Posts Tagged ‘second american revolution’


October 9, 2012
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How to Shoot a Rifle

Quick tract on how to shoot a rifle, laid out to be published as a credit card size tract you can print out and plant anywhere and everywhere.


Print onto two, tw… (More) Quick tract on how to shoot a rifle, laid out to be published as a credit card size tract you can print out and plant anywhere and everywhere.


Print onto two, two sided pages if you can’t have that option with your printer, you will have to feed and switch sides yourself. Cut horizontally along the dividing lines, top and bottom of the panels and along the outside edge. BE CERTAIN NOT TO LOSE TRACK OF YOUR SECTIONS OR HOW THEY’RE ORIENTED!!!!

You need to cut so that pages one and three are facing up.

When you have your horizontal sections-you should have eight-you then start stacking them, top section, first page over next section down first page, then those two sections placed over the third section down, then the three stacked sections over the bottom section, first page.

Then, your stacked sections go atop the top section, second page, then that stack goes over the next section down of the second page, then the stack goes over the third section down of the second page, and then finally the stack goes atop the bottom section, second page.


Staple together.

Pass them out everywhere, the enemy has spent generations vilifiying gun ownership and making rifle marksmanship about a lost art to the average American weaned on hip shooting Hollywood action stars as the actors depicting them cower in fear and so have this BS hapless victim mentality reinforced. Hapless victims are easier to shoot at and herd into camps than Americans who know how to shoot.

This is a beginner’s tract, but it has the basics. Pass these around and help save Our America.


October 5, 2012



It’s always been the only answer-to everything



J. Croft


It’s October, 2012.  The Nation, the World-and likely you-is in a tailspin.


You can name an issue, a topic and likely there are problems intractable to solution within whatever social and political framework you (or someone else) applies.


Economics: you still have a job? 


Yeah, that job where if you took say, 20 dollars as a unit of the fruits of your labor, 19 of them stay with your employer.  And that last dollar?  Most of it gets pocketed by the government at various stages of taxation-from withholding to sales taxes, gasoline taxes, double tax… overtax… and the spare change you’re left with has to cover ever-increasing rent, food and gas prices.  Oh wait you own a home?  No you don’t-look on your Title it will read TENANT.  Thought it was yours after a lifetime of mortgage payments… miss a property tax and the OWNER will kick you to the curb.


Yeah.  That job… Plan on losing it no matter who wins the election.  Obama will add you to the welfare rolls while punishing companies like Gibson Guitar for manufacturing using exotic woods in America-but will let them off the hook if they relocate overseas where those same exotic woods are “kosher”.  Likewise if you had a Chrysler dealership, Obama put you out of business right after he was elected… sure you remember that.  There are hundreds, thousands of former American companies, millions of out-of-work Americans that know all about that.  Maybe you’ve seen them in the unemployment lines or tent cities…


If Romney gets in?  Who has Swiss bank accounts?  Who has been one of the biggest economic strip miners who shovels jobs and industry overseas?  Then again so does Obama-and every other criminal in and out of government “service”, otherwise we’d still have jobs… you’d have a job.  Right? 


Third party?  Where?  Who?  What organization do they have?  Who that the enemy will allow on?  And would they put up a genuine effort or would they just pocket people’s precious funds to get their bucktooth tool of a son into Congress?  Or simply run to make some lame statement…


You don’t even have to fall victim to Presidential whim, you can run afoul of your local power cliques-you know, the ones that like to meet in lodges, wear aprons with esoteric symbols and make their deals.  You can kowtow, make your bribe or they work together both within and without to drive you out of business or push you over the edge like they did Marvin Heemeyer… remember the Killdozer?  A uparmored D-9 tractor that he used to wreck that Masonic dominated town and only was stopped when he stopped himself regrettably by suicide. 


Same could be said of Carl Drega, who ran afoul of pretty much the same clique in New England, the last straw being when state troopers pulled him over for “rust”-so Drega blasted them, a newspaper editor who opposed him, and he was stopped as well.  That would be a political example but all the problems we face tend to bleed together with common causes…


One guy suicide himself in front of one town’s city hall by immolation-for taxes.  He burned himself alive.


Charles Dyer, otherwise known as July4Patriot, one of the greatest spokesmen of the real Patriot Movement got hooked by a vindictive ex-wife a corrupt Podunk Oklahoma town and the FBI.  It took three jury trials but bogus child molestation charges and his shyster court officer lawyer sold him out and he got convicted.  He’s serving 30 years but believe it was for his peaceable Patriot activism.


You want to raise some money, start a business-like get a hot dog cart?  You can jump through all the hoops they make you jump yet one busybody can come out and shut you down.  Literally waddle out of city hall, walk across the street and order some kid trying to raise money to help his family to shut down or set up in a spot where he’d get robbed.


Sell informally, say at a flea market?  Maybe the cops will roll through and harass you, make sure you pay your taxes or something.  Sell guns privately, maybe the feds will come through and rob you, take you to jail.  More likely there’s always at least one rat snitch waddling about looking for the next victim to get in trouble with the beast cuz they get a cut or they’re competition.  Buy some Chinese knockoffs, perhaps you can sell for awhile-then you get busted.  Maybe they’ll fine you-as a payoff then you can    sell again for a few more months.


Say you want to sell organically grown food-the enemy… what else are they by their actions… the enemy goes in and raids, guns drawn on co-op farmers.  Private get togethers where chefs cook privately grown food get raided and the food is bleached and buried.  The Amish and Mennonite farmers have been hit hard and often about simply sharing their produce.


Cops… new breed of criminal court officers have entered duty fresh from the Middle East or retard camp and they think nothing of tazering you if you’re already cuffed and compliant.  Certainly think nothing of beating your ass while you’re on the pavement or even picking you up and SLAMMING you down full force.  Baby on board?  Not his problem and the department will give the motherfuckers a paid vacation because that’s the kind of low-end-of-the-bell-curve thug they prefer hiring. 


Those same cops are increasingly coming back from Iraq and Afghanistan with months, years of urban small arms combat experience in urban settings.  They’re likely issued some form of M4 carbine and in NYC stopped a gunman going after his gay lover by gunning down nine other bystanders in one of the world’s most crowded places.  Same department that shoves plungers up dudes asses and expends 41 rounds on some immigrant holding out a wallet from ten feet away. 


The cops are considered by the lawyers to be officers of the court whose testimony has greater weight than yours.  They can lie and destroy evidence at whim.  They are well-versed in all manner of psychological ploys designed to get you trick bagged into some legal infraction so that their bosses the lawyers can rake in your time, your money, your property. 


Lawyers write the laws.  Lawyers administer the laws.  Lawyers monopolize their courts.  “Your” hired or appointed lawyer is an officer of the court-on the same team, an enemy in your camp.  Lawyers have used precedence-the rulings of other lawyers in black robes-as equivalent of law and when they’re not using penis pumps or masturbating behind those raised benches they’re ruling that the Constitution has no precedence in your case.  They take long forgotten by the general public rulings, laws, declarations, proclamations, whims of judicial fantasy and build both written and case law atop that to snare the unfortunate, unknowing people.


Oh, no need to wonder about being court; everything you see on TV is the opposite inside a real courtroom.  You’re not incest/ritual abuse victim/punching bag/tot mom Casey Anthony who inexplicably draws a entire law firm in her defense that blows through iffy, circumstantial evidence presented by another lawyer hoping to use the case to catapult him into higher public office.  No you’re tricked into confession or incriminating evidence is planted or forced to plead out by the court officer designated as your defense attorney.


The deception goes all the way to the root of U.S. law.  Written by lawyers.  The Bankruptcy of 1933 made U.S. Citizens enemies that can be gone after by the World War One era Trading With The Enemy Act. 


No law made before 1938 can be used in a court, that’s the Erie v. Tomkins ruling.  They’re all admiralty law and are administering the declared bankruptcy of the United States.  A bankruptcy engineered by Wall Street bankers… who incidentally also bankrolled the Soviets and the Nazis.


Reconstruction Act of 1871 reconvened a Congress thrown back together under duress from the Civil War, which the South walked out of the United States in order to settle pro or con the issue of slavery on their own… which morally sabotaged their otherwise correct views on the issue of State Rights.  Of course, most people back then saw the descendants of Africans brought here by force by Muslim slavers and Yankee mercantilists as a lesser species, like the Native Americans.  Never honored a single treaty with them by the way, which is par for their course.


Martial law was declared during the Civil War-general order 100-and was never rescinded.


The War of 1812-the Second War of Independence-saw the destruction of most copies of laws by invading British and among the casualties was an ORIGINAL 13th Amendment that outlawed titles of nobility and holders thereof from attaining public office.  A lawyer is considered an esquire, which is a title of nobility.  Otherwise we’d have no lawyers managing the bankster’s tyranny.


Then again, if you look at the 1787 Constitution that too was imposed by both force and fraud-force by an embargo of Rhode Island in 1791 as a last resort to get the people there to sign, and fraud by the conspirators who were agents of the same bankers that caused the newborn United States of America so much economic trouble that the Articles of Confederation had to be amended-a coup d’etat was performed instead and the original body of the 1787 Constitution was cleverly designed to give the appearance of representative government yet provided the foundation, the framework for those that attained public office to keep public office.  For those that wrote that constitution, they managed to lock themselves into power and would gradually expand their power-by greater leaps when possible.


The keys to winning that coup were to do things on the sly, either backroom deals or distraction and to put the American People to sleep.  Gradually gaining control, with uniform public schools the key toward being able to coordinate the eventual dumbing down and mass conditioning to regimentation that would be in full effect in the 20th century.  Dumb people down and reduce their resources and options and even so far as their ability to think through chemical poisoning of the food, water, air.  Think not?  Try discussing this article with any random person on the street… yeah good luck with THAT. 


Then again you may get lucky…


Want to go even deeper?  Look at the 1783 Treaty of Paris where Benjamin Franklin and John Jay negotiated with their British counterpart… try to bear through the endless run-on paragraph and read the terms: purportedly a now foreign head of state gets compensation for his ancestors investments.  The United States is GRANTED allowances and ‘rights’.  If America had truly won the American Revolution, wouldn’t there have been NO concessions to the English king?  A king whose blood relations extend deep into the past of hundreds, thousands of years of monarchs and elite families of Rome, Egypt, Sumer and extending through most of the Presidents of the United States. 


Deep enough.


You cannot solve your own problems of not enough money by getting a job-you’ll lose it or it won’t pay enough to begin with.  Plus, over 95 percent of the benefits of your labor go to your employer.  The government steals most of the remaining 5 percent leaving you with maybe 1 percent of the productivity you generate to:


Pay rent or mortgage-wait that’s rent.


Car note


Car insurance-lobbyists for the insurance industry pushed that through in the 90s making a racket for them and another reason for the enemy to steal your car and further enslave you with the fraud of the drivers license.


Food-likely poisoned but with the dollar ever-depreciating your precious few dollars buy less and less.


Now, you could go to some alleged institute of higher learning.  Spend a mortgage worth of money to get a piece of parchment proclaiming you eligible to work in certain fields.  Maybe you can get a job if you’re a lawyer or dental assistant but something actually productive like science or engineering?  Forget it, they got a long line of visa holders from India and China ahead of you.  Americans are always shoved to the last in line.


You cannot solve your problems by selling stuff people don’t have the money to buy or if you do manage to find a niche, there’s some government robber come to jack you if they’re knockoffs from Vietnam.  Maybe they’ll just send a few thugs to collect sales taxes.  Even if you don’t factor in the enemy looking to stifle your efforts, most folks don’t have much money to begin with-remember what I stated about how little real money people get for their wage labor?


Try investing?  Yah, good luck!  Anything that can be used as an investment vehicle such as real estate, stocks, bonds, commodities-all tightly controlled and rigged by the same shysters that hold the puppet strings to the government.  You typically won’t hear about that hot stock tip until the money’s already made and you’re taken for a fall.  Real estate was a huge hustle a decade ago: “it’ll never go down” was the cry as anyone who could sign a mortgage note did just that, and those notes split and commoditized into investment vehicles on their own.  Same with commodities-a man named Ted Warren in his book “How To Make The Stock Market Make Money For You” detailed the basics of the hustle, it’s just now with millisecond trading it’s only those that can afford to do that kind of trading that make money.


Precious metals are their own form of hustle.  Those aware of the fraud spelled out above put their money into silver and gold, maybe platinum and copper but you get everyone from clad pieces of tin to overpriced collector’s pieces to China selling gold bars hollowed out to accept tungsten.  Plus there’s a whole racket in the survivalist/patriot movement to sell silver and gold based on fear and the hope that those two commodities will break free of the bankster manipulation and assume their true value or greater but that won’t happen while the banksters still control that market with their market mechanisms.


So, things are about done for, so you prepare for a collapse but, unfortunately, you cannot solve your personal survival situation by prepping-because some rat looking for some government cheese will rat you out for owning guns or stocking up or being one of those moolisha whackjobs like the TV told them you are.  Or you made your purchases with a check or credit card, signed a warranty, bought through the mail or signed a 4477 firearm registration for that will lead government robbers to jack you very hard when they get around to you.  And they will. 


Why do you think the enemy during the 2010 census GPS locked every house, shack, shithouse, cave in America?  Why do you think ten Army Brigade Combat Teams, complete with artillery and armor support are stationed in-country?  Why are armored fighting vehicles becoming a regular sight… why have armored fighting vehicles already been acquired by about every jumped up Podunk SWAT team?  Why have 30,000 armed drones been designated for the USA?  Why has every surveillance camera in America been networked, why is every online keystroke you make, every phone call made recorded, why your biometrics are all tied into a computerized tracking system? 


…So you can’t hide and wait for the beast to collapse on its own.


You’re hopefully pissed off by now and want to get proactive about stopping the planned destruction of America, but you cannot solve the problems politically.  The national and state held offices are locked in by the enemy and anyone hoping to go in and do a Mr. Smith going to Washington will either be driven out or wind up selling out in despair as he doesn’t want to be charging at windmills all by himself.  Of course, one could take the Patriot angle and make a long career out of making pretty postures… pretty, useless, postures while stacking up pork for his district.  Make a couple quixotic runs for the Presidency-who are selected by the Electoral College to being with when it isn’t the Supreme Court deciding the matter… oh and you have to be kin to the same pack of inbred psychopathic bluebloods that have run this planet for millennia.  You heard of the hackable Diebold machines?  You can hack one yourself for 26 bucks so there’s no hope of becoming President-but there’s money in making the run and milking millions of starry-eyed supporters to pad your bank account and get your bucktooth backstabbing son into Congress. 


Yeah, federal office is out.  Locally, there are openings but persuading reform-minded people to unite in common cause and efforts runs into the brick wall of the patriot movement gatekeepers who are all in employ of the enemy as deep cover operatives-oh didn’t I tell you the movement’s co-opted?  Has been for many years; Bill Cooper is murdered and framed, Fritz Springmeier and Mark Koernke are framed and locked up for years, but Alex Jones can wriggle his way into becoming the movement’s gatekeeper.


Alex Jones is most certainly COINTEL, you can tell by his antics:


*Disrupt callers making points critical of himself and his guests with his SCREAMING


*Disrupt the Austin Gun Show Rally with an already present and organized protest by marching through with no regard for the organizers, making an ass out of the whole event.


*Backstab Deborah Medina when she wouldn’t kowtow and give him the face time he thought he deserved.


*Shut down any criticism of Ron Paul.


(I personally have encountered repeated instances of censorship from him and his organization-for presenting solutions.  One time I was listening to him on the air talking about Ron Paul making a bid in 2012 (this was right after both the gun show rally and Medina debacles) and I wrote on his forum what Ron Paul needed to do:  get some state and local candidacies going and build up a constituency nationwide, a political machine.  Alex Jones’ response: “if this guy’s going to cause trouble, ban him.”  And I promptly was.  Last time I was on his Planet Infowars social networking site and had the “Second American Revolution Victory Guide 2.0” book, and my article “How to start a militia-and get away with it”.  Banned.)


No, Alex Jones is about you kicking him money for his drives to build his studio, buy his swag and dvds.


And Steve Quayle can put up every crackpot warning there’s going to be martial law in the next week or they’re going into Iran or some giants are going to run roughshod over the countryside.  Every time he’s on it’s like the title sequence to Thundarr the Barbarian’s about to start.  No joke.  He’s a fearmonger and when teamed up with Alex Jones… I was posting on his forum practical solutions; Alex asked Steve about it and he screams “THERE’S NO TIME!!!!!!!!!”


Yeah, no time but to buy some gold off him or something about giants….


In fact, much of the Patriot “movement” is about three things:


1.)Hustling money off you.

2.)Spin you about in fear, offering little to no practical solutions.

3.)Luring you into some kind of trick bag where the beast can rob or murder you.


Most of the people that have flocked to the movement genuinely want to get things done.  Unfortunately, hustlers, COINTELPRO, and fragile souls with huge egos-did I mention the infighting?!  Don’t see our enemies publically go at each other but it takes nothing to start feuds and make lifelong enemies because say, Mike Vanderboegh warned the III’ers about congregating into Patcoms where they can be ID’d committing acts of Patriotism by the enemy but he got shat on because once upon a time in his youth he was a communist.  …Real easy for the deep cover operatives to do as people are torque, tired, and frustrated as too many of the “leaders” hustle them for money, get them whipped up in rage and fear while offering no real solutions, or luring them into getting arrested or shot.


Only revolution can solve our problems.


Only taking action-the sweeping away of everything corrupt, the beast that has used Our America as the fig leaf covering its ugly intents and actions-can solve our political, social, economic and environmental problems.  That requires more than throwing good money after bad candidates running symbolic protest campaigns.


Only taking on those in power and throwing them out of OUR offices of public service will stop the police brutality, the tyranny of the lawyers and bankers, the economic imperialism of a globalized U.S. government.


Only the Second American Revolution can save America, and only an America in Patriot hands can halt the destruction of Man by the inbred psychopathic bluebloods that have so adroitly pitted us against each other for so long.


Time to embrace becoming that moolisha whackjob caricaiture… time to get arms and become proficient in them, and find others like-minded who will stand with you, and know other groups like yours so that you can grow your own food, practice your own crafts and services, trade in your own way with your own monetary devices or barter, have your own culture, raise your kids yourself.  Standing on your own, isolated, just makes you a target.  You and yours need to become as deadly and coordinated as possible, become as frightening to the enemy as possible-if you decide to let them find out yet.  Stacking and caching arms, ammo, learning how to fight as coordinated fire teams enveloping and ambushing SWAT teams is the enemy’s worst nightmare.  God needs you to make their nightmares their manifest destiny.


The Revolution has to start with you. 


Within you.


How’s your relations with God?  You pray? 


Find a quiet place, make your prayer.  Tune out absolutely everything.  Close your eyes.  “Look” to your heart and there you will find Our Father.


Listen.  Just listen.


Prayer, tuning into Our Father is something you do every day, something that if you do diligently you’ll get better at knowing Our Father.


Purify yourself.  Eat locally produced food, drink spring water.  Or filter yours from rainwater to avoid any further fluoridation-which dulls and poisons you.


Get in fighting shape.  Be able to sprint, get up and down repeatedly in full fighting load and march all day if need be.  Train with weighted backpacks and walking stick.


Find basic trades you can learn and be good at.  Be someone of many talents you and yours will need to be as Our America will need to be rebuilt in every way-fortunately we have the greatest pool of talent on Earth so as long as we don’t wait 20 more years until Revolution… and we can’t wait… then we have a chance to rebuild.


Explore generating your own electricity.  Alternatives are around and most types are suppressed.  Wind and solar are the obvious choices.  If you’re by a good supply of running or falling water you got hydroelectric.  Biomass can be turned into diesel.  Ideally, if one of those magnetic motors can be made to work generating electricity that would be ideal.


Learn how to use the rifle.  Learn to use your rifle out at least 500 meters.  More if you can.  Learn to use your rifle with others in your group and to coordinate; basically you’re making shooting lanes and catching the enemy in long range ambushes.  Have extra ammunition, magazines and the web gear to carry your combat load and practice getting it on, practice wearing it, getting into shooting positions, fighting.  Buy everything with cash and privately.


Learn how to network outside the internet-that’s all monitored and if you don’t have a unpapered laptop computer bought off Craigslist or at a flea market, or a place you can go and log on for free and without registration, find those places.  Establish non-electronic communications with other like-minded individuals and groups.  Dead drops are easy to establish and are untraceable.  Set up safe houses or places to shelter.  Figure out how fast you could muster for each other’s defense. 


Figure out a place to take over… no, that’s not right-to start taking back.  A town with a obnoxiously corrupt government.  Read what the GIs of Athens Tennessee did in 1946 and do exactly that.  If you can get over Patriot inertia and get one town, make it a model of how Our America functions in the real world instead of attempting to capture dulled imaginations with libertarian fantasizing, we could have free zones where we can grow food, build arms and munitions and generally grow the Second American Revolution.  Finally.


Because these criminals in public service will not stop until they’re stopped and a recall election may not happen in time for you.  Meanwhile they’re arresting people for growing food, or protesting being pulled over for talking on a cell phone and then slammed to the pavement twice.  For bearing arms lawfully, exercising their 1st Amendment Rights, or maybe just being out at 3AM.  They need immediate reaction to stop them from harming anyone else.  Stopping them by any means necessary is the only way to stop them.  Best to go after their responding “brother cops”, catch them alone before they can muster in strength and overwhelm you.  Keep them off balance.  Their immediate superiors feeling secure in city hall and the lodge are the next targets and if possible you need to go after them immediately.  Speed, shock, and quick accurate aim can accomplish a lot to people accustomed to feeling secure in lording it over We the People.


The enemy is going to see a instance like this and will shit themselves.  Maybe declare martial law but definitely send state and federal reinforcements to maintain ‘law n’ order’.  Have a place to go, an identity already established in a place not under your slave name-y’know the one on your permits and mortgages and such.  Act cool, look and be like the crowd about you and prepare for your next action.  Be sure to take video so you can not only learn from mistakes but have propaganda to spark more action.








June 13, 2012


The Freedom Movement’s moment of truth

J. Croft

Usually , I’d relish in telling everyone I Told You So-not so much today.

Ron and Rand Paul have thrown their support behind Mitt Romney.

I saw how this was going to go down when it became clear that Ron Paul never, not once, attacked Romney. When he waited until the Maine Primary to begin sqeaking about the vote fraud perpetrated against his campaign.

No-I saw how this was going to go down back in 2010; at the Prison Planet Forum the hype was started for the Ringer, I posted a reply stating if he was serious for 2012 he needed to have a plan that included raising state and especially local candidacies and to make account for the 30 million dollars or so contributed by all the “Ron Paul Revolutionaries”-got permanently banned by ol’ Alex Jones himself on the air: “…if this guy’s going to cause trouble, ban him.”

…No, regretfully, I saw this coming back in 2008. New Hampshire Primary. Massive, in-our-face vote fraud via Diebold machines made to be hacked. If Ron Paul was ever real, he’d have screamed bloody murder about the vote fraud, rallied his ‘Ron Paul Revolutionaries” into a mass non-violent protest against the entire election, using this as the catalyst for the Second American Revolution. Saw it coming when I heard the reports about Americans campaigning for Ron Paul being stifled and stymied by his main campaign office-run by Stewart Rhodes who would later found his Oath Keepers 501(c)3 organization to bridle the Oath Keeper movement of Patriotic serving Americans and lead them around in endless circles… just like Ron Paul has!

Maybe Ron Paul spearheading a SAR happened on an alternate Earth where he wasn’t a freemasonic ringer, a deep cover operative who’s entire career has been spent milking money and votes from Americans who wouldn’t let the enemy’s TV, public schools and poisons mentally geld them. I mean, you can make pretty speeches about auditing the fed and whine about not being on the gold standard and introduce well-meaning bills that everyone knows would never be enacted into law, but call BS on the government’s version of 9/11? Nope. In fact he disowned the 9/11 movement on national TV.

Oppose Iran sanctions? Nope.

Return the millions he collected off of Americans counting on him to halt the utterly planned out, utter destruction of America, and compensate those who sacrificed their normal lives? Not going to happen because, how else was he going to grease the skids for his bucktooth inbred looking kid Rand to get in Congress as well.

Face it: Ron Paul was a ringer. A deep cover operative whose job was to be the symbol for the fraction of Americans who wouldn’t either be comfortable with the beast system or literally just tune this crap out-controlled opposition, the man on the white horse who led the Freedom Movement around in circles, accomplishing NOTHING. Even Alex Jones, the Pauls’ biggest cheerleader and the single biggest voice in the Freedom Movement has changed his tune; really the Pauls gave him no choice, I mean, how do you spin supporting a child murdering gun grabbing communist?

What a spell that old man cast! Doddering ol’ bobblehead bravely appearing on CSPAN in committee verbally flailing away at Greenspan and Bernanke… stammering away giving lip service to the principles of Freedom-safe stuff. A huge lie. Never of course initiating anything that might have actually worked, like building a real third party from the grassroots, running for local offices and building Freedom up. That would be a peaceful Second American Revolution, and our enemy can’t have an authentic Freedom Movement. Well, they got their money’s worth from playing the Patriot card.

So here we are, June 2012 and we of the Freedom Movement’s out on our ass politically. Rand and Ron Paul’s penultimate betrayal, the public endorsing of Mitt Romney has imploded a movement that existed more on the hope Ron Paul would magically become President and be able to save America from the big bad N.W.O. than any realistic plan to take our nation back and save the world in the process.

Wasted enough time, people?

So what do we do?

Start with yourself, people around you, people of like-mind. Start building a mutual self-supporting, self-defense pocket of Freedom.

Take back the government-don’t wait until the next doddering old man on a white horse comes ’round to hustle more campaign funds, start local and emulate the GIs of Athens, Tennessee in 1946; they organized an election campaign with a full campaign ticket of candidates to do the job right; enemy steals the ballot box, shoots one of their own they armed up and handled it.

Nothing I haven’t been writing about since 2005 and rather than induce carpal tunnel syndrome in repeating myself, just go to the following articles. Read and Be Your Own Leader already!


May 12, 2012


J. Croft
Remember that symbol?
Millions of Askenazi Jews were forced to sew them onto their garments at gunpoint by the Nazis.  Same Nazis who had confiscated what meager arms they had before herding them at gunpoint into walled off ghettos, then herded them at gunpoint into cattle cars to concentration camps where they were worked and starved-all at gunpoint.  Of course, those millions were disarmed well before that; obeying their rabbis, their political leaders, not questioning, and certainly not asserting themselves over their public servants.

The enemy likes to repeat history.  They want to do the same here in America.

They HAVE been diong the same here in America the past two generations; FEMA camps, black helicopters, MJTF, the use of military assets-all were planned in the 70’s, set up in the 80’s and rolled out for Ruby Ridge, Waco.
America was shocked.  We’d won the Cold War-peacefully-against the Evil Soviet Empire and here were our protectors assaulting a church, laying siege to dozens of people and then assaulting them again with tanks and burning and gassing them to death-on Patriot’s Day, April 19!
The event galvanized Patriots, and the militias grew exponentially.  They tried to cut off the supply of “assault weapons” but that only fueled the fire of Freedom.
So the US Government, after making certain none of their thugs were in the Murrah Federal Building in Oklahoma City, blew it up.  Blew it up with charges of C4 planted in the structure-a pattern they’d repeat a few years later as that Ryder truck full of ammonium nitrate and fuel oil doesn’t have the brisiance-the velocity of it’s explosion-necessary to shatter steel and concrete.  Tim McVeigh was the patsy they caught… doing 80mph on a stretch of country road, no license plate on his car having a hadngun with the infamous Black Talon hollowpoint ammo… a patsy who put up no resistance.  A patsy who on the stand at his trial could not answer questions because of “national security.”
Well, they tar babied the militias with that false flag operation.  Patriots hid, went underground.  Others remained with their units, which by then had been infiltrated or founded by enemy agents as honey traps.  America tried to enjoy the rest of the 90’s and the tech boom, watched Friends and Michael Jordan.
Well, there was Elian Gonzales…
…which was a symbolic triumph of communism-backed up by our enemy the United States Government.  Eight years can be a long time but…
…But, happy times were still here, even after the NASDAQ crash I mean, how can billions be invested in all those frivilous internet companies but that’s how the US is run-ridiculous bubbles like the internet and real estate and then the rug’s yanked out from under the market and all the players who moved the chess pieces got all the loot. 
Happy times ended on 9/11.  Now, there’s some amount of confusion still as to who exactly perpetrated that attack and even some controversy on the how but those two rusting, asbestos filled white elephants laden with freemasonic symbolism WERE exlosively brought down in a demolition that also demolished Freedom in America.  They certainly were not taken down by 19 Muslim terrorists… six of whom were later tracked in their homelands instead of dying in New York and Washington.  And those jets certainly were not taken down by the world’s most sophisticated air defense system that was ordered to stand down on a day slated for the largest amount of simulated attacks ever. 
Remember Shephard Smith’s quote?  “This is the new normal.  It is forever.”
The ‘new normal’ became the Patriot Act-drafted in the 90’s by the now Vice-President Joe Biden who also authored the 1994 assault weapons ban.  Following that a few years later, the Victory Act; both Nazi pieces of legislation.  America accepted it, just as we accepted invading and conquering both Iraq and Afghanistan in our name.  We had abandoned Afghanistan after the Soviets left and had been screwing with Iraq since the CIA installed Saddam Hussein to power and had him wreck the most modern Moslem nation in the Middle East fighting a pointless war with Iran then prodded by State Department envoy April Glaspie to invade Kuwait and kicking off a 11 year war and siege of that nation.  Yes, we’re supposedly pulled out of Iraq but our soldiers cannon fodder have been replaced by mercenaries.  They want you to call them ‘contractors’ like they’re building a add-on to your home.  At the cost of over a million Iraqis lives.
Then the ‘new normal’ became the TSA:

It is as absurd to think that a small American child could smuggle explosives or arms as it is that these bottom-of-the-barrel control freaks and pedophiles are protecting us from any potential real terrorists… if they wanted to find those all they have to do is look at each other and their superiors.

