Willard
01-27-2007, 07:52 AM
Chapter 25
After four days of patrolling and LZ watching with no contact, the militia received a call
on the radio from their NHDF contact. Essentially the request was for men to fight to
ISAF forces in southern New Hampshire. Manchester and parts of Nashua were being
turned into battlefields. In fact, on area of Manchester, on the Merrimack river, was being
called “Little Stalingrad” by the German “as if” troops fighting there. The defenders were
determined to hold true to their state motto-“Live free or Die”. One wag on the front line
quipped “Live Free or Kill Germans Forever”, ironic since his grandparents had left
Germany over 100 years previously.
The ISAF controlled the main roads, barely. Hit and run attacks were the order of the day
in the “pacified” areas. From kids on mountain bikes sniping sentries and escaping on
bike trails to old ladies drilling guards at checkpoints with quick shots from their old
pocket pistols, the Germans were experiencing what the Russians did when they invaded
a country where everyone was armed. Except of course, that the Americans could shoot a
damned sight better than most Afghans. As the invasion stalled the ISAF poured men and
equipment into the fray. At the same time resistance spread. In Massachusetts
independent militias attacked transportation centers and bridges. Fuel trucks were set
alight by rifle fire-a few to poke some holes, a tracer or two to set it off. Train tracks were
disrupted, causing either delays in vehicular delivery or in the case of tracked vehicles
forcing them to drive themselves, which increased maintenance and track wear. They also
found that rubber tires on wheeled vehicles burn really well-especially those on the BTR-
60 and –70. The ISAF and what the real Americans called a Muppet Governmentdefinitely
puppets and Billary was definitely a hideous caricature of someone- stopped
sending American troops after the first week, when three battalions of US Mechanized
Infantry decided to fulfill their oaths by changing sides and a transportation Battalion
drove straight into NHDF lines with truckloads of ammunition. The commander was
leaving the ISAF and decided to just order his men to what they were told and drove
through ISAF lines. A large portion of those troops decided to “defect”, too, once they
got to Free America.
Several squadrons of Air Force fighters had landed in New Hampshire, their pilots
loading up with munitions and just leaving for Freedom. These aircraft prevented the
ISAF from exploiting their aerial capabilities. Using small radio controlled aircraft and
laser designators made in state by a defense contractor the NHDF could “paint” targets in
the immediate rear of the ISAF lines and the NHAF pilots could hit them with precision
guided munitions (the seekers of which were made and assembled in Maine) launched
from stand off distances. A priority target were enemy artillery positions, which could
safely shell New Hampshire from the protection of Massachusetts. The American
artillery units were referred to disparagingly as “Jane Fonda Brigades”. The Free
Americans sometimes used cast concrete laser guided bombs, proven effective during the
second Iraq War, to destroy targets. 750 pound of concrete hitting a bridge at 70 MPH
makes a mess of things.
Meeting at their patrol base, Jim broke the news to the teams. They were looking for
volunteers to go to “Manch-vegas” and fight. They would be facing the enemy in built up
areas, a kind of combat that is labor intensive, and likely to produce many casualties.
Most of the militia volunteered. The way many calculated it, having the enemy in one
spot gave them the chance to kill them faster. Jim made a quick decision, and the team
radioed for pickup. They broke camp and prepared to move to the pick up point, while
Jim and Dave “strategized”.
“We need to leave enough people behind to fight an effective delaying action, but send
enough people to make an effective unit, like platoon strength or larger.”
Dave considered this, panting under the weight of his pack. “How about we just let some
units stay, intact? Then we can go as a unit, and either take a few other teams with us and
fill in the spots of folks who stay behind with some folks we trust?”
Jim nodded, “Um-huh, that’s what I was thinking. We’ll need to bring a few support
people, too, logistics team to take care of us. Like a micro company trains.”
“Well, we could bring the deuce and two pickups or more, and a driver/logistics person
for each vehicle. That would give us a support team in place.”
“Who do we want to stay behind, and who do we want on support? We’ll have to confer
later, see who wants to go and who wants to stay, and work from there.”
“Sounds good. We got a whole day to decide.”
“Yeah, about that. I want everyone to take 24 hours when we get back to rest and relax.
That means me and you, too. We’re going to split into three teams, I want you to take one,
Will will take one, I’ll have the other. That way we can have three maneuver elements in
town.”
