[b]The Democratic Nation of Jackson[/b] "They're at least thirty strong, general." Andrew Jackson McCullough nodded slowly at the news he'd just received. John Norman, covered in about five layers of mud and filth and with a bushy beard, stood in front of the general's desk with his rifle slung over his shoulder. The small room had a rickety office desk, two metal folding chairs, and little else. It was just to the right of the front entrance of the meeting hall where the monthly meetings were held. His office wasn't homey because McCullough never spent much time here. He was always out and about helping whoever needed him. "You and Andy were the only ones that saw the camp?" "No, sir," Norman said in his thick mountain accent. It came out running together like [i]nawsur[/i]. "Reg was with us as well. We all got to ciphering between the three of us and about thirty is what we come up with. Now that includes men, women, and children." McCullough grunted. The three scouts left town two weeks earlier to track a group of raiders. For months now the raiders had been hitting farms and supply lines near the Bluffs where Jackson became the wilderness. Nearly a dozen settlers were dead and untold amounts of food and supplies were stolen. These barbarians were a threat and one McCullough did not intend to take lightly. "How far away from Jackson are they?" Norman scratched his bushy red beard and contemplated it. "As the crow flies, probably two hours north. They're sticking close to the river. I let out this morning, but Andy and Reg is staying with them in case they move again." McCullough stood and walked towards the one window in the office. His long, lanky frame shuffled across the wooden floors with his large feet sliding across the wood. He looked out and saw people going about their business. It was hard for him to believe all this was actually happening. Ten years ago, he'd been scared and panicking as he ran across the wilds looking for escape. He found this place, and people found him. He was a leader now, he had a family and a community to protect. He still worried that the men who wanted him would come for in the dead of night. If that happened, what would happen to these people he swore to protect? Could they do what was needed to protect Jackson? "Go find Mike Long," McCullough said after a long silence. "Tell him to have his platoon ready to move out tonight." "They're going during the spring festival?" Norman asked with a frown. "No, we're going out." McCullough turned away from the window. "You're going to lead Mike's platoon and I'm coming with you." ----- "Thank y'all!" McCullough stood on the makeshift stage and beamed out at the people of Jackson. They cheered wildly at the sight of the general, waving wide and smiling even wider at the sight of all of them together. They were in a field just outside of town. Long picnic tables filled with food were off to the side and waiting for them to start. "Welcome to the ninth annual spring festival. Nine years... hard to believe it's been that long. We got our tenth anniversary coming up in the fall. Who would have thought this could actually happen? But here we are." More applause from the crowd. McCullough looked out at the sight of families with small children. He caught the eye of Mimi, his wife of six years, and their three children around her. Yes... he was not the same man he had once been. He broke out into a sheepish grin and rubbed the back of his neck. "Y'all know I'm never one for words, but let me say that I am proud what we have accomplished here. This part of the world ain't like other places. There are no Republics or tribes or support. It's just us surrounded by the wilds. We are the frontier where it is uncivilized. But every day that Jackson exists, that's another day that we get stronger. This part of the world is uncivilized, but every day we make it a little more civilized. Here's to at least another ninety spring festivals!" The crowd erupted as McCullough stepped off the stage to make way for the band. Harmony Nelson and her four-piece band took to the stage as the people of Jackson made their way to the picnic tables. Harmony strummed a tune on her guitar while the banjo player picked up the melody. While the mass of people moved towards the tables, a small collection of men and women walked in the other direction. McCullough was one of them. They all shared looks of knowing among each other. A dinner bell rang somewhere while McCullough and the men and women made their way towards the town. "Tempted and tried, we're oft made to wonder why it should be thus all the day long..." ----- [url=https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hsRrD9kUGlM]Music[/url] They moved as quietly as they could through the darkness. John Norman walked lead, his rifle out and at the ready. Behind him was McCullough with a rifle in his hands and a saber strapped to his waist. Mike Long and the fifteen men and women who made up his platoon were in the woods surrounding the two men. Slowly, they made their way towards an encampment. Norman slung his rifle over his shoulder and pulled out a knife and motioned for McCullough to stop. They could hear the sound of footsteps growing louder and louder until Norman thrust out with his knife and stabbed a marching sentry in the stomach. He started to gasp, but McCullough covered the man's mouth with one hand and slit his throat with the blade of his sabre. McCullough held the bleeding man in place for a few moments before letting him fall to the ground. McCullough wiped the blood from the sabre with his pants leg and started to move again. McCullough and Norman saw the raider camp through the trees. McCullough saw that Norman's guess was right. There were sleeping men, women, and children in sleeping bags around a burning fire. The sound of rustling tore them away from the fire. Mike Long came into the view in the dim light. "We took out the sentries," he whispered. "What's the plan?" "Kill them," McCullough said with no hint of emotion in his voice. "Every man, woman, and child. Leave their bodies where they die and put up a sign 'This is what happens to the enemies of Jackson.'" Long hesitated at the order before nodding and heading back through the dark to past the order down the line. Norman made no comment at the order. McCullough did what he needed to do to protect Jackson regardless of the cost. Any survivors The message had to be delivered to the world that the people of Jackson would not be intimated or threatened. "Let's go," McCullough said to Norman as he started through the trees towards the camp, holding tightly to his sabre. Andrew Jackson McCullough was not the same man he was ten years ago. But in a lot of ways he was still the Butcher of Macon.