Their ‘superiors’ have ordered about a half billion rounds of hollowpoint .40 caliber ammunition, their standard caliber, to do this:

so they can keep doing this:
and if you object:


Oh, wait, Obama’s in power it’s not Bush-wrong totalitarians now:

…We may be seeing a LOT of these fellas when they foreclose on all that debt paper they bought from the US.

And these guys will be aiding and abetting them…

There are millions of these kinds of thugs, twisted into thinking power is all there is.
There are over a hundred million Americans that have been bred and conditioned into dependency on the beast, the very beast that seeks to finish off Our America, that has built a paramilitary police force of millions-everyone from Maybury’s SWAT team and their M113 to the US military itself and with all the foreign troops on ‘maneuvers’ so that fire support for their pedophile rapists is guaranteed.
Those hundred million Americans or so are slaves to welfare and see nothing past what’s to eat and what’s on TV.  They will support the beast as it wages war against us all, even going so far as to raid and assault people for growing their own food.
They mean to starve us.  They’ve already economically starved us so they’re working on our food supply.  They’ll next try and cut the internet, and then do something to shock as many people as possible into surrendering their arms, our last line of defense against the beast US government. 
So that’s our struggle; over our very means of survival.  Our first battle is within ourselves… are we REALLY going to emulate European Jewry and surrender our arms, and surrender ourselves to our enemy?!
How does anyone NOT remember what happens in concentration camps:
Our strategic outlook is simple, we are to be exterminated and only total victory is an option.
We need the means to drive all our enemies from our land.  To do that we need land, resources, people. 
Land we take through our current governmental form through recall election-not waiting for the election cycles and we emulate the GIs from Athens TN in 1946.
With poltiical control we have economic control and we can build small town industry and economy.  Make that town a staging ground, a showpiece to expand the Second American Revolution.
We’ll need actual territory to defend and power the greenhouses we need to build because of enemy raids, because of Fukushima and GMO contamination. 
To accomplish this the Patriot Movement must take ACTION.  Stop being news junkies, stop backing symbolic campaigns run by symbolic candidates who have no interest in supporting coherent state and local campaigns.
Most important, YOU must never accept being disarmed.  You must never again ask the enemy for permission to be armed-or anything else for that matter.  Certainly not accepting wearing anything like this:

To do all that one must be willing to risk all, to defend what’s theirs against anyone with the maximum amount of force one can apply.  To find that strength one must turn to God, Our Father.  He awaits in your heart to find a quiet spot, tune out the world and find Him.

Our Father doesn’t want a few million hypocritical televangelist worshippers praying for genocide as their free ticket rapture ride into Heaven.  Our Father wants you to stand, fight back and derail Revelations instead of seeing the destruction of our Earth take place.  Rapture theology was a fraud anyway perpetrated so that Christians will just worry about themselves instead of opposing the evil that has metasized in Our America.  That’s a fight that’s been on and off for over two centuries now-there’s only room on this continent for one America.

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April 30, 2012



J. Croft


Freedom is fire.


Fire needs oxygen, fuel, room to expand.


Fire needs constant input of all three of these or it will die out.  Contain a fire and its supply of fuel will be spent.  Cut off from fresh oxygen and the flame is snuffed out.


Freedom is fire: fire that needs constant exercise, constant defense, and that there are no boundaries, no borders to contain that fire!  It’s a fire that requires all of us to keep that flame stoked and protected from the very forces that presume dominance over us because they are in positions of power and have forgotten that power also comes with responsibility-forget that and your public servants become your public masters.


The genius of the founding lawyers was to harness the fire of freedom, not extinguish it, to encase the flame in a document that while giving the image of promoting freedom instead promoted the federal government that would eventually contain that flame, and gradually choke it off.(1)


Oh, there’s still enough flame so that those who literally don’t know any better don’t suspect even as they have their livelihood choked off from all directions, locked in a losing battle against inflation, taxes, and the economic dismantling of their own nation. 


The 1787 constitution was designed to produce the very results we’re living through.  However, Americans have been progressively dumbed down by progressives that have running the NEA. (2) Television and the cartelization of mass media have produced in the mainstream American a hive-mind, everyone thinking alike as their very world view is shaped by… the very enemy that has been out to harness them as they’ve harnessed freedom and turned America into a sick parody.


Modern Americans have become as domesticated as the breeds of pigs they’re being ordered to shoot because some oath traitors throw their weight around.  Because those Americans dare to grow their own food-just like the organic farmers and yes, some hapless housewife growing some vegetables over a scar left by a pipeline dug by her public servants.


450,000,000 rounds of .40 hollow point ammunition purchased by the Department of Homeland Security.


Drones rapidly being integrated into law enforcement-really the domestic paramilitary forces.


TSA pedophiles expanding operations from the airports to bus stations, highways, groping-no, raping- children, cripples and the elderly as millions cross our borders effectively unimpeded.


Is there a need to reiterate the multifaceted tyranny of the enemy, the United States Government?  The millions of pages of law that all of us have unwittingly broken at one time or another, just waiting for a oath traitor to call us on like so many lawyer crafted landmines?   The millions of criminals wielding badges and guns-raw power-to impose someone else’s tyranny, for someone else’s profit just so as long as they can do the wielding. 


Americans… we were brought up with a false paradigm of how our own country operated-the two Americas.  We were lied to, that the America in our hearts, that we were brought up to believe in was the United States, the incorporation formed to administer a secret bankruptcy-some legal technicality to declare us slaves and steal what we work our entire lives for. 


That we don’t start wars when the US government wields power for itself and corporations in wars great and small all over the planet.  Even honest threats to America, like the USSR, Nazi Germany and Imperial Japan-all were financed and armed by Wall Street and the City of London banksters.  (3)


Freedom is the fire that has been harnessed and now only illuminates a caricature projected onto our plasma screens for those not willing to see the truth of the way things are.


…Of course, we in the Freedom Movement have pissed on the embers of what freedom is left in America.


As a movement we leave the heavy work to a few, a terrible American trait that has been exploited by profiteers, charlatans and enemy COINTEL agents.  We struggle against a centralized, controlled fraud and put the burden of regaining our Freedom to a few central players who are at best flawed, not up to the task of being the proverbial man on a white horse. 


At best, Ron Paul does not have a pair of blue tights and a cape, he could no more nod his head and blink and grant our Freedom back than he could stop his bobble head from shaking or attracting the kind of dirtbags who actively suppress genuine efforts to campaign for him.  Or get around to proclaiming himself the victim of vote fraud after two presidential campaigns when it’s in all our faces and he’s raked in millions for his own campaign fund.


Freedom requires all of us to wield that flame, as our ancestors did once they broke away from the merchants and freemasonic lords who imported them under indentured servitude-took a rifle and a few tools and their iron wills and headed westward beyond their control, and founded America.  Our America. 


They led themselves, policed themselves, educated themselves.  They didn’t put up with TSA pedophile rapists all over their loved ones or anyone else’s loved ones.  They would’ve made a bunch of DNS jackals literally disappear.  IRS “agents” would’ve been staked out in Indian Country.  Even the busybodies of local government would’ve been ran out literally on the nearest rail and told not to come back.  As late as 1946 that true American spirit came forth in a small town in Tennessee called Athens; veterans fresh from fighting tyranny in Germany and Japan face it down from the same kind of local turds that take power when the People forget that Freedom is to be forever guarded.


Did they whine to Alex Jones, prayed to Ron Paul for deliverance?  No they DID something: they organized a election campaign, had a full campaign ticket of candidates to do the job proper and sweep THEIR public offices clean of the traitors and criminals.  Yes the enemy committed fraud and took the ballot boxes at gunpoint: our heroes grabbed rifles and ammo from a National Guard armory and handled it.(4)


They handled their business.  We have to handle regaining our Freedom, to reignite that flame and torch this fraud called the United States, burn this motherfucker to the ground.


Our induced apathy has caused billions of people around the world to suffer under tyranny.  We as wielders of the fire of Freedom have an obligation to give that flame to people so they too can burn the tyranny out of their countries.  Only then can we as Man as a race can live in peace-peace through absolute and uncompromising Freedom tempered by a love for our fellow men strong enough to never again tolerate any infringement upon that Freedom.


We have to start somewhere though; start with yourself.  Stop obeying.  Get in shape, purify your body, your mind.  Develop a personal relationship with God Our Father and stop relying on preachers and televangelists or some author.  Knowing God is the beginning of wisdom.


Get armed and proficient in the use of your arms.  Get a rifle, ammunition, magazines, web gear and an airsoft replica.  Dry fire and practice loading and reloading your rifle, shoot your airsoft replica daily and run a few hundred rounds through your weapon so you know it functions and how it hits.  Join up with like-minded people and train as a unit.  Don’t go public.


Help out others.  Don’t retreat into the bunker or bug out bag mentality, build community; a community of Americans alight with the fire of Freedom.  Defend the innocent, build a cash underground economy and go to substitute currencies and barter to free yourselves of a ever-debasing dollar.


What you do publically is start a recall election campaign with a full slate of candidates.  With control of your local governmental apparatus you can repatriate the CAFR funds your tax funds were used to multiply YOUR public offices coffers and eliminate taxes.  Eliminate your laws while you’re at it.  Start the Second American Revolution.  Ignite the fire of Freedom where you’re at. (5)


Start some fires.  The flames will merge into an inferno when people see there’s answers.  The fire will spread coast to coast and when we’ve taken OUR AMERICA back we can and will export the American Revolution to the entire planet: seven billion human beings alight with the fire of Freedom, an inferno that will burn all works of evil clean off our planet.  Then, we can finally assume our rightful destiny amongst the stars.


Start some fires.


(1)HOLOGRAM OF LIBERTY by Boston T. Party, available at  Also, look up NO TREASON by Lysander Spooner.






(4)Battle of Athens, Tennessee also known as the Battle of McMinn County; August 2, 1946.


(5)I have written a complete and practical plan for retaking our nation and reigniting the fire of Freedom and spreading it across this planet so we all can live in peace.  Go to the links at the beginning of this article, look for FREEDOM GUIDE OMNIBUS and SECOND AMERICAN REVOLUTION VICTORY GUIDE 2.0.


January 30, 2012


The continuation of The Future of Warfare


J. Croft



March 20, 2014


Kayla Miller cruises steady, cooly, in her brand new-to her-Chardon Police Department Cruiser.  The 90’s era Crown Victoria’s V8 thrums with power on tap, its interior consoles jammed with speed radars, automated license plate scanners, a scanner-none of which were working, which only baffled Kayla for a second before remembering the nets, radio, television… all down. 


That’s why the sky’s not filled with all the motherfucking drones the enemy’s produced over the past few years in anticipation of this war.  At least that was what Dad said-wasn’t the first time he was proven right…


Mind on the mission.  That’ll keep the memories of her dead friends, loved ones, comrades-in-arms at bay.  Has to if she’s going to get job done.


Inventory:  one underfed 5’6” girl… hell, grown ass woman… with a gunshot wound clean through her left shoulder like an ice pick that’s hurting like all hell.  Well, she was a right hand shooter anyway and used whatever rest for the rifle anyway.  Yeah… brand new-to her-M14 sniper rifle with suppressor and scoped… mil-dots.  Have to replace the scope first thing, can’t stand having to do math to calculate where to hold some motherfucker on whatever dot.  Slowed her down, but at least the centered dot was on at about 200 yards, so she’ll deal.  Got her sweet Sig-Saur off that dead pig as well, and a loaded pistol is always a comfort.  Got a G18 full auto suppressed Glock with some extended mags-holy shit that’s going to be useful as a motherfucker…


…From the motherfucking Terminator who murdered Chris Bernard.  God that hurt… shit. 


…Yeah, too bad Chris isn’t around to help with his drone design neither.  His plans will have to do.


Got Dave Getz’s M240 with four belts of 7.62×51.  Got plenty of that caliber in the magazines but those are sniper loads she was certain an’ all that belted stuff was ball and armor piercing.  Damn that thing’s heavy-no WAY she could hump that!  Dave was a big dude-in fact that MG came with him when he turned on his platoon doing a sweep through Warren.  Always good to have dude around, and not for just his ability with the MG though he was about a Picasso with the thing when raid teams bunched up.  Dude was another of the Best Kayla herself and the Cause in general lost.  Lost to fucking pigs in black who like to fuck with anyone weaker-physically-than they, lost to 300lb fatties in air conditioned drone control rooms.  No doubt with a twinkie in one hand and a all-too deft hand on the joystick, murdering their fellow Americans from hundreds, thousands of miles away.  Cowards.


Naw, they lost the right to be called Americans when they raised their hand against their own.  Speaking of which, she thanked that Chardon piglet with her new Glock-which has a suppressor as well-for his contribution to the war effort; his M4 carbine, ammo, and this cop car which is getting her through enemy lines with the easiest of ease with the lights flashing and whatnot. 


Kayla looks forward.  Definetly out of the official Chardon town limits but these days those were formalities not even looked at… so long as she wasn’t rolling in the sausage wagon in say, C-Town.  Hickbilly cop car there might set off some alarms. 


Hitchhiker-well, that isn’t exactly a safe bet these days.  Not one bit safe in fact it was a sure bet to get scooped up and thrown into a FEMA camp and God knows where else.  Whatever they were doing with millions of out of work, homeless, starving Americans, it’s turned into something that Nazis back in the day could point at and say “see ve ain’t so bad, are ve?”


Had enough close calls there-that’s why her policy on contact with any government officials is to fight to the last round.  That was for herself if she lost.  Been there and unfortunately done that.


Yep.  Cruise on by that fool.  Bye…  yeah she’s going to have to find another ride to get further down the road… down the road where?  Well, where else but Chesterland?  Man hope her contact out this way’s still alive or she’s gonna have problems-like getting to her alternate across the free-no, highway.  Nobody who sees what the enemy has done to the interstate highway system would for a second call them “freeways”.


Another hitchhiker?!  What gives-is fucking Geauga County full of fools or what?  AND THAT PARTICULAR FOOL’S STICKING HIS THUMB OUT TRYING TO GET A RIDE FROM A COP CAR!


Kayla laughs.  How can you not?  These times just make anyone quit, but quit wasn’t in her.   Won’t give the enemy the pleasure-and bye there Loser number two… was he a twin?


Whatever:  her priority’s to get to whatever contact is around, get these plans to the rebels-yeah, just like Star Wars, an’ she’s Princess Leia.  And where the hell she going to hide a Chardon cop wagon at?  Just have to find some foreclosed home that ain’t occupied and park this piggie in the back. 


Yeah, gonna have to park it-oh what the hell, another fool with his thumb out for the cops?! 


Another fool… looks just like-no, EXACTLY like those other two… oh no.  No-she’s read about this, but this isn’t happening.  Speed past him.  It’s the day-big ass bomb going off, chased by a tank and a terminator looking spook, lost what’s left of her militia, last of her family, now losing sanity just speed on by, bye bye, and look for a place to ditch this and get a replacement… should’ve jacked a Geauga Sheriff but them fools weren’t around. 


There he is.  Again.  Alright that’s fucking enough.


Kayla speeds up, then screeches to a halt inches from the Fourth Hitchhiker… who was the Third, Second, and First. 


Kayla gets out, M4 locked, loaded and ready to rip and let this be a mirage or whatever.


“Hey, what’s it going to take to get a ride out here anyway, Officer?”


He can’t be kidding.  Yet there he is all fed and smiling and happy an’ shit.  Unbelievable.


“Okay: first, I’m no cop an’ don’t ever insult me like that again; second, you know trying to hitch a ride with the po-lice is a one way trip to a FEMA detention facility; third, you an’ yo’ brothers/twins/whatever-this a STUPID ASS way to lure a cop into a ambush.  You don’t have four dudes spread out along the road, you have one an’ the rest y’all be out of sight with rifles.  Maybe have a dude or two nearby if they ain’t got rifles to get to the punk ass cop quick an’ strip him an’ take his ride.  Cruise around, flag down other traitors and shoot them in they face but they looks for that now so that plan don’t work so good cept if they tired or brand new or just fuckin’ stupid.”  Kayla adjusted her jaw and it crackles. 


“Alright, I get it.  You weren’t expecting me” Hitchhiker #4 holds up his hands-wrists got bullet holes neat through each of them.


“Goddamn how you get shot through each yo’ wrists like that an’… oh.  Oh, no you ain’t…”


Kayla’s energy just leaves her, the lightweight government issued M4 drops to the hood of the cop car, she loses the power to make words, to even think.


Jesus gingerly, slowly, walks over to the opposite side of the police cruiser, and as Kayla Miller goes into mental shutdown he takes the M4 carbine out of her hands, safes and slings it, then helps the girl into the passenger seat.  He gets in the driver’s seat and gets going, driving to Chesterland.



Warren, Ohio


In the command chamber at the heart of the converted office building, General Warburg of the German Army on a joint NATO operation looks at the holographic display of Northern Ohio:


*The electromagnetic blackout extending 160 kilometers from the Pymatunig Lake battlesite is still in effect, though there’s now a flashing red beacon indicating a report of a new battle in some hick town named Chardon.  Additional markers not moving indicate all the forces along the 50 km perimeter are moving in rapidly to contain whatever was in, or got out of the battlesite.


*The 160 km perimeter was marching methodically inward, with additional holographic video displays clicking through of house to house searches like nothing America has ever seen, even during the war-NO consideration given, no quarter offered, everyone marched off into waiting buses and off to a massive FEMA detention camp south of Cleveland.  ANY resistance was fired on by every weapon in sight-small arms, tank cannon, gunships, any NATO fighter-bombers in the vicinity given shoot to kill whatever they could.  All in glorious video that’s hours late because of the damned EM blackout that’s the centerpiece of this verdamnt operation.


*He was getting very frustrated with this entire operation.


General Warburg retreats to his office overlooking the command chamber, not even looking at the naked, starved, incredibly abused children chained to his office’s walls and gets on the phone.  They knew better.  He trained them himself… so he gets on the phone, dials.


“This is General Warburg, I need to speak with the Joint Chiefs… Ja.”  Conference calling… he sets the phone to speaker mode.  “This is Warburg; I request that the electromagnetic blackout over my battlefield be lifted immediately.  I cannot coordinate my troops and they certainly cannot communicate with each other, this has turned into a disaster-a disaster I am not going to be held responsible for.”


“General, this the blackout stays.  We’re prepared to pay whatever cost in men and material in order to contain whatever shot down two of the world’s best fighters.  That drone-or design-cannot and will not be allowed to escape.”


“Warburg, this is General Dixon, Air Force; you have a nuclear armed B-52 and about all of NATO at your command, just use them!”


“With respect, but, if the design for this rebel super drone would turn the tide of this war into the enemy’s favor, why not simply bomb the area and use more southern routes to break out into the Midwest?”


“Cleveland’s become strategic.”  Another general- “nation’s road network is densest in this area, not easily cut.  Besides, if you’ve been paying attention to all your feeds we’re clearing this region out.  We do that, secure it, we’ll use this operation as a template for future actions against the enemy.  Win here, Warburg.  There’s no other option.  Alright we’re done.”


The phone line cuts.  Warburg simply walks out, the current operation the only thing on his mind.  He’s greeted by four American intelligence agents.  The lead-a big but wiry blonde haired male in his late 30’s perhaps 40 leads two finely but simply dressed women and a even bigger black male who clearly are subordinate…


“General Warburg, if you have a minute-“


“-Ah, Tom Jager!  From Los Angeles-wonderful!  You’re here-I have much use of you!  I see you have a team.”


“Yes, General:  this is Carol Finn, Andrea Hazel, and Andre Grace.”


“Yes, yes!  Your government’s counter-terrorist specialists from Homeland Security.  Heard many great things about you and how your group’s single handedly disrupted the Los Angeles threat.”


“Thank you.  I am confused however; we know nothing about this area-why were we called in?”


“You’re the best.  Come let us look at the situation at hand.”  All five of them look out at the holographic map and video feeds of the battlefield.  Among them are recovered combat camera images from the downed F22 Raptors of the clandestinely built rebel drone that shot them down with such ease…


“I need you and your team to go into the heart of the electromagnetic blackout zone that will remain up, and you’re to find the trail of the group that built and launched that drone.”


Andrea Hazel speaks, all 5’10” former model of her; “wasn’t there another operative working this?”


“Yes a Agent Cooper of the FBI though my own sources indicate that was a cover-I presume him dead from the Chardon incident but if you do link up with him, assist him in tracking down the group, otherwise track them down yourselves.”


“Um,” Carol Finn: 5’4, not nearly as attractive.  Obviously the brains of the group.  “General, I don’t know how useful myself and Andrea are going to be if we can’t communicate with Tom and Andre.”


“I know.  However, we do have our own landlines at the 50 kilometer perimeter we laid down, use them as you can find them, they ought to be where there are company headquarters.  Alright Agent Jager: I give you my full authority to pull whatever forces you need… can you carry this mission out given the situation?”


“If we can pick up the trail, we’ll find her.”








The Commander of the former Warren Ohio underground base-right underneath the current Federal Fusion Center-gets in a semi-trailer, riding shotgun with a real trucker.  He doesn’t know his real name.  Didn’t need to.  He certainly didn’t know his.


“I do the driving.”  Trucker starts “if there’s a emergency hopefully I’ll still be able to-otherwise, you’ll be doing the driving, solo.  Hope your ID checks out when we hit a checkpoint, we’re bound to.  Stay quiet, let me do the talking, these cops know me, I’ve been hauling their shit for them since well before the war started.  Hope the trip’s worth it.”


“So do I.”  The Commander watches as the Trucker puts his semi into gear, and they roll off to the North to the interstate, to Cleveland hauling a trailer full of ammunition.  Whatever was going on was requiring every last mode of transport to supply all the forces arrayed up there.




Kayla comes to, in the front passenger seat-with the fourth copy of the guy she thought was Jesus Christ parking the Chardon cop car she took from a now dead Chardon cop in the barely there driveway of a long collapsed farm.  He drives the car in the back, parks under a awning.  At least he knows that much she thought. 


He turns to her.  “Yes I really am who you think I am but don’t want to admit.”


“No.  No, no.  You’re not doing this.  Not today.”


“Yes, today.  Listen: you need to succeed.  The fate of this country, the fate of this world depends on you, and what you do.”


“And why would that possibly be?”  There, Kayla thought… Kayla looked into the big, soft, compassionate eyes, feel the love and concern just washing over her like tidal waves… the neat scars on the wrists… Kayla brushes aside the long, hippie hair to see a jagged line of marks on the brow.  She passes out.


Kayla wakes up-in the driver’s seat, behind a abandoned farm.  What a dream.  No time for dreams though, and she needs a place to hide out.


Now normally, Kayla would use a cell phone but with this weird electromagnetic effect going on that wasn’t happening… look around, look around-neighbors!  Leaving most of her armament she takes the silent, selective fire Glock pistol, heads to a neighbor’s home.


Months before the Geauga County Volunteers left pamphlets all over their area of operation and one of those was the protocols for assistance of any Volunteer under threat or duress, and being a good soldier Kayla knew those by heart-she’s had to use them more than once.

Kayla knocks on the back door: RAP, RAP… RAP, RAP, RAP, RAP… RAP-SLAM!


She awaits… she has the Glock 18 behind the back, at the ready…


A voice from inside: “cancerous tumor!”


“Colloidal silver!”  Kayla knew her codes.  …She waits… waits… waits… waits…


The door opens.  A older woman, haggared, but still determined, with a stock SKS rifle at low port.  Thank God.


“Kayla Miller, Pymatunig Militia.  I need to get to Chesterland.”


“Well, beats having to hide you.  Not that we could.  Like riding in a horse drawn cart?”


“Sounds like a question you can only say yes to.”





A B-52H Stratofortress taxis onto the runway, its eight engines spooling up.


Major Glenn Higgins, pilot and commander, advances the throttles along with Major Anne Devaraux, the copilot, and the bomber starts to roll down the runway. 


Captain David Morris checks the weapon status; his board shows six B-61 nuclear weapons, gravity bombs, not armed but ready.


Lieutenant Gary Schoeder checks the radio, internal comms, and onboard radar and sensors-a map shows the 200 mile diameter EM blackout field centered around Pymatunig Lake-warning no radar, nor radio communications possible.  There are also map warnings about enemy air activity from Wisconsin, Minnesota and Michigan.


Sargeant Terry Ray sits in the back, at the tail gunner, checking his four 20mm cannons.  Oddly enough not having radar suddenly makes his position potentially much less anachronistic. 


The B-52 takes off, slowly accelerating skyward, heads South.  Linking up with the strategic bomber are two F-22 Raptor fighters-Major Albert Anson, and Captain Jerry Tomkins.


Major Higgins gets on the comm: “This is Major Higgins, we are proceeding as planned.  MALLET is go.”




Kayla lies under a tarp… not the first time today… on a horse-drawn cart full of home-grown produce driven by that farmer lady with the SKS westward to Chesterland.  Two years ago this would be quite anachronistic… not today as they pass a gas station with 25 dollar a gallon gasoline.


“Folks in Chesterland know me well.”  Farmer Lady rambles on, “my produce is disease and radiation free.”


“Yah, that’s important these days” Kayla wonders just how much radiation she’s sucked down.  Everyone does.  “Y’know, I’m surprised they let you keep that SKS.”


“They haven’t got this part of the country locked down just yet.  Yeah it has that nasty bayonet but its stock Russian.  Besides folks in Chesterland know me well, and know just how many hungry people are around.  Not so many of them would go through me as they would say, west of the freeway but those folks in Chesterland need my produce.  That’s why I’m still armed.  Imagine there’s even parts of Ohio where they still tolerate armed citizens so long as they’re considered safe.”


Kayla shakes her head… Farmer Lady could sense her doing so.  “I was a Volunteer when Sheriff McLellan first formed them, thought things would just collapse.  A lot of folks made that bet.  A lot of those folks lost that bet with their lives, but you know that first hand girly.  Don’t worry, you’ll get to your contact, just let me handle this and could you not point your Glock at me so much?”


How did she know Kayla thinks… woman’s no fool that’s for sure.


The horse drawn cart approaches the outskirts of town-defined by a roadblock manned by Geauga County Sheriffs Deputies and a HUMMV full of Ohio National Guardsmen.  No mounted machine gun, but all the OPFOR are packing M-4s.


“God’s sake keep quiet girl.”  Farmer Lady advances to the roadblock.   The Geauga County Deputy, a Sargeant, gives a halt gesture, and she complies.


“I’d ask what your business is, but I already know what that would be.”


“And I’ll ask if I can be on my way, but you’ll search my horse and buggy anyway.  Got nothing to hide.”


“Ma’am I know what you got, and you’d best be advised to keep it out of sight today-some serious craziness is going down.”


“In Chardon.  I heard.  I couldn’t help but hear.”


“There definetly was an incident.  They’re trying to piece together what happened-literally-and it looks like a suicide bomber-“


“-No way!  Suicide bombers-in America?!”  Farmer Lady shakes her head in shock and despair.  That Sheriff’s Deputy was no fool, and this one honestly made rank by not being one.


“I was hoping you wouldn’t have approved… things are going to get a lot scarier-I’d hide that SKS very well when you get home, they’ll be doing sweeps.”


“What’s going on?  Why don’t the TV and radio work?”


“I suspect it has something to do with what happened in Chardon, and Pymatunig Lake a few days ago.”


“That air crash?”


“No Ma’am.  That was rebel activity.”  Farmer Lady took a breath… that’s why Kayla Miller, Pymatunig Militia was in her cart, in the secret compartment…. She should never have answered the door.


“I appreciate the word Deputy.  But I can only get these goods to town.”


“After we search” to the other Deputy and Guardsmen “I’ll search this one myself.”  The Deputy Sargeant unfurls the tarp sees the produce… doesn’t see the hidden compartment, under the seat…


…Kayla aims at the Deputy Sargeant-no he doesn’t look the fool.  Shit fuck shit fuck shit! 


…Deputy Sargeant regards the hidden compartment, and it’s a well crafted hide… a year of open warfare has given him a well developed sense of danger… he pulls the tarp over the Farmer Lady’s goods, secures it.  He goes to Farmer Lady with some advice “I’d lay a lot lower about everything.”


“I do try Deputy.”


“Take care.  Let her through!”  The HUMMV gets moved aside, and the Farmer Lady with the horse drawn cart goes through.


Chesterland is a small Ohio town built up from a crossroad, mostly built in the west but the Farmer Lady strolls the horse through the car-free intersection to REGGIE’S, a family restaurant that’s somehow been able to hold on.  She guides her cart into the back, gets off and knocks.


Reggie Jones: mid 50’s, clothes a bit baggy on him suggesting he had a bit of a gut opens, smiles.  “Ah, you’re early.  Good thing you’re early, I was actually running out of food.”


“…Got a package for you, personally.”  Farmer Lady was not so cheery.


“Better give it to me right away then.”  Farmer Lady pulls back the tarp, opens the hidden compartment and Kayla Miller cautiously gets up.  Reggie motions for her to enter and she does just that; Farmer Lady lifting a massive duffel bag with Kayla’s M-4, M-14, and M-240 and gear and bringing it in with her.




Flying overhead, a UH60 Blackhawk approaches a cleared space near the devastated east side of Chardon; the fires are out, now there’s burnt houses, burnt vehicles, burnt bodies.  Soldiers and investigators from everywhere from Chardon to NATO Command swarm the battlefield, taking measurments. 


The UH60 lands, and Tom Jager, Carol Finn, Andrea Hazel, and Andre Grace step out with four masked operators of indeterminate service and rank.  Guards.  Muscle.


All look around; a NATO official, a Colonel from Great Britain approaches. 


“Colonel Miles Davidson, British Army.”


Tom steps forward; “Tom Jager, this is my team.  I have authorization from General Warburg to act under his full authority here-what happened?”  Andrea Hazel steps forward, hands the documentation to the British Colonel.