“Sounds good to me.”
Two days later the Pine Tree Irregulars were traveling in a convoy bound for their
assembly area. The deuce and a half, three pickups, and one Suburban carried the unit.
One pickup sported a camper, which was sporting several antenna. The camper had been
configured as a commo center, and had a small generator and several base station and
mobile Ham radios inside. With it’s propane fired water heater it could provide a shower
and hot meals for the militia, if things worked out that they could take advantage of it.
Doc was going to use on of the pickups that was fitted with a bed cap as a field
ambulance, once the gear in back had been unpacked. He had a driver and two EMT
trained assistants to carry litters and help with the grim work that undoubtedly lay ahead.
They are detained and then passed through two separate NHDF checkpoints, one manned
by a militia from Maine, which had come down to fight. The men were tired, having been
pulled from the line a few days prior, and were working the checkpoint as a way of
relaxing from the grueling combat they had engaged in for five straight days. Dave, Jim,
and Doc chatted with them for a bit, to get a better picture of the situation.
Arriving at their designated rv point, they parked and went about eating a late lunch.
Shortly after, a Humvee pulled up, and three NHDF troops in olive drab uniforms got out
and approached them.
“Are you the Pine Tree Militia?” asked the oldest looking of the three, a ray haired man
in his late fifties.
“We are,” answered Jim, “what can I do for you?”
“I’m Dan Weeden, I’m you new contact. I’m afraid there’s been some reorganization
going on, and the younger troops have been given more…vigorous assignments.”
Jim nodded. Indeed, the other two NHDF people looked a bit over fifty themselves.
After a silence that started to get awkward, Dan spoke again, “After you’re people have
eaten we’ll take you to the training area-it’s north of here, a little further from the lines.
You’ll have time to train, and we have two Special Forces teams here to do that. One is
from the Rhode Island National Guard and the other is from he Fifth Group at Fort
Campbell.”
“How do you know you can trust them?” asked Jim.
“Well, both teams have men with family here in state, and we checked them out through
friends, teachers, and such. All came back OK. We don’t have a way to do thorough
background checks, but we have it on good authority..” he winked slowly and
dramatically, “that JSOC about crapped when the teams defected. Could be part of a
deception, but since the team from Rhode Island has family now in camps I don’t believe
so.”
Jim nodded, “We’ll take our chances. But we’re ready to deploy now. My men…” a
feminine ‘ahem’ broke his train of thought, “..my men and WOMEN, are ready to go into
the line at any time.”
“I appreciate that you are all experienced in combat, but what we are doing here is
training you for urban warfare.”
”My team is trained for urban warfare.”
Major Weeden paused. “How about we let the Special Forces decide?”
“Sure,” grinned Jim back at him.
Steve held up his hand and ticked off fingers…three…two….one….BANG BANG
BANG! The 12 gauge in Mikes hands barked as he shot the lock and deadbolt with the
cutdown riotgun. As soon as the third shot went off a combat boot clad foot kicked it in,
and a man in OD fatigues whipped into the doorway, his M-249 SAW barking its fast
staccato. Immediately behind him another figure slipped into the room and added the
sounds of rapid semi auto fire to the din. Before the third man could slip in, the firing
stopped.
“Clear!”
“Clear!”
“All Clear!”
The three persons in the room had entered and hit all the targets in seconds. Without
worrying about hostage targets, this went a lot faster than the room clearing they had
practiced under Jims tutelage so long before. As the rest of the team moved past the
doorway, Mike marked the doorway with bright green spraypaint to indicate it had been
cleared while the other two cleared the room more closely, looking for holes in the walls
or ceilings that the enemy could use to slip in behind them. As the last man moved past,
the three man team fell in at the rear of the snake, covering the ‘hallway’ to the rear.
“You’re men move well. They’ve done this before?” asked the Special Forces Master
Sergeant.
“Yeah,” answered Jim lightly, “a time or two.”
The Sergeant nodded, “Or two is more like it. I think they’re ready. No reason to waste
time and ammo on stuff they already know. We’ll be passing out frags and these
workshop stun grenades we’ve got before you go. Resupply is tough at the front, so take
as much as you can before the supply Sergeant catches on.”
“I think we’re all set there, too.”
The Sergeant looked at Jim, “Oh, did you bring your own?”
