.”

Hutchinson smiled as he finished reading the editorial. It’s one of my best. He folded the newspaper and placed it in the recycle bin next to his desk. He heard a knock on his door and looked up to see who it was.

Standing in front of him were two men dressed in brown, military-styled uniforms. He recognized the patch on their arms: Homeland Security Force. He knew of the HSF – they were everywhere these days – but had never personally seen them up close before. Out of respect, he stood to face them. “Can I help you gentlemen with something?” he asked.

“Are you Mr. Arnold Hutchinson?” one of the HSF officers asked.

“Yes I am.”

“Could you come with us please, sir?”

“What’s this about?”

“Please sir, it’s very important that you come with us right now.”

Hutchinson stood facing the officers for a moment, troubled. It was clear that they were determined to take him with them, so he nodded and stepped around his desk toward them. As they walked out of his office, one of the HSF officers took position behind him so that he was between the two officers. They exited the newspaper building, and the HSF officer in front motioned for him to get into a waiting vehicle that was parked just outside the front door.

Hutchinson got in the back seat, joined by the HSF officer who was behind him. The other officer got in the front seat and started the engine. Neither officer spoke as they drove off. After about 20 minutes, Hutchinson asked, “May I ask where you’re taking me?”

Neither officer said a word. Hutchinson asked again but finally realized that they weren’t going to tell him. He sat in silence for the rest of the trip. After another 30 minutes, he saw the vehicle approaching a large building surrounded by several chain link fences with razor wire at the top and military-styled vehicles parked in the lot. The driver spoke briefly to the guard at the gate, who waved them through with a salute. The driver parked the vehicle, and Hutchinson was escorted inside.

Before he knew it, he was sitting alone in a small room labeled “Interrogation Room 5b” on the door. The room, about 10 feet square, had only two chairs and a small table between them in the center, and a large mirror on the wall he was facing. Hutchinson had no idea what he was doing there, but he was getting more and more uneasy as time went on.

After about 15 minutes, the door opened, and a different HSF officer entered the room and closed the door behind him before taking the seat on the other side of the table.

“Are you Arnold Hutchinson?” he asked, looking intently at Hutchinson.

“Yes I am. Will you please tell me what’s going on?”

“I’ll be asking the questions for now, Mr. Hutchinson. Are you the editor of the Nashville Free Press?”

“Yes I am.”

“Did you write and have printed this editorial in this morning’s edition of your paper?” the officer asked as he opened a folder and placed a copy of the editorial on the table in front of Hutchinson.

“Yes I did,” Hutchinson replied as he leaned forward to look at the paper.

“Mr. Hutchinson, are you aware that the contents of this editorial are considered seditious?”

“Seditious?!” Hutchinson exclaimed. “This is America, where anyone has the right to say anything they want at any time. Freedom of speech is still guaranteed in the First Amendment. There’s nothing remotely seditious in what I wrote.”

“It speaks out against the President and his policies. In case you haven’t noticed, we’re at war against forces that are trying to destroy our country and our way of life. Editorials like this only serve to create dissension, which gives our enemies what they need to succeed. We must remain united if we’re to defeat our enemies.”

“We’ll never defeat our enemies if we lose who we fundamentally are as Americans,” Hutchinson replied angrily. “It’s our way of life that they’re after. You’re suggesting that we change our way of life to preserve our way of life, and that’s absurd. We have always had the right and the responsibility to question our leaders. That’s how we keep them honest. That’s how we keep them humble. That’s how we remind them what it means to be American.”

The HSF officer looked at Hutchinson with a mixture of sarcasm and pity. “It’s clear that you have no idea what’s needed to protect this country from its enemies. Your editorial is seditious and can’t be tolerated.”

“That’s your opinion, and you’re entitled to it. But I’ve done nothing wrong.” Hutchinson stood up. “May I go now?”

“I’m afraid you don’t understand,” the HSF officer said, motioning for Hutchinson to sit back down. “You’re being detained for giving aid to the enemy, for supporting terrorism, and for sedition.”

“I’m what?!”

“Under Executive Order number 63855, you’re being designated as a non-combatant enemy of the state. You’ll be sent to an internment facility for a duration deemed appropriate for the national good.”

“You can’t do that!” Hutchinson exploded. “I have rights. I demand an attorney. You can’t deny me my rights to due process.”

“You haven’t been denied any due process. You’re not being charged with a crime; therefore you have no need of an attorney. You’re being designated an enemy prisoner of war under Executive Order. It’s all completely legal.”

Hutchinson didn’t have time to respond. The door opened and the original two HSF officers entered. They grabbed Hutchinson and forced him to his feet. They took him to a room where he was photographed, fingerprinted, and strip-searched. His clothes and personal items were placed in a small box, and he was given an off-white jumpsuit to put on. Once he was dressed, he was taken outside and placed in the back of a truck with three other men and women dressed the same way. Four guards sat with them and told them not to speak.

