299 Days: The 43 Colonels

Table of Contents

About the Author

Chapter 335

Chapter 336

Chapter 337

Chapter 338

Chapter 339

Chapter 340

Chapter 341

Chapter 342

Chapter 343

Chapter 344

Chapter 345

Chapter 346

Chapter 347

Chapter 348

Chapter 349

Chapter 350

Chapter 351

Chapter 352

Chapter 353

Chapter 354

Chapter 355

Chapter 356

Chapter 357

Chapter 358

Chapter 359

Chapter 360

Chapter 361

Chapter 362

Chapter 363

Chapter 364

Chapter 365

Chapter 366

Chapter 367

Chapter 368

Chapter 369

Chapter 370

Chapter 371

Chapter 372

Chapter 373

Chapter 374

Chapter 375

Chapter 376

Chapter 377

About the Author

Glen Tate has a front row seat to the corruption in government and writes the 299 Days series from his first-hand observations of why a collapse is coming and predictions on how it will unfold. Much like the main character in the series, Grant Matson, the author grew up in a rural and remote part of Washington State. He is now a forty-something resident of Olympia, Washington, and is a very active prepper. Glen keeps his real identity a secret so he won’t lose his job because, in his line of work, being a prepper and questioning the motives of the government is not appreciated.

Chapter 335

Col. Grant Matson

(February 25, one year post-Collapse)

Grant Matson was light-headed. It felt like the room was spinning. He could hear sounds, but couldn’t understand what was happening. He suddenly felt cold, like his blood pressure had dropped. He braced himself against the desk that sat before him. After a few seconds and some deep breathing, the spinning stopped and sounds returned to normal. Coming out of the fog, he could now clearly comprehend what was happening. He was in the chambers of the House of Representatives. It was the same chamber that existed before the war, but now it was the New Washington State House of Representatives. New Washington was the new state-–an independent republic, actually-–that encompassed all of what was pre-war Washington State, except for the Seattle area.

Grant was there to accept his honorary commission as a Colonel during a joint session of the House and Senate, which also included the Governor and new state Supreme Court. It was like a State of the State address. The new Legislature had granted forty-three Colonelships to men and women who had done extraordinary things to win the war and start the Restoration.

Grant looked up to the rostrum and saw that his old friend, Ben Trenton, was motioning for him to stand and be recognized.

Grant Matson! he heard Ben, now Governor Ben Trenton, say to thunderous applause. The clapping and cheering was so loud that Grant could feel it, like a slow, rumbling concussion grenade that kept going. Grant’s head was still spinning and he didn’t think he could stand up because he was simultaneously awestruck, nervous and joyous.

You can do this. You’ve done much harder things. Go up there and do what I put you here to do. An instant calm came over him as he heard the outside thought. He effortlessly rose from his seat, started to wave enthusiastically to all the cheering people, and then realized he had a genuine, giant, beaming smile from ear to ear. He was in his element.

He was immediately surrounded by dozens of people wanting to shake his hand, high-five him, or hug him. He was mobbed, and loving it. There was no way to contain the joy he felt.

He was focusing on the faces of the people surrounding him and knew them all. They were Patriots who had freed the state. Some he had known a long time, since before the war. Others he had met only recently. Some were new House members, others were senators. Some were judges, cabinet members, and military officers. They were the men and women who would begin the long process of rebuilding the state, or the Restoration, as the Patriots called it. Grant had the unmistakable and deep feeling—knowledge, really—that these truly remarkable people had been chosen by a higher power to be right there, right then, to put the state back together and lay the foundation for generations of freedom. He was among the second set of Founding Fathers. Not only among them, but he was one of them. His head started to spin again.

Then he realized something that caused the spinning to stop: he belonged here. He was one of the New Founders, as they were being called. He was humble—that’s probably why he was one of the — chosen—but he needed to stop thinking about how amazing this moment was and get down to the job at hand. He needed to inspire. He knew that the words he would speak in the next few minutes would be historic and replayed for generations. He needed to nail it.

Grant felt guilty being the center of attention for so long as the Governor was standing there, patiently waiting for the crowd around Grant to die down before the resuming his speech. He looked up at Ben and mouthed, Sorry, man.