Jim smiled, more to himself than for someone else’s benefit, “We have our ways.”
“They did what?”
“Looks like they took twice what they were to be issued. Left a note, too, saying they
only took what they would have used in training, and a little extra.”
The Master Sergeant laughed, “We have our ways the SOB told me. Damned if he
didn’t.’ The Sgt smiled. They must have a master scrounger with them.
“You got how much?”
“I took what we would have used in training, and about twice what they were going to
issue us, which is all from the training stocks, and only about half of what we really need
anyway,” Dave answered.
“I dub you ‘slicky boy’,” said Jim, only half joking.
“Oh, and I found out about a bunch of captured stuff, too, from their armorer. Turns out
he’s a guy I know from a website I used to hang out at before this started. He lives around
here, and got shot in leg while he and some friends were successfully resisting the
unreasonable search and seizure section of the Constitution. Another week and they’ll let
him back on the line, but for now he’s helping out the SF dudes.”
“Where is it?”
“In the back of his truck. He’s going to bring it by when we get set up.”
Jim shook his head. “You are something else, you know that?”
Dave grinned, “As long as it’s a good something else, we’re cool.”
“You know it, homie.”
The unexpected windfall of captured gear included three RPG-7V rocket launchers and
five boxes of four rockets each. Also, thirty blocks of TNT, fifty-five electric blasting
caps, 4 Russian Claymore copies, two rolls of double strand electrical wire, and six cases
of old Russian F-1 grenades with fuses.
“The Russkie frags have fuses marked with a ‘zero’, and no one wants them. But with an
instant fuse they’ll make great booby traps, or you can use electric caps, or whatever.”
“Thanks, man, I can’t tell you how much I appreciate this,” said Dave.
“I told you, don’t worry. Besides, my militia unit has lots more,” and he winked.
Dave smiled, “Well, all right then. I’ll see you on the line.”
His friend shook his hand, “Be right there next to you in a couple of days. Take it easy,
Dave.”
They parked the trucks at an old strip mall that was now a field hospital. They would set
up here, and from here would deploy as the NHDF needed them. They could hear rifle
and mortar fire in the distance.
The teams divided up and started getting ready, preparing LBE’s and packs. The plan was
to drive as close as they could, then march to join the units already on the line. They were
being integrated into the Second Battalion, Londonderry Rifles, an NHDF unit the
included one regular Army company that had defected, a National Guard armor company
that had no armor and was fighting as infantry, and two companies of citizen-soldiersveterans
and patriots fighting with their own weapons and equipment. With 28 men
entering the line they were either the smallest company or largest platoon in the battalion.
Attrition was eating away at the number of available fighters.
They had brought two garden carts with them, large wooden affairs with bicycle tires,
used in more mundane times to move mulch and leaves around the yard with ease. They
were just right for hauling ammo forward and casualties to the rear. For now they were
loaded with ammo, food, and water.
Will came up to Jim as he was buckling a chest pouch over his body armor.
“Those frags, the Russian pineapples?”
“Yeah, what about them?” Jim replied.
“I remember reading about those fuses marked with a ‘0’, and they’re just a
manufacturers mark, I seem to recall.”
“That contact of Daves said they were instant fuses.”
“Well, I asked Dave, he said that no one would use them because they heard they were
instant.”
“Well, you can throw the first one, if you want. We’ll either give you a good funeral or
buy you a drink.”
“Better not be water,” joked Will, “I’ll find a way to try them safely when we hit the
trenches.”
“Just don’t kill yourself.”
“I won’t. Sam would never forgive me.”
They passed into the forward lines after dark, moving up with guides in groups of threes
and fours. Eventually they were all in place, occupying a largish apartment building that
overlooked the Merrimack River, and four houses on the same street. Voice powered
phones linked all five building, and Jim immediately set about checking the lines,
repositioning people here and there, walking through with each leader making sure they
knew their fields of fire and where the friendlies were. What they had would have to do
until daylight, and wait for dark again to make any changes.
The RPG teams were set up outside. They couldn’t really fire safely from inside the
buildings. Jim had them set up rear security, and put out some of the Russian F1 grenades
as booby traps. Instant fuses or not, they’d do the job.