After what seemed like hours, the truck stopped, and the guards ordered the detainees to get out. Hutchinson shielded his eyes from the bright sunlight as he stepped down from the rear of the truck. He was at what appeared to be a military airfield. A large, grey cargo plane was a few dozen yards in front of him, and there were several other detainees and guards boarding the plane from the loading ramp at the rear. His guards pointed toward the plane, and Hutchinson and the others moved forward.

There were twenty or so other detainees already onboard, sitting in seats against the sides of the aircraft’s cargo bay, along with eight heavily armed guards. Hutchinson took the first empty seat and buckled himself in. He turned to say something to the person sitting next to him, but one of the guards pointed his rifle at Hutchinson’s head and ordered him to remain silent. A few minutes later, the rear loading ramp was closed, and the plane’s engines started.

They flew in silence for the next several hours. Hutchinson looked closely at the other detainees. There were men, women, young people, old people, people of all races. The only thing that they all seemed to have in common was their clothing and the same confused and scared look on their faces.

Hutchinson felt the nose of the plane lower and knew that they were getting ready to land. He felt the outside heat against his back as the plane descended. The plane landed and soon rolled to a stop. The rear loading ramp lowered, immediately making the cargo bay feel like an oven. Wherever we are, it must be very far south.

The guards motioned for everyone to get up and exit the plane. There was a bus waiting for them just beside the bottom of the ramp, and the guards directed everyone to get onboard. As the bus drove away from the airfield, Hutchinson saw that they were in a tropical location. At first, he thought they must be in the Florida Keys, but what he saw out the bus windows looked like photographs he had seen of the Guantanamo Bay Naval Base in Cuba.

They drove in silence for several minutes before arriving at a building near what appeared to be the harbor. They were ushered off the bus and into the building, where they were photographed again. A strange ankle bracelet was attached to each detainee’s right leg. A technician knelt down and attached a computer cable that connected the bracelet to a hand-held device. The technician punched in some codes and disconnected the cable from the ankle bracelet. Once everyone’s ankle bracelet was encoded, the detainees were ushered out the back of the building toward the docks.

They were escorted to a U.S. Navy LCAC sitting on the beach near the dock. LCACs (“Landing Craft Air Cushion”) are high-speed hovercrafts capable of carrying a 60-ton payload over water and land at speeds in excess of 40 knots and a range of up to 200 nautical miles. LCACs skim over the waves at high speed and right up onto the beach for loading and unloading.

They boarded the LCAC and were put inside what looked like a modified cargo container in the center. The inside of the container resembled the cargo bay of the plane that had brought them there. Hutchinson was confused, but he remained silent. It was clear that the plane had only landed at a transfer point. They still hadn’t reached their final destination.

The doors to the container were locked, and the detainees were warned not to speak to anyone. There were seats against the walls of the cabin and two bathrooms at the rear. There were also two bins of what looked like sandwiches and bottled water in the center of the room. Hutchinson grabbed a sandwich and a bottle and found his seat. He ate in silence, wondering what was going to happen next.

After several minutes, Hutchinson felt the ship rise on its air cushion and move forward into the water. He surmised that they were leaving the harbor for their next destination. He felt very tired all of a sudden and had trouble keeping his eyes open. He looked around and saw many of the other detainees struggling to stay awake or already asleep. He fought it as long as he could, but he finally succumbed and lost consciousness.

He awoke to the sound of orders being shouted. The guards had entered the container and were roughly shaking the detainees to get them awake and on their feet. They were ushered out of the container, and Hutchinson saw that they were on the beach of what looked like an island. They were ordered to walk single-file up the beach along a road that took them to the plateau several meters above.

Once at the top, Hutchinson saw the prison camp clearly. There were a number of long metal buildings surrounded by at least three fences made of chain links and razor wire with more razor wire between the fences. Guard towers were everywhere, and machine guns were plainly visible.

They were led into a building near what looked like the main gate. Once inside, they were introduced to the “Commandant,” who spent 20 minutes going over the rules and warning the detainees of the punishments they’d be subjected to for any rule breaking. A technician attached a computer cable to each of their ankle bracelets and, using a similar hand-held device as the one used in Cuba, entered additional codes into the device before disconnecting the cable.

The Commandant led them out through the rear of the building and to the three gates that provided the only safe passage into the interior of the prison camp. Once through the gates, Hutchinson turned to see the gates closing and the guards, both in the towers and on the ground, watching the detainees closely.

“Welcome to the Navassa Island Internment Facility – your new home,” the Commandant shouted to the new detainees as he turned to go back to his office.