“Ah, good.  Well, that’s about the only good thing-lost one of my tank crews today from that bomb blast, took out a whole platoon of infantry, 60 or so blueshirts-sorry, TSA agents-and several other suspect vehicles.  Then we had a bit of a battle with my other Challenger, and then some flyboys decided to make certain any insurgents got perished to the south of here.”


Tom Jager and his team look to the west, see the bomb blast, the flattened devastation, then the south and see five bodies-four militia and one man in a black leather jacket.


“Any ID on them?”


“The terrs on the road got turned into mush, maybe we can get DNA.  The two other wankers over there are ID’d as Dave Getz, Sargeant, US Army-deserter.  The boffin at the end is Chris Bernard, student, MIT but he dropped out at the beginning of your latest civil war.”


“Bet he’s behind the drone-did you find any plans, flash drives?”




“Damn.  What about the man in all black?”


“Agent Bill Cooper, FBI sir.  Died taking them down I believe.”


“Let’s take a look” Tom Jager leads his crew over to Agent Cooper’s body… yeah it’s him. 


Andre speaks up; “looks like he took about 10 rifle hits after he went down.” 


“Plans are missing from Bernard as well” Andrea is over by Chris Bernard’s body.


“There’s one left and that person has the drone plans.  Any reports from local law enforcement Colonel?”


“Beg your pardon Sir, but we’re still in the process of sorting out just what happened.  I’ll get a vehicle myself-this bloody electromagnetic blackout, whose bloody ideal was it?!”


“Not mine.”  Tom looks at Agent Cooper’s body and his other team members cluster around him.


Carol Finn recognizes the deceased agent, “that’s-“


“Mark Bolo.  In the flesh.  He’s a legend in the intelligence community-known as The Shadow, he was like a… fairy tale.  I’d hoped I never met him.”


“You, Tom?!”  Carol was in shock at Tom’s respectful awe of the black clad corpse.


“He was a one man commando unit.  There would be problems and he’d be sent in to solve said problems… much of what you hear about him they say are myth, but…  Carol, check out his vehicle.”


“Which one is that?”


“The one that a guy like this would drive.  Try the sports car.”  Tom points at the burnt Mustang and Carol goes over… meanwhile Andrea joins Tom wandering over to the Roofing Truck.


“What do you think Andrea, you think a five man team could hide in a secret compartment… in the back… camoflaged by rubble when nobody has any money for roof jobs?”  Tom examines the hide the Pymatunig Militia used. 


“Clever bunch.”  Andrea looks around; a pair of HUMMVs approaches, the Colonel getting out of the lead.  “Just had a chat with the town constable; one of their vehicles was taken, the officer killed and his weapons stripped from him-it was reported going southwest.”


Tom Jager leaps into action “Commandeer the HUMMVs-Carol-“


“-Got Cooper’s-Bolo’s Toughbook!”  Carol comes running, and joins Tom and his team in the HUMMVs and they spin out of the battlefield, headed Southwest.


In the lead, Carol has a good question: “Tom, how are we going to search for a Chardon police cruiser when we have no communications?”


“I know.  We’ll just have to go back and forth.”  Tom brakes the HUMMV-“COLONEL DAVIDSON, CAN YOU GET MY CHOPPER IN THE  AIR?”


“I’LL SPOT YOU FROM THE AIR MYSELF!”  Colonel Davidson runs to Tom’s Blackhawk and seconds later it takes off as Jager’s team heads southwest.





Kayla Miller’s in the back storage room/office helping with her one good arm helps Reggie Jones to help stock up the Farmer Lady’s produce. 


“Look you don’t have to help, you’ve obviously been through enough today.”


“Been through enough the past few days.  I’d like to keep busy if you don’t mind.”


“You gotta rest though, you got that gunshot that needs tending-speaking of which I got someone to come over.  Now sit down right now.


Kayla sits, bone tired but at the same time wired like she’s never been before in her life.  Reggie sits in his office chair by her. 


“I’ve seen how you are before Kayla.  When we stood against the military, we all were run ragged trying to duck those damned drones.”


“24/7.  They never stopped running them.”  Kayla shook her head.


“Yeah.  They operate those things in shifts.”


“One thing to take on a platoon of infantry with those little RC drones, maybe one of those model helicopters with a machine gun on it-a goose gun’s good enough but a Predator at 10,000 feet-fuck.”  Kayla shakes her head… “my whole unit perished themselves getting this here, what was left after those things pounded us to nothing.  The only good thing about this commo blackout’s that it’s stopped them from flying them around here” Kayla pats Chris Bernard’s satchel with the plans.


“Tell me about it.  What’s that?”


“Thing that can turn this war around.  Plans to the drone that shot down those jets and drones over Pymatunig.”




“We built a drone.”




“Yeah.  It shot down two fighter jets and three drones.  F-22s in fact; saw em’ go down myself.  Hard.”


“Made ace on its first sortie.”


“Only sortie-decided to ram the last drone when its gun jammed, or so Chris figured.  And yeah, that’s why there’s a bunch of BS about a plane crash, why Chardon was blown up trying to stop us, and probably why no radios or TVs work.”


“And the landlines cut.  We’re operating by runners and laser signal but there’s so many hostile planes in the air, we don’t dare do it unless it’s absolutely vital.  Even then-they’re pounding on anything.  Anything.”


“We’re going to lose here, aren’t we?”  Kayla looks intensely into Reggie’s eyes, something he understands-a shit situation.


“Don’t know about your situation by the border-“


“-We were done for anyway.  Drone patrols intercepted shipments about every time, we were out of food, down to basic combat ammo loads.”


“Death by inches.”  John McLellan enters the office; if he was a former Geauga County Sheriff turned ‘domestic terrorist’ he gave no hint with a full growth of beard and chef’s outfit.  “Not only do we have to contend with all the drones in the air, but the enemy cut us off with the freeways.”


“Turned them into prison walls.  Had more than enough experience with that getting in and out of Warren.  Pleasure to meet you again, Sheriff.”


“How’s your Dad?”


“Dead from a drone strike.  That’s why we launched.”


“Can you make us a copy of the plans?”


“No need to ask Sheriff you’re getting one.  Think you can get me outta here?”


“That we’ll have to make arrangements.  Reg I’m going to be late for work tonight, I got some calls to make… or messages-how in the hell are they shutting down the entire EM spectrum anyway?”




A huge satellite, blacker than black orbits 22,300 miles above the Western Hemisphere; a cylinder with a nuclear engine, massive solar panels extended, and a series of transmitters aimed at America… at Ohio.




Colonel Miles Davidson, British Army, cruises overhead in the Blackhawk helicopter, with a Copilot operating a optical/thermal sensor.  The Colonel himself looks out the open door with a pair of binoculars.  “Bloody hell, how do these Colonials manage to hide a fucking cop car!”


In the HUMMV, Tom Jager rolls through the Geauga countryside, Andre Grant riding shotgun with an assault rifle, Andrea and Carol going over Mark Bolo’s Notebook…


“Tom I don’t see how Bolo’s done any worse than you have-well, you know what I mean” Andrea’s nonplussed at the hideous carnage Mark Solo/Agent Cooper inflicted on those unfortunates who knew/aided the Pymatunig Militia.  Andre takes a look at the video of Mark Bolo taking a blowtorch to the genitals of a elderly lady…


“Ah, I see the Shadow appreciates Mr. Blowtorch.”


“Who doesn’t?” Tom pipes in.  “Turn up the audio.”


Carol complies:


Elderly Lady SCREAMS, screams horribly with the application of the propane blowtorch to her privates at low heat.


Mark Bolo: “Where’s their safe house at?”


Elderly Lady sobs, shakes.  “Goddamn you to Hell you son of a bitch.”


“I can appreciate you not feeling like cooperating.  Tell the truth I’m impressed by your continued silence.  I can change that.”  Bolo leaves the Elderly Lady to her suffering, drags out a Granddaughter-just a little girl!  He roughly binds her to a chair facing her, rips her clothes off.  He grabs the blowtorch.


“I believe you hickbilly gunfuckers call this Mr. Blowtorch.  Well, Mr. Blowtorch is about to deflower your lovely little Granddaughter.  Too bad-I know plenty of people who’d appreciate that fine little ass…


Tom has pulled the HUMMV over and the four of them watch the screen, hear the horrific screams from the child. 


“Oh, I haven’t done it like THAT!  Not yet…”


“Get a chance in a few hours I suspect, Boss.”  Andre smiles.


“If we can find her-this goddamn EM blackout!  I’m finding a place to park; let the Blackhawk find it, let them come to us.  No need for the good Colonel to have to hunt two vehicles.  …What else does Bolo got in there?”




Sheriff John McLellan-former Sheriff-walks across the street to shopping mall, to what was a supermarket-now a daily flea market.  He approaches the front entrance; two huge Guards nod him through and go through John McLellan does…


A supermarket is a big open space with linoleum floors and flourescent lighting-but without a tenant to pay the electric bill the power comes from a series of ad hoc generators, windmills, solar panels on the roof, the wiring crudely plugged into the lighting.


The shelves are mostly gone-save for those salvaged for walls or use by vendors.  There are a lot of vendors-everyone from full time dealers to desperate families offering what spare produce they sold or parts or, if you ask, other riskier things like guns, gun parts, ammunition.  Most of the things for sale are common household items-about all of which gather dust.  A few vendors sell CDs of illegal movies, copies of web sites but have most of their items being copied DVD movies.


John McLellan approaches a fully equipped stall; filled with old memorabilia, some jewelry, how to books, hand crafted crossbows and bows, walking sticks, common auto parts like lamps, spark plugs.  The Vendor sits behind a glass display case; about 40, full beard getting peppered with grey, Jewish, stocky and strong.  “Afternoon, John.”


“Avrim” John replies “I need an out, for a girl.”


“Oh.  That’s not going to be easy.  Not at all.”  Avrim shakes his head, in a practiced act.


“I know.”  Yeah, John knows a negotiation’s going to be tough with this one.  “If I thought I could do it myself, I would.”


“Ah.  This must be important.  I will have to know where you want her to go to.”


John collects himself… regards Avrim; he’s dealt with him and he’s been straight-wants his cut, a profit margin, but he’s established himself as fair as well…. “You’ve helped us out, and you’ve been more than fair when you could have-“


“-Oh what do you want already?!”  Avrim can be short.


“She needs to get to the Free States.”


Avrim leans forward, “are you a police officer?”


“Not since I started shooting back-“


“-This is serious John!  What did this girl do to merit smuggling to the Free States?”


“Her group was responsible for shooting down two fighter jets and three combat drones over Pymatunig Lake, by the border-“


“-I know where!”


“How much?”


“What did they use to accomplish this?”


“They built a drone.”


“And operated it without the signal being triangulated, shelled or bombed out of existence?”


“You know they couldn’t do that.”


“…Fully automated?  AI?”  Avrim leaned close, eyes boring in on McLellan….


“I suspect.”


“Give me a full copy of the design, I shall deliver the girl wherever you need her to go-the question is where?”


John thinks… “Michigan-“


“-Out of the Question!”


“It’s the closest Free State Avrim.”


“Most of the militia in the Michigan Republic do not appreciate my People.  Certainly not their leadership!  I will take her to Alabama, though Texas may be the best bet, but getting there will be a lot trickier… she will have to backtrack-through PA, and down the Appalachian Mountains-hopefully there’s still enough of a resistance left hiding there to assist.” 


“You’ll make the usual arrangements?”


“No.  I will take the girl myself.”




“John I consider you a friend so I will speak truthfully; my people will be very interested in this drone.”


“Isn’t Israel gone though?”


Avrim shrugs.  “Most of it.”




The Blackhawk lands in the clearing where Tom Jager’s team has parked their HMMV and Colonel Davidson waves.  Tom gets out and runs to him; “found that missing police cruiser five kilometers south of here!”


“Go there and orbit we’ll be there in a few minutes!”  Tom Jager runs back to the HMMV gets in and speeds along the back roads…


…Few minutes later, Tom Jager’s HMMV arrives at the abandoned farm… right when the Farmer Lady arrives with her horse drawn cart.


Andre looks at her… “Think she knows something?”


“Got a blowtorch?”  Tom jokes.  He gets out with Andre; Carol and Andrea stay behind, being more intelligence analysts than frontline agents.  They approach Farmer Lady, G36 5.56 carbines aimed at her.  “GET DOWN FROM THE CART RIGHT NOW!  RIGHT NOW!”  The Blackhawk orbits overhead, a side mounted M240 aimed at the Farmer Lady.


Farmer Lady regards the situation; two highly trained, well armed government agents with automatic weapons aimed at her, a helicopter with a machine gun aimed at her overhead… some things are best not stretched out.  She smiles.


“Oh Father in Heaven-“ Farmer Lady whips out her SKS carbine snap shoots at Andre and puts a round through his skull!  She starts aiming for Tom…


“NO!”  Tom Jager hoses Farmer Lady, peppering her with high velocity 5.56mm, the orbiting Blackhawk joining in with the M240, turning her into bloody mush.


“FUCK!”  Tom kneels down by Andre-now dead… where’s the nearest fucking town?!”





Kayla Miller’s chowing down on a plate full of spaghetti, another plate of garlic bread, and a coke.  John McLellan returns with Avrim Heinz, with Reggie at the door.  “Mhrey” Kayla mumbles through a mouth full of spaghetti and bread.


“Chew and swallow, dear.”  Reggie can only look at Kayla, he’s seen a lot of hungry people the past couple years.  Kayla chews, swallows, takes a swig of coke, then reluctantly turns towards her benefactors.  “Sorry.  Your food’s really good.”


“Kayla” John starts, “this is Avrim Heinz; he’s going to get you to where you need going.”


“Thanks.  Hi.  Where’s that?”


Avrim answers, “that’s what we need to talk about now.”




“We were talking a bit earlier, and Avrim thinks it would be best to get to the Free States.”


“That’s a no-brainer.”


“Ah, you would think!”


Kayla gives Avrim Heinz a good quick look.  “You have objections to going to Michigan… yeah, I can see how you would.”


“Good girl.  You’re smart-I think we’ll get along.”  Avrim approaches; “I work for the State of Israel.”


“That’s still around?!”


“Yes.  I won’t go into details at this time, save that we need your unit’s drone plans as much as your fellow countrymen.  As for Michigan, they don’t have the resources to exploit this technology anyway, they can barely keep themselves in bullets and fuel.  I want to head further west-Texas, Montana, Zion, Jefferson.”


“That’s going to be quite an adventure getting there” Kayla thinks it through, easier to do when you’re not having hunger dominate your thoughts “they sending a lot of shit this way and I’m sure most of it’s not yet here.”


“It’s worse than you think.  NATO is intervening in your civil war.”


“Saw that when that British tank blew two of my friends away.”


“My condolences.  Yes, NATO’s here, and many more of them are landing in New York, Boston, Norfolk.”


“How many?”  John asks, “heard Alabama sent their battleship to try an intercept.”


“It failed.  They threw everything at it, quite the sea battle but no-a full army corps has landed, and is headed west, to here.  Ohio’s done for and likely Michigan will follow.  Our hope lies west of the Mississippi.  You know, they got a nuclear powered satellite that can shut down all EM transmissions within a 200 mile radius… what we’re going through now.  Your drone’s got them desperate, girl.”


Kayla leans back-no she can’t help but smile at the ruckus her and her now perished troop have caused.  “Alright.  We’ll get out of here-you’re guiding me, right?”


Avrim nods.


“Good-you’re a big boy, you’re humping the 240.”  Kayla turns to John, “think I can get some rest before me and Avrim hit the road?”


“I don’t recommend too much of a delay.  Even my people aren’t sure how much they’ve thrown into this state.”  Avrim produces a netbook computer, “now if you don’t mind I’d like my copy now.”


“Aw hold on!  What obligation would you have to get me outta here if I just give you the plans now?”


“Good point.”  Reggie nods. 


Avrim sets the netbook down at the desk, “I’ll get you to the Free States Kayla.  You have my word, and I’m giving that word to you on account of how your government fucking left us flapping in the wind during our war!  You destroying your govenrment is justice for what they’ve failed to do for us!”


Kayla gets out the flash drive with the plans, “since you put it that way.”




Another little burg built from a country crossroad.  Colonel Davidson, British Army, in the Blackhawk lands near a armored platoon of four British Warrior infantry fighting vehicles, presents himself to the commander, a Captain…







Tom Jager and his team arrive at the outskirts of town, at that roadblock Farmer Lady went through a few hours ago.  Tom gets out, goes straight for the Deputy Sargeant.  “My name’s Tom Jager, I’m with the federal government and I’m going to need you and your mens assistance in searching this town for insurrectionists.”


The Sargeant thought fast-ANY hesitation or calculation and this serious looking fed would make his worst nightmares come to frightening reality… “whatever you want, Sir.”


“Good.  I have a Blackhawk and a platoon of British mechanized infantry coming this way.  When they get here, redeploy to the south, west, and north and we’ll squeeze them out.  We’re going door to door and we’re not stopping until we get what we came for!  Understand?”


“Yes Sir.”  Nothing else for the Sheriff’s Deputy to do but to obey… right?


“Come on!”  Tom Jager gestures his team to follow him and they enter Reggie’s “I’m making this my command post!”



In the back of Reggie’s, Kayla finishes up her meal; John McLellan finishes making a copy of the drone plans for his own use, when they both hear the commotion from the dining room.  They both go to investigate…


Tom Jager, Carol, Andrea and his troops burst in, loud and proudly obnoxious as only feds can.


“This restaurant is now under federal control!”  Tom Jager waves his badge overhead, Sig Saur in the other hand,“leave now-right fucking now!”  Tom gives it a thought then shoots a customer dead-just to make an example “I FUCKING MEAN IT!”


The patrons stream out quietly, not wanting to join that unfortunate American.  “Get rid of this body, and get me set up.”


In the back room Kayla and John look at each other-no words are needed.  Kayla hands the M-4 with chest rig full of loaded magazines to John as Kayla gets out her suppressed Glock 18 machine pistol, dials the selector to full auto.  She nods to John-he’ll head this, it’s his town, his county.


Kayla and John creep up to the door, then burst through….


Carol and Andrea are in the center, setting up their computers, with Tom Jager to the left, his eight troops to the right-all of them look as a bearded older man and a young lady burst through.


Kayla works the right, going to the left-she tips the Glock 18 gangsta style to the left and rips full auto, letting the recoil carry the machine pistol from right to left, going for the groin.


John McLellan aims the M-4 at Tom Jager but decades in covert ops helps him; he lands backwards onto the floor, aims his Sig Saur at John as he fires!


Carol and Andrea both push the table towards the threat.


Kayla’s Glock 18 runs dry-she grasps for a second 33 round magazine as she ejects the first, letting it hit the ground.


Tom Jager FIRES pegging John McLellan in the legs, gut and shoulder as he lands and shoots.  John McLellan’s bucked backwards.


Kayla sends the slide forward.  Still on full auto she aims at Tom Jager…


…Tom rolls out of the way…


Kayla fires a burst; Tom’s reactions just enough to avoid the five round burst.  She goes left behind the counter.


“Carol, Andrea-get outta here and get help-NOW!”  Carol and Andrea have no problem obeying Tom and scamper out of the restaurant.  Tom grabs a M-4 off one of his wounded soldiers and SPRAYS the counter Kayla’s hiding behind, the 5.56 filling the air with splinters.


Kayla on the ground, she crawls fast to the back room as Tom’s M-4 runs dry.  He transistions back to the Sig Saur as she disappears into the back office.


Kayla switches back to semi auto, stuffs the Glock and grabs her M-14.


Reggie peeks his head out from the Kitchen-“Get back Reggie!”  Kayla warns!


Tom Jager puts a round from his Sig into Reggie’s head.  He drops down, dead.  Kayla screams!


Tom grabs a fragmentation grenade off another of his wounded soldiers pulls the pin, lets the spool fly, then chucks it into the back then loads a fresh magazine into the M-4.


The grenade EXPLODES!


Tom Jager rises with the M-4, charges forward with maximum aggression…


…when Avrim Heinz charges into the restaurant with an equal amount of aggression-with his new M240 general purpose machine gun ….


Tom turns, sees the new threat-big man with belt fed.  He ducks for concealment behind the counter…


Avrim cuts loose; he shreds the counter with a long burst of 7.62 then turns on the wounded soldiers and finishes them off.




Kayla is in the back room, and is stunned; the shrapnel embedding in the walls but not hitting her, though the concussion sure as hell did.  “Yeah.”


Kayla gets up, staggers, takes her Glock, resets to full auto, comes out and turns left to the counter…


Tom Jager sprays wildly, sending both Kayla and Avrim ducking for cover.  He empties it in their general direction, then draws his Sig Saur shoots out a surviving window pane and dives out of the restaurant.


Avrim and Kayla recover.  “What the fuck?!”


“We got to get out of here Kayla, before we’re trapped!”


A rumble is heard from outside…


Avrim and Kayla look to see four British Warrior infantry fighting vehicles take positions outside the restaurant, 30mm chain guns turned at them, British soldiers disgorged from the rear-seven each to form a 28 man execution squad. 


Tom Jager takes position behind one of the armored vehicles, his own assault rifle in hand.  Miles Davidson combat crouches over, L85 bullpup rifle in hand “I need to tell you we are deployed, Sir?”


“Get some of your troops around the sides of this building, cover the rear exit.  I need a megaphone.”


“Right.  Soldier!”  Colonel Davidson addresses the Commander of the Warrior they were sheltering behind “fetch us a corded mike if you would.”


“Yes Sir!”  The Commander dives back in, then produces a corded phone, hands it to the Colonel who hands it to Tom Jager.  “Kayla Miller, this is Tom Jager-it’s over!  Come out and I will personally see to it you’re treated well.”


From inside Reggies, Kayla and Avrim hear Tom Jager.  “I respect you and your companion as warriors and as Americans.  This country’s been torn apart enough by this war… hasn’t there been enough death?”


Avrim turns to Kayla who simply stares at Tom Jager, almost catatonic.  “I’m afraid he’s right Kayla.  Listen:  I’m with Mossad.  My government can insure your safety and well being.  I have diplomatic status as well, so I can get these drone plans out, and eventually to your compatriots in the Free States.  …Let me talk to this Jager fellow, and maybe I can talk him into letting you go with me.  I’ll tell them something and maybe you won’t even be in their custody.”


Avrim gently turns Kayla to face him, “we get out of here, we can go anywhere-you and me.  My government can send you anywhere in the world you want.  Europe, the Carribean, wherever.”


Kayla stares back at him, not quite there… “Kayla, do this with me and if you want you could even come back to America.  Live to fight another day-but the key to that is staying alive!”


Kayla looks at Avrim, not staring, a decision reached “go talk to him.”


Avrim exhales in relief.  He embraces, hugs Kayla, kisses her on her forehead.  Gathering his wits and his courage anew, Avrim Heinz comes into view “Tom Jager, I am Avrim Heinz with the Mossad-I am coming out to negotiate terms between you and the American.  I am fully authorized by my government to do this!”


Outside Jager and Col. Davidson look at each other in digust “bloody balls up this has turned into I tell you!”


“Carol!  Check up Avrim Heinz-“


“-My computer’s inside Tom!  And we can’t find out about Heinz anyway because of the EM blackout!”


“FUCK!”  Tom paces back and forth…. He gets on the mike again; “Avrim Heinz, come out unarmed;  I will meet you halfway!”


Inside, Avrim was watching, and smiles at Tom’s reaction “I’M COMING JAGER!”  He sets the M240 down as well as the packs of belted ammunition.  He turns to Kayla “see girl, I will get you out of this and out of here.  I know this Jager fellow-he will keep his word when he has to.”  And with that Avrim Heinz steps outside, walks toward the British armored vehicles.


Tom Jager advances, striding to the midpoint between his forces and the restaurant like the proverbial predator he is.  They meet up, facing off.


“As stated:  Avrim Heinz, Mossad.”


“Your credentials, Sir-you’ll understand if I ask given conditions.”


“Ah, I do have credentials-they are not exactly from my intelligence agency” so Avrim hands Tom Jager his diplomatic credentials, with his photograph and ID number.  Tom looks the identification over with a practiced eye “you’re with the Israeli consolate in Beachwood.”


“You do not expect a Mossad agent to carry around an ID stating he is from Mossad do you?”


“So why out yourself?”


“To show you I am dealing with you straight Mr. Jager.  You’ve worked with my people before.”




“I want safe passage for both myself and the girl.”


“You can go-my Kayla’s going to stay and answer questions.”


Avrim looks at Tom… decides not ask about the “my”.  “You’re after something.  You’re after something and you’re desperate enough to use an EM blackout generated from geostationary orbit-“




“-and cut every last landline, and carpet bomb anyone using a laser within a hundred sixty kilometers of where your F22s were shot down to stop these drone plans from getting out and turning this war against you.  Yes my government knows all about this situation.”


“You have the drone plans!”


“Tom, it’s time to decide what’s important: that girl or the drone plans.”


“And nobody else has had a chance to copy them?”


“I can assure you, the one other person who had a copy was killed by you and your team when you entered the restaurant.  I give you the drone plans, but I will be taking a copy back to my government-as well as the girl since she helped construct the drone.”


“Now Avrim, just how much help do you think a college dropout hip-hop dancer’s going to give you?”


“I won’t ask why you’re hung up on this girl-I don’t want to know.  This war has caused enough suffering, don’t you think… you’ll be stopping the drone plans from getting out to your rebels.  Your Eastern Seaboard is cleared; you can mop up the rest of the country in a couple, maybe three years tops.”


Tom turns back, paces, turns, paces back, hand on his mouth… “a rebel killed my colleague a few hours ago…”


Avrim’s eyes close into squints “Was it her, in there, that took your colleague’s life?  I’ve lost nearly all my relations when Tel Aviv was nuked because your government had to stand down.  And yet, I am here.  We’ve both lost, yes?  We know about you Tom Jager.  You losing your wife to a rogue agent, your daughter in Jefferson-disowning you as a father.  Yes we know.  …That girl in there, she’s lost as well-all she’s done is take some back.  We all have.   Look: I’ve stuck my dick out in your sausage grinder by outing myself, you’re going to stop the rebels from turning this fucking war, and you’ll be a hero-let that be enough.”


Tom thinks… Avrim’s hand is by a hidden cut in his pants, by a 25 caliber Beretta Mossad Agents are more than proficient with.


Tom comes to his decision.  The commanders of the British Warrior IFV’s are all peeking through the open hatches as well as Col. Davidson coming into view.  “I will debrief Ms. Miller, do you understand?”


Avrim nods.   “I will be present.  And you will not harm her.”


“If Ms. Miller cooperates after I talk with her, you can take her and a copy of the drone plans out of the country.”


Avrim nods.  He extends his hand and Tom Jager shakes it, both looking each other in the eye, nodding.



Inside Reggie’s, Kayla can’t see Tom Jager’s face, but she sees the shoulders move to make a handshake… she sighs, closes her eyes… then with a fire she brings her captured suppressed, scoped M14 to shoulder, aims, puts the center of the mildot crosshair on the farthest right Warrior commander-fires!


FFBAP!  Connects to his chest-the M14 shoots a inch or so above point of aim at this range-can’t be more than 50 yards.  Kayla does the calculation in a fraction of a second, spins on her heels aims the suppressed semi automatic rifle at the second Warrior commander-fires! 


FFBAP!  Kayla turns on heel to the third Warrior-they haven’t figured this out yet, and a good thing the windows are all shot out already or this wouldn’t have worked.  Back to the task… aim… fire-FFBAP!  Third Brit tank commander down!  On to the fourth… and still not having a clue-God Bless Kayla loves this new rifle, aims, fires FFBAP!  Last fish n’ chip eater down, now for the Jack Bauer wannabe…


…Outside Avrim’s face was fully in Tom Jager’s so he misses the faintest of gun flashes from the suppressed M14 Kayla wields against the exposed Warrior IFV commanders atop their turrents…


…Colonel Davidson, British Army doesn’t; he looks up at the sound of the flopping Warrior IFV commander freshly killed.  He looks around inside, then to his left at the other commanders shot!  He raises his L85 and rips a full mag of 5.56mm into Reggie’s!


Tom and Avrim hit the ground!  Both shocked when Col. Davidson starts spraying the restaurant.


Inside Reggie’s, Kayla can’t believe it… it actually gives her pause to see the fed agent talking to Avrim-Tom Jager.  Oh yeah… can’t get a good shot of Jager without going through Avrim-oh well…


…And that’s when the British Officer sprays his bullpup assault rifle at her-she lets herself fall to the ground in a slick hip hop dance move she’d done probably 20,000 times.


Outside,  all the British Infantrymen start spraying the fuck out of Reggie’s, one of the Warrior IFVs starting to turn its turrent to sweep the restaurant.  Tom pulls out a hidden Seecamp-as Avrim Heinz puts his .25 Beretta to his dome:  “STOP FIRING!  STOP FIRING I HAVE YOUR LEADER AS MY PRISONER!”  He spins Tom around, takes his Seecamp; Colonel Davidson unshoulders his L85, runs through his ranks ‘CEASE FIRE!  CEASE FIRE!  CEASE FIRE! BLOODY CEASE FIRE YOU LOT!”


The infantry stop firing, the first Warrior starts firing it’s main armament, a 30mm chain gun BOOMBOOMBOOM-as Davidson rips the now deceased commander aside “STOP BLOODY FIRING THOSE BUGGERS GOT A HOSTAGE!”  The Gunner inside looks up angrily at his Commanding Officer, but does stop shooting up the restaurant.


The rest of the Warriors stand down, as do the British Infantry.  Andrea and Carol look on, helpless as the Mossad Agent has Tom Jager.


To Tom “I’m sorry sir, I should have disarmed her beforehand; now I will have to use you as a human shield to get out of here.  You understand.”


“I don’t care-“


“-Apparently neither does Ms. Miller!  We’ll be going back inside the restaurant.  Come on.”  Avrim guides Tom up and gun on him guides him back inside the restaurant…


When inside, feet crunching under the splinters and broken glass and debris and shell casings, Avrim silently guides Tom to sit at booth, which he does. 