Ben looked at Grant and said enthusiastically into the microphone, No hurry. You deserve it, bro. The Governor’s use of a casual term like bro instantly conveyed how close he and Grant were and how much he appreciated what Grant had done. This sent the crowd into another wave of loud applause and even some hollering.

After a few more minutes of being mobbed, the crowds began to die down. The Governor started to speak again. Lt. Matson—Col. Matson, now—please remain standing while I read a resolution in your honor. The crowd quieted down. Everyone wanted to hear this.

Ben looked at the sheet of paper in front of him and choked up. He paused, held up the sheet of paper and said, This describes what Lt. Matson did. He paused and then slowly said, I’m not going to read it.

The Legislature went silent. Ben set the paper down and said, I know exactly what Grant did, and what he’s going to continue to do. I don’t need to read anything. He started to speak off the cuff.

Grant saw this coming before I did, Ben said directly to the packed House chamber. Yes, a politician is admitting he didn’t know something. The audience chuckled.

I remember years ago—years ago—when Grant told several of us what was coming. It seemed, well, crazy. We all knew things were messed up, but Grant was talking about a collapse. We all listened politely, he said as he comically rolled his eyes, but it was hard to really believe that the United States would cease to exist. Ben paused. It was impossible to imagine what life would be like without a United States, what the riots would be like, the oppression, the war, and especially what the Restoration would look like. Impossible.

Ben pointed straight at Grant and softly said, Except for you, my friend. Grant swelled with pride. He could feel how he had been used by a higher power to set up the very scene he was witnessing: the birth of a free state.

You warned us, Ben said, pointing at Tom Foster, his Chief of Staff, and Brian Jenkins, his Director of Legislative Affairs, to signal that all three had been warned. Your warnings made us think a collapse was possible which made it easier to believe it was happening when it started to unfold. This meant we were able to react and get out to the Prosser Farm. Ben pointed up in the gallery to Jeff and Molly Prosser and gave them a thumbs-up. The Prossers were nominated for a colonelship for hiding the Trentons, Fosters, and Jenkins during the war, but declined it. They thought they hadn’t done enough to deserve the honor.

Then you and the magnificent Team, Ben said, pointing to the Team where they stood on the wings of the House floor. Applause started again. The Team humbly walked out to the floor of the House so they could be seen. They were wearing suits, a sight Grant had never seen before. Wes' absence was keenly felt.

You guys, Ben continued after the applause died down, ‘liberated’ Capitol City Guns of its contents and got them to another hero, Master Sergeant Ted Malloy, Ben said, pointing to the gallery where a clean-shaven Special Forces Ted stood in his dress uniform, another sight Grant had never seen. Ted pointed at Grant down on the House floor and gave him a thumbs-up to signify his thanks to him. Ted, too, had been offered a colonelship but had declined.

You stored the weapons at your cabin, which constituted several hundred felony counts under the old law, Ben said with a smile, and then you built up Pierce Point into a model of what a Patriot community looks like.

Grant, Ben said looking directly at him, I don’t think you appreciate how important the model of Pierce Point was to our side. Tales of how a Patriot community was working—a library, for goodness sakes—when it was surround by gangs and tyranny and hunger. That example spread throughout New Washington. Several members of the audience were nodding; they had heard the Pierce Point example themselves in the months leading up to the brief war.

You proved it could be done, Ben continued. He pointed to the audience and said, We all remember what it was like at the beginning of the Collapse, right? More nodding. We were embarking on something entirely new: beating the mightiest force on the planet, the former United States federal government. The audience was spellbound because they had all felt exactly what Ben was describing. He paused, allowing the audience to continue feeling for themselves exactly what he was saying.

But you’re not about to be awarded a colonelship for giving us that vitally needed example of the ‘Patriot way’ out at Pierce Point, Ben said. You were the commanding officer of the 17th Irregulars. The audience broke into applause again. Ben, knowing that Grant would not take sole credit for the success of the 17th, pointed to Special Forces Ted in the gallery and said, You had help, of course. Grant also pointed up at Ted and gestured an appreciative nod. Then Grant pointed up at the sky. More applause.