Their job was to hold this section of the line. Report any movement. There was river
access across from them where the enemy could conceivably launch their amphibious
BMPs and BTRs against them. The river was fairly low, and they might even be able to
get trucks across at that point. After one or two days they’d rotate forward to fight, and
would be relieved by a unit from the line. Two days on, one off was the rotation right
now. Fight, rest, rearm, return to the fray.
They took some fire the first night, nothing personal, just harassing small arms fire from
across the way. After a large caliber machinegun bullet passed all the way through one of
the houses Daves team occupied he had no trouble getting them to fill and stack sandbags
inside, against the river side wall.
The sun rose, bathing the far side of the river in the bright red light of dawn. Will and
Dave immediately noticed sunlight reflecting from several of the broken out windows in
the building across and downriver from them.
“OP’s aren’t too smart over there,” noted Will, “I see at least two guys with binos.”
“Well, are rules of engagement are simple. Let’s get Jim on the horn and see if they have
a shot from the apartment.”
Dave picked up the TA-1 phone and pushed the ringer on the side. “This is Dave, we’ve
got people in at least two room in the warehouse looking at us with optics…..OK, third
floor, from the right, sixth window……top floor, from the right…..tenth window….yeah,
if you can. Might as well be proactive. I’ll tell them.”
Dave replaced the phone. “Will, tell your people we are under observation, and that we’re
going to be engaging the ‘as if’ guys with sniper fire. Tell them to stay under cover and
don’t shoot unless it’s an all out attack or we tell’em it’s all right.”
“Sure, Dave. I’ll spread the word to all the houses.”
“We don’t know what they’ll do, so we may get shot at in return.”
“No prob…” Wills voice was cut off by a single shot from the apartment. They both
grabbed their own binos and looked at the warehouse. They saw movement in the room
on the top floor, shadows rushing back and forth.
“Must’ve hit him,” remarked Will as the TA-1 jingled.
“Dave….right…..we’ll see what we can do.” Hanging up the phone, Dave turned to Will,
“Jim wants us to see if we can’t get a 40mm or two through the window.”
Will smiled, “Let’s see. I’ll be right back.”
Will left the room and Dave could hear him giving instructions in the hallway. Several
minutes later he heard the hollow ‘thunk’ of at least two 40mm grenade launchers firingthey
had three with them-and the window erupted in a ball of black smoke as two high
explosive grenades detonated nearly simultaneously across the river-a shot of about 250
yards. Gunfire sprouted on the occupied side as German gunners lashed out in retribution.
Red tracers skipped across the river and ricocheted over their heads as at least two hidden
machineguns swept the opposite bank. A roar and whoosh indicated a militia RPG team
had spotted something. Dave watched the PG-7 rocket leap across the Merrimack and
strike a pile of rubble in a blinding flash. A half second later the sound of the strike rolled
across the river. Another long burst of machinegun fire came from the position in
defiance of the rocket attack. After a few more minutes the machinegun fire tapered off,
as did the fire from the free side of the river.
The order went out-feel free to shoot anybody on the other side of the river at will. Keep
the enemy off balance. The militia took to the order like ducks to water, and kept up fire
all day.
As the sun set, the Militia counted no casualties on their part-and several confirmed kills
across the way.
Dave was crossing from his right flank positions back to the main command post, or CP
in the early morning twilight. He had just checked the lines again, making sure everyone
on duty was awake and alert, bringing what little coffee they had to a few of the troops.
As he crouched over to run from behind a storage shed to the cover of a small ranch
house, he heard a roar in the air that sounded like a freight train. “INCOM…!!!!” he
started to yell, but he was cut off as exploding artillery shells started to burst around the
militias’ lines. The first blast was a hundred yards away, and back behind their forward
positions, but it was still enough to make Dave get down. He curled into a ball as more
explosions tore through the early morning, in and around their positions. As he hugged
the ground another explosion, this one much closer, picked him up and slammed him into
the ground. Wood splinter and painted shingles fell around him as the small ranch house
disintegrated from a direct hit. More explosions, some from smaller weapons, light
mortars through 155mm cannon, worked a two-mile stretch of the New Hampshire Line.
The barrage lasted for about 20 minutes, which to those on the receiving end felt like an
eternity. As the last echoes of the explosions drifted away, small arms fire erupted from
the far bank. Dave quickly leapt to his feet and looked around. The house in front of him
was splintered and the remains were burning, He could hear small arms ammunition
cooking off in the fire, and could what he assumed was burning flesh. He faintly heard
cries of wounded men, but he quickly put those sounds aside. With machinegun tracers
crisscrossing the sky over his head, he had to get ready for what was next.