Avrim glares.  He glares as Kayla Miller smoothly, gracefully arises from some shot up celing tiles and debris, M14 in hand, a death glare straight from hell boring right at Avrim.


“Why”?  Avrim loses it now, “WHY YOU FUCKING LITTLE CUNT?!!”




April 5, 2012


Kayla Miller is dancing on stage for a local Rapper…


…Kayla’s not in camoflage, nor carrying any weapons.  Nor is she 30lbs underweight, desperate, and on the run.  What she is doing is moving in ways with her 5’6” 120lb toned body that makes the word dancing a retarded understatement. 


The crowd; urban, young, black, white and brown, all cheer Kayla.

Her set done, Kayla smiles, waves, soaking up the cheers and love sent her way.  The onstage Rapper goes over and they hug.


Backstage, the two and the Rapper’s DJ relax…


“I’m going to Occupy New York” Kayla declares.


“K, girl, you know I got love for you, but I’m telling you you don’t want to be fuckin’ round at those protests.”


“The po-lice have been foul, an’ I mean foul by even our standards!”  DJ can only look at Kayla Miller, seeing nothing but resolution there.


“That’s why I’m doing it.  I love you guys.  And I thank you fo’ looking out for me, but I’m not going to spend the rest of my life regretting not doing something about all this bullshit going down.  You need to be joining me cuz the way things are going, no telling how much longer we got any right to protest or even say shit’s fucked up.  I’d go myself, but I could use you guys.”


“I hear you… I’ll go wit you then.”  The Rapper rises.  Kayla goes to him and they hug.


DJ chimes in “Uh, yeah.  I’ll go as well.  Might as well make it a mu’fuckin show then.”  Kayla reaches over, yanks the DJ up and they group hug.


“Thank you!”




April 25, 2012


Older home from the 50’s.  Brian Miller; bigger and having a potbelly than he does about two years later sits at the family table alone with Kayla.


“You’ve got to believe me Kay, it’s dangerous going to that protest!  Anything could happen!”


“I hear you Dad, I really do.  You have to believe that!”


“Then don’t go:   there are better ways of making change!”


“How?  I mean, I know you do stuff and you don’t tell me-God knows I never wanted in your militia but marching around with guns and typing on the internet-what does that do?  Occupy Wall Street, that’s attracting people… yeah a lot of them are there for the drugs and sex and bang drums but a lot want something done.  Maybe you and yours should join them, come at them with what you got.  Maybe if folks can see the left and the right or whatever you put yo’self… oh God something needs to be done!  Maybe OWS isn’t the best vehicle, or even one steered by folks a hundred percent but it’s the biggest.  Join me.”


“Kayla, last time I suggested to the forums we should join OWS and put our message out I was almost banned.  I don’t even dare suggest it to anyone in my unit.  Too bad though, we need to do something…

If you deliver my message, I’ll let you go.”


Kayla bounds over, hugs her Dad, cries.




April 28, 2012


Occupy Wall Street, Season 2 is well underway; this time the very street itself is clogged by a flash mob of well over a thousand who immediately block access to the road the New York Stock Exchange is located in what could be described as a well-oiled takeover.  Coordinators direct people-every one pulling some kind of cart or luggage and they stream in, directed smoothly down the street, taking over their designated spot.


A Coordinator guides Kayla, the Rapper and the DJ to their designated spot; like a well trained fighting force the three set up a dance floor, turntable, speakers, generator, tent, cooler filled with food and drink.  Kayla kicks off her shoes.  She’s in a flowing hippie like dress.


“Aw no, hold up girl I don’t want people to see knarly black feet!”


“We gots enough hippies in here K.”


“That’s our audience, yo.  Besides get in the spirit of things.  Let’s get started gentlemen.”


DJ switches on the generator, and there’s an enclosure designed to soak up engine noise and vibration.  Equipment checks are quickly done and the Rapper goes to grab his mike as Kayla stretches…


…Overhead a small helicopter drone scans the Occupy Wall Street, and along with all the city-installed cameras and sensors feeds the video back to…


…a Mobile Command Center; a huge trailer packed with monitors and Officers monitoring them.  The white shirted NYPD Commander and a Representative from Homeland Security…




“Yeah; they really came out of nowhere this time!  Out from the streets and set up in three minutes, tops.  They said their coordinators were on the ball but fuck me!”


“What’s your call sir?”  The Commander looked at Homeland Sec. and it didn’t hurt to kiss up to them.


“Let’s see whose here…” they watch the video feeds…


A braless, shoeless, hygeine-less hippie girl works a hula hoop.  There’s a bunch of those-both male and female… some you can tell the difference.  Several packs of those hippies bang on drums, chant.


A Ron Paul for President booth is there, manned by a conservative in suit and tie, a elderly artifact from the 60’s and a obvious gangbanger:  “bust those assholes Commander.  Tag em’ and bag em’.”


“Yes Sir.”  They move on:


Groups from various walks of life congregating; union workers, high tech workers, out-of-work people freshly evicted from both the Middle Class and their homes, along with those who’ve been homeless for a long time.   …Some people walking through passing out pamphlets to everyone.


“Hey what are they passing out-get a copy of that, they don’t look like they’re with the program here.”


They look on; a few bands, a couple already shedding their clothes off underneath a blanket having the first sex of OWS. 


“Get lots of coverage of those two.”


“No need to give me an order for that!”  They all laugh.  A Sargeant manning a console turns, “got a scan of that printout, Sir.”  They read:




Left, right, rich, poor; WE have been looking for solutions to this country’s problems.  We’ve looked to each of our anointed so-called heroes, our politicians for help and when that didn’t work we just looked away and paid attention to our sports and celebrity… heroes.


Isn’t it obvious the solution is US?  We the People! 


We are Sovereign!  We are the rulers of America, not our public servants-and if that will never be understood by them then they must go!


Yet, how do we do that?  By relying still on the same tired ways-that don’t work?  No.  The solution is with YOU-WHERE YOU LIVE!  Start local, clean out your town of the criminals there, spread the Second American Revolution!  Here’s how-


“Hokay that’s enough of that!  Get those fuckers outta there!”


They watch… a minute later the Pamphleteers are accosted by the OWS Coordinators, given hell.


They come up on Kayla Miller, the Rapper and DJ.  The Commander and the Homeland Security Rep eye Kayla in the flowing skirt and cropped tank top, toned body, firm breasts, fine ass, long legs making like a hip hop 60’s flower girl, moving like crazy and just not stopping.  They all check her out head to toe, keep looking at her move to the beat as that Rapper does his thing.


“Who’s that girl?  Really, look her up!”


The Commander himself looks up the biometrics on the girl, “Kayla Miller, from Warren, Ohio.  Some misdemeanors; disorderly conduct, no surprises there-this isn’t exactly her scene though.


“Fucking protests.  Can’t tell whose going to come to these things.”


“…Oh yeah!”


Representative looks at what the Commander’s looking at: her dad, Brian Miller is on the domestic terrorist black list.  “Jackpot.”


“One hip hop hippie chick coming up.”



Kayla’s on stage when she sees a Pamphleteer being confronted by the Coordinators-she immediately stops dancing, marches straight out through the crowd… they part the way for Kayla as she marches straight at the confrontation…


“…We cannot and will not have this incendiary crap passed out!”


“It’s freedom of-“


-“You can practice your hate speech someplace else-“


-Kayla grabs the Coordinator-some fugly professional college student/pol sci major, spins her about to face her: “FUCK YOU DOING BITCH!”


“What?  Who-“




“Whoa; let’s calm this down; I was explaining official OWS policy-“


-“My policy’s to fuck up anyone fucking with my people!”


“I’ll have you thrown out-“




The crowd of OWS protestors surrounds both the Coordinator and Kayla… Coordinator looks at the Cops and doesn’t see any sign of helping her out… she turns and walks way, having to get through the crowd who aren’t too quick in parting the way-she even gets shoved.


Kayla laughs.  The crowd cheers her and she bounds back up the stage.


“That’s Special Kay Y’all” the Rapper calls out!



In the Command Center, the Homeland Security Representative and NYPD On Site Commander look at each other…. This will have to wait until they can bag this bitch without backup.


OWS: It’s after Midnight; Kayla Miller has been dancing all day and all night.  Utterly exhausted. 


“Call it a day, girl.  Go on back to headquarters an’ get some real bed time girl.  Don’t worry; it be my turn tomorrow-“


“-FUCK you!”  Kayla playfully bats at the Rapper and starts walking, her feet looking like shoes they’re so dirty.  “Hey, yo’ shoes!”


“Who cares, the damage is done.”  Kayla scoops up her sneakers and walks through the OWS protest, then sees the NYPD guarding, or containing, the protest.


One of the cops approaches her, “Ma’am I strongly suggest you go back in.  It’s not safe.”


“What?  All y’all are here, right?”


“Exactly… please, let me-“


“I’m good Officer!  Have a nice night.”  Kayla walks off down the block.


At the end of the block Kayla’s grabbed by NYPD Emergency Response Team and thrown hard into a waiting wagon, her shoes and purse flying elsewhere.  A Officer grabs the purse gets in and they speed off.




May 1, 2012


The Rapper speaks to the entire mass of Protesters-all races and creeds in rapt attention:  “Kayla Miller was a dancer!  She had nothing but love for people!  She came from Warren Ohio-a town that’s had its lifeblood, it’s industry and jobs stripmined out by these Wall Street MOTHERFUCKERS!”


The crowd CHEERS!




The Rapper holds up Kayla’s sneakers… “THESE ARE KAYLA’S SHOES-WHERE’S KAYLA MILLER?!”







May 1, 2012


Converted from a warehouse, the cells are open cages all empty in preparation…


In an interrogation room he Homeland Security Representative has Kayla tied to a interrogation chair, hair greasy, naked, dirty, bags under her eyes.  A NYPD Detective stands over her and whenever she starts to nod off to sleep-WHACK!  Kayla gets open hand hit in the face.  She cries, and the two government officials laugh.


The Representative has a TV set and turns it on for Kayla;  it’s a feed from Occupy Wall Street and they’re all chanting “WHERE’S KAYLA MILLER?!”   Over and over and over. 


…The News Crews are ushered out of the area by NYPD-at gunpoint…


“Yeah Kayla, they’re wondering where you’re at.  Let’s let them find out.”  Rep. gets on a cell phone, speed dials, “do it.”  He hangs up, turns, gets behind.


They all watch as tear gas cannisters and percussion grenades EXPLODE among the OWS protesters.  Lines of NYPD with riot shotguns open up on the crowd with rubber rounds-dozens of Americans fall instantly, gravely injured, maybe dead. 


The rest start to run or seek shelter; those that run only run up against another phalanx of Riot Cops who beat them back into Wall St. with batons and a LRAD turned up to a horrific SCREECH… back to the full volleys of rubber buckshot, percussion grenades, tear gas.  Those that try to gain entry into varying buildings find they’re locked-those that desperately try to break in are SHOT with live ammo by building security.


…The Coordinators are careful to stand to the side-a door opens and a NYPD White Shirt Officer motions them inside, and they go in.


That is what everyone in the interrogation room sees.  The government men smile, chuckle.  Kayla is in a state of horror beyond horror-beyond even her own ordeal as the Detective reaches from behind and starts sexually assaulting her breasts.


The door opens, and Tom Jager steps forward, “Tom Jager-this my girl?”


“Yes Sir!  It’s an honor to be working with you Agent.”


Tom only nods.  The Detective had stopped sexually assaulting Kayla to look up-“as you were Detective.”  He smiles and gets back to getting off.


“You know the other reason why we picked you up Ms. Miller?  Your dad.”


“I don’t know ANYTHING YOU FU-“  Kayla’s cut off with a bear paw delivered to the side of her face by the Detective.  Tom Jager leans down to the hapless prisoner’s face, now swollen on both sides, “I know you don’t know about your father’s militia activities.”


“Don’t know nothing.  I swear to God; I am going to sue the fuck out of you for this!”


“Nuh, unh.  Law’s changed; you’re now an enemy combatant.”




“You resisted arrest.  Since your dad has ties with those militia extremists, that means we actually have a plausible legal reason to strip you of your citizenship… as well as your clothing.  You’re renditioned-outside of the judicial system, which means among other things, we get to fuck the fuck out of you.”


Kayla screams.  They let her as both Tom Jager and Homeland Security Representative unzip their pants…




January 6, 2013


Trees abound.  In the parking lot, Brian Miller awaits by his Ford truck as two typical black government SUVs pull up; armed SWAT-like agents jump out, M4’s at the ready.  Overhead a low flying drone buzzes about.  The SWAT agents aim at Brian Miller.


“Easy fellas I’m alone and unarmed.  As agreed.”


Someone in one of the SUVs calls out: “He’s alone!”


“Let’s get this over with then…” that voice emerges: some human robot in a suit who pulls out a frail, shaking figure wrapped in a blanket, barefoot-her toenails haven’t been clipped in many months.  He yanks the blanket away and a naked, emaciated, scarred, utterly filthy Kayla Miller tumbles to the ground.  “Government property” the suit states.


“KAYLA!”  Brian Miller rushes to her, stripping off his coat and covering his daughter.  “You didn’t have to do that!”


“You’re telling us what we can’t do Mr. Miller?  We held up our end of the agreement-you have your daughter back.”




“-I know nothing about what may have happened to Ms. Miller while in our custody; just know we can always return her to her cell if you don’t hold up your end of the agreement.”


With that the suit and his armed and armored thugs pile back into their SUVs and roll away as Brian Miller gently picks up his badly tortured, nearly catatonic daughter, crying.




March 20, 2014


All those memories, events, flood through Kayla now with Tom Jager…. Avrim looks at Tom Jager; yeah they know each other quite well.


“Kayla, what’s going on with you and Jager?”


Kayla ignores Avrim.  She faces off against Tom Jager.


“L-look Kay-“  Kayla pulls out her suppressed Glock 18, shoots Tom Jager in the gut and he crumples down to the debris strewn floor.


“Ah… ah I can’t move my… I can’t feel my fucking legs!”


Outside, the British infantry start to rush-“HE AIN’T DEAD YET, BUT I’LL KILL THIS JACK BAUER PUNK ASS WANNABEE, MOTHERFUCKERS!”  Kayla stares down the soldiers and she can hear Col. Davidson “BACK UP!  BACK UP ALREADY!”


Kayla crouches down, to face Tom Jager.  “I was wondering why I wanted to shoot you so particularly bad, but I had to suppress a lot of yo’ shit just to start functioning again.”  She snorts, “I see you paralyzed-good.  Now, I want you to witness this…”


Kayla unslings her M14 looks through the scope, sees Andrea and Carol together about a hundred yards away by a Geauga County Sheriff’s SWAT vehicle, out in the open, running to the scene and FFBAP-FFBAP-SHOOTS them both in the head, dead.


All the cops and British infantry OPEN FIRE again and Kayla and Avrim duck to the floor as they’re covered in more Reggie’s debris-with Kayla laughing.  The firing dies down for magazine changes and she rises, straining to prop flopping Tom Jager up:  “I WILL KILL ANYONE ELSE WHO FUCKING TRIES RUSHING US-THEM TO BITCHES WAS AN EXAMPLE, YO!”


The police and NATO military forces stop shooting.  Colonel Miles Davidson gets on the speaker “MA’AM, WE CANNOT NEGOTIATE IF YOU KEEP SHOOTING AT US!”




“Kayla”, it’s Avrim, “Kayla you have to stop this!”


“Avrim, the only reason your double dealing ass still alive is cuz I need someone to hump my machine gun.”


“But, how do you know Tom-“


“Yo, if you keep pressin’ on how I know this muthafucka, I’m just gonna blast yo’ kosher ass right here.”  Kayla crouches down, keeping Tom Jager propped up by a booth.



By the Warrior IFV’S Colonel Davidson’s had enough:  “Fuck them!  Open fire!”


…Atop the former supermarket turned flea market Travis Dane sets up a M72, aims for a Warrior IFV, his second Joe Bielski has a scoped Hk-91…  Travis aims…


A rocket streaks towards the IFV and BLOWS it apart!  A second rocket BLOWS UP the Warrior IFV with Davidson along with it.


At a shuttered Denny’s two blocks further away, Doug Heemeyer has a M40 sniper rifle but that’s aside as he assists loading a MG42 in the hands of Adam Bent.  He cocks the weapon, aims-Doug knocks down the board…


A MG42 opens up with it’s ZZZZZZRRRP!  Sends about a hundred fifty rounds at the cops and infantry, shredding through them! 


The remaining two Warrior IFV’S rapidly turn about.  They charge toward the enemy, turrents swivel about, and center on the flea market-and cut loose with 30mm autocannon fire! 


The MG42 sends another burst at the armored fighting vehicles, tinking off the armor and hitting softer components like grenade launchers, sensors. 


Sabine Leersen aims her M14 at the Warrior looking for the soft points and shoots.  She picks at the optics, viewing ports, grenade launchers and other weak points of the British light armor; they pop smoke to obscure themselves and FIRE autocannon through, but not accurately as the snipers and machine gunners have obviously damaged their thermal imagers…



Kayla watches with glee as the NATO forces are engaged by friendly parties unknown to her-which become known as that Deputy Sargeant enters…


“I can get you out of here-Geauga Volunteers can handle these Brits-there’s no drones to buzz about our heads, blowing us up now.”


“Won’t last y’know; they got all kinds of jet fighters that bomb whatever the fuck’s around.”


“Where’s the Sheriff?”


“Dead.  He’s got a copy of the drone plans-take em’, use em’, send em’ wherever… give me a minute here with this… motherfucker.”


“Make it fast.”  The Deputy Sargeant grabs the thumb drive, the M4 that was Kayla’s-extra gun to her-and awaits outside.  She looks at Tom Jager straight in the eye…


“I’m getting these plans out, Jager-by the time you’re shot up with stem cells an’ up and walking and fucking again the skies will be filled with our drones from sea to shining sea, an’ then when your government falls, an’ you’re on the run-dirty, starving, desperate to get outta the country, we’ll meet again.   And I’ll show you what I know about interrogation… show you everything I’ve learned from you. That’s why I’m not killing you: I’m going to destroy you.  I promise you when this is over you will know the difference.”


Kayla hits Tom in the head with the butt of her M14, knocks him out cold.  She gets up, turns and just has to give the Mossad agent a look and he grabs the M240 and they exit out the back.




Kayla and Avrim are in a US Army HUMMV looking like US Army; they look back in the distance at Chesterland, see the flashes and thumps and screaming jet engines of NATO and US Air Force jets blowing Chesterland apart.  Carrie Messing is driving; a 30 year old former college student, former waitress…


“I hope what you got is worth it.  We used up the last of our resources getting you out.”


“I know.  I lost the last of my unit just getting here.”


Carrie looks through the mirror at her at a stop sign, “you must really have something… we’ll meet up with the rest of the Volunteers someplace in Summit County.”


“Summit County Rangers?”  Kayla perks up, “heard they’ve managed to more than hold they own so far.”


“Yep they have.  Don’t worry, we’ll get you taken care of soon enough.  Just remember to act like Army until we get there okay?”


“Hear that Avrim-look like a called back reservist instead of a fuckin’ sellout.”


Avrim whispers in Kayla’s ear, “perhaps where we’re going looking like a fuckin’ sellout may be the way to go.”


Kayla rears back, glares at Heinz.




The town’s essentially gone; fires consume what bullets, rockets and bombs haven’t simply annihilated.  A Blackhawk Helicopter lands and General Warburg, NATO commander steps out to a shot up, bombed out little American town.  One of many.  He looks about, sees the surviving officer approach; a British Lieutenant.


“General Warburg we had that militia lady trapped in that restaurant but then some other bloody militia came to her aid-it was bloody balls up until flyboys came in, bombed everything in sight-nearly got my own Warrior, Sir.”


“Any of the team I sent in survive?”


“Yes Sir-one, got gutshot a few times.  Saw the whole thing; him and some Israeli were negotiating when the lass opened up with a suppressed sniper rifle, took out the IFV commanders, shot his teammates over… would be there but there’s a bomb crater now. “


“Where’s Tom Jager?”


“Being tended to-we’re about to fly him out.”  So Warburg goes over to the medivac chopper with Tom Jager being lifted in, unconscious-too bad.  They’ll be having words when he recovers of course.





January 9, 2012


A continuation of The Future of Warfare



J. Croft



March 18, 2014


Kayla Miller is in bed, convalescing from the recent battle, her war injuries; a tray that had food was virtually cleaned off, hardly needing washed.  She was watching a movie on the TV courtesy of the VHS-an old one called The Survivors.  By her bedside was her Mosin-Nagant ; she cradles the suppressor-equipped M-14 she got off the cop she bagged during the closing seconds of the Battle of Pymatunig Lake… her new best friend.

A knock on the door.  Kayla cooly points her new rifle… “who that?”

Chris Bernard walks in, all 140 lb 5’7 gangly teen.  Maybe before the war you could call him a gamer or a geek but him wearing full German camo, a pistol belt with a Browning Hi-power and his eyes… he’s seen combat, definitely.  He was scrawny, but he didn’t look weak…

“Sup Chris.”

“Hey.  How’s the shoulder?”

“It’ll get better.  Range was too far for the 5.56 to do it’s hyperlethality bullshit or I’d be out an arm.  I be out bustin’ on fools soon enough but until then I guess I’ll be giving lessons.  Which is cool because the more people we got out there with rifles that know what the fuck they doing, the sooner this war’s gonna end… if I HAD to though, I could go prone or support my new boyfriend on my pack-but hopefully they give me some time to recup, y’know.”

“Sorry about your dad.”

“So am I.  Believe that.  Got back at the muthafuckas though.”

“Yeah we did!”

“Good service though.  It fucking worked!”

“Fuck yeah it did!

“Just need to get the next one to be able to hit ground targets.  Could’ve definitely used some of that the other day.”




In the largest port in the world, dozens of commercial Roll on-Roll off fast merchantmen are being opened up and unloaded…

The entire U.S. European Command plus British, French,  German and Belgian armored divisions are being offloaded, combat ready.  The Main Battle Tanks; M-1 Abrams, Challengers, Leopard IIs, infantry fighting vehicles are driven onto trains and flatbed trailers and secured.

Those trailers roll out in convoys under heavy guard and air escort from Apache gunships, Reaper drones and fighters from both the U.S. Air Force and various NATO services.  They head westward, toward Ohio.




Kayla and Chris watch The Survivors…

“That’s going to require a lot more programming and perhaps better sensor technology than repurposed surveillance cameras-like IR or synthetic aperture radar.  Or maybe I can modify some pattern recognition technology but then we’d need the same IFF aircraft use but then there’s introducing a transceiver into the design and any radio link will open a way to hack it.  As it is we’ve pushed the available technology pretty far-you got to remember we can only use whatever’s available and the Beowulf requires certain chips, certain components.  Thank God the rest of the Minuteman can be put together in about any machine shop and hanger, the fuel’s common enough and we can throw about any machine gun into the thing… and what the fuck are you watching?”  Chris catches his breath.

“The Survivors.  Robin Williams is some yuppie turned survivor, some country singer is some killer trying to whack him and some other old dude’s trying to stop him or some bullshit.  Kick it with me for a bit an watch it’s actually not that bad.”

Chris pulls up a chair by Kayla and they watch, and she’s still lovingly cradling her M-14.




F-15s, F-16s, A-10s, RAF and Luftwaffe Tornados, Apache gunships are all being rapidly fueled and armed.  Overhead, a KC-130 tanker flies by with F-22 fighter escort.  Pilots from the US Air Force and NATO air services emerge from the barracks… we can see on their legs strap on maps with a 100 mile circle hue around Lake Pymatunig.




“Would you like me to get Pastor Conrad, get you two properly hitched?”  Chris teases Kayla about how attached she is to her new war prize.

“Huh, what?  Oh, my new rifle?  …Well that just means you’re out of luck aren’t you?”


They watch the old movie; Robin Williams and Jerry Reed are exchanging gunfire in the woods, Robin banging away with his Valmet and Jerry being a practiced killer.  “See that hillbilly would be me an’ those cops are fucking Robin Williams with guns they don’t deserve.  Now we got the drone issue solved I can get back in the hunt.  We all can.  Get some more nice ass pieces to add to my collection.”

“What about your Mosin?”

“I dunno… I mean I like how I can put down a muthafucka with it, an I like working the bolt and lining up but I can lay crosshairs on a lot more motherfuckers in the same time with the 14.”

They watch more of the movie-Jerry shoots Robin’s expensive Valmet’s barrel, ruining it.  They laugh.  David Getz enters, 6’ 200lb, in his 20’s in fatigue pants, combat boots, a form fitting t-shirt.  Soldier.  “Ah, you found The Survivors.”

You shot my rifle!  What kind of sick bastard does that?!”  More laughs.  Robin pulls his handgun.

“Chump.”  Kayla snorts.  Robin shoots one shot-then his pistol jams…

“Uh, um, can-can we have a cease-fire?”


“A cease-fire?!”


“Yeah.  Um, uh, you’re not going to believe this but I loaded the wrong bullets in my gun!”


“You what?!”


“Yeah, see I loaded the long, skinny bullets when I was supposed to load the big fat ones.”

Kayla doesn’t look comfortable-Chris laughs: “Kayla I remember you doing that your first mission.”

“No shit?”  Dave gets in.

“Yeah I remember you fucking shitting yo’self on yours-an we didn’t even start out.  Glass houses dude.  An fuck you too Dave for jumping in!  I’m a combat casualty-EMMA!”

Emma Moritz, short girl, peeks her head in, holding some electronics parts:  “what’s up Kay?”

“These boys are interrupting my convalescence an’ shit.  Make em’ go away.”

“Honey, I just make sure you get food an’ help you to the toilet.  I got nothing to do with these clowns.”


“Fuck you Dave.”  Kayla frowns… she hits pause on the remote.

“Shouldn’t they be tearing the state apart looking for us?  I mean, we did take down two drones and two jet fighters with our drone.  They gots to be pissed.”



Phone Crews, guarded by State Police, are busy disconnecting phone lines and fiber optics along the western border of town.



More Phone Crews, more disconnection of landlines, fiber optics.  All over town, all supervised by Pennsylvania State Police.


Same story: Phone Crews disconnecting service all over town.  The Mayor, a shriveled crow of a middle age woman approaches the ranking State Police Trooper, a Lieutenant:  “what’s going on-why are you cutting service?”


“But, we can’t use cell phones, we have no television, radio, internet-“

“-State of emergency, that’s all I know.”

“What about everyone west of us?”

What can the LT do but shrug.  Orders are orders.



Phone Crews under the supervision of Belgian NATO troops cut phone service all over town.



Same story:  Phone Crews under supervision of U.S. Army cut landlines across town.


More Phone Crews cutting service across town, supervised and guarded by Ohio Highway Patrol.


Last phone line is cut by the last crew… they watch as elements of a US Army Brigade Combat Team-Stryker AFV variants-line up…



Coast Guard patrol vessels-armed with machine guns and cannon-are patrolling hard along the shore of Lake Erie, alongside their Canadian counterparts, with Canadian Air Force F-18s flying overhead.




Pure chaos rules the heavily fortified 30’s granite structure nestled in the midst of downtown Cleveland’s fortress/skyscrapers and office buildings;  people dart in and out, yelling, trying in vain to get cell phones to work, landline phones to work, but it’s not going to happen.

A US Army Major, flanked by a six man infantry squad briskly enters the office of the Mayor of Cleveland, whose having an emergency joint meeting with staff from every office that could come at an emergency notice without electronic communications of any sort.

The Major assumes control; “gentlemen, I am here to inform you that this city and the entire region are under direct military rule now.  You are to cooperate fully with any and all NATO military forces operating in this area.”

“Why” the Mayor has to ask, “why is everything down?”

“National security.  There’s a major terrorist threat, and we’re here to contain it; it is feared domestic terrorists may have another nuclear weapon-“

“-OH MY GOD!”  A councilwoman blurts out.  Everyone is really afraid now.

“Yes, that’s why.  We have our NATO allies here to assist us in crushing the insurgents once and for all.  I won’t have another Columbus on my watch.”

Everyone nods in agreement.




A B-52 is being armed with six freefall nuclear weapons, under heavy guard.




Chris Bernard expands his thoughts.  “Actually the Minuteman took down two F-22 Raptors.  Those are as top-of-the-line as they come but as stealth as they are against radar and I guess infrared, they can’t mask engine noise.  Minuteman uses both optical and audio recognition software, and even that’s derived from common software.  It flies and fights like an air to air missile only it searches for the next target; just homes in and kills but it can also react faster than a human.  Any human.  Preprogrammed maneuvers and scenarios… well it works.”

Kayla nods.  “Believe me I saw it!  I thought I was dead but then I saw the fighters-no it was the drone-shoot missiles at it but they only hit the rocket boosters after they separated.  THEN, there was the dogfight an’ our drone took both those F-22s out like they was nothing.  Course the Reaper sent every last missile after the Minuteman but it dodged them all an’ handled business.  Most awesome thing ever, and if y’all hadn’t have launched it, I’d been dead, for real.”

“And you saved ours when you made that last stand and took out two of their ground droids.  We’d been dead if you hadn’t.”  Emma chimes in.

“Tell the truth I didn’t have no place to go and… I didn’t care.  I think they will-they ought to we downed two of their best jet fighters and all their drones-why haven’t they gone ape shit?”

“Good point Kayla.  I think we really shocked the fuck outta them.  I think we stunned them and they’re trying to figure out what to do.”  Dave Getz though shakes his head…

“Then we need to attack.  Right now, and take advantage of their shock an’ fuck they shit up proper.”

“Would love that but that was our only drone.  Yeah we recovered the hard drive but everything else is busted up we got to build another one from scratch-body, avionics, sensors, get a Beowulf built up, get another cannon.  Can we?  Depends how long until they regroup-“

“-An flatten the state looking for us.”  Dave shakes his head.

“Think they’ll go that far, Dave?”

“Chris, Emma; you try getting on the nets?”