Ben turned to the audience and said, I don’t need to tell you what role the irregular units played in the war. Everyone in the legislative chamber knew exactly how important these units were. They were the ones who rose up all over the state and created dozens of simultaneous uprisings for the Limas to attempt to put down. The rag-tag irregulars stormed police stations, courthouses, TV and radio stations, small airports, and gas stations. They liberated political prisoners. They secured water treatment plants and electrical facilities. They attacked government food storage facilities and got the food out to the people.

These ‘amateurs,’ Ben continued, referring to a comment by Lima governor, Rick Menlow, about the irregular units, beat the pants off the so-called 'professionals' the other side put up against us. Another round of applause.

All the irregular units were magnificent, Ben said. He was, after all, a politician who didn’t want to leave anyone out. But, the 17th did some extraordinary things.

He pointed to Grant again and said with a huge smile, C’mon, Grant, admit it. Hiding out a few miles from the state capitol got you guys a pretty juicy mission. The crowd laughed. Ben pointed up at the sky and softly said, What a coincidence.

You guys got through Frederickson, Ben said as he looked in the gallery. He saw John Bennington, motioned for him to stand, and said, Once again, with some help. Bennington stood up. He, too, had turned down a colonelship. The audience applauded until John sat down.

The road into Olympia was dangerous, Ben continued. He became very serious. We lost two brave Patriots on that road, a soldier who would only go by ‘Nineteen Delta’ and Corporal DeShante Anderson. Another, Jake Herman, was severely injured. Ben had an amazing ability to remember names (he was a politician, after all) and was operating completely off-script. He had talked to Grant once about the battles fought by the 17th and remembered the names of the scouts who were killed and injured along the way.

Getting to Olympia was only part of the danger, Ben continued. Once you got here, you were not exactly welcomed by the remaining Loyalists. You fought, and some of you died, including a valued member of the Team, Wes Marlin. The audience was silent. Some bowed their heads. Grant noticed Scotty, off in the wings of the House floor, covering his face to hide the tears.

That’s the sad part of the story of the 17th, Ben said, again going completely off-script. Here’s the happy part: you fed thousands. You killed dozens of gang members and FCorps so the people left in this town could be safe for a change. Applause started; Ben talked louder to be heard over the clapping. He continued, You took hundreds of Lima prisoners and sorted out which ones were just following orders and which ones needed to be tried for crimes. You helped get the electricity going again at the Capitol after the Limas blew the substation. Your men got the water back up and running. You guarded the field hospital after the suicide bombers tried to take it out. Ben let the applause build and then die down.

What’s the common denominator in all of that? Ben asked the audience. He paused and said, You were helping people. He let that sink in and said, That’s the common denominator. You were fixing the mess that the so-called ‘Legitimate Authorities’ had made. You were capturing, guarding, feeding, bandaging, and rebuilding.

Once again, the audience erupted in applause. This never gets old, Grant thought to himself with a smile.

But, Ben said with a pause for dramatic effect, that’s not why you’re being awarded a colonelship. He paused to lighten the mood, shrugged, and said, Thanks for all that other stuff, though. The audience laughed. It was apparent that Ben and Grant were close friends and the Governor was entitled to joke around with this friend even though this was a serious ceremony.

Lt. Grant Wallace Matson, Ben said, you are being awarded a colonelship for forming, chairing, and brilliantly running the Reconciliation Commission. More applause, but lighter because some people in the audience were not full supporters of the Commission. The hardliner faction in the Legislature wanted retribution and thought Ben and Grant’s approach of pardons and reconciliation was too soft.

In one word, here is what the Reconciliation Commission is: prevention, Ben said, Prevention of more bloodshed, more war, more starving, and more kids dying of treatable medical conditions. We’ve had enough of that.

Reconciliation isn’t always popular, Ben said, in an obvious reference to the hardliners. Reconciliation is necessary.

What good is ‘winning’ this war, only to begin generations of killing and suffering? Ben asked. The purpose of the war, the whole purpose of winning it, was to stop the killing and suffering, not keep it going and going.

Grant, who had known Ben for years, could feel that his heartfelt emotions were coming through. It wasn’t a political speech. This was a man risking his life and political future to do the right thing. If the hardliners eventually took over, Ben’s neck would be on the chopping block.

