How Does Your Garden Grow?
Copyright© 2017 by Mark Gander
Chapter 60
Science Fiction Sex Story: Chapter 60 - David Howard is fed up with his life in the Mafia-controlled state of New Jersey, even if it is the only state with a working government in the post-apocalyptic world that exists since Fireball Day. Between his mob-loving (literally) wife Andrea and his psycho gay ex-friend and boss with benefits, Steven, David is more than ready to call it quits. He just won't get to do it alone.
Caution: This Science Fiction Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Ma/ft Fa/Fa Fa/ft Ma/Ma Mult Consensual Gay BiSexual Heterosexual Crime Humor Science Fiction Post Apocalypse Paranormal Demons Cheating Sharing Slut Wife Incest Uncle Niece BDSM DomSub MaleDom FemaleDom Rough Group Sex Harem Orgy Polygamy/Polyamory Swinging Interracial White Male Hispanic Female Indian Female Anal Sex Analingus Cream Pie Exhibitionism First Oral Sex Petting Pregnancy Squirting Voyeurism Menstrual Play Public Sex Nudism Politics
1600 hours, local time
Tuesday, 23 June, 2015
Dubuque County Courthouse
Dubuque, Iowa
“We’ve been approached by representatives of the New Covenant, seeking safe conduct to the New Christian Republic in Arkansas, in exchange for yielding territory, their remaining territory in Missouri,” Lieutenant Governor Casper Novak informed the Prophet David Howard.
“Well, they just got mauled again scant hours at Ashland, losing two-fifths to half of a division, the Holy Mountain Division, which has been forced to retreat to avoid encirclement and capture like Crusader Guards Division yesterday. They’re badly weakened and they know it. Ashland has been declared an open city now. They know that they’re screwed,” Tozroman, the demon who served as Secretary of War, replied now.
“They broke the Jefferson City Accords. Now they must forfeit Jefferson City. I’m inclined to allow them safe conduct. We’ll have to face them again later, but by then, we will have at least half of Missouri under our rule, with the obvious benefits of connecting it to Iowa, Kansas, Nebraska, Illinois, Wisconsin, and Indiana. Once we have all of Kentucky, we will be even stronger in the face of whatever happens in Arkansas and Tennessee,” the Prophet decided now.
“That is a massive chunk of real estate. Basically, most of the Midwest,” the Prophetess Serena Kurtz-Howard, the Prophet’s German half-sister who was also one of his many wives, asserted.
“And with the Nation of Islam surrounded by us on all sides, they’re likely to get nervous and this could well cause them to break the pact between us. They’re our Soviet Union, if you will, our unsavory ally with whom we make common cause as a necessary evil,” the Prophet reminded everyone on the war council.
“And if we can do that, we can certainly allow the New Covenant safe conduct to Arkansas, yet another necessary evil. The ancient Greeks appealed to and understood ananke ... necessary. It’s too easy to be puritanical and ignore necessity. The most righteous of causes still requires pragmatism at times,” Colonel Felix Mendoza, Chief of Military Intelligence, observed.
Denise Howard, the Prophet’s niece by marriage and another of his wives, leaned forward, her fingers drumming on the polished oak table. “There’s another consideration,” she said coolly. “Many locals—those forced into the New Covenant at gunpoint—won’t follow them south. They’ll stay. Become Havenites. That means repopulating East Missouri with these people. Every person who stays is a farmer, merchant, or worker who builds the economy.”
Her gaze flicked to the Prophet. “And one less rifle pointed at us later.”
“Well said,” the angel Lavelle announced himself, “hear now the warning of the Lord God Almighty. It is a member of the Nation of Islam who shall take your life, Prophet. Thus breaking the alliance. Just remember that you shall be resurrected and soon your tribe with you.”
“Well, they might well take umbrage at the idea of letting these guys escape. As noted, they’re unstable and questionable as an ally. They don’t see any reason to let them go, not when they can take revenge for whatever slights or grievances they have from the war,” the Prophet now commented.
“We already know they’re shaky. They could go either way, and that’s the problem. They could decide that we’re weak, that this is the time to strike, and they could well see letting the New Covenant go as a betrayal, or worse, a sign of weakness,” Attorney General Constance Buck countered.
The Prophet leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled under his chin. His voice was soft, almost contemplative. “Let them attack and get their revenge. If they do it, that’s on them. That’s their retribution. If the New Covenant wants a safe conduct from the Nation of Islam, they need to request that directly from them. If the Nation of Islam wants to bleed themselves in the process, so much the better for us.” A slow smile curled at the corner of his lips—something between amusement and calculation.
Outside, the wind howled against the courthouse windows, rattling the panes like a prisoner shaking the bars of his cell. Azita glanced toward the noise, then back at the war council. “And if they don’t attack? If they see this as weakness and turn their sights on us instead?” Her voice was steady, but her knuckles had gone white where they gripped the edge of the table.