“Been laying low y’know after the battle.”  Chris nods at Emma’s comment, and it seems to have been the appropriate response.

“Get those plans out, now.  Nets, dead drops, however you can: we got to unass outta here, might as well get the word out.  Hopefully people are spreading the word on our battle-if not, then it up to us.

They’ll be sweeping the entire state, just as soon as they can gather enough troops.“



March 20, 2014


The new Ohio Federal Fusion Center is located in otherwise abandoned downtown Warren, Ohio-the town itself being cleared of the last of its former inhabitants… which Lieutenant General Andreas Warburg of the German Army hasn’t arrived yet as he’s en route.  Accompanying him is his aid and liason officer Major Carl Fox, US Army.

“We’ve established a hard 160 kilometer perimeter marking the edge of total electronic blackout-landlines cut, every signal jammed.  We also have a 30 kilometer perimeter we’re forming as well, and with NATO reinforcements we’ll have an airtight perimeter to begin operations.  And we’ll have additional support from Wright Patterson-we cleared out Dayton several months ago and are in the process of doing the same with Warren.  The fusion center in town has the only operational communications within the blackout zone” Major Fox finishes, then: “kinda overkill ain’t it?”

“A fully autonomous drone that can dogfight and shoot down stealth fighters and be built in some hillbilly’s garage?  No, Major-this could change the course of the war, and that will not happen!”  General Warburg sits, thinks, then; “so, still no explanation what really happened to Columbus?”  The German looks archly at his Aide D’Camp.

“No:  the fissile materials tested indicated it was an American device, but the readings are inconclusive, like someone remanufactured the device from different bombs thrown in the same mix.  That’s the analysis at any rate.”

“Our opponents obviously have those.”

“Which ones, you think?”

“Could be the Israelis double dealing, could be some devices stolen from your inventories.  Since the warheads are locked out they’d have to tear them apart and remanufacture them anyway and it would not be in the interest of Israel doing a double cross and using weapons that can be traced back to them.  They could’ve recovered some bomb lost in the sea, in North Carolina, used what they stole out of Minot, or maybe… ach forget it!  If there’s really another bomb, we’ll deal with it then-there’s one of your B-52s that will make certain of that.  Right now we got a drone problem.”

“Amazing they chose a ramjet for the engine.”

“Not really; turbine engines require a sophisticated industrial base.  Ramjets are but shaped metal tubes with fuel sprayers and burners, but require high airspeed to begin operating and our opponents do not have factories nor airbases.  So a crude engine with rocket boosters is the logical choice no?  Set up anywhere and launch.  …The computerized brain they used; they’ll be wanting to get that out, or at least the plans.”

“We’re jamming literally every frequency.  All landlines are cut, and there’s two perimeters; we’ll close in, go house to house every step of the way.”



The former Commander of the Warren Base is sitting at the counter in work clothes, grimy and tired.  He watches as the Waitress flips through every channel only to find static.


The Commander gets a cell phone out and checks the bars-nothing.  “Looks like the cell networks out.”

“Another nuclear attack, Hank?”

“Had one of those; it didn’t take out everything.  I gotta go” and Hank the Commander leaves.


The German General, and his American staff continue in the MRAP.

“We have civilian authorities looking for every dead drop, busting anyone who even remotely looks suspicious; we need more bodies for the FEMA camps.  Speaking of which, we’ll have Warren emptied out by the end of the week.  Too bad about Columbus, I really liked that town.”

They travel;  along the route he witnesses an operation as he’s driven via a MRAP.

“Stop!  I want to see this.”

The Driver obeys.  Warburg watches with cold blue eyes as down a side street is being raided by elements of the German and US Armies in a joint operation;  Bundeswehr Infantry alongside elements of a Army Combat Brigade go in hard and fast with armor support from three Strykers and a Leopard II Main Battle Tank originally tasked with repelling the Soviets… a NATO operation in America’s dead heartland.

Half the homes are boarded up; several of those boards pop out and machine gun fire scythes the troops; the gunners are good and catch about all of them, but they also hit several civilians.

The Stryker variants employed have remote operated .50bmg mounts and they go into immediate effect swiveling to the machine gunners and chopping away at the entire homes.

More boards pop out and grenades-no, much larger than hand grenades, larger than rifle grenades-lob at the Strykers.  Now, the Strykers have the railing on the side which chain link fencing is attached to act as a catcher’s mitt for rocket propelled grenades or anything else with a HEAT or HESH charge.  The grenades lobbed at the Strykers are just big bombs filled with high explosive-they rip and shred the railing, the fencing and a second volley of rifle grenades splat on the surface of the Strykers-HESH rounds that spread their soft plastique charges over a wider area and detonate creating a spall effect.

The Leopard, oriented outward of the operation spins around on the asphalt and orients toward the action.

“Halt the Leopard!”

“Yes General” an American Sargeant gets on the radio.

General Warburg can’t watch from the MRAP.  He steps out.

“Tell that crew I am approaching.”

“This is too much for his Aide D’Camp: “General you can’t go out there its dangerous!”

“Stay there: I want air support right now, these insurrectionists are not getting away!”  And off goes General Warburg, climbing the Leopard II tank like a tanker and raps on the command hatch.

The Sargeant and the Major look at each other in dread, horror, awe.

At the Leopard the hatch opens and a Bundeswehr Lieutenant pops his head up to see a General cocking the handle on the pintle mounted .50 BMG.

“Sir!  What are you doing, this is very dangerous!”

“Yes now I want you to start shelling that street.”

“Our troops-“

“-Are dead!  Level every fucking house on this street!”  General Warburg’s left hand loosens its grip on the 50 and starts moving toward the Beretta.  Now the tank commander understands; he ducks back in his tank.

General Warburg aims the .50 at the first house enemy fire came from and chops away.  He adjusts as the Leopard II’s turrent traverses to the gunner’s own priority target and FIRES it’s 120mm main armament at a house which blows up spectacularly!

Warburg keeps raking the enemy positions on his own as the Leopard FIRES and blows up a second home, a third home, a fourth home, a fifth.

General Warburg empties the .50 bends down inside the Leopard II: “take it from here!”  He jumps off the tank runs back to the MRAP to a shocked Major Fox and crew of his command vehicle.

“I’ve sent a message: we’re not going to fuck around anymore.  Where’s my air support?”

Major Fox was thinking as this Kraut general sat, sweating, a feral look to him and made up his mind that  this bastard wasn’t someone to fuck with.

“Sir, as you know there is only landline communication and we’re waiting on fighter cover before we can-“

“-They are not going to get away, do you understand Major?”

“Yes, General I do.  The Air Force-“

“-I’ll get that air support if I have to take that panzer to Wright-Patterson and ram the main armament up their arses myself!  Get that fucking air cover up right now!”

“Our troops General-”

“-Died doing their duty but they died stupidly.  That is that.  …How much longer must I wait for my air support Major?”

Five hours later…

A third of Warren shot up, burning… US A-10’s and Apache gunships fly low overhead, F-16’s fly higher for air cap….

General Warburg finally arrives at the Federal Fusion Center astride that Leopard II; the center itself occupies an foreclosed office building that’s been heavily fortified… the entire Downtown is fortified against a major assault.   The Leopard stops and the General hops off.  Tankers are short to fit easier inside their vehicles but Lt. General Warburg must’ve just barely met Bundeswehr requirements.

Greeting him:  FBI Special Agent in Charge Allison Stevenson;  Jack Caruthers of Homeland Security; Major Terrence Brown of the Ohio Highway Patrol;  Major Allen Tibbs of the Pennsylvania State Police; Major Janet Hines of the West Virginia Highway Patrol; Major Dan Glass of the New York State Police; Trumbull County Sheriff Dan Kowalski.

General Warburg bulls through: “Inside!”

The German General bulls through security, through everyone and enters the Command Center; lavishly high tech with workstations and screens and dozens of personnel from both civilian and military branches of the government.

“Achtung!” Everyone stops, looks at their new commanding officer.  Germans certainly know how to get attention.

“I am Lieutenant General Warburg, German Army, and this is now a military operation under the North Atlantic Treaty-my country and the rest of NATO are going to assist you in putting down your latest rebellion.  When we are finished it will be the last.”

The General approaches a interactive holographic display of the region-Ohio, Pennsylvania, Western New York, West Virginia.  Varying shades and shapes of blue represent local police, state police, US military-all of which are cordoning off both a hundred mile and 20 mile perimeter around Lake Pymatunig if they’re not already swarming that area far more than the rest of country-if they could.  Red represent known rebel forces and those are very few… what aren’t are the number and types of attacks.  Streaming into Dayton, Columbus, Cleveland, Pittsburgh are NATO forces from Great Britain, France, Italy, Norway, and a huge contingent from Germany itself.  Additional US forces stationed in Germany also accompany the airlift.

“Your rebels have managed under heavy internal suppression, disarray, and a lack of apparent research and manufacturing resources to field a fully automated drone capable of air combat-something straight out of a terminator movie.  That drone from reports can be easily manufactured under clandestine conditions, and apparently so can the computer given the conditions the enemy operates under.  This… Battle of Pymatunig Lake if repeated could be the turning point of this war, negating our air dominance and open the way toward total collapse that the detonation of several nuclear weapons on your soil hasn’t.  That will not be allowed to happen: we are establishing a 160 kilometer and 30 kilometer perimeter around the battle site: every possible landline is cut, every frequency jammed, and from there we shall close the noose and catch the parties responsible for constructing that drone and secure this area.  I have been authorized to use whatever means necessary.  All forces in the region will be under my direct command, neither resistance nor incompetence will be tolerated.”

General Warburg looked about at his staff; all of them had some measure of fear in their eyes.  Good.

“That will be all for now, I have had a long day.  I will be in my office freshening up.  Major…

Major Fox leads the German General to his office; it is of course an executive office.  The Major shows the German in and he assumes the soft leather seat at his desk, already equipped with his computer and papers.

“Ah, good.  You set up exactly as specified.  I think we will work well together.  Now: I need something to fuck, right now.”

“I got that covered as well General.  How do you feel about ‘Batman and Robin’?”

“Ah, I like that one!  Do we have costumes?”

“Of course.”

Several minutes later the German General and the American Major are… God in Heaven the kraut’s wearing a Batman cowl, cape, his combat boots, a ‘utility belt with cuffs and sex toys and that’s it.  The Major’s Robin and similarly attired… (author’s note: unbelievable… these are some sick fuckers but that’s the kind of satanic pedophile that would conduct this sort of operation against civilians.)

The Major marches into an adjoining room and drags out a naked, underweight 14 year old boy.

“Ah, he’s just right!  Wunderbahr!  Let’s begin! NA-NA-NA-NA-NA-NANANANA BATMAN!”  The Major lets the boy go and both he and Warburg give chase…




A work truck, used for hauling rubbish from roofing jobs is cruising westbound through the pretty Ohio countryside, carrying a full load…

…Inside that load is a hollow space and in it are:

Kayla Miller: commander of the Pymatunig Militia, sniper:  “hope to God we don’t see combat cuz’ I can’t do a whole lot beyond snipe… should’ve got the fuck outta there right after the battle!”

Chris Bernard: computer programmer:  “I had no ideal they’d shit themselves this bad over it.  Must’ve really scared the fuck outta them-this might be the game changer we’ve been looking for.”

Danny Miller: (no relation to Kayla) the Amish kid who helped Kayla at the Battle of Pymatunig Lake.  “You really should have stayed back at the farmhouse Kayla, you need time to heal.”

“Shut up Danny, we’re going through with this.  Em, you getting anything yet?”

Emma Moritz:  short blonde girl in her early 20’s, kind of a hippie but has seen a lot of combat.  She is going through several cell phones trying to get a signal. “Still getting nothing.  I think they really did shut down all communications.”

David Getz: ex US Army, Iraq War Veteran, has the M240:  “All of you be ready when we get to the checkpoint.  Danny you help Kayla.  We’ll have to move fast, get to a car-stay together.  Hopefully this hide will work.”

Hal Leskovitch: 30’s, balding and aside from his AK it’s unclear what his role is.

“At any rate we’ll get to our contact in Chardon-go from there.”

“Yes” Kayla replies, “and above all we got to get Chris here to safety.  We can hide him in Cleveland, eventually get him to Alabama, Upper Michigan, Montana, Texas, Jefferson, or one of the other Free States.”

Kayla pulls out of her pocket a picture of her a few years back; 30lbs heavier… she really had a fine body back then… friendly, untouched by poverty or war.  She has her little brother with her and they pose for the camera and she’s happy to do so… same kid the German has as she looks at her photo.

At the checkpoint, Geauga County Sheriff’s Deputy Angie Kent shuffles her 5’9”, 130lb frame on her tired feet as she waves traffic forward.  It’s been a long couple days.

“Come on!  Next ten-let’s go!  Follow the vehicle in front until it stops!”  Backing up the cop is Corporal Dylan Gordon, U.S. Army, carrying a M-4.


The line of vehicles and horse drawn wagons starts to advance forward.  The checkpoint was organized in a single file line, with ten TSA Search Teams waiting at each “station” strung along the road; Mike Benson leers at the incoming meat, his slicked back hair, greasy skin, glasses, 300lb fat frame just scream pervert, as do the rest of those freaks and rejects.

Overhead are four deployable towers, with two US Army soldiers, each with a rifle and a M240 or M249.  Beyond that, a pair of British Challenger Main Battle Tanks, their 120mm smoothbore cannons and top mounted 50 cal heavy machine guns aimed menacingly at the Americans.  All of them.

1st vehicle:  a semi hauling a tanker.  Driving is Bill Buford-just turned 50 whose clothes hung loose on his once well filled beer gut, just wanting to get in and through this latest brand of government bullshit and get home.  A CB and a shortwave radio are off-since no kind of radio was working now.



March 6, 2013

Bill Buford is looking over his semi, parked at his Ranch style home just outside Sharon.  His wife, Ann, stomps out of their home with suitcases in each hand, their children carrying suitcases-all headed to their ancient station wagon.  Ann whirls on Bill:

“Bill will you please come with us!”

Bill keeps working on his truck…


Bill keeps working: “You should stay here-this’ll blow over.  Just do what you’re told and it’ll be alright.  I’m essential to the war effort, we’ll be taken care of.”

“I’m not telling you where we’re going, and don’t you dare come after us!”

“Don’t come back.”  Bill looks at his wife “Just don’t.  But you’re on your own out there, and if you’re caught, you’re in for it.  Just don’t take my kids.”

Ann pulls out a .45… Bill takes a breath, faces her.  “You’re just asking for trouble having that.”

“The kids are coming with me.  They won’t be slaves.”

“Then go.  You’re dead to me.”





2nd vehicle: a green PT Cruiser driven by a single woman, about 30, strangely vacant look to her eyes but immaculate.

3rd vehicle is a flatbed truck hauling a backhoe.  Two Construction Workers sit in the cab utterly surprised at this kind of checkpoint… though given the events of the past few years one wonders what rock they were living under.

“Shit.”  Mike the driver looks at his boss, Jeff.

“Just go through, it’ll be alright.”



March 4, 2013


Jeff’s construction business is in a rented warehouse space, which given how Akron’s more economically depressed than most of the area, was cheap.  Jeff himself is in his office on his computer when Federal Agents rudely bust in.

“Jeff Goernke, we’ll be needing copies of all your records-“

“-Whoa, hold up!  Who are you and where’s your warrant?”

The first Agent grabs Jeff and SLAMS him to the ground, puts his Sig Saur to his head.  “We’re from your government.  We need your records because you’re a essential business-and we’d rather have people running their business helping to rebuild our country instead of just shooting you and seizing the equipment.”

Second Agent chimes in: “Goddamn it’s like you didn’t hear we’re under martial law or-“

“-Say WHAT?!”  Jeff realizes… he’d had his head up his ass…




4th vehicle is a Geauga County vehicle driven by Dan Basolignio, a code enforcement officer who just screams unctuous prick with his ridiculously slick back hair, beady eyes, wearing a 1000 dollar suit-but working for the government these days carried lots of perks… but this damn roadblock-checkpoint-whatever’s going to get in the way of brunch….



March 1, 2013


Dan Basolignio rips through the parking lot of the 70’s era government building in his new Mustang, pulls into his parking spot, gets out in his not-1000 dollar suit.  A Black Male approaches him, lost.

“Excuse me, but could y’all tell me where I pay this fine?”

Dan looks this latest mark up and down, “In there dumbfuck.”

“Hey man, I’m just trying to pay up.”

“Shut up.  You should have obeyed the law, but no, your dumb ass is giving us money.  Matter of fact, maybe I go in, find out who the fuck you are and fuck your life up some more.  How about that?”

“P-please Mister, don’t I’m trying to pay but my-“

“-Oh I don’t wanna fucking hear it!  …Get out of my sight.”  Dan quickly got tired and the man scurried off.

Dan enters the building, and there’s a sign stating everyone is to meet in the conference room, which he does, because doing what one’s told to do keeps your ass out of a sling.  Unlike that one dumb fuck outside-arrives where he’s supposed to but asks where he’s supposed to pay?

Dan enters, and someone from the Federal Government is just starting:

“I’m from the Federal Emergency Management Agency, and as you know due to a combination of external and internal crises the President of the United States has put the nation under martial law.  FEMA will be liasoning with your offices in order to make the necessary transitions.  Now, aside from the ordnances you normally enforce you will also be authorized to enforce state and federal mandates, and codes.  Essentially you and your government are being united with the federal government.  Any questions?”

Dan steps up:  “Yeah, how much authority will we have-I mean, how much leeway will we have to do our jobs.”

FEMA Man leans forward, smiles, “as much as you need, Sir.  You’ll be armed, given any necessary firearms training, have the power to arrest and detain.  We’re in martial law, under a state of emergency, this is how it is.”

Dan smiles.  His career choice is paying off in so many unexpected ways.

Right after the meeting Dan marches out to the lobby where that man he accosted sits, waiting.  Dan motions for a Chardon Police Officer to accompany him, which he does.

“Officer, I need you to arrest this man’ he made terrorist threats against the government-“


Chardon Cop pulls out his taser and zaps the wrong, protesting Black Man…




5th vehicle is a late model Mustang.  The driver is in his late 40’s male, powerfully built, in a leather jacket.  He has a government-issued Panasonic Tough Book open and displaying  a failed attempt to log onto the internet, a government website.  He has in his jacket a Glock 18 machine pistol and a carrying case with four 33r round 9mm magazines… and a duffel bag on the passenger side floor.

6th is not a vehicle but a Amish cart hauling a full, tarped load with a married Amish Couple.



August 15, 2012


Dale and Jane Tomkins are tending their farm outside Middlefield, a small basic farm for a couple starting out-and the Ohio Department of Health, backed up by Middlefield Police and the Geauga County SWAT Team pull up in SUVs and the SWAT armored vehicle and conduct a raid.

October 6, 2012


Another raid on the Tomkins farm by about the same lot of law enforcement and bureaucrats, only with more force and some of the Tomkins’ property being vandalized during the search.

March 30, 2013


Dan Basilgliano leads this raid, and is finishing, smacking down on their kitchen table a list of violations he drew up.

June 8, 2013


A US Army HMMV pulls up, the Gunner aiming at the pacifist Amish couple with his .50 M2 while the other four Soldiers dismount from the vehicle… emerging later with eggs and produce-robbing them essentially.

June 20, 2013


Dale and Ann Tomkins are dragged out in the middle of the night, naked-they had been making love when this latest raid occurs.  A State Trooper emerges from the barn “No rebels, Sir.”

“Take what you want, then.”

June 22, 2013

Having nothing left of their farm, Dale and Ann spread kerosene all over their property, and set it ablaze.





7th vehicle is a Dodge Charger packed with a Family; Dad driving, Mom, and Four Kids.

Mom:  “Honey…”

Dad:  “Yeah.”

Oldest Kid:  “I see blueshirts!”


“Daddy I don’t want the blueshirts to touch me again!”

“Dad, please, can’t we go back please?!”

The two youngest-toddlers-start wailing uncontrollably.

“Honey let’s turn around-“

“We CAN’T!”  Dad had had enough…

…He thinks…. Shit.  There’s a loaded Hummer behind them, a checkpoint with 10 berths for TSA, flanked by four of those portable guard towers.  No drones-no kind of radio signal was working-but there were plenty of cops and they had two huge tanks in the distance, their cannons aimed right at them.  He looked to the right, and there are trees, homes.  He checks a tear in his seat; just visible is the butt of a revolver.

“I want all of you to get to those trees to the right, as fast as you can.  No arguments-I’ll clear the way for you.”

8th vehicle: pickup truck driven by Mark Harper, a former college student turned farmer and his truck’s loaded with produce.



Earlier today

Mark Harper’s home is a century home in the middle of Ashtabula County, with peeled paint, several vehicles in the driveway.  Mark’s truck is in the back and he and several other Boarders/farmers load the produce.




9th vehicle is a U.S. Army Hummer with five Soldiers-all of them in good cheer.

“That was a good fuckin’ raid!”

“Hell yeah it was!  Nice when you don’t have motherfuckers shooting you in the back.”

“Yeah we actually had time to have some fun with those Yoders.”  “Yoder” being a term for Amish…

“Hey Sarge, you think we got these insurgents broke?”  Sarge sits shotgun in the front, about 34, a veteran of Iraq.  The rest are kids scooped up when it had come down to work for the government or take your chances starving or getting busted growing food illegally.

“I seen shit sway back and forth in the sandbox; one side gain an advantage, the other side figure out counters-it goes back and forth, just like here.  Share some shit with y’all; you know why comms all down?  It’s because they established a quarantine; they need to catch whatever group put up a drone, shot down three drones and two F-22’s-no bullshit.”

The troops all look at each other in shock.

“They built a drone that shot down two Raptors, and three drones?!”

“I wanna say naw” Sarge looks out at the line of vehicles ahead “but a LT showed me some classified footage-footage from a drone and you can see that fucker fly and shoot down those jets like it was nothing-and nothing we had could hit it.  It was unbelievable.  Hell’s coming down on here…”

The Roofing Truck is number 10…

Chris looks out… sees this checkpoint, sees the blue shirted TSA people.

“I don’t believe this!  Kayla, look at this!”

Kayla rises, looks out…

“Oh hell no!”

Scott Foster watches from the opposite side of the checkpoint from Kayla-in Ohio Outdoors, his sporting goods store.  Behind him are a rack half filled with antiques, 22 rifles, muzzle loading rifles, and single shot shotguns; a sign above them says CIVILIAN LEGAL WITH PERMIT.  Below the ammunition shelves were nearly bare.  To his left is a locked glass door, and a Chardon Cop emerges-we catch a glimpse of more potent, modern rifles and pistols-and locks the doors, pockets the key.

“Okay, we’re secure there Mr. Foster; let’s lock ‘er up.”

“Yes Sir.”  Scott robotically hands the store keys to the Cop and he escorts Mr. Foster outside and locks up the store, both security door and the main entrance.  “Y’know I did everything you wanted.  Everything.  I even sent friends of my down the river for you-I don’t deserve this!

“Thank you for your cooperation Sir, you’ll be compensated for your service” the Cop robotically intoned.  Scott just turns, stares at his now closed store.

Not asking for his keys.

Not asking when, IF, his store was going to open.  Scott Foster looks out again at the checkpoint; all the cops, the military, the long line generated, the machine gun armed helicopter style drone buzzing overhead, and further above he catches a Predator.


Drone Command Center

Airman Kelly Goode is in the drone seat and he scans the area around Buffalo, New York; his tactical display shows a much larger overall military presence in the area, and about 20 fighters and a KC130 tanker orbiting alongside a veritable ring of law enforcement and military in a hundred mile radius from Lake Pymatunig, which is tinted as a NO GO zone for his drone as it’s radio command and every signal, every frequency is being jammed.  His commander coldly looks on from a distance-no communication, no camaraderie and certainly no Airman Dan “Master Chief” Hladr.  Kelly knew what happened-wasn’t Dan’s fault, but he got the blame, and got disappeared.

“Kind of an odd tactic isn’t it?  Jam every frequency so nothing works, including our equipment.”

“Just do your job Airman.”  The Commander had had a close enough call the other day; she had to bullshit hard and fast to get the blame square on “master chief”.  But that’s the way it goes.



The line of 10 cars is guided into their slots and the TSA descend upon them.  With the backing of the cops and NATO military any earned hatred is suppressed.  Ten berths: ten VIPER teams… blueshirted losers smirking, freshly confident that they once again have the upper hand.

Deputy Angie Kent waves Bill Buford’s tanker truck forward.

“Go all the way up to the first berth, Sir-LET’S GO!”

Bill throws his rig into gear, lumbers forward to the first berth a few hundred feet forward…

Deputy Kent waves forward the green PT Cruiser with the immaculately done up, immaculately spaced out woman-and Deputy Kent was in no mood for frightened sheep today.  She marches to the stopped car and slams on the roof “HEY, WAKE THE FUCK UP IN THERE, LET’S GO!”

The woman turns, looks up at the Deputy, her hand on the heel of her service pistol.  Somehow something connects and she puts her car into gear and goes forward.

“BERTH TWO!”  Angie shakes her head in wonder.   Some people… and there was no TV, no radio, no cell phones… no phones period!  Not even communications with the Sheriff’s Department were working, it’s like every wire was literally cut.  It’s the goddmandest thing.  Someone’s fucked up-but there’s work to do, gotta wave forward this third-pair-of assholes.  “Let’s go boys!  Time’s a wastin’.”

Mike looks at Jeff-fucking TSA fags and rapists out there.

“Just go forward and let’s get this over with” Jeff says, and Mike puts the rig into gear, heads to Berth Three.

Deputy Kent now looks at the Geauga County vehicle, with Dan Basogliano… oh joy, and he pulls up and stops right in front of her.

“Hey Angie” Dan gets smooth with her.  He’s even worse when he’s trying to be smooth, just makes him even more a greaseball.  “Any way you can let me ‘round this heavy duty roadblock?”

“Everyone gets screened Dan.  Everyone.”  Feels good to tell this cocksucker that, just like that.

“Hey, Hon; just to remind you I’m a County Official-“  Angie goes for her pistol…


“Berth Four.  I’m not telling you again.”  Angie would have NO problem shooting this fuckhead, it would be a pleasure.

“Alright.”  Dan goes forward, to the TSA VIPER team awaiting him at Berth Four… and he WILL get that cunt fired when he’s done-as soon as he’s done!

Deputy Kent waves forward the Mustang-and hello Daddy… Angie liked slightly older men and this was definitely a Man rolling towards her-she holds her hand out and stops.

“Hey, what are you doing?!”  A Soldier calls out.

“Just a minute here!”  Angie has authority and she’s going to take advantage of it!  The Mustang halts in front of her and she leans forward… okay this isn’t a totally fucked up morning.

“Hello, Sir.”

“Hello Deputy.”   This guy was smooth in every way Dan Basogliano would never be.  He even pulls off the cliché leather jacket without looking like he’s trying.  “Agent Cooper, FBI” and he shows her his ID.  “I’ve been in the field and got cut off-is there any place I can call someone?”

“Not in this town, or anywhere near here.  We’re under a total blackout.”

“That so?  Figures.  Anyway I can get around?”

“Sorry Agent” and now Deputy Kent was sorry for subjecting Cooper to this… “Orders are everyone goes through the screening.  Everyone.  You can check with the VIPER Team at Berth Five… sorry.”

“I got you.”  Cooper was cooperative.  Nice to know some people understand there are things beyond her control… though she didn’t mind Dan getting the blueshirt goons all over him as he’s pulling up to his berth now.  Angie turns and sees… AMISH?!

Holy shit.  Fucking unbelievable-what the fuck are Amish doing this far north?!  She has to ask… she waves the Tomkins forward and halts them.

“Whoa there!  Say what business do you have in Chardon?”

“Got goods for sale.”


That Soldier butts in-“Hey, leave the questions to the VIPER teams!”

“I’m doing my job here!”

“Get those pilgrims the fuck on to their berth-RIGHT NOW!”  Shit, this fucker just might shoot me.  Dog eat dog…

“Berth Six-just go and get this over with alright?”

The Tomkins nod without another word, go forward.


Angie waves forward the car with the family packed in…

…Angie looks at the Driver: male, 30’s, he’s looking at me funny.  He’s hunched forward-what’s he reaching for?

Deputy Kent draws her service pistol “STOP!  STOP WHERE YOU ARE!  SHOW ME YOUR HANDS!”

Soldiers nearby can’t notice but hear Deputy Kent and join in aiming at the fully loaded family trickster.


In the lead British Tank, Leftenant Alan Hines watches from his optics the local deputy and soldiers drawing on the fully loaded family vehicle.


Gunner sees, aims his armament at the suspect vehicle.

Both British tanks aim their cannon at the vehicle.

Behind them in the US Army Hummer, the Sarge makes a decision.  “Goddamn if I’m going to get splattered by our own allies-get the fuck out of the line of fire now Corporal!”

“Yes sir!”  Corporal/Driver guns it and the HUMMV maneuvers off to the side, the Fifth Man gets up on the M-240 7.62mm NATO machine gun, aims at the suspect vehicle.

“Beats getting raped by the TSA”  Corporal jokes.

In the Roofing Truck, everyone in the hide looks at Kayla.

“I-I don’t know what the fuck we’re going to do.”  It’s obvious all the OPFOR armament’s aimed at the family truckster up front, which wouldn’t take too much effort to aim their way.  Soldiers, machine guns, fucking tanks!  Fuck fuck fuck!

What can they do for them?  What?  They got to get that hard drive, those plans, outside of this communications dead zone the enemy has thrown down on the entire area and now they’re about to get blasted-some poor family’s about to get blasted AND THEY CAN’T DO FUCK ALL ABOUT IT!

Berth One:   Bill’s out of the truck, waved forward by a TSA “Agent”; some jelly gutted slacker given a choice of government service or starvation.  “Come on, hands on top of your head, Sir.”  Agent Slacker begins the pat down… feel down really… of this nasty ass trucker… feeling his sweaty flesh under his stained shirt, the grease, the hair follicles through his blue latex gloves, his lard pressed up against his lard… just view it like masturbating and maybe you can get a chick next time.  That was always the hope.