He took of at a run to the right flank positions. Diving more or less head first into the
nearest fighting position, he was caught and set upright by its occupants. The two
militiamen had stunned looks on their faces.
“Everyone all right?” asked Dave, giving the men the once over for obvious injuries.
“Yeah,” mumbled the older of the two, “The house is gone, man.”
“I know. I know,” replied Dave.
“We gotta find Steve. Steve was in there,” and the man put down his SAR-1 AK clone, as
if to climb out of the hole.
Dave put a hand on his arm, “Chuck, we can’t right now. He’s either OK or not, and we
can’t change that. Hear the machineguns? We need to get ready, I think the “as if’s” are
coming over to play.”
Nodding his understanding, Chuck picked up his rifle.
“Chuck, Mike, I need you guys to stay here. Shoot anyone bad. If they get close to
crossing the river, get out of the hole with weapons and ammo only and fight a delaying
action for as long as you can hold out, all right?”
Both men said “Yeah” simultaneously.
“I have to go check out the rest of the squad.” And Dave climbed out of the hole even as
Chuck and Steve started shooting sparingly, waiting for targets.
Dave was running across what was once a well-tended lawn when dirt kicked up around
his feet. He fell as if hit, but immediately rolled to his right, tucking in behind a large Oak
tree whose top was torn and tattered from a mortar bursting in its high branches. Several
more short bursts thudded into the thick trunk before the gunners attention was caught
something else to shoot at. Even as he ran forward again, Dave’s ears picked up the
telltale sound of tank engines and squeaking tracks from the far side of the river. He ran
even harder, if possible, for the security of the last house on the right.
Reaching the corner, he saw that there was already a medical team working on a
wounded militiaman. He waved to Tony, who came over right away.
“Stew was hit by shrapnel, in the legs and chest. Docs working on him, says he should
survive. “
“How about everyone else?” Dave asked, panting like a dog after his strenuous run.
“We’re OK…”
”Good,” said Dave, cutting him off, “Get all the anti-tank stuff we’ve got ready. I hear
tanks.”
“IS that what that was…”
“MOVE!” Dave urged Tony. Joining Tony, Dave helped place the team, using trees and
terrain for cover, handing out last little tidbits of advice.
He heard a shout, and turned to see Sonya, one of his late additions, pointing across the
river. Dave turned in time to see an M-1 Abrams poke it’s snout from behind the large
brick building. The turret scanned left and right, and the monster lurched forward, it
tracks squeaking making more noise than the relative quiet of it’s turbine engine. As the
Abrams cleared the building, it angled towards a low spot in the opposite river bank-a
good place for a tank to attempt to ford the river. A second 120mm smoothbore gun
sprouted from the corner, followed shortly by a second Abrams, which also pivoted its
turret. But this time the gun turned to the tanks left, towards the occupied mill. So
startling was its cannon firing that Dave blinked in surprise. A large hole was blasted into
the wall of the mill. Suddenly the enemy line opened up, and Dave could see tracer
bullets ricocheting wildly up in the air as small caliber bullets bounced off of the Abrams
Chobham armor. Behind the second M-1 came a Bradley IFV, its turret pointing to the
rear, spitting rounds from its 25mm cannon. From behind the building came an explosion
and a column of flame and smoke that rose over the roof.
The first tank clambered down the embankment, and Dave could clearly see the turret
was marked with a black Maltese Cross. Its main gun flashed smoke and flame as it fired
into the militias lines. The second Abrams was worked its way down the riverbank,
turning its turret. When the muzzle of the main gun was properly aligned, and too spoke,
this time firing an Armor Piercing Fin Stabilized Discarding Sabot (APFSDS) round into
the rear of the first Abrams’ hull. Traveling at a speed of over one mile per second the
depleted uranium round tore through the engine compartment. Another round followed,
throwing up a shower of sparks as it violated the armored sanctuary of the turret. The
tank immediately ground to a halt as black flames poured from the engine bay. After a
brief moment the hatches on the turret blew open, even as the blast doors on the back of
the turret spouted red fire and black smoke as it ammunition burned. An “As If’ RPG
gunner leaned out of an upper story window, trying to get a shot at the turncoat tanks
turret top. Dave quickly threw his CAR-15 to his shoulder and started shooting. He
wasn’t the only one, and the gunner tumbled out of the window in a cloud of red brick
dust thrown up by rounds from a dozen weapons. The Bradley entered the river with a
spray of white foam, the coaxial machinegun working the upper windows of the factory.
