American Flag (standard:science fiction, 1740 words)
Author: Saxon Violence	Added: Dec 03 2012	Views/Reads: 5002/1989	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
In a future totalitarian America, the old "Stars-and-Stripes" Flag is Forbidden. Meanwhile an enigmatic strangers sits at a black market bar sipping Scotch.

Click here to read the first 75 lines of the story

the house. Tell you the truth; I feel safer with you men here to 
protect me. Lots of bad sorts running around,” The bartender fawned. 

When the Peacekeepers got their drinks, they all stood. The stranger
ignored them. The bartender brought the stranger a single shot-glass 
full of Scotch; though he hadn't even got a good start on his last big 
double. 

“Please don't provoke them,” he muttered to the man sotto voice, as he
gave him the free drink. 

“Will you drink with us citizen?” One of the Peacekeepers challenged. 

“Of course,”� The stranger said graciously. “Pardon my rusty manners. I
don't get out much.”� 

“To Change!”� The Peacekeepers shouted the official toast and all-around
slogan. 

“Revolutionary Change!” was the counter pledge. 

The stranger downed his gratis drink and rather hurriedly finished his
larger one. Apparently he wanted to hurry and get away from the 
Peacekeepers. The bartender sympathized. He'd very much like to get 
away from them himself. 

“I have to go to the bathroom,” The stranger said. 

He'd seemed so intimidating before. With the advent of the Peacekeepers,
he seemed to have shrunken and aged. It was obvious that he was 
terrified of the Laws and hurrying his last two drinks had put him just 
a bit over his limit. He was noticeably unsteady on his feet. 

The barkeep pitied the man's apprehension and it was likely to be a
costly mistake. The Laws could feel the man's terror and if he had 
money enough to sit sipping drinks at a free tavern, he was probably 
more than worth shaking down. 

One of the Peacekeepers got very close to the stranger's face. 

“Stay a moment citizen. Bruno has something he wants everyone to see,
don't you Bruno?”� 

The squad Sergeant beamed his agreement. He shouted for the barkeep. He
handed the man one of the new digital recording disc—about the same 
diameter as an old time silver dollar—and orders of magnitude harder to 
damage. 

“I want the citizen to see this,” The Peacekeeper finished. � 

The bartender rushed to do as he was told. The big screen on one wall
came to life. There were scenes from the protest rally a couple months 
earlier. One of the scenes that had been recorded and replayed around 
the World was on the screen in front of them. 

A very old man unfurled his banner. It was an old time American Flag—one
of the old kind, with fifty white stars on a blue background and 
thirteen red-and-white stripes. 

First the Peacekeepers told the old man that he was under arrest for
displaying the contraband flag, but he wouldn't surrender it 
voluntarily... 

So the squad of Peacekeepers stomped the old man to death. There were
several clear shots of Bruno, and some of the others getting in their 
kicks and stomps. There was blood and gore... 

And when it was all over, Bruno dropped his Peacekeeper trousers, and
wiped his buttocks with the old man's flag, before tearing it to bits. 

“What do you think of that citizen?”� Bruno purred. 

“I Think that I'm going to be sick,”� The old man said through clenched
teeth. “Please let me go to the bathroom...”� 

Bruno laughed uproariously and gestured for one of his men to take the
old pouf to the crapper—no need to roll him right out in front of God 
and everyone. Bruno enjoyed the ambiance of the bar—no need to spoil it 
with blood and guts and vomit. 

************************************************** ************** 

The Peacekeeper had to half carry the old man into the restroom, but as
he stepped across the threshold, a remarkable transformation took 
place. The old man moved so fast, that for one brief instant, the Law 
thought that his charge had fallen apart. 

There was no real tactics other than surprise, the strength of a
Berserker and the fact that the stranger had a razor sharp Cherokee 
Rose Bowie, with a 13" blade in his left hand and the Peacekeeper did 
not. 

When he was down, the stranger swiftly severed the head. He treated it
just as he would have treated a hog's head—eyelids trimmed away, to 
include eyebrows, ears trimmed even with the head and tongue still 
attached but dropped down between the jaws. 

He didn't think that he had time to scald and scrape the head, so he
used Nair. The others would expect a momentary delay. He didn't count 
on surviving this anyway. If he miscalculated, he could die here as 
well as out in the bar. 

He walked rather hunched and bent over as he returned to the dining
room. He carried the head behind his back. He had thrust his finger and 
thumb deeply into the eye-sockets. It didn't put them out. It just 
forced them deeper into the sockets and gave him a firm grip on his 
surprise package. 

“That crazy old man with the American Flag was my father Bruno. I saw
tapes of it, even as far away as the Free State of Montana. Here...”� 

The stranger stopped speaking as he cast the Peacekeeper's head onto the
table. He'd hoped that the severed head of their friend, with its 
uncanny lidless eyes would give him a moment's advantage, but it 
succeeded beyond his wildest dreams. 

He figured that the Peacekeepers would be wearing vests, so it was
spitting-distance, head-shots-only. He came out with a 15+1 S&W 5906 in 
each hand. He didn't think that he'd get all of them. He just wanted to 
make a respectable start—something a Warrior needn't be ashamed of. 

Six of the Peacekeepers were down, when the seventh hit him with a
Taser. The shock knocked him to the ground and caused him to drop his 
9mms. He was trying as hard as he could to fight the shocks. 

Maybe one in ten thousand—maybe less—could over-ride the Taser. If he
wasn't one of the ten thousand who could resist the shocks, then he'd 
be forever shamed. 

He'd just managed to draw his Himalayan Bowie and slash once at the
Taser wires, when the remaining Law leveled a short-barreled shotgun at 
him, at point blank range. 

The Peacekeeper's head exploded. The stranger struggled hard to sit up,
but he ended up falling back, and then he had to vomit. 

The bartender stood there, with what looked for all the World like a
Ruger Blackhawk in his left hand. 

“Damned Nation! I knew you'd be trouble when you walked in. Now you
caused me to blow my cover. Hell's belles!”� 

“I won't say anything and I don't think the Peacekeepers will either. “
The Stranger said. � 

“There'll be cameras all over—at least some that I haven't yet located.
I need to get my copy—it will be good PR—if we can make it to Montana 
or one of the other Free States. Come on, we need to do the quick 
getaway thingy.”� 

“After I collect my ears...” Was all the Stranger said. � 


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