Berth Two:  that wacko woman in the PT Cruiser pulls up and the blueshirts grin at each other-jackpot!  They’ll take their time with her… make her take her bra off, her panties, her shoes… no telling what terrorists are hiding and where these days… she stops, parks…

Berth Three: Mike and Jeff pull their rig in the berth.  The TSA here look back at the blueshirts in berth two, who snicker at them-they got construction workers to play with.

Berth Four:  “Hey, where’s our meat?”  A blueshirt looks irritated as the Geauga County government vehicle stops, and Dan gets out, rushes to the action in the back.

A black woman in a blueshirt waddles after him “hey get back hear cracka!”

The Mustang stops, pulls into Berth Five and he steps out waving his ID “Agent Cooper, FBI; you got a working comm link? “

The lead TSA blueshirt of Berth Five, an older man, never like presumptuousness, but this was a badge and the man holding that badge looked like he meant business.  “No sir, all communications are down.  We’re going to need to search you, your vehicle and your computer-orders from NATO command.”

“I got my orders” he wanted to call him a blueshirt kiddie rapist “and some of those mean none of you are going near myself, my vehicle, or my equipment.  And you’re certainly are not going to disarm me.”  Agent Cooper looks back at the scene with the family of six behind him-this was getting serious.  “Excuse me-don’t touch it, I mean it.”  Agent Cooper trots back to the action…

Dale and Ann Tomkins look at each other, and at the scene behind them.  They had to get this produce to the market or aside from not getting paid for their labor they’d get evicted from the home they were at.  No they weren’t Amish but the way things are they wouldn’t be surprised if the same deal had gone down with one…

The car full of scared to death family being covered by every gun at this roadblock… nobody hasn’t soiled themselves in utter terror…

Maybe it’s an overreaction, and there’s been enough of that during this war.  Deputy Angie Kent is joined by Dan Basolgliano-fuck!

“We going to deal with them or what-“


Agent Cooper comes up behind Dan, grabs him in a come-along…

“Let’s go Dan.”  Flings the bureaucrat aside and gives him a look stating he’s not hard core…

Agent Cooper directs his attention to the family.  “Stressful day.”

“Yeah.  I think we’re overreacting here.”

“What was all this about?”

Why is she confiding in this guy Angie thought.  Why, how does-oh… “He was reaching underneath him, he was leaned forward.”

“Did you ask?”

“I should have.”

“You want me to handle this?”  Agent Cooper asks.  He really needed to get out of here, but these poor bastards…

“I got this.”  Angie Kent gathers herself.  She approaches the family, the father still reached down, frozen.  “It’s going to be alright.  I just need you to sit up, show me your hands, okay?”

The father has his hands fully around the grip of the revolver tucked in his seat.  Gripping hard.

Berth Two:  the lucky blueshirts approach the car, open the door.

“Ma’am, step out the vehicle-I know you know the routine.”  Snickers erupt.

The immaculately dressed woman gets out, stands erect with dignity… with a remote control.


She mashes down on the button before anyone can react…

…there’s a explosion in the PT Cruiser; a bursting charge rips out sending fuel to mix in the air, burning embers of mothballs like fireflies suspend in the air…

…the fuel-air mixture reaches the correct ratio on its own and the fuel detonates in a blast wave.

…Bill’s having a whole hand up his ass, his pride, his dignity long ago taken by the same government raping him now-now his truck he sacrificed everything for becomes immolated by the fuel-air explosion and the fuel in the tanker explodes, greatly increasing the conflagration.

British Tanks:  both are rocked by the fuel-air detonation, the crews rattled badly.

Jeff has no time to say goodbye to his employee Mike.  There are worse people to die with-he’s a good kid, a good worker.  Too bad.

Berth’s Four, Five, Six, and Seven are immolated by the fuel air blast-agents and all.

Dale and Ann Tomkins and their horses perish in the blast wave, sending their wagon and carcasses back towards the soldiers with their guns on the family.  Several are taken out.

Agent Cooper goes to tackle Deputy Kent, to shield her from the explosion…

…The father decides then: he draws the revolver from under his seat-a classical 6” .357 magnum with scope and blasts Deputy Kent in the head…

Agent Cooper tackles the Deputy to save her from the blast and gets blasted with brain and bone from her.

The explosion sends Agent Cooper flying, the Deputy’s corpse, and flips the car over.

All four portable guard towers are knocked down by the tanker truck enhanced fuel air explosion.

The blast reaches the HUMMV and rocks it almost sending it off on its side.

The Roofinig Truck is hit hard-doesn’t tip over but its load/hide is wrecked… the Pymatunig Militia is now exposed… and exposed to the sight of the blast.

Hal Leskovich stirs first, and checks his teammates out:

Kayla seems alright, and she stirs at Hal’s touch-then leaps up, awake.

“Shit!!  Holy fuck was that a nuke am I dead?”  Kayla catches her breath.

In the distance Agent Cooper looks at the people in the Roofing Truck… wait wasn’t it full of old tiles… who has money for a new roof…

Kayla and Hal check the others-Emma, Chris, David somehow escape serious injury but are pretty gonged from the blast… so are they.

So is Agent Cooper… that’s the roofing crew… that was a huge blast-fuel air type but it must’ve been the tanker truck that went… landline… there must be a link outside the quarantine… and why are those roofers wearing camouflage carrying AKs, M240, scoped M14… those faces…

…They’re the Pymatunig Militia-his targets!



March 19, 2014

Agent Cooper has an Elderly Lady handcuffed to a chair in the half-bare storeroom and it’s late night.  Cooper’s tired from days and his patience with this stoic old bitch was up.  Before her on a table is Cooper’s toughbook, displaying a database of mug shots which she steadfastly refuses to look at even after all the cuts on her, smeared with salt.

So Agent Cooper goes out.  The woman takes a breath, makes a silent prayer… and the Agent comes back dragging her Granddaughter-a waitress-by handcuffs binding her arms behind her back, dragging her backward… she too refuses to scream.  Agent Cooper slams the girl down on a chair in front of the Elderly Lady, produces a knife, and starts to cut up her clothes…

“D-d-don’t!  Please…”




Kayla looks about her team:  “let’s get going already.”

Chris:  “soon as the planet stops spinning.”

“Spin with it already.  C’mon…”  David gets up, grabs Kayla and staggers up, as does the rest of the Militia.  She looks forward at the huge mushroom cloud rising and dissipating into the wind.  The entire roadblock is devastated; cars and trucks tossed, burning, bodies… what’s left… nearby homes and businesses are on fire, windows blown out further.  In the distance are two tanks.

In the first Challenger tank, Leftenant comes to, the rest of his crew stunned; their main battle tank’s armor having saved them from immolation.  He starts to get up…

Agent Cooper sits up.  He has to get up his primary target’s right there: Chris Bernard.



March 19


The Elderly Lady sits, defeated, talks, her Granddaughter only having a couple cuts:

“…ran by Brian Miller but he got killed by a drone.  His daughter Kayla is his second.  Emma Moritz and Chris Bernard are their computer experts.  David Getz, Hal Leskovich,  Gary Wright-that’s all that’s left…”

Those six have their mug shots on Agent Cooper’s toughbook.




Kayla remembers-shit Gary!  She goes to what’s left of the front of the Roofing Truck, and sees what’s left of Gary Wright’s upper torso and head, and turns away.

“Let’s just go!”

“How’s Gary?”  Emma’s the last to get up.


Agent Cooper manages to get on hands and knees, wobbly as hell, and now he notices the world’s a high pitched tone.  Years of training, of combat help get his equilibrium but those heavily armed insurgents who built and launched that autonomous drone are emerging from the back of a roofing truck.  A roofing truck that shielded them from the worst of that fuel air blast, and they’re heavily armed.

Cooper looks to his left-nothing left alive in the direction they’re headed, they can get away… wait there are two British Challenger main battle tanks in over watch in lieu of drone support; hooray for our NATO allies.  Maybe they’re alive but Cooper’s been extensively trained and that includes using a 70 ton tank.  Only way he’s going to get an edge over this bunch in his current condition-can he even aim straight?

Cooper watches the Pymatunig Militia march forward, slowly; a soldier stirs and the little girl-Emma Moritz-aims her AK-47 and puts a single shot into him.  He sees Chris, and Hal are also armed with AK’s and do likewise to the three people still alive in their way.  Okay:  three riflemen, one sniper, one machine gunner.  Everyone has pouches with spare belts of ammo for the M240, a couple grenades each.  A well put together fire team and even though they got gonged(not as much as he)they’re operating well.

The girl Kayla’s the eyes-going to blind them.

Cooper reaches into his jacket, draws both his Glock 18 and a suppressor and unites them.  Unsteadily he staggers forward, but not straight at the Militia; he goes to the side, staggering parallel to them… there he’s getting better, and  maybe if he can just stop the Earth from spinning and wobbling he can do what he does best.

In the first Challenger tank, Leftenant and crew check all their systems.

“Thermal’s out, so’s night vision.”  Gunner operates his turrent control yoke “bloody control’s broke!”

“Have to use the sodding crank then.  Fucking BALLS!  Fucking colonials!

The tank starts up.  “She starts up, Sir.”

“Right!  Gunner load beehive!”

The Loader hefts a 120mm shell and loads it into the breech of the cannon:  “beehive up!”

“Fucking Christ…” the Leftenant pops his hatch open, looks topside… the second Challenger isn’t even stirring, well that won’t do at all.  12.7 got shorn off by the blast as well as the grenade launcher.

“There’s nothing fucking left!  Who’s bloody ideal was it to jam every fucking frequency?”  Leftenant sees six targets in the distance; five man squad and a sixth individual, a civilian with a suppressed pistol off to the right.


“Got a bloke lookin’ like the Terminator with a pistol advancin’”

“There’s a five man squad to his left bout 50 meters.  M2’s gone with the grenade blast, aim for the squad!”

Gunner grunts, manually cranks the turrent wheel and…  “FUCKING turrent!”

“Driver on my mark traverse left until ordered to stop on my… MARK!  TRAVERSE LEFT!”

“Traversing, suh!”

Kayla and the rest of the Pymatunig Militia advance-until they see one of the Challenger tanks begin to turn left, toward them!

Where to go?!  Houses to the left-“To the houses!”

As best they can, they run, stagger to the burning houses… toward Agent Cooper!

Agent Cooper sees the Challenger turn it’s 70 ton bulk toward the militia, sees the militia running across him to cover…

“They bloody spotted us-turning right!”

“I can do elevation, Sir!”

“Well that’s something.  Don’t wait on my order fire when you-“

-Gunner sees the militia, that Terminator yank in his vision-it’s beehive that’s close enough-


The Challenger 120mm smoothbore cannon FIRES!

Agent Cooper and Kayla’s militia turn, hear the boom, the blast of the British tank’s main armament, the blast and kick up of thousands of metal darts-nails with fins-into the dirt just bare meters from them!


Both Gunner and Commander work on the balky fire control system-no use not to if the gun can hit something so close.  Driver keeps a watch on their targets…

Agent Cooper coughs, there’s a lot of dust, debris-this has turned into the mother of all clusterfucks-where’s that militia?!

Kayla Miller and her team advance-no sense not taking advantage of a broken battle tank that can’t shoot!  They advance…

…Cooper sees the militia advancing towards the tank, which makes sense if the turrent’s jammed and fire control system’s broke.  Up to him, then: five man well armed fire team, haven’t even noticed him…

“Spread out already” David Getz waves everyone away from him “don’t give those fucking English an easy target!  They’ll be a few minutes fixing their fire control!”

The militia starts to break up their formation, yes they’re experienced.  Gotta hit em’ right now… Agent Cooper aims, his Glock 18 on full auto with 18 rounds of 9mm hollowpoint… Cooper draws a 33round magazine, ejects the flush magazine and slaps the extended mag home-34 rounds.  His pistol on full automatic fires at 1200 rounds per minute-20 rounds per second so a full auto sweep across their formation may or may not get them all.  Cooper being a pro knows the Glock 18’s trigger intimately and can feel the sear break…

Get the machine gunner and sniper, in the center…

…Hal turns, sees some guy in a black leather jacket aiming a pistol-he raises his AK-47.

Cooper by reflex turns to the threat and fires P-FFFFFT!  Three round burst rips across Hal’s torso, and he FIRES a round, which impacts the remnants of the Roofing Truck and he falls.

Kayla, Emma, Chris, and David turn as one to face the new threat.

“Chris, RUN!”  Kayla raises her M14.  Emma and David raise their weapons as well.

Cooper reaches back, chucks a smoke grenade and it goes off, generating thick black smoke-Cooper heads to his left inbetween houses.

“Shit!”  Kayla moves forward-

“-Stop!  That’s what he wants!”  David points the M240 in the general direction of where Cooper went and lets loose a long string of machine gun fire.

“Emma help me get Hal up, get his belt Dave’s gonna need it now!”  Emma grabs Hal’s belt of M240 fodder as Dave empties his machine gun into the nearby homes, hoping for a hit.  She goes to him, and Dave immediately opens the cover, loads the belt as she covers.

Kayla gathers Hal, “gotta get up, this is a bad place to bleed-come on!”

Hal struggles to get up.

Agent Cooper lies low, letting the gunner empty his 240.  The rounds stop, he gets up, staggers forward-one ran… Chris Bernard.

Chris runs into Chardon, between homes afire, broken glass about.  One good thing about the war was he finally got in shape because being a tech expert… ‘nerd’… usually meant being physically pathetic.  Now he’s running for his life… no, he’s running to save the Second American Revolution from defeat.

Chris stops, turns, sees in the distance that man in the leather advance.  He aims his AK, fires… no he’s not the best shot but he’s got 6 more magazines and he’s got a pistol-how bad can this be?

Chris misses Cooper but not by much and he goes for cover… about 80 yards away, which is iffy for an accurate hit, but he has a machine pistol so he fires a burst.

Cooper’s short, Chris takes cover behind a house, pretty sure 9mm won’t penetrate.  He has to escape, but he’s going to have to kill this bastard.

Cooper advances, pretty sure this is just some kid whose seen some combat, but still a kid.  Just have to go right, go behind, hope he freezes and he’ll have this one bagged.

Kayla works on Hal, and thankfully his bulletproof vest stopped two of the three impacting 9mm rounds… the third hit his thigh unfortunately.  Not a lot of blood loss, but it’s centered.  Thigh bone’s broke likely.  Hal knows.

“Leave me.”

“Hell’s no!  There’s only five of us left-“

“-Four!  Protect Chris, that fed’s after him and we lose him, we lose this war-GO!”

Kayla gets up.  “Emma, take care of Hal, his leg’s broke.  Gimmie your ammo belt.”  Emma tosses Kayla the pack with the MG belt and she and Dave march forward after Chris and that fed agent.

The two spread out but stay in sight.

In the Challenger the crew finishes recalibrating the fire control system.

“Can’t traverse, the turrent’s jammed; but maybe the bloody sights will be on target.”

“Load beehive!”

Loader loads another beehive round: “up!”


Gunner has both Hal and Emma in their sights… “on the way.”

Both Dave and Kayla jump at the BOOM of the Challenger tank’s 120mm cannon.


“Turrent’s jammed probably, from the explosion.  Lucked out there.  This fed’s the one we need to worry about now.”  Dave moves smoothly covering their left as Kayla covers their right with her M-14 rifle… good thing she had that now instead of having to do this with her Mosin…

“Chris, stay put!  We’re coming for you!”

Agent Cooper heard Kayla, now he’s got a sniper and a machine gunner to worry about again-sounds like the Brits took care of the other two though there’s no telling if or when help arrives… maybe as soon as some NATO jet sees the smoke and fires… then they’ll carpet bomb this entire hick town-gotta move fast!

Cooper moves around the house, sees Chris Bernard squatting just behind.  No need to sneak up, he aims and fires a burst into Chris’s back, the suppressed 9mm not sounding like a machine pistol.

Kayla gets a bad hunch… “COME ON!”  Kayla and Dave come running straight for Chris and oh God his body’s on the ground and not moving…


Dave cuts loose with half a belt of 7.62mm…

…Cooper ducks low, just low enough to avoid the burst and retreats backward as the M240 climbs on the gunner and the rounds fly through homes relatively safely overhead.

Kayla runs around the house… same path Cooper took.

Dave stops firing, runs around to get a better shot…

Cooper lunges forward, sees Dave and empties his Glock 18 machine pistol into Dave, cuts him down.

Behind him, Kayla aims her M-14 and fires five times into Cooper’s back, bucking him down.  She fires five more times.  Throws her rifle down, and Kayla checks Chris but he’s dead.

No time for grief.  None, she knows this.  Where’s the hard drive, the plans;  she searches Chris but there’s no trace so she goes over to Cooper and-there!  Kayla grabs the satchel with the plans and the hard drive.  She also takes Cooper’s Glock 18, roots around him and grabs his three other 33 round magazines and finds room for them on her.

Crap.  The M240-can’t leave it we need every weapon we can get our hands on but that thing’s nearly a third of her weight-unloaded!  Kayla look around-wheelbarrow by a garden!  Well, it’s for the war effort; Kayla grabs the wheelbarrow, just barely lifts the general purpose machine gun, puts the three belts of machine gun ammunition, sets her own M14 in and…. Damn this shot shoulder!

Do they got a car-with gas?

30,000 feet overhead a German Tornado fighter-bomber patrols, it’s two man crew having blanket authority to attack anything suspicious-an odd way to treat allies in their homeland even if they are shit Amis.

“I see smoke.”

“And I see the fire too!”

“Shall we go lower?”

“With those new rebel drones?  We need help.”

“How do we get that help, the radio doesn’t work.”

“Shit.  Up to us then.  We’ll just have to improvise!”

The Tornado fighter bomber could carry a greater ordnance load than a World War Two B-17, fly twice the speed of sound so it swoops low over Chardon in bare seconds.

Kayla sees the German fighter bomber rocket overhead… always bad news, those fucking Krauts love to blow shit up so much you’d think they were Americans.  Those poor souls haven’t had gas for their vehicle for a year, worse luck.  She needed an out-now….

…Chardon Police Officer Mark Goss stops in his cruiser, gets out with his M-4 in hand to establish a perimeter-what the hell happened there was a explosion then automatic gunfire, tank gunfire… hope they stopped it but if not it’s up to him to stop-

-Kayla puts one round into Mark’s cranium shutting him down for good.  Marching over she examines her prize… she rips his badge off and strips him of his M-4 and spare magazines… takes his hat as well.   That will have to do.  She gets in the police cruiser, does a donut in turning back where she came and-there’s the wheelbarrow!  Kayla pulls up, loads her rifle and Dave’s machine gun in, then west and turns on the sirens, flying through the streets, the intersection; no traffic due to the fighting and everyone running out of Chardon for their lives.

I’ll cry later.  It’s got to be later, I gotta get out of here, get the hell outta Chardon, get west.  Out of Ohio-U.P. of Michigan sounds good and she can go from there to Alabama, Texas, Montana, and finish off in Jefferson… just how are they going to make a 51 star flag look good though?

I’ll cry later….

The Tornado makes another pass, judges the wreckage and some bodies nearby.

“Rebels-in those houses I bet. “

“Ja!  Let’s leave some ordnance here!”

And the Tornado attacks the burning houses, letting loose pod rockets and drops several 500 lb dummy bombs in a bomb run, blowing up another good part of another American town.




General Warburg watches the main view of the inclosing perimeter around Lake Pymatunig .  Major Fox talks to a Lieutenant briefly, then reports:  “General, getting reports of a town being attacked.”


“Chardon, Ohio; there was a large explosion, dozens of casualties.  The entire TSA VIPER contingent is dead, as are a platoon of US infantry from a thermobaric blast.  One British tank and crew dead the other crippled.  And a federal agent along with five enemy combatants identified as the Pymatunig Militia-“

“-Ah, they’re the ones who launched that drone!  And they’re dead now, good.  What of the plans?”

“No plans, General.”

General Warburg looked at the rapidly updating tactical display of Northern Ohio and Western PA….

“They-I will assume there’s more than one of course, but an individual will be even harder to track…”

Jack Caruthers of Homeland Security stand by the German General, “they go north, catch a boat we’ll pick them up; Lake Erie’s only 70 feet deep at the most so even a submersible’s out.  They backtrack into PA, try for Appalachia-“

“-We’ll catch them.  Our forces are literally shoulder to shoulder, searching every last house, cave, outhouse-“

“-And reestablishing order.”  General Warburg whirls on the Homeland Security chief:  “get this straight-those plans cannot get out!  They do, and these rebels can and will turn the tide of this war, and we’ve already drawn down our forces across your country for THIS operation!!”

General Warburg turns back to the holographic display, zooms out to a wider view of America…

“You’re right Caruthers-we finish this operation, we can send NATO forces westward unimpeded.”


December 19, 2011



J. Croft


March 17, 2014

 Airman Dan Hladr waddled down the hallway of this modern and clean US government facility.  Waddling because he’s 360lb of greasy fat built from a lifetime of gaming and in his US Air Force uniform …just didn’t fit in it.  In fact a US Air Force Captain; average height but thick with muscle stomps by trying so hard not to rip the obese Airman just for sharing his air.  Airman Hladr salutes as he was taught and it takes everything the Captain has in discipline to snap off a salute back and just. Get. Out. Of. There.

 Unfortunately for Airman Dan Hladr he’s self-aware enough to know open disgust when he sees it.

 Fortunately for his psyche, and his heart, his destination lay just ahead.

 Airman Hladr enters a Drone Command Room; it looks like a good size video arcade but equipped with the same video game.  The obese Airman waddles over to a desk with a Watch Commander, a Sargeant, awaits.  Airman Hladr presents his ID badge in silence, and the Sargeant scans it in silence-no they’re not friends and will never ever be friends.  The Airman salutes and the Sargeant salutes back and gets back to his duties.  And so does the Airman.

 Airman Hladr waddles over to his assigned console-number 10 currently manned by another overweight geek turned freshly minted Airman, Airman Kelly Goode.  He is at the throttle and stick of a US Air Force Drone of course, flying southbound over the border between Ohio and Pennsylvania, just south of Lake Pymatunig at about 10,000ft, at about 200mph.  The status window on the bird, a Raptor, indicates about 60 percent fuel remaining and fully loaded.

“Hey Kelly, sup.”

“How’s it going Dan?”

“It goes, y’know.  How’s hunting?”

“Man, what hunting?  I couldn’t find anything all day, not even some Yoder chicks hanging laundry.”

“That sucks.”

“Sucks fucking balls is what that bullshit does.  How the fuck do I get any points if nobody does nothing?”

“Well, that’s what the Air Force hired us for.”

“Maybe we… well, y’know-overhunted this area?”

“Dude, we had some EPIC fucking battles back in the day!”

“Muthafuck yeah we did!”

Dan and Kelly laugh.  Actually, on the screen there’s a window displaying Airman Kelly Goode’s portrait, ID, and a score: 9,334.  Kelly sets the drone on AUTOPILOT, works the keyboard with a deft hand belying his otherwise nerdish exterior, logs out, then slowly, shakily creaks out.

“Oh man I’m hungry Bro.”

“I just ate.  At Sonic.  Good shit too”

“Fuck you, Dan.”

The stench from the seat where Kelly sat hits Dan.  He ignores it-God knows he’s stank that very chair up worse.  Dan plops down, logs in with the same deftness over the keyboard and his ID, profile, and score pop up… 17,253.

“I ain’t ever gonna catch up to you.”

“Never say never.  Never, ever, say never.  See anything around the lake?”

“Naw.  Like I said, NOTHING’S going on down there.  No unauthorized road traffic, no boating, certainly no flying, not even an assist call today.  We done and hunted all those gunloving motherfuckers to extinction I think.”

“Could be.”  Could be: Dan and Kelly wistfully look at the screen with the Reaper Drone flying southbound toward Youngstown, with Dan taking the drone off autopilot and gently swinging the multi-million dollar remote controlled aircraft back around to the north…

“Man those were the days-take off and land at least ten times a day to rearm, refuel, get back to blasting hillbillies and hoodrats, and those fucking raw milk drinking Amish motherfuckers.”

Dan laughs, guides the drone along the west coastline of Lake Pymantunig, aiming his ball turrent cameras down to carefully go over the coastline.  Dan, like Kelly, is obsessive compulsive; playing a game incessantly until he absolutely mastered it.  For them, being in the United Air Force, under NORTHCOM-this was a game as well.  A game that pays sweet for their highly specialized skill sets.

“Well, there has to be some pig fucker down there still cradling his SKS somewhere” Dan hoped out loud.

“IF they’re still out there, and IF they’re still like, smuggling-using that reservoir(Lake Pymatuning really is a reservoir that became a local tourist attraction… until recently)-then, how-“

“Submarine.  That’s how I’d do it.  Short distance, it’s literally under the patrol boats, and this puddle’s nothing to police compared to Lake Erie.  Also makes a nice choke point.”

“Dude, they’ve been looking for such since the war began.”

“Yeah; they found them on Lake Erie, for sure, from the Mohawks and the freighters-until we shut that shit down.  Fuck dude you know how many lathes, how many 3d printers there are out there?  All you need is the raw materials, the blueprints, and power and you can churn out weapons all day long.  And I ain’t even going into what we lost during those first days, I bet a lot of that’s still out there.”

“Get stocked up, get ready for some Tet Offensive type action.”  Kelly nodded, going along with Dan’s literal armchair strategizing.  Fatigue and his considerable appetite however get the better of him.

“Awright dawg I’m out.  Later.”  Such a wigger.

“Peace.”  Both of them.

The two nerds turned drone pilots look at each other in irony, and have one last laugh.  Kelly waddles off and Airman Dan Hladr’s world shrinks to his console and the Reaper Unmanned Aerial Vehicle assigned to him.

And the part of the world before him, that is his responsibility.


 In a hide built inside a collapsed boat shed Brian Miller looked up in the sky with the tripod mounted Russian Zeiss glassed binoculars he bought 20 years ago when Warsaw Pact surplus flooded the gun shows that were now a thing of the past.  His belt, holding his baggy pants with fresh notch holes spoke in mute testimony of the one time abundance of food that too was a thing of the past.  Brian eyed and could just make out the heavily armed Reaper UAV making a fresh pass along Lake Pymatunig….

“Oh.  Your shift now is it?”  By Brian is a Army surplus field telephone with wire leading… well, wherever; he cranks it up a few seconds, picks up the receiver: “hold!” 

Setting the receiver back down on the cradle Brian observed the barely visible US Air Force drone high up, untouchable as its horrifically efficient pilot was across the country and in the middle of an Air Force base literally in the middle of the desert-unapproachable save for perhaps a division of heavy armor with air support.

“Never say never.” 

Kayla, his daughter, gingerly enters the collapsed boat shed.  She sheds a camouflaged space blanket with branches taped to the outside.  Dressed in whatever practical clothing could be had, she could be described as pretty, even borderline beautiful, but beauty was nothing she cared for.  Not for a couple years.  Like father, Kaila’s eyes and demeanor spoke of a single-minded mission.  Also spoke of having hunger as a constant companion, starvation a spectre that her 90lb 5’7” frame has to struggle to find nourishment. 

“Never say never what, Dad?”

“Those Goddamned drones.”

“Need an air force for that, an’ that got shot down.  Or kill the dorks driving em’.  Good luck crossing the Nevada desert.  Or getting into Las Vegas.  Old debate there, Pop.”  Kayla just perceptibly, trembled with rage.  “We gonna eat today?”

“Not while that bastard’s in the air going over us like the IRS.  Well, this particular debate just needed a fresh approach…  I just told em’ to get er’ ready to launch.”  Brian had just made up his mind to change the debate.

Kayla gasps, frozen.

“Today’s the last day I’m allowing drones in MY sky!”

Kayla bounds over, hugs and kisses her Father and then runs out as fast as she can clear the rubbish and the fallen boards.  Brian settles back to the tripod mounted high powered binoculars to continue observing the Reaper buzz by-it was getting closer.



Airman Dan Hladr looked down upon Lake Pymatunig like a god would his kingdom.  In fact, in his Area of Operations roughly along the Ohio-Pennsylvania border he IS GOD.  And ‘god’ right now had before him a lens glare and two just visible IR signatures emanating from a collapsed boat shed by the west shore of Lake Pymatunig.

“I think you might be what I’m looking for.”

Airman Hladr marks that shed as a navigation point; he’d be back in a bit to check up on it.  Check up on it after combing both sides of the reservoir before checking out the farms along the border-interstate transport of ANYTHING was forbidden without explicit clearance due to the national emergency caused by those gun loving assholes and welfare recipients.  Which Dan was thankful for because their half-assed revolution made his government desperate enough to find pilots for all the drones they built to make up for all the defections and desertions by the US military… of which even he and Kelly Goode were quite careful not to SAY ALOUD LEST THEY FIND THEMSELVES IN SOME DETENTION FACILITY….

Yep.  War was a boon to both him, his friends and the defense contractors.  I mean, what the FUCK were those flannel wearing fucknuts thinking bumping up against the government?!  Their guns armed those fucking spics running dope up from shithole Mehico, the homies were shooting cops right and left… well, Dan never really paid attention to the news save for when he saw something kewl like fighters, tanks, drones, robots, grenade launchers, guns. 

If those fuckholes screaming about some old parchment wanted to shoot assault weapons and blow shit up they should’ve just enlisted and gone over to the sandbox, save say a hundred thousand PATRIOTS and maybe even an entire US fleet from being destroyed.  No-they had to start shit up stateside and tear the fucking nation apart. 

Those were some desperate days.  Oh yes; power was out, you could catch a bullet from a gangbanger or a cop or some hick in Realtree.  Later, even whole military units joined in blowing their own country up-the fucking marines joined in.  What the fuck.

Dan sees a IR signature bolt out from the collapsed boat shed.  He switches over to optical and tracks Kayla Miller, zooming in, in, seeing she was pretty, almost beautiful; but way too plain.  Thin too but so is everyone who isn’t working for the government in some way.  Too little to eat would never be one of Dan’s problems.