“Then we have the perfect excuse to destroy them,” Tozroman spoke aloud.
“My sentiments exactly,” the Prophet beamed, “clearly, they’re going to strike us, anyway. We should and shall prepare for that day.”
“Which will be my job once you’re slain and resurrected,” Lieutenant Governor Casper Novak shrugged, “so be it. I am up for it. I know that in my bones.”
“Precisely. After that point, the Prophet here will have new fish to fry, namely the Church Triumphant in eastern Kentucky and its Reverend Kelsey Wallace,” Lavelle reminded them of his presence just before he vanished.
“I have just received this news ... the Triumphant Army has launched a brand brand new push to capture Frankfort, but have already taken significant losses in house-to-house fighting in the streets of the former state capital. They’ve also taken massive casualties near Lexington in a battle there,” Lieutenant Daniel Orange handed over transmissions he received via the communications staff.
The Prophet leaned forward sharply, his chair creaking under the sudden shift in weight. “Casualties? How many?” His voice was taut, fingers already tracing the lines of the report as if he could divine the future in its smudged ink.
“Ten to twenty percent, sir,” Lieutenant Brittany Coleman replied after reading the same report.
“She’s really desperate to consolidate Kentucky under her rule, her theocratic police state, before it can be absorbed into the Havenite fold. That’s why she’s willing to use her troops as cannon fodder so callously,” Jenny Howard observed, her coal-black eyes smiling inside her lovely brown face.
“Well, when I’m killed and risen, we’ll be able to exploit her losses and send her reeling back to Harrodsburg, then to Covington,” the Prophet asserted.
Jenny Howard’s fingers twitched against the map spread across the table, tracing the jagged lines of contested counties like a fortune teller reading fate in the creases. “She’ll leave them there to bleed, won’t she? The ones who survive Frankfort. She’ll pull back her elites and leave the faithful to die slow in the ruins.”
“If she does, we can convert them to our cause,” Andrea Howard reminded her.
Colonel Mendoza tapped a pencil against his teeth. “Meanwhile, we take central Missouri, southern Nebraska, and northern Kansas.” He sketched a rough circle on the map with the pencil’s tip. “A perfect noose around the Nation of Islam’s throat—tight enough to choke them when the time comes.” The graphite snapped under his grip, leaving a dark smudge across Topeka.
“Well said, brother,” Tozroman laughed, “the more of the Midwest falls into our hands, the more we control the Mississippi and the Great Plains.” His claw tapped the map, tracing the river’s winding path. “We choke them economically before the first bullet is even fired.” The demon’s grin widened, revealing rows of needle-sharp teeth. “And when the Nation of Islam finally snaps, we’ll have the railroads, the grain, and the river ports—everything we need to starve them out.”
“And the Oklahoma Inter-Tribal Confederation continues to sell its oil, refined petroleum mind you, to us, not our foes, allowing us to continue aerial operations against our enemies. We signed a treaty with them, respecting their sovereignty. Our enemies have failed to do so,” Lieutenant Governor Novak added.
“The Five Civilized Tribes didn’t survive the Trail of Tears by being stupid,” Amanda Howard noted.
“Alright, let’s grab central Missouri now and deal with the rest soon enough,” the Prophet told them, “snatch Jefferson City before they can change their minds.” He leaned back, his fingers drumming against the armrest, “And while we’re at it, move our forward air bases to Missouri to be ready to strike the Nation of Islam as soon as I’m slain.”
The door burst open before anyone could respond, a messenger stumbling in with sweat beading on his forehead. “Sir—urgent dispatch,” he gasped, thrusting a folded paper toward the Prophet. The seal was broken—someone had already read it in transit. David Howard’s eyes flicked over the hastily scrawled lines, then widened fractionally before his face settled back into its usual mask of cold amusement.
“Charles Tremaine has sent the Dakota Havenites into Nebraska,” he announced, tossing the paper onto the table where it skidded to a stop near Tozroman’s clawed hand. “A single division, armed to the teeth with surplus National Guard gear. They’re pushing south along Highway 81 toward Russell Rao’s stronghold near Grand Island.”
“Tremaine has consolidated enough of the Dakotas to mobilize that many troops by now. Rao is royally screwed,” Allen Howard snorted.
“He will soon have to abandon Lincoln completely at this rate, tuck tall and run back to Topeka,” Amanda Howard, who was his legal wife before they joined the Howard tribe, smiled now.
“His Cornhusking dreams are dying fast,” Denise Howard smirked.
“I personally instructed Tremaine to do this, but he didn’t exactly object,” God announced His arrival.
“So, Rao truly is fucked,” Melanie chuckled.
“What about my homeland?” Azita asked about her native Iran.