Dave could hear the staccato roar of individual weapons firing from his side of the river
as the shell-shocked militia forces regained their equilibrium and picked up the fire. Yet
another Bradley appeared, it too firing over its own rear deck at unseen forces.
From the far side of the factory a T-90 appeared, one of the many tanks acquired by
Germany when the Berlin Wall came down. The Abrams fired again, and the T-90’s
turret flew off in a blast that sent a shockwave across the river. Small black objects
started appearing from the brick buildings windows as the invaders dropped grenades,
trying desperately to kill the armored monster in their midst. They exploded in impressive
black clouds that did little more than scratch the paint of the tank. The first Bradley
waddled ashore near to Dave, and quickly pivoted in place, its tracks tearing up black
earth as they turned in opposite directions. As soon as the rear of the Bradley was out of
the ASF fires, the rear ramp dropped and nearly a dozen US troops poured out of the back,
quickly taking up positions facing across the river. They added their firepower to the
militias in short order. The second Bradley fired its smoke canisters and disappeared
behind a wall of white smoke, which it quickly broke through as it too headed for the ford.
Even as the Bradley crawled forward, the front wall of the building erupted in a large
explosion. The familiar shape of an A-10 roared overhead, and several more large
explosions came from the far side of the river as it passed. From Dave’s far right an RPG
roared across the river and disappeared behind the factory. Another ball of fire billowed
upwards as the shaped charge rocket found its mark. German troops clad in Flec camo
started charging from the factory, shooting desperately across the river. Rifles,
machineguns, and 25mm cannon fire made short work of them. Flame and black smoke
was hurled from the windows of the factory as the A-10 made another pass, this time on
the right side. Debris rained down on the remaining M-1, which quickly lurched forward
and turned towards the river. Up and down the river similar events were unfolding,
American units were turning on both the ISAF forces and the turncoat Americans in their
midst.
Dave’s heart leapt. Pausing to reload his CAR-15, he heard the sounds of firing up and
down the banks of the river. “The whole line must be doing this,” he thought as he
slapped the bolt catch with the heel of his left hand. Using the burning, shattered house as
cover he raced to his left, to where the second Bradley was disgorging its cargo. Dave
noted that each dismounting man carried two or three AT-4 rockets in their left hand, and
deposited them on the ground well to the rear of the tracked behemoth. A pair of men
broke away from the others, one man carrying a radio on his back, the other looking at
Dave and moving towards him.
“Captain Goins, Alpha 3/15th Infantry, at your service,” he announced himself to Dave.
“Hi. I’m Dave, the XO here,” replied Dave, taking a knee “We’re glad to see you’re on
our side.”
“Well, most of us are, actually,” said the Captain. He and his radioman both took a knee
with Dave, “We had to…take care of a few on the way over. Is this Jim’s sector?”
“Yeah, why?”
“I’m supposed to meet up with him and take his unit across to counterattack.”
“And we’re supposed to trust you?”
The Captain smiled, “Let’s see this Jim.”
“OK, follow me!” said Dave, as he propelled himself to his feet. Whirling, he took off
toward the militias CP. He saw Jim on his own radio, and stopped in front of him.
Jim smiled “Is that Captain Goins?” He asked with a wink.
Dave grinned “You scroungy turd, you arranged this and didn’t tell me?”
“OPSEC,” Jim said. Dave nodded. He could accept that.
“Captain, I’m Jim. Are your men ready to take us across?”
“Yes, we are,” answered the Captain. A series of explosions and a flury of small arms fire
sounded from upstream, “But if we don’t hurry we’re going to miss the fun.”
“Dave,” said Jim, “Get you half of the line ready. Weapons and ammo only. If you see
Doc tell him to follow us when he can.”
“He’s down my way, I’ll tell him.”
The Captain spoke into the radio handset and then spoke to Jim and Dave, “I’ve got three
M-113’s ready to cross.”