Captain Ashley Barnes, USAF struts over to see Dan Hladr’s latest prey and no, she’d never be confused with pretty.

“What do we got Airman?”

“Ma’am, got suspicious activity in that collapsed boat shed: light reflection off perhaps observation binoculars, and the IR signature is just barely detectable, like there’s mylar in there.  Also, this girl (Kayla)suddenly ran out of there.  It’s an observation post.”

“Blow it.  Make it a nice show.  Remind those Amish who’s in charge.”

“On it.”  Dan steers the Reaper drone about in a wide arc-this particular UAV is a great improvement over the first generation Predator drones that flew over Iraq, Afghanistan, and in pacified urban areas but it wasn’t some fighter jet you could pull snap rolls on.  More than one ex-fighter jock tried that… not a good thing to be responsible for the loss of Uncle Sam’s toys because you were too dang rough.

Dan had a patient touch.

Dan maneuvered the Reaper around, line up in an attack run. 

“Not the same anymore Ma’am.”

“Yeah.  But let’s kick this anthill over, see how many ants scurry out.”  Dan selects from the weapons aboard the Reaper the 76mm laser guided free flight aerial rocket pods.  Cheapest ordnance was always expended first, and with things the way they were domestically-hell worldwide-shooting off a big ticket item like a Hellfire missile…. Better have a damn good reason to as replacements weren’t coming as they should.

Or so Dan heard, not that he’d ask why.  Not a good ideal to ask why these days.  Dan’s not stupid that way.

Dan lines up the simple crosshair on the collapsed boat shed.


Brian Miller didn’t need the binoculars to see the Reaper drone do its lazy circle about.   Brian eyes the ex-Army field phone by him, momentarily.

Brian picks up the receiver… then hangs up; it didn’t matter.  He couldn’t run far enough, fast enough to escape the likely death from the likely attack-a salvo of the new laser guided 76mm FFAR that’s being launched right now, right in front of him.

“Father in Heaven, take me home and watch over my childr-“

Ten 76mm free flight aerial rockets explode on the collapsed boat shed, around the trees and weeds about.

Kayla Miller spins about, falls on her butt, watching in horror as the United States Air Force takes yet another person out of this world.  Her dad.  She watches as just visible the Reaper drone fires more rockets into several nearby homes.

Just to make sure.

Just because the undoubtedly morbidly obese virginal zit-faced nerd could blow her Dad and her neighbors to she hoped, heaven. 

Kayla couldn’t grieve.  Not now.  She had to get the hell out of there, and fast!


Dan Hladr watched through the Reaper’s electronic eyes at the young woman looking back at the collection of homes and boat sheds he just blew up.  He regarded her… she wasn’t a MAM-military aged male, and, she wasn’t armed.  Others would be armed and those he’d be hunting for now that on his tactical display of the vicinity symbols designating lower cruising, slower, lower-tech drones were being launched or dispatched to where he engaged, hopefully, some domestic terrorists.  He’d worry about the point count later; his priority now is to provide overhead coverage, just in case this does turn into a battle.


Kayla moved fast.

Going into the brush she grabs a long backpack, camouflaged poncho and ducks into the brush.  She heads toward her home, now on fire, to disappear in the smoke and thermal flare.  Hoping her precaution’s enough she unzips the backpack pulls out something short and wrapped in cloth and unwraps it…

It’s a Mosin-Nagant carbine, disassembled into two sections; a cut down stock with magazine and the barreled receiver with bent bolt and Burris Fulfield rifle scope. 

Possession of this sniper rifle is a death sentence-if she was very lucky that death sentence would be executed where she was found.  The way she looked, that likely wasn’t going to happen… it didn’t the first time.

Kayla worked fast she was going to need her rifle really fast.  Her hands grab a screwdriver and she does the screw holding the magazine to the stock and the other magazine screw in the tang in the receiver.

“Don’t shake, don’t sweat” she tells herself-unscrewing, she hurriedly fits the barreled receiver to the stock, then screws the rifle into unity and pulls back the long bent bolt back.  Grabbing five 7.62×54 rimmed cartridges loads the magazine slowly, surely… as this battle allowed.  Slamming the bolt home and loading a cartridge Kayla now pulls out a long cylinder.  Yes she should’ve put the suppressor on before she loaded up.  A fitting at the muzzle of the barrel accepts the suppressor and she attaches.

Kayla Miller looked around.  She was in concealment, but this wasn’t cover.  Worse, she risked being pinned against the reservoir and yes she could swim-but not with her rifle.  She wasn’t strong enough anymore.

And yeah about that she thought bitterly:  that shipment they were expecting, that her now late father had telephoned to “hold” they needed that food!  Kayla and her group hadn’t had a full meal in nearly two weeks.  They’d run out of even the emergency rations two days ago and Kayla had been forced back to her bitterly acquired habit of searching under every rock and log for grubs, earthworms and such.   

She had the energy to shoot.  She had the energy to get out of that immediate area.  What she wasn’t sure of was did she have enough gas left to get out of the battle zone? 

If the Pymatunig Militia didn’t rise to the occasion, if they chose to hold fire, hide and hope this attack just blows over, she’d be found.  She’d be found and her way or their way she would be dead.

She’d already done the rape.  That sure as hell wasn’t happening again.

Kayla moved past the brush, across the street to a stand of trees in a sprint.  When she reached her new position, she collapses, and tries to gather her strength for what’s next.  She really had to think about what she’d do next but that was about impossible when your mind’s about food all the time.


Airman Dan Hladr guided his Reaper UAV around, looking for the fight. 

“Master Chief, this is OHP; establishing perimeter, over?”

“Master Chief here, over.”  Being the top shot among the drone jockeys at Nellis had given Dan the nickname Master Chief, in honor of the Halo game character.  Dan watched his tactical display as the lower, slower drones closed in.  State Police and County Sheriff units had stopped at roadside intersections in a 1000 yard perimeter to cordon off the area.  Dan zoomed out on his tactical display; an Army Combat Brigade out of Warren were already dispatching Blackhawk helicopters loaded with troops. 

“Master Chief, this is 3rd Artillery Company, transferring FAO to you over?”

“Roger that, I give you something to shoot at, over.”  And it’s so good to work with people you can work with.  Combat had a brutish way of sorting things out and teamwork was the essential ingredient to combating a wily, desperate, and at times surprising enemy.

They could fight-he HOPED they’d fight.  He could blast them himself with onboard ordnance and/or direct 155mm gunfire from the Army Combat Brigade artillery in Warren.  That was always fun to watch them blow shit up, but he preferred to get the credit himself.  He earned more points.

What worried him was if it really was just a observer with a field glass.  Times are tough, even for the government.


Nearby homes filled with hungry, desperate, scared people just like Kayla who’ve had their backs against the wall.  Innocent-even innocent of helping the resistance!  Kayla didn’t need any more motivation to wage war against the government-but those fuckers were more than happy to keep giving them to her.

Kayla knew how to give back.  And, she could.  She improvises a field position through the brush, resting her suppressed, scoped Mosin-Nagant rifle through the brush, the muzzle just inside, makes damn sure the buttplate is firmly on what’s left of the meat of her shoulder.  Kayla inhales, deep, lets half out and pauses her breath-no she wasn’t going to make a loop in the sling she needed to be as mobile as possible. 

Kayla finds a State Trooper in his duty uniform, holding a scoped M-4 type carbine, and settles the Fulfield II reticle crosshairs on him.

She squeezes…

FFBAP!  No not the shhhh the movies lied to everyone about, but with the brush and the noise distracting the enemy… hopefully that’s enough.

Kayla keeps her eyes open, follows through perfectly on the trigger-and her effort’s rewarded with the puff of blood coming from the 7.62×54 steel core round blowing through the oath traitor.

Sniper doctrine called for Kayla to immediately move to a second shooting position.  Kayla however wasn’t going to expose herself to automatic gunfire in the open with a bolt action rifle.  She cycles the bolt, ejects the empty cartridge, chambers a second round as fast as she can and settles down on the rifle, looks through the scope, looks for a second motherfucker to blast…

…Motherfuckers took cover! 

Well, she was told when she started fighting back this shit would happen; take incoming or someone just gets popped and yes you will be ducking for cover and whatnot.  It’s to be expected and in the past would’ve afforded her the opportunity to dash for that second shooting position and have some more fun.

Not anymore. 

Kayla looks up from her scope, sees one of those unit portable jumped up model airplanes.  Shit! 

Kayla thought back; by the time the shooting back had started, the us government (never again getting the respect of capitalization) had fitted gunshot detectors on every last low and mid level drone it could.  Now the tactic that had initially been worked out was to quickly overwhelm the operators controlling them with as many weapons shooting at the people those drones were supposed to support as possible.

The tactic works IF you have enough people pulling triggers to overwhelm the OPFOR, and defeat them quickly enough so that fire supremacy could be established.  Then it was supposed to be a matter of engaging the drone operator and you get a new drone in inventory…

…Doesn’t work with supporting Predator or those fucking Reapers.  The Predators were bad enough; fly up to 10,000 feet hit your position with a thermobaric version of the Hellfire… no you’re not going to engage with Pappy’s goose gun.  Yet when they had air assets to take on the Predators they became easy meat buzzing about but those fucking Reapers-DAMN, SNAP OUT OF IT!

Kayla looked around.

Nobody else was shooting back at these motherfuckers.

That drone was circling about and she got a look through her rifle scope-aw hell no it was armed with a fucking grenade launcher?!

Well this has turned into a ripe shit sandwich.


Airman “Master Chief” Hladr was getting audio and video feeds from the locals on scene at the battle area, along with one low level armed drone-that will be useful, he thought.

His commander stands behind him, just close enough to see him at work, but not too close due to the ripe seat he was occupying.  Brian was in for it…

Dan worked the feeds, the Reaper drone, the overall situation like a maestro.  A maestro looking for targets to engage.

“Ma’am I don’t think they’re wanting to fight today.”

“A state trooper’s down.”

“A lone sniper?  We’ll flush em’ out.”  Snipers were bad news on the ground, Dan knew that much and those Ohio cops had a reputation for never taking anyone caught with a scoped rifle intact. 

Dan checked out the feed from the State Highway Patrol drone; it had gunshot detection, night vision-no IR that was too expensive and increasingly unavailable.  Did have the 25mm grenade launcher with the programmable fused rounds.  Kewl. 

Dan let the State Trooper drone look around, hoping to see any kind of movement. His own sensor suite being much more capable Dan zoomed in with thermals, but those house and brush fires he so enthusiastically lit with his first attack were going to make that not work.

“You put too much on that attack Airman-now our tango’s got cover for her IR signature.”

“If only these rebels would make a stand up fight-“

“If only but you guys chased them under the proverbial rock.”

“Ain’t my fault they got the shit end of the paradigm shift in warfare Ma’am.”

Airman Hladr watched his displays; whoever shot that Statie was alone and quickly surrounded. 

“This one’s experienced Airman.  Note how he’s not making for a second shooting position?  She’s fought under drones before.”

“He doesn’t move his position’s going to be compromised real fast.  Looks like that Trooper knows what he’s doing with his drone.”

“You think he’ll get the points Airman?”

“You’re kidding right?!”


Kayla Miller watched the low level drone come up on her position:  if she fired now, hit, and swatted that fucking little drone out of the sky she might get away-but that Reaper drone… she was certain it was a Reaper… would bag her; if she moved, she would certainly be spotted and have a missile lobbed at her; if she stayed in place and waited things out her position was certain to be found.

Kayla was also certain her fighting group had turned punk on her and was laying low thinking the same thing she was.



She wasn’t getting out of this.  Not now.


Motherfuckers!  Can’t fight, can’t even fucking run-all because nobody else would step up and fucking engage these fuckers…


…There was that Reaper flying out of reach a calm voice told her.  And, it told her, you know why:



December 16, 2013


“Warren Base” was a set of caves dug out from a sewer line in Downtown Warren-nothing to comment about there.  Kayla Miller made her way down the sewers to the camouflaged entrance, made entry….


The base itself was something else; the entrance was a dogleg with the long portion at an angle, with a armored fighting position at the end equipped with a .30 Browning and an array of microwave magnetrons hooked up to a bank of batteries.


Kayla walked forward-she was in full civilian winter garb, her rifle and field gear in a duffel bag.  She approaches the fighting position and a Guard is there.




“September” Kayla replied.  “I’m going for the challenge coin now.”


“Nothing sudden.”  Kayla slowly eased into a coat pocket, pulls out a sheared off Challenge Coin-a token.  The Guard goes into a small jewelry cabinet with an alphanumeric code, looks up a code, pulls out a second challenge coin-also sheared. 


They slowly approach; the Guard at an angle to provide a clear field of fire for the Browning.  Overkill, but these days…


They mate the sheared challenge coins up-they match.


“Proceed, Commander.”


“Sho thang.”  Kayla Miller walked past the position, made a right and now she was in the base proper.  Kayla passes offshoot rooms with Uniformed Militia Troops bunking, a Mess Hall with more Uniformed and Civilian garbed Militia and Resistance Fighters eating-which Kayla really wanted to go in and help herself so bad but duty calls.  That duty compelling Kayla to go all the way to the end of the main hall, passing machine shops, production lines churning out bombs, ammunition, chemicals of this and that. 


Soundproofing; old drink holders, foam mattresses and such helped dampen the noise.  God knew where they got the power from but having this base under a city was a slick, risky move.  Seems to be working so far though.


Kayla reaches the end; another Guard and Kayla produces from another pocket another sheared challenge coin, another challenge, another correct reply, another sheared challenge coin reunited and Kayla was granted entry into the Command Center of the Northeast Ohio/Western Pennsylvania Resistance.


A uniformed Militia Commander is there to greet Kayla personally.




“Yeah, not by my choice there Sir.”  To Kayla the Commander had earned the Sir as he, his unit, and others like them and him had bailed her and her fighters, and a lot of others like her when the shooting started.


Oh, for sure she repaid the favor back, had long proven her worth as a fighter and a squad leader. Had a lot of fun giving the enemy payback for everything they did to her, everything they took from her.


“War goes like that, Kayla.  Come on in the conference room-we got a plate waiting for you in the mess.“




Fuck yeah there was food for her!  If there was a constant to Kayla’s nightmare existence it was hunger.  Fatigue can be slept off, fear passes, rage came and went with combat and whatever atrocities she bumped into.  Hunger-that was a regrettable constant.  One of the enemy’s most effective weapons, and God damn them for it.


Kayla and the Commander enter the Conference Room; it was about half full of representatives of all kinds of Resistance cells and units.  Everyone from rebelling US military units to Militia, to bands of everyone from street gangs to Occupy Protestors who put down the placard and picked up the rifle to neighborhoods that had quickly evolved into militia to Libertarian from compounds who found they had simply isolated themselves and made themselves an easy target-and got out just in time. 


A lot of people didn’t.


A lot of those people weren’t here.


“We’ll begin now” the Commander started, striding to where he can address everyone; by a map of the United States that had a vastly different complexion than it is now.  Simply put, a lot of hinterland was plain, most delineated mines, roads, railways and the military bases and cities were under the red of the enemy.  Friendles were shades and unless they were in the country they had areas of operation, not territory under their control. 


Kayla remembered an earlier map that had a lot more area under their control-in fact they WERE expanding rapidly but…


The Commander addressed his audience; to a man and woman were hardened, angry people.  “We’re being paralyzed by all the drones the enemy’s been producing-you all saw the effects of that first hand trying to get here today…  Operationally we can’t do anything until the drone situation is addressed.  That is our one priority and that’s why we’re being pushed back, carved up, and being defeated in detail.  All of you know that part.


“What you don’t know is that until the situation with the horde of drones the enemy is operating can be addressed, our unit size operations are coming to a standstill until we can come up with better counters.”


An old Militia Commander rises; “What about interdicting FEMA?  They’re still sweeping up all the homeless and welfare cases.”


Nothing we can do.  It would be of benefit to increase your efforts to track down whoever is involved with production, transport, and use of drones and take them out.  That’s priority one.  The only priority; we can’t do anything else until that’s handled!”


“You think we got enough bullets left for all the pasty nerds left in this country flying them muthafuckas?” A Pittsburgh gangbanger spoke up and half his face was badly scarred.  He was definitely in constant pain Kayla thought.


“You saw the production lines down the hall right?  You’ll all be taking out of here what you can-we got one more op out of this base…. We built this base right under downtown Warren about 20 years ago after Waco, hoping that the enemy wouldn’t be too crazy as to bomb their own facilities to get at us.  Well, we just got intel that they’re putting a headquarters above us and an firebase nearby.  We’re going to strip this base down to the last useful bolt, turn it into a gigantic fuel-air bomb and blow them to hell.”


“Damn you got another base?”  Kayla had to ask.


“We’ll tell you when we can.”  The Commander usually liked to play things close to the vest.  It was irritating; Kayla like everyone wanted to know just how the war was going.  After all she was fighting it on the front lines(so to speak)but she also cherished the need to keep your mouth shut.  And make those who wouldn’t shut the fuck up.


An aging Hippy turned guerilla rises:  “So what exactly is moving in there?”


“C3, interrogation facilities, new fusion center-that sort of thing; too much heat upstairs for us to stay.  We’re going to make it too hot for them too.”  A chuckle waved through the audience.  Yes everyone in the room and in the base can appreciate a good fire.


A little later, Kayla was in the Mess Hall chowing down on instant mashed potatoes, the last of a field kitchen ration that wasn’t big enough for her.  The Commander approaches.


“Mind if I join you Kayla?”


“Sure.”  Kayla kept eating but she wasn’t being disrespectful, she was very hungry.


“How’s your Dad doing?”  There was a wistfulness in his eyes, regret.  A lot of that.


“Still at it, and he’ll keep at it til’ he can’t.  That’s what he had to say, and that was it.   You going to have anything for those drones?  Cuz’ if you don’t I don’t think this war’s going to go much longer.  Just my opinion of course.”


The Commander gathered himself.  “Maybe.  Tell your Dad this: for what it’s worth he’s right, we should’ve started fighting five years ago.  Give him my regards.”



Now,  March 17, 2014


Kayla Miller could just imagine her situation through the constant hunger…


She was under cover, the house and brush fires made the immediate area too foggy for thermal and with her space blanket turned ghillie poncho she was for the moment invisible.


She had fired however and nobody on either side was a rookie anymore.  They had a general ideal which direction she was.  They had two drones-one low flying and close in and the other buzzing about way up that had murdered her father.  And she was certain, she was going to be surrounded-but retreat, even movement, was out of the question because one drone or the other would pick her up and pick her out.


Her unit was supposed to be around.  Her unit was supposed to have engaged the State Troopers and given the drones too many targets to engage as they chewed up the ground units.  That was doctrine but that doctrine hadn’t worked of late.  Half her command of ex-OWS protesters, street hoodlums, veterans, hunters, Amish(?!) had perished as the about all seeing, all hearing hordes of drones buzzed and made guerilla warfare as they had practiced it so briefly impossible.


She can’t be mad at them.  They were doing exactly what she was doing, making the same calculations, and coming to the same bad math. 


She would fight.  It would be her last one.  There was nothing else to be done about it.  And, she hoped, that would allow the rest of her unit to retreat and fight another day.


And lose.  No they weren’t going to win the war now.


Kayla mounted her rifle to shoulder, looked through her rifle scope; the State Ticket Salesmen had a semi rig pull up, stop; three ground drones, each on four off road wheels and mounting a belt fed machine gun and grenade launcher happily wheel out the back.  Icing on the cake.


Kayla had no rifle grenades nor the means to mount them on her Mosin-Nagant and certainly no homebuilt panzerfaust.  Sprinkles.


Well, she had her rifle and she had ammunition; Kayla Miller would show those motherfuckers just who had given them all nightmares this past summer!  Good times.  She aimed at the nearest one of those ground drones; she knew the model, it had a particular spot that was a one-shot kill, and…


FFBAP!  The suppressed Mosin sent another steel core round right at the robot, right where its design fuck up was at and the machine sparked and smoked and malfed and went inoperable.


Kayla cycled the bolt back, quickly stuffs two rounds she grabs off her stock into the magazine, slams the bolt home…


…as the other two drones charge forward, State and County Sheriffs in tactical and duty uniforms following with M-4 type carbines.  About 20 and damn did Kayla wish yet again for a M-14 she could’ve laid them out.  Her last one got wrecked by a too close call with a drone, ironically.


Too much confidence, boys… she quickly lined up the crosshairs on the second machine-yes they’ll have a fix on her position for sure-and fires, FFBAP-and gets another spectacular show of drone death but no time to appreciate!  She cycles the bolt, aims… and they take cover again.  Chumps.


That last ground drone gets behind a house as well, damnit.  Kayla searches the brush, the houses with her rifle scope looking for stupid. 


Stupid turns out to be her: that low flying drone is overhead and circles about! 


Damn got caught up with the ground assault and got picked out by the low flyier.  A couple of goose guns-12 gauge shotguns with 30 inch full choked barrels could’ve taken that out but her unit, her crew, her friends were not here this time.


The low flying drone turns about, lining up a shot with the onboard 25mm grenade launcher…




Airman Dan Hladr watches off the drone feed the drone lining up a shot on a clump of vegetation, with just the barest hint of a suppressor tipped rifle.  Dan had looked carefully, tweaked the sensor feed off his own Reaper drone and there was just enough of a heat signature off that, you just knew it was a rifle.


“You’re going to leave the kill to the State Police?”  His commander more stated than asked.  Dan was no fool about that-now Brian on the other hand would’ve automatically pickled a Hellfire on that position and got the points but Dan knew one of their own had died. 


“You don’t have to ask that with me.”  Dan was ready however if there was a fuckup.




Kayla Miller raises her rifle up, aims at the incoming drone, disregarding camouflage, her position.  She aims through the rifle scope-trying to remember up angle and range and the size of her target and calculating for the holdover…


Across the way the State Troopers, County Sheriffs finally see Kayla and as one cut loose with roughly aimed fire from their M-4s.


Kayla ducks but not in time-she’s hit in the shoulder by a 5.56mm round!


“Fuck not again!”  She sure as hell hoped it was outside the 75 yard hyperlethality range and was just a .22 ice pick, which was bad enough.  Just bad luck and too far for their short barrel carbines to really be effective outside a vital shot.


The ground drone rumbles out from behind the house it was taking cover and aims its heavy armament…  Kayla’s big mouth at getting shot locks her position in as it too has gunshot detectors.


Kayla looks, sees the low flying State Police drone, sees it fire its 25mm grenades at her.


Then an explosion, heard from a short distance-wow what had gone up?!


A grenade explodes behind her-fucked up on the range but that way off explosion keeps going… wait, not an explosion… a rocket!


All the enemy as one look to see it climb as well.




Airman Dan Hladr watches the massive heat plume and trajectory of some kind of rocket:


“Launch warning, launch warning, I repeat launch warning!”


This got his Commander’s attention:  “What is it?”


“Don’t know.  Not a SAM it has two-no three heat plumes.  Currently eastbound.”


“Rebel fighter?”


Dan and the Commander look at the visual as the Reaper’s optics tear away from Kayla Miller and towards this new threat.  The computer made a generated image of the Rebel… fighter- “Those are rocket boosters: I’d bet it’s some kind of garage built jet and they launched it from a trailer or launch rail.  It’s not anything we had in the inventory Ma’am.”


“I’m calling Wright Patterson, have them scramble.”


“I’d tell those Blackhawks out of Warren to back off until we can handle this.”


“Can you engage?”


“I can but that thing’s going to break the sound barrier any second now-my drone’s not built for a dogfight though.”


“Do it to em Hladr.”


“Roger that, going in with Hellfires.”  Dan’s Reaper had no air to air missiles as the nascent Rebel Air Force had been driven to ground by North Atlantic Treaty Organization fighters of all kinds-overwhelmed by numbers and tech as too many of the practically invincible F-22s had been retained.




Kayla watched as a miracle took place before her eyes; as one both the remnant ground drone, the aerial drone and the entire assault team turned 180, headed toward the source of that rocket blasting off.  Kayla looks at the head of the rocket trail… it splits in two like a fork in the road.


10,000 feet above Pymatunig Lake the Rebel rocket boosted fighter’s boosters separate and go their separate ways-as a Hellfire SLAMS into the right booster and EXPLODES IT just barely clear of the fighter…


The fighter itself is a homebuilt copy of a stealth drone but in a more streamlined delta shape that emphasized air combat. 


It doesn’t have a pilot.


A dome turrent near the nose automatically swiveled, tracked the Hellfire missile streak back to the Reaper drone gently buzzing a few miles away.




Dan watched as the Rebel drone-yes it’s a drone as it performs a 12g snap roll and heads straight for his drone at near supersonic speed.


“Commander, that’s a drone!  I got a visual, but I don’t have a radar lock nor do I have enough of a heat signal-that thing’s got stealth!”


Can you jam or override the signal?”


There is no signal!  You better get those jets here fast!”


“In bound in less than a minute.”


“Giving it everything I fucking got!”


Dan mashes on his triggers…




Dan Hladr’s Reaper Drone ripple fires every last Hellfire laser guided missile, every laser guided 76mm guided rocket at the incoming Rebel drone.  They ride the beam locked… “locked” on by Dan as he’s relying on a visual-yes the military has a lot of kewl shit and being able to track by image was one of them.


The Rebel Drone waits until the last possible second then snap dives downward at a rate impossible for human control, and Dan’s desperate ripple-fired barrage of repurposed air to ground missiles misses.  Neither type of laser guided ordnance is geared toward aerial combat and they fly off wherever.


This new drone on the other hand does a wide loop upward.  Its next target is the Reaper drone.


Kayla Miller still in her hide digs out a blowout kit and applies it to her shot left shoulder.  She watches as the enemy advances toward the launch site.  She was also certain that every last pig in Ohio and PA were going to be vectored in and around them.  Which is why she hurries with her blow out kit.


Overhead, two F22 Lightning fighters charge in at supersonic speed, their sonic booms deafening!




Dan Hladr got comm. Feeds off the F22 Raptors as they entered the battle:


“Razor two do you have lock?”


“Negative-not enough radar return nor heat signature.”


“Well that’s damn interesting.  We’ll go in with cannons-hope that thing don’t have AIMs itself.  Charge!”


Dan watched as the F22s closed in on the rebel drone…. Closing in on his drone.




Kayla patches herself up with the blowout kit.  She gathers her wits and her strength…


Looks like the State Troopers launched another of their drones-one of those trashcans with helicopter blades with a slung under machine gun turrent.  Fine she’s dealt with those before.


Amazing what one can do when you too have air support… Kayla looks skyward over Pymatunig Lake…


Overhead the mega-million dollar F22 Raptors close in on the Rebel drone-it too heads directly for the stealth fighters and FIRES-it has a automatic cannon of some kind and it fires a short burst-the first Raptor takes small 50BMG Raufoss rounds in the wings, tail and left engine-it smokes!




Airman Dan Hladr is desperately trying to pilot his 400mph Reaper drone out of the battle zone, he’s clearly outclassed.  Nervously he and his Commander listen in on the air battle:


“I’M HIT!  I’M HIT!”






They watch as the hit Raptor turns, tries to flee on one bad engine and quite a bit of damage.


“That enemy drone has a heavy machine gun-if it had had a 20mm cannon it would have bagged him.”


They watch as the crippled Raptor tries to flee and the remaining F22 attempts to get behind the Rebel drone-which pursues the crippled jet.


“He’s got to bail out-it’s coming for him.”


“Airman you remember just how expensive those birds are?!  He’d be lucky if his career’s over!”








The Rebel drone closes on the cripple F22-explosions can be heard over the intercom.




The crippled F22 comes apart in midair.  Because Dan’s trying to get the Reaper out of there he can’t see what happens himself but the transponder for the first F22 is gone.




The Rebel Drone FIRES its lone 50BMG heavy machine gun, the Raufoss rounds it fires are an exquisite blend of armor piercing tungsten, high explosive and incendiary compounds that impact on the smoking, crippled F22 and EXPLODE IT!


The lone remaining F22 closes in but as soon as the explosion happens that drone executes a snap turn at an impossible rate-impossible for a human to execute.  It comes back on the Raptor and FIRES-as the pilot executes a loop; one round impacts the right rudder and disables it.


The Pilot does an Immelman but as he does the drone turns and intercepts as he inverted!  It FIRES another short burst impacting the cockpit!






Dan and the commander can only look on helpless as the second F22 is taken out.  It moves to take out the Reaper.


“Permission to self destruct my bird Commander-“


“Do it!”


Airman Dan Hladr punches in his code, flips open a cover and hits the red button.


His signal and displays go blue.




Overhead Kayla watches the hated Reaper drone explode overhead-she laughs and claps, her pain, fatigue and hunger gone.


Perfectly distracted, that machine gun armed hover drone closes in on Kayla and is about to fire when 50BMG Raufoss rounds explode on it and the ground around it, exploding it!  The whole thing catches Kayla by surprise!


She watches the Rebel drone swoop overhead-it looks like a small stealth fighter, kind of.  Nimble critter she thinks as it circles the battlefield; although there are plenty of ground targets it doesn’t engage.


“Well, fuck-they got some more work to do on it.”  And with that Kayla rises, her Mosin-Nagant rifle in hand and runs toward the enemy closing in on her group, the fighting intense. 


They still had problems; if they can’t hit that one ground drone’s sweet spot it’ll give them all kinds of problems.  And as all of them deal with that problem, the State Troopers and Sheriff’s Deputies will give them a few other problems.  Fucking drones-oh and there’s that one other low flying drone…


…Which her drone (yes Kayla thinks of it as her drone now) FIRES at-and stops, missing.  Adjusting in the blink of an eye “her” drone decides to act like a oversize air-to-air missile and HIT the cheapo low flying drone taking it and crashing into the woods!


“Oh you fucking asshole!  NO!”  Oh well, she heads to the first shooting position she can get to shoot those motherfuckers in the back….







Two Air Force Security Guards accompany two plain grey suited Government Agents as they enter the control room.