I want my kids to have a good life, he continued. Please pardon my reference to ‘the children’ like the old government used to do all the time, but in this case, it’s actually true. Our kids have seen enough. They’ve lost parents, brothers, sisters, aunts, uncles, friends, you name it. Some have seen killing, and some have had to do it. They’ve seen maiming and watched people go insane. They’ve been hungry. They don’t need any more of this. No more of it. The Legislature chambers were silent. Some because they disagreed with Ben’s reconciliation approach, others because they appreciated the horrors of what he was describing.

They need peace, Ben stated. Not the wishy-washy ‘peace’ which was always a code word for the other side gets what they want and we lose. They need safety and prosperity. They need the old America back.

They need their parents to have jobs that can support their family. They need to go to school. They need to walk the streets without getting shot. They need to be able to go sleep at night without being terrified of gunfire or someone breaking down their door.

So, yes, Ben said a little sarcastically, it’s ‘for the children.’ It sure is. You know why? Because I fought for my kids and so did you. We didn’t fight to then fight some more and to keep fighting. We fought to win and we won! Let’s act like winners—and that means living the best possible lives we can. Many in the audience applauded.

Ben paused and then quietly said, That’s where the Reconciliation Commission comes in. Ben felt himself starting a political speech and taking the attention away from the real honoree, Grant, so he decided to wrap it up.

As you know, the Reconciliation Commission, headed by Grant, makes recommendations on who should be prosecuted and pardoned. He and his small staff investigate what the person in custody did and then take on the very hard task of figuring out if punishment or pardon will best serve the interests of the people of New Washington State. Some, but not all, members of the audience applauded.

Enough about that, Ben said. Grant wouldn’t want me going on about him. Grant looked up from his seat and nodded, which got some laughs. Let’s get down to business, Ben said. Come up here, Grant.

Grant found it surprisingly easy to walk from his seat to Ben. He wasn’t even shaking with nerves. The applause was thunderous. He approached Ben and stood at attention, even though he was in civilian clothes. Then again, Grant never had a military uniform, so a suit was, in many ways, his uniform for his duties. Ben took out a colonel’s insignia and pinned it on Grant’s lapel. He gave Ben a crisp salute, and it surprised him how it didn’t seem weird to be saluting his old friend.

Grant looked into the audience, a sea of lights, people, and applause. What he heard was not a sound, but a thought. Well done, Colonel.

Chapter 336

Col. Ashur Bet-Kasha

(Honor)

Grant soaked in all the applause, admitting to himself that it felt spectacular, and then slowly walked off the rostrum. As he headed back to his seat, he passed the next colonel, the older Arab man, Ashur. Grant spontaneously hugged Ashur and whispered into his ear, Your family has quadra, which was the word in Ashur’s language for deep honor and respect that lasts for generations. This was what Ashur and his family lived for: quadra. It meant everything in his culture. Gaining quadra for your family was the highest calling for a man in his culture.

Ashur looked at Grant and a tear rolled down his cheek. He was speechless. He was dressed in colorful traditional Assyrian garb, reflecting his people in the Syrian/Turkish border areas. An Arab man dressed like a Turkish sheep baron looked strangely out of place in a room full of Americans in suits and dresses. But, then again, it made all the sense in the world to Grant and others in the audience. They knew what Ashur and his family did for the Patriots, and why the Assyrians and their language might have been the thing that allowed the gathering of victorious Patriots to ever occur.

Grant looked Ashur in the eye, tears and all, and repeated, Quadra. Quadra, my friend. Ashur hugged Grant, which caused the audience to explode in applause. The two men remained locked together, feeling the praise and honor that they didn’t think they deserved, but at the same time acknowledging that they’d earned. Two men from radically different cultures, but united in one thing: honor. Doing the right thing. Helping people, protecting their families, righting wrongs. It was the same everywhere in the world, at least among honorable people.

Grant went back to his seat; this was Ashur’s time and he deserved all the attention. Seeing that Ashur was standing, Ben said, It is with great pleasure that we honor Colonel Ashur Bet-Kasha. The crowd gave Ashur a standing ovation.