“Commander, Airman; we need you to accompany us for a debrief.”


The Commander and Airman Dan “Master Chief” Hladr look at each other with dread….




Kayla watches as her group overwhelm the last of the on scene State Troopers and they crumple; she’s been patiently stalking one of the bad guys with pretentions of being a sniper-and FFBAP!  Her suppressed Mosin-Nagant rifle connects yet again, hitting him right in the neck!  His Observer just starts running…. Kayla cycles one last round, aims and connects, sends the fucker down.


Kayla goes over to the Sniper-and he’s got a M-14 with a scope and suppressor!


“Holy fuck, Christmas came today, yo!”


Kayla slings her rifle, takes his rifle as he’ll never need it again.  She strips his gear, his Ghillie suit, his uniform, boots, pistol belt-nice Sig.  She slumps down by a tree, enjoying the moment.


A young Amish man in camouflage bearing a FAL rifle runs to her.


“You alright Kayla?”


“I’m good.  Got hit by a .223 but I’ll make it.”


“See you got yourself a M14 again.”


“Yep.  Got some of my taxes back.”


They laugh.  “How we set?”


“We’ll be burying some people-four I think.”




“We got us a couple prisoners though.”


The two of them smile.  God help those poor bastards.


“Yeah-good thing that drone was launched; that would’ve been the end of us!”


“Think we tipped them off though.”


“Yeah.  But it couldn’t have been helped I think-imagine if you hadn’t launched it and those fuckers had captured it.  Speaking of-“


“We made sure nothing electronic remains.”


“Leave the rest of it.”




“I want them to know enough to make them afraid of us again.”


“Ah.  Good point.”


“There’s another one over there Michael, can you strip him for me?”


“I got it.  Need any help?”


“I got myself.  Hurry up we gotta get out of here before they start dropping rounds down on us.”


As she finishes a BUZZ can be heard-overhead she was certain a Predator drone had been dispatched and just as certain artillery out of Warren would be dropping down on them.


Too bad that base underneath Downtown Warren got raided before it could have been blown.  That would’ve been fucking awesome to watch—seeing those government buildings all blown up, all those bureaucrats and agents ripped apart, burnt, screaming in agony. 


Just a taste of what they done to the country.




March 18, 2014


Airman Dan Hladr sits before those two grey suited G-men and the two Airmen.  He was exhausted, having been interviewed literally ever since the battle.  They have before him a report.


“Crash confirms your hunch, Airman-homebuilt drone.  It had its armament and whatever it used for a guidance system stripped out of it.”

“What-how’d they come up with the jet engine to fly that thing?”  Dan’s curiosity overcame him even though these bastards had put him through the proverbial ringer.


“It’s a ramjet.”


“What?  Oh-that explains the rocket boosters.”


“Yeah.  And since there were no control signals of any kind that means it was completely internally guided.  Damn, they leapfrogged ahead of us-how did they do that?!”


Dan shook his head.  Maybe NOW this would be over and he could get some rest, he’d certainly earned it.  Even if he took the hit for having to blow up his own drone he wasn’t sorry-better his own hand than give the Rebels another notch.  The Battle of Pymatunig Lake was a bad enough defeat as is.


The other G-Man spoke up.  “Well, Airman, you did your best under the circumstances but someone has to take the fall.”


“Wait!  What?!  You mean-you can’t!”


“Take the Airman into custody Gentlemen.”


Dan Hladr screamed and the Air Force Guards jump on his corpulent ass and start to beat the crap out of him… eventually to secure him but thugs are thugs.  The Government Agents watch as the fat drone jockey gets the beginning of his punishment for failing his government.





February 9, 2009


Time to begin the Second American Revolution. Time to take that first step-and take back a town!

J. Croft


Before I proceed I’d like to thank each and every one of you for your support for my essays these past four years. Your encouragement means more than I can express. It’s a good thing when you come up with thoughts, ideals, put them to words and people out there understand what you’re saying. So I hope you’ll agree that taking action and getting results are more critical than ever. Because I’m going to ask you do something; get together with others as sick of just protesting, talking yourselves blue about change and burning precious hours in endless circular arguments on the net. Because I am, too.

Time to put the ideals I’ve given you into real life results. We’re going to take over a town, kick off the Second American Revolution with a Recall Election.

We’re going to come up with a list of candidate towns; these will be based on the following criteria:

*Good geographic distance from major urban areas. Keep the mindless urban hordes at bay, reduce political influence of urban and state governments.

*Mix of local industry, resources, agriculture, potential for independent power generation. If a collapse goes forward, the more the candidate town can be self-sufficient, the better.

*Potential defensibility. Expecting trouble is prudent. Terrain can work with us like, say, in Appalachia, out West, the Ozarks. Towns in the Great Plains are like France in 1940; a flat expanse asking for assault. Plus local populations in mountain communities stand a chance of not being completely gelded.

*A review of that town’s Consolidated Annual Financial Report; a lot of what we’re going to do rests on just how much that town has bilked Americans for their taxes just to invest it. Given the current economic climate, yes there may not be much left-or there may be enough land, buildings, assets, cashable investments, etc. to give that town a economic rebirth.

*Political vulnerability of existing local government. This is the most important criteria. So important that I personally would be willing to compromise on other criteria if we can find a corrupt little shitburg whose people are ready for change-that we will give them!

We’re not going to get our Second American Revolution at the national level-we tried that, we don’t have the numbers, media penetration, or political strength. We have to build that strength one state at a time. Which means we have to build up our strength to take over that state one county at a time. Which means we have to build up our strength to take over that county one town at a time-and we as a movement have to take that first step, because with our numbers and relative strength concentrating, taking over a town and using it as a real world showcase for our ideals and showing Americans what Freedom really is is the only way we can penetrate the enemy’s cultural and media grip on them.

So which town will that be?

Help choose that town. Use your God given intelligence, mull the criteria and give us some candidate towns that need our attention first. Go to this message board:

We’ll post candidate towns, gather intel, have lots of arguments about where to concentrate our efforts. It’ll be worth even the effort, but victory and emulation as our Revolution spreads like Ebola across America… can you picture it? Yet we can’t take that journey until we take that first step-that first step beyond mere internet theorizing and flaming each other because we’re all understandably frustrated we can’t get our message out. A Second American Revolution in a corrupt shitburg and transforming it into a model community of Free Humanity, and publicizing the results in a never ending stream of news reports will get the message out.

So if you’re into actually doing something about the way things are going spread this message to the four winds! We’ll go from there, narrow our choices to a few towns or even one town. Then, establishing legal residencies-a mail drop in a house will do-we’ll begin with that town and states applicable emergency recall petition rules. We’ll select our candidates and begin our campaign as I’ve outlined in my articles.

It’s time. Let’s do it already!

J. Croft

There is no need for Patriots to wait for a full election cycle to replace corrupt public officials and take back YOUR government! Use the power of a Recall Petition.

It worked in 2003 in California to replace Grey Davis… except that it was a op to get Arnold Schwarzenegger in who otherwise couldn’t have gotten elected.

We can use this! Gather all the Patriots in your state, pick a town that’s corrupt. File legal residency, and start a recall petition. Usually, you have 90 days to get all the names.

Then stage your election. Take precautions to have duplicate offices, have squeaky clean candidates who won’t sell out.

When you get in… you’ll know what to do.


Recall of State Officials
March 21, 2006


Recall is a procedure that allows citizens to remove and replace a public official before the end of a term of office. Historically, recall has been used most frequently at the local level. By some estimates, three-fourths of recall elections are at the city council or school board level. This brief, however, focuses only on the recall as it applies to state officials.

Recall differs from another method for removing officials from office – impeachment – in that it is a political device while impeachment is a legal process. Impeachment requires the House to bring specific charges and the Senate to act as a jury. In most of the eighteen recall states, specific grounds are not required, and the recall of a state official is by an election.

Eighteen states permit the recall of state officials:

New Jersey
North Dakota
Rhode Island

The District of Columbia also provides for recalls. Virginia is not listed as a recall state because its process, while requiring citizen petitions, allows a recall trial rather than an election. In at least 29 states (some sources place this number at 36), recall elections may be held in local jurisdictions.



Ala. Code §11-44-130 – 11-44-134
Municipal commissioners and mayors
No restrictions on when a recall petition may be commenced

No specific grounds are required

No time limit for gathering signatures

Signature requirement is number equal to 3% of the inhabitants of the municipality according to the last federal census who are qualified to vote for a successor (§11-44-130). Signature requirement is number equal to 30% of those who voted in the last election (§11-44E-168)


Const. Art. 11, §8

AS§29.26-240 et seq.
All elected public officials in the state, except judicial officers
Recall may commence after first 120 days in office.

Grounds for recall are misconduct in office, incompetence, or failure to perform prescribed duties.

Time for gathering signatures is 60 days.

Signature requirement is number equal to 25% of the votes cast for that office in the last regular election.


Const. Art. 8
Every public officer in the state holding elective office, either by election or appointment
Recall may commence after 6 months in office.

No specific grounds are required.

Time for gathering signatures is 120 days.

Signature requirement is number equal to 25% of the votes cast for that office in the last regular election.


Ark. Code §14-47-112, 14-48-114, 14-61-119, 14-92-209
Mayor, member of board of directors, commissioners of suburban improvement districts (for the latter, a petition triggers a recall hearing, rather than an election)
Recall may commence after 6 months in office

No specific grounds are required

No time limit for gathering signatures

Signature requirement for mayors and directors is number equal to 35% of ballots cast for all candidates for the office at the preceding primary at which the officials were nominated or elected; for commissioners of suburban improvement districts requirement is number equal to 25% of the owners of realty within the district


Const. Art. 2, §19

Election Code §11000 et seq.
Elective officer of a city, county, school district, community college district, or special district, or a judge of a trial court

County and city charter provisions providing for recall are not affected by state provisions.
Recall may commence after 90 days in office. Recall may not commence if officer has 6 months or less left in term.

No specific grounds are required.

Time for gathering signatures is 40 – 160 days (depending upon the size of the jurisdiction).

Signature requirement varies according to the number of registered voters in the jurisdiction: 30% if registration is less than 1,000; 25% if registration is between 1,000 and 9,999; 20% if registration is between 10,000 and 49,999; 15% if registration is between 50,000 and 99,999; 10% if registration is 100,000 and above.


Const. Art. 21, §4

CRS §31-4-501 et seq.
Elective officers of any county, city and county, city and town

Cities, counties and towns may provide for the manner of exercising the recall, but cannot require a petition be signed by more than 25% of the entire vote cast in the last election for the office subject to recall.


Fla. Stat. Ann §100.361
Any member of the governing body of a municipality or charter county
No recall may commence until official has served at least one-fourth of his term

Grounds for recall are malfeasance, misfeasance, neglect of duty, drunkenness, incompetence, permanent inability to perform official duties, and conviction of a felony involving moral turpitude

Time for gathering signatures is 30 days

Signature requirement varies according to the number of registered voters in the jurisdiction: 50 electors or 10% of the total electors, whichever is greater, in a district of fewer than 500 electors; 100 electors or 10% of the total electors, whichever is greater, in a district of 500-1,999 electors; 250 electors or 10% of the total electors, whichever is greater, in a district of 2,000-4,999 electors; 500 electors or 10% of the total electors, whichever is greater, in a district of 5,000-9,999 electors; 1,000 electors or 10% of total electors, whichever is greater, in a district of 10,000-24,999 electors; 1,000 electors or 5% of the total electors, whichever is greater, in a district of 25,000 or more electors


Const. Art. 2, §2.4

Ga. Code §21-4-1 et seq.
All state and local officials who hold elective office
No recall may commence during the first or last 180 days in office.

Grounds for recall are conduct which relates to and adversely affects the administration of his or her office and adversely affects the rights and interests of the public; and act(s) of malfeasance, violation of oath of office, failure to perform duties prescribed by law willful misuse, conversion or misappropriation of public property or funds.

Time for gathering signatures is 45 days for a petition requiring 5,000 signatures or more; 30 days for a petition requiring fewer than 5,000 signatures.

Signature requirement is number equal to 30% of the electors registered and qualified to vote at the last regular election.


Const. Art. 6, §6

Idaho Code §34-1701 et seq.
Every public officer in the state of Idaho, excepting the judicial officers. Specifically includes: County officers–members of the board of county commissioners, sheriff, treasurer, assessor, prosecuting attorney, clerk of the district court, and coroner. City officers-mayor, members of the city council. Special district elected officers for whom recall procedure is not otherwise provided by law.
Recall may commence after 90 days in office.

No specific grounds are required.

Time for gathering signatures is 60 days.

Signature requirement is number equal to 20% of the number of electors registered to vote at the last regular election at which the officer was elected. For special district elected officers, requirement is 50% instead of 20%.


Const. Art. 4, §3

KSA §25-4301 et seq.
All elected public officials in the state, except judicial officers
Recall may not commence during first 120 or last 200 days in office.

Grounds for recall are conviction of a felony, misconduct in office or failure to perform duties prescribed by law.

Time for gathering signatures is 90 days.

Signature requirement is number equal to 40% of the votes cast for the office in the last election.


Const. Art. 10, §26

La.R.S. §18:1300 et seq.
Any state, district, parochial, ward, or municipal official except judges of the courts of record
Recall may not commence during last 6 months in office.

No specific grounds are required

Time for gathering signatures is 90 days.

Signature requirement is number equal to 33 1/3% of the electors of the voting area, unless fewer than 1,000 electors reside within the voting area, in which case the petition must be signed by at least 40% of those electors.


Const. Art. 2, §8

MCL §168.951 – 168.975
All elective officers except judges of courts of record
Recall may not commence during last 6 months in office.

No specific grounds are required

Time for gathering signatures is 90 days.

Signature requirement is number equal to 25% of the persons voting in the electoral district at the time of the last election for governor


Minn. Stat. Ann. §351.14 – 351.23
Any public official who is elected to countywide office or appointed to an elective countywide office, including county attorney, county sheriff, county auditor, county recorder, county treasurer, soil and water conservation supervisor, county commissioner elected or appointed from a commissioner district or a soil and water conservation district supervisor elected or appointed from a supervisor district
Recall may not be commenced in the 180 days immediately preceding a general election for the office which is held by the officer subject to the recall.

Grounds for recall are malfeasance or nonfeasance in the performance of official duties during the current or any previous term. Prior to circulating a petition, there must be a court hearing to determine if there is probably cause for the grounds for recall.

No time limit for gathering signatures.

Signature requirement is number equal to 25% of the persons who voted in the last election for the office which is held by the official named in the petition


MRS §77.650, 78.260
any elective office in a third class city
Recall may not commence during first 6 months in office

Grounds for recall are misconduct in office, incompetence, and failure to perform duties prescribed by law.

Time for gathering signatures is 60 days.

Signature requirement is number equal to 25% of the total registered voters in the city


MCA §2-16-601 et seq.
Every person holding a public office of the state or any of its political subdivisions, either by election or appointment
Recall may not commence during first 2 months in office.

Grounds for recall are physical or mental lack of fitness, incompetence, violation of oath of office, official misconduct, or conviction of a felony offense

Time for gathering signatures is 3 months.

Signature requirement for county officials is 15% of the persons registered to vote at the last county general election; for municipal or school district officials requirement is 20% of the persons registered to vote at the last election


NRS §31-786 – 31-973 and 32-1301 – 32-1309
Any elected official of a political subdivision and any elected member of the governing bodies of cities, villages, counties, irrigation districts, natural resources districts, public power districts, school districts, community college areas, educational service units, hospital districts, metropolitan utilities districts, and sanitary and improvement districts.

The recall procedure and special election provisions apply to the mayor and members of the city council of municipalities with a home rule charter notwithstanding any contrary provisions of the home rule charter.
Recall may not commence during first 6 months in office or within 6 months prior to the incumbent filing deadline for the office

No specific grounds are required.

Time for gathering signatures is 30 days.

Signature requirement is number equal to 35% of the total vote cast for that office in the last election except that a) for an office for which more than one candidate is chosen, requirement is 35% of number of votes cast for the person receiving the highest number of votes for that office in the last election; b) for a member of a board of a Class I school district, requirement is number equal to 25% of total number of registered voters residing in the district; c) for a village officer, requirement is 45% of the total votes cast for the person receiving the most votes for that office in the last election


Const. Art. 2, §9
Every public officer in the State of Nevada is subject to recall from office by the registered voters of the state, or of the county, district, or municipality which he represents.
Recall may not commence during first 6 months in office.

No specific grounds are required

Time for gathering signatures is 60 days.

Signature requirement is number equal to 25% of the persons voting in the last election

New Hampshire

RSA 49D:3(e)
Charters adopted by towns, cities, village districts and unincorporated places may provide for recall.
Provisions vary by jurisdiction’s individual charter.

New Jersey*

Const. Art. 1, §2(b)

Any elected official in the state or representing the state in the United States Congress. Includes local officials.
Recall may not commence during first year in office.

No specific grounds are required

Time for gathering signatures is 160 days.

Signature requirement is number equal to 25% of the registered voters of the district

New Mexico

Const. Art. 10, §9
Elected official of a county
A recall election cannot be conducted after May 1 in a calendar year in which an election is to be held for the office subject to the proposed recall.

Grounds for recall are malfeasance or misfeasance in office or violation of the oath of office during the official’s current term. Prior to circulating a petition, there must be a court hearing to determine if there is probably cause for the grounds for recall.

No time limit for gathering signatures.

Signature requirement is number equal to 33 1/3% of persons who voted in the last election for the office

North Dakota*

Const. Art. 3, §10
Any elected official of the state, of any county or of any legislative or county commissioner district
Recall may be commenced at any time.

No specific grounds are required.

No time limit on gathering signatures.

Signature requirement is number equal to 25% of the those who voted in the last election


ORC §705.92
Any elective officer of a municipal corporation
Recall may not commence during last 190 days in office.

No specific grounds are required

Time for gathering signatures is 90 days.

Signature requirement is number equal to 15% of the total votes cast in the last regular municipal election


Const. Art. 2, §18

ORS §249.865 – 249.880
Every public officer in Oregon
Recall may not commence during first 6 months in office.

No specific grounds are required

Time for gathering signatures is 90 days.

Signature requirement is number equal to 15% of all votes cast in the electoral district for governor at the last election

South Dakota

SDCL §9-13-29 – 9-13-35
The mayor, or any commissioner or any alderman in municipalities of the first and second classes with or without a city manager
Recall may commence at any time.

Grounds for recall are misconduct, malfeasance, nonfeasance, crimes in office, drunkenness, gross incompetency, corruption, theft, oppression, or gross partiality

Time for gathering signatures is 60 days.

Signature requirement is number equal to 15% of registered voters in the municipality, based on the total number of registered voters at the time of the last general election


Tenn. Code Ann. §6-31-301
Members of boards of education, city council members
No recall election may be held during the 90 days before or the 90 days after a municipal election

No specific grounds are required.

No time limit for gathering signatures.

Signature requirement is number equaling 66% of the total vote cast for the candidate receiving the highest number of votes at the last election


Const. Art. 1, §33-34

RCW §29.82.010 et seq.
Every elective public officer of the state of Washington expect judges of courts of record
Recall may not commence during last 6 months in office. [effective until July 1, 2004]

Grounds for recall are acts of malfeasance or misfeasance while in office or violation of oath of office

Time for gathering signatures is 180 days. [effective until July 1, 2004]

Signature requirement for city officers of cities of the first class and county officers of counties of the first, second and third classes is 25% of total votes cast for the office at the last election; for all other political subdivisions, requirement is 35% of total votes cast for the office at the last election

West Virginia

WV Code §8-12-4(3)
Any city may be charter provision provide for the recall of an elected officer.
Recall may commence at any time.

No specific grounds are required.

No restriction on time for gathering signatures.

Signature requirement is number equaling 20% of the qualified voters of the city.


Const. Art. 13, §12

WSA §9.10
The qualified electors of the state, of any county, city, village, town, of any congressional, legislative, judicial or school district, or of any prosecutorial unit may petition for the recall of any incumbent elective official
Recall may not commence during first year in office.

No specific grounds are required

Time for gathering signatures is 60 days.

Signature requirement for county officials is number equal to 25% of the votes cast for governor in the county the county the officer represents; for a city, town, village or school district officer, requirement is 25% of the votes cast for president in the district the officeholder represents


Wyo. Stat. §15-4-110
Any elected officer of a city or town operating under the commission form of government.
Recall may commence at any time.

No specific grounds are required.

No restriction on time for gathering signatures.

Signature requirement is number equaling 25% of all registered electors in the city or town.


February 4, 2009


J. Croft

If revolution is needed anywhere, it is in the United States of America, yet it isn’t. It’s a mystery, we have all the ingredients:

*Oppressive overclass openly looting us, exploiting us, keeping us down and divided against each other

*Legacy, dimly remembered, of Freedom and Revolution

*Widespread, if monitored and heavily regulated, firearms ownership
So, what happened?

I’ll tell you what happened; the beast up to now has been so damn good at putting down previous rebellions and revolutions Americans have subconsciously adopted a slave mentality.
This the reason we put up with tax rates up to 60%, and more. Reason we put up with so much lording over by officious bureaucrats and thug cops, shysters making so many laws the legal system takes on an officious lawlessness.

America’s elite have feared another American Revolution since 1775, so they’ve been very careful in gradually taming us, getting us as a people to “trust our leaders”. When they got enough of us to trust them, THEN they started to harness us with laws and regulations. Once they got their chains on us THEN they started taking away, whipping us, yanking on our collective bridle reminding us who we let be our bosses.

The rest of the world now knows America is a slave state, a prison state: we act like prisoners, all afraid if we don’t behave and do what we’re told we will be punished. And the beast employs the worst kinds of people who will happily administer that punishment.

What is needed, now, is a successful resistance. Unfortunately the beast employs the best psychologists to mold our trusting, flouride damaged minds, and to spot any troublemakers. Lawyers who run all public offices, have a monopoly on the practice of law and who have no vested interest whatsoever in any revolution. Soldiers and cops who refuse to know better, who only care that it is only THEY who will have the guns and the training to use them as the 21st century version of the elites knights.

I tell you, they CAN be fought, and they CAN be beat! Their economic system can be beat by opting out. Their laws can be ignored if we’d get together and start taking back local government, slashing taxes, using CAFR investments to self invest and lock out corporate traitors like Wal Mart.

Their military isn’t invincible either. Neither are their SWAT teams-there’s ways to beat them both which I plan to show you in the near future.


The Whole World Is Rioting as the Economic Crisis Worsens — Why Aren’t We?
By Joshua Holland, AlterNet. Posted February 3, 2009.

Americans are rightfully angry about the economic decline, but with a few small exceptions, quietly so. Why? It depends on whom you ask.

Explosive anger is spilling out onto the streets of Europe. The meltdown of the global economy is igniting massive social unrest in a region that has long been a symbol of political stability and social cohesion.

It’s not a new trend: A wave of upheaval is spreading from the poorer countries on the periphery of the global economy to the prosperous core.

Over the past few years, a series of riots spread across what is patronizingly known as the Third World. Furious mobs have raged against skyrocketing food and energy prices, stagnating wages and unemployment in India, Senegal, Yemen, Indonesia, Morocco, Cameroon, Brazil, Panama, the Philippines, Egypt, Mexico and elsewhere.

For the most part, those living in wealthier countries took little notice. But now, with the global economy crashing down around us, people in even the wealthiest nations are mad as hell and reacting violently to what they view as an inadequate response to their tumbling economies.
The Telegraph (UK) warned last month that protests over governments’ handling of the crisis “are widespread and gathering pace,” and “may spark a new revolution”:

A depression triggered in America is being played out in Europe with increasing violence, and other forms of social unrest are spreading. In Iceland, a government has fallen. Workers have marched in Zaragoza, as Spanish unemployment heads towards 20 percent. There have been riots and bloodshed in Greece, protests in Latvia, Lithuania, Hungary and Bulgaria. The police have suppressed public discontent in Russia and will be challenged again at large gatherings this weekend.

Consider a snapshot of a single week of unrest, courtesy of the Guardian:

Greece: “There are many wellsprings of the serial protests rolling across Europe. In Athens, it was students and young people who suddenly mobilized to turn parts of the city into no-go areas. They were sick of the lack of jobs and prospects, the failings of the education system and seized with pessimism over their future. “This week it was the farmers’ turn, rolling their tractors out to block the motorways, main road and border crossings across the Balkans to try to obtain better procurement prices for their produce.”

Latvia: “The old Baltic trading city had seen nothing like it since the happy days of kicking out the Russians and overthrowing communism two decades ago. More than 10,000 people converged on the 13th century cathedral to show the Latvian government what they thought of its efforts at containing the economic crisis. The peaceful protest morphed into a late-night rampage as a minority headed for the parliament, battled with riot police and trashed parts of the old city. The following day, there were similar scenes in Vilnius, the Lithuanian capital next door.” France: “Burned-out cars, masked youths, smashed shop windows and more than a million striking workers. The scenes from France are familiar, but not so familiar to President Nicolas Sarkozy, confronting the first big wave of industrial unrest of his time in the Elysée Palace. “France, meanwhile, is moving into recession, and unemployment is going up. The latest jobless figures were to have been released yesterday, but were held back, apparently for fear of inflaming the protests.”

Iceland: “Proud of its status as one of the world’s most developed, most productive and most equal societies, Iceland is in the throes of what is, by its staid standards, a revolution. “Riot police in Reykjavik, the coolest of capitals. Building bonfires in front of the world’s oldest parliament. The yogurt flying at the free market men who have run the country for decades and brought it to its knees.”

Britain (via the Times of London): “Wildcat strikes flared at more than 19 sites across the country in response to claims that British tradesmen were being barred from construction jobs by contractors using cheaper foreign workers.” Russia (via Al-Jazeera): “Thousands of protesters have rallied across Russia to criticize the government’s economic policies and its response to the global financial crisis. “Russian police forcefully broke up many of the anti-government protests on Saturday, arresting dozens of demonstrators.”

At least in Western Europe, cries of “burn the shit down!” are being heard in countries with some of the highest standards of living in the world — states with adequate social safety nets; countries where all citizens have access to decent health care and heavily subsidized educations. Places where minimum wages are also living wages, and a dignified retirement is in large part guaranteed.

The far ends of the ideological spectrum appear to be gaining currency as the crisis develops, and people grow increasingly hostile toward the politics of the status quo.

The Financial Times quotes Olivier Besancenot, a young leader of “France’s extreme left,” promising “to reinvent and re-establish the anti-capitalist project.” “We want the established powers to be blown apart,” Besancenot said. Europe’s far right is gaining momentum, too, using the economy and populist outrage over immigration to gain a legitimacy it hasn’t enjoyed in some time.

Notably absent from the list of countries where the economic crunch is rending the social fabric is the good ole US of A, a state with the greatest level of economic inequality in the wealthy world.
Outside of a few scattered and quickly contained protests, the citizens of the U.S. — a country born of revolution, but with an elite that’s been terrified of that legacy since immediately after its founding — have been calm, despite opinion polls showing that Americans are more dissatisfied with the direction in which the country has been headed since they began measuring such things.
It’s a baffling disconnect, considering that real wages for all but the top 10 percent of the economic pile haven’t increased in 35 years.

It’s more bizarre still when you consider that while European governments have handled their own bailouts relatively transparently, the U.S. government has doled out close to $10 trillion in bailouts, loan guarantees and fiscal stimulus — if there were a million-dollar bill, that would be a stack of 10 million of them — with a stunning lack of oversight or accountability.

Even the congressional commission charged with overseeing key parts of the banking bailout can’t get answers to basic questions like “who’s getting what?”

Americans are rightfully angry about that state of affairs, but with a few small exceptions, quietly so. Why? It depends on whom you ask.

In a 2006 interview with Harper’s, Barack Obama shared a subtle, but rather fundamental observation about America’s political culture: “Since the founding,” he said, “the American political tradition has been reformist, not revolutionary.” If there is to be positive change, Obama has argued, it must be gradual; “brick by brick,” as he put it in one of his final campaign speeches.

Mark Ames, author of Going Postal: Rage, Murder, and Rebellion — From Reagan’s Workplaces to Clinton’s Columbine and Beyond, argues that Americans have been beaten down to a degree that they’re now a pacified population, largely willing to accept any economic outrage its elites impose on them.

In a 2005 interview with AlterNet, Ames said the “slave mentality” is stronger in the U.S. than elsewhere, “in part because no other country on earth has so successfully crushed every internal rebellion.”

Slaves in the Caribbean for example rebelled a lot more because their oppressors weren’t as good at oppressing as Americans were. America has put down every rebellion, brutally, from the Whiskey Rebellion to the Confederate rebellion to the proletarian rebellions, Black Panthers, white militias … you name it. This creates a powerful slave mentality, a sense that it’s pointless to rebel.

Anyone who has witnessed the brutal police riots that have become so common since the infamous “Battle in Seattle” protests against the World Trade Organization in 1999 can tell you there’s some merit to the argument.

It’s also the case that European societies tend to be more homogenous than the mishmash of tribes we call the United States. Whereas Americans are divided by religion, region, ethnicity, urban-rural tensions and all the other trappings of the “culture wars,” the primary split in most European countries is class.

Thomas Frank argued eloquently in What’s the Matter With Kansas that those wedge social issues that the American right nurtures with such care obscure the fundamental differences between the rich and poor, the powerful and the disenfranchised.

Indeed, any hint of discussion of economic inequality in the U.S. is shot down with cries of “class warfare” — exactly what is playing out in the streets of much of the world today.

As the crisis deepens, as virtually every analyst predicts it will, that may well change. As The Nation’s Bill Greider told Democracy Now’s Amy Goodman, “you can’t do this to people year after year — that is, upturn their lives, take away what they thought they had earned, and so forth and so on, without provoking rather intense political reactions. … We’re just, just beginning to see a few bubbles like that around this country. I don’t say we’re going to have riots, but I think … people, out of their own distress and anger, will organize their own politics, and they will make themselves seen and heard around this country.”

Stay tuned.