Everyone knows what Ashur and his very large and brave family did, Ben started. But for the record of the New Washington Legislature, I want to recap it.

How in the world did Patriot forces communicate extremely sensitive information on unencrypted radio channels? Ben asked. I mean, he said, once again going off script, we silly ‘amateur’—another swipe at Lima Governor Menlow—’teabagger’ hillbilly barbarians aren’t possibly as smart as the wise Legitimate Authorities, he said with just enough sarcasm to be funny, but not so much as to be obnoxious. How did we do it?

Ben suddenly slammed his fist down on the podium. When you abuse people, they rise up! he shouted. They fight back! More applause. Ben’s posture and tone became very casual, like he was chatting with someone he’d known a long time, even though he was speaking to several hundred strangers in the legislative chambers, and hundreds of thousands more on the internet throughout New Washington and elsewhere.

He looked into the crowd and seemed to connect with every person sitting there. When the history of the Collapse and Restoration is written, he said, looking over with a smile to Marco Romano, who was the official historian of New Washington, it will be abundantly clear that the Limas’ biggest mistake was treating people like crap. He wanted to use a much stronger word, but swearing during such a momentous occasion was out of the question.

Over and over again, Ben said, from the colonels’ stories you’ll hear today and, more importantly, from your own lives, you’ll realize that what often got regular people to finally pick a side and fight hard was the abuse they suffered by the Limas. Ben threw his hands up for emphasis, and said, once again, My goodness! How stupid could those people be? With every stupid law, every unfair regulation, every thieving tax, every yellow-hat-wearing animal they unleashed, they made a lifelong enemy.

They did it, Ben said, because brute force was all they had. He realized he was making a speech instead of honoring Ashur, so he deftly changed the subject back to the original topic.

But we had code talkers, Ben said. His face lit up with a smile and he said, conversationally once again, Can you imagine the look on their faces when the Limas heard all this ‘kallaka, laka, kallaka, laka,’ on the radio. He was imitating the gibberish that the Assyrian language sounded like to Americans.

He pointed at the audience to make a serious point, Yeah, but that ‘kallaka, laka, kallaka, laka’ was an unbreakable code. He showed the pride the Patriots felt by having such a simple and stunningly successful code system. Not only was that code unbreakable, he said with another smile, it was as easy to use as talking to your cousin, if your cousin is Assyrian! The crowd laughed.

Ben looked at Ashur, Obviously, Colonel Bet-Kasha, your entire family—your very, very large extended family—is being honored today. But we only have forty-three colonelships and couldn’t give them all to one family. The audience laughed. Ashur’s family, the ones who went into combat as code talkers, actually numbered more than forty-three.

Ben looked at his notes and then dramatically set them down, to once again show that he was just telling a story about someone he cared for, not making an official speech.

You know, Ashur, he said, looking at him, I wanted to name off all the operations that were successful because your brave family served as our code talkers, but the operations are still way too sensitive, even after the war. Ben looked at the audience and said, That should tell you something.

But you all, Ben said gesturing to the audience, deserve to get a flavor of what the code talkers did. Ben put up a finger as if he were counting off things.

First, the code talkers were in every regular and irregular unit that we had, Ben said. A few days before New Year’s, all of our units were perfectly informed of the upcoming operation. They knew when it would take place, where they needed to be, all the code phrases for authenticating themselves and other units, and where all the neighboring Patriot units were.

Ben got very conversational again. Think about that, he said. Our guys knew everything they needed to know, right when they needed to know it. He let that sink in.

Ben couldn’t resist another swipe at the Lima Governor who presided over Seattle and some of its suburbs. Ole’ Governor Menlow must have been screaming at his generals, ‘I thought you told me the teabaggers didn’t have any communications we couldn’t crack!’ Wrong again, Ricky, he said, instantly regretting that he was turning a speech to honor Ashur into a personal attack on his rival. Ben changed his mind, however, when the audience erupted with laughter and cheering. They loved it when they could show the sophisticated progressives how much smarter the knuckle-draggers actually were. Ben would give them more of what they wanted. Besides, he really, really hated Rick Menlow.

Ashur’s family, Ben said, returning to the true speech at hand, was in all the danger of the Patriot forces. He wanted everyone in the audience to connect