“Send them over,” answered Jim,” send one to the left and right, one in between the
Bradleys. Did you bring the AT-4’s?”
“Yeah, they’re behind that Brad,” Goins said, pointing at the closest one.
“Dave, have the men grab those and distribute them to the M-113’s.”
“Right,” said Dave, and he was up and off, rallying the militia.
The rest of the day was a blur to Dave. The hurried river crossing in the box-like M-113’s,
shooting over the top of the open rear hatch. Pausing to reload magazines from stripper
clips in the back of the M-113. The hurried assault on an artillery battery, the guns
attached to the back of German trucks, the bodies slumped over the trail legs of the
cannon, laying where they fought a desperate holding action trying to buy time for a
hasty retreat. And finally, as the Noon hour passed, more and more American units
joining the fray. And finally the ISAF units surrendering en masse, the momentum of the
American advance catching them completely unaware. By the end of the day, they had
completely destroyed the force assembled to literally invade New Hampshire.
By the end of the week they had liberated almost all of New England, and were fighting
desperate units bypassed and trapped in Hartford, and could see the towering buildings of
New York City from the Connecticut shore.
The victory of the New England forces weakened the resolve of the ISAF forces all over
the country, and encouraged action by other Americans. All over the country resistance
cells sprouted, and occupation forces from a myriad of countries suffered their wrath. The
units from the New England region slowly approached Washington D.C., but did not
move into the area itself. Laying siege to large cities was preferable to battling it out
house to house against a lost cause. The Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff got the
“football” that contained the codes for all of Americas nuclear weapons, and managed to
convince the Air Force Chief to place all nukes on a standby status, where they would
only fire upon confirmation of weapons launch from hostile powers-no nuclear weapons
would be used on American soil against Americans.
The ISAF countries were at their wits ends. Their already shattered economies, already
weakened by the global crisis and their socialist nanny policies, would not support the
military buildup that would be required to deploy a force large enough to have any affect
on the situation in America. One by one they reached agreements with the provisional
government in Concord, New Hampshire, and gradually cease fires were arranged
throughout much of the country. After being disarmed, the foreign troops were treated
firmly but fairly, and were eventually returned to their homelands. The cost of housing,
transporting, and guarding the troops was billed to their respective governments, and
were used as leverage for the forgiveness of the original defaults that had been the excuse
for their invasion in the first place.
Most of the traitorous Congress was imprisoned or shot. The President and her Vice
President were found in the Oval Office, victims of an apparent murder-suicide. There
was little mourning when that was announced.
We all know the rest. How a true Constitutional Republic was reborn. How the
Constitution was rewritten in layman’s language and the courts were changed to prevent
lifelong tenure. Congress, too, had limits on how many consecutive terms a person could
serve. The rule of law was restored, and the rule of “legalese” was, hopefully, cast aside
forever. The legal system again became a justice system, and social welfare again became
the domain of private organizations, where it should have always been.
And how the sacrifices of the brave patriots, men and women, who freed this great nation
from the tyranny of global socialism, inspired others in far away places, to establish free
Republics of their own. Poland, first, with the help of many Americans of Polish descent.
South Africa, where a long, bitter, and bloody war finally restored freedom and true
equality. Kenya, and eventually England, all became free at last.
And that is the story of my Grandfather, David McGrath, Governor of New Hampshire,
Senator to the Republics Congress in Kansas, and in my eyes, the greatest hero of the war.
I have assembled this narrative from the letters he wrote to my Grandmother, the stories
my Dad and Uncle, his sons, have told me, and interviews with my Grandfather, who
lives out the remainder of his days in peace at his mountain cabin, just the way he wanted
to in the first place.
The End
After four days of patrolling and LZ watching with no contact, the militia received a call
on the radio from their NHDF contact. Essentially the request was for men to fight to
ISAF forces in southern New Hampshire. Manchester and parts of Nashua were being
turned into battlefields. In fact, on area of Manchester, on the Merrimack river, was being
called “Little Stalingrad” by the German “as if” troops fighting there. The defenders were
determined to hold true to their state motto-“Live free or Die”. One wag on the front line
quipped “Live Free or Kill Germans Forever”, ironic since his grandparents had left
Germany over 100 years previously.
The ISAF controlled the main roads, barely. Hit and run attacks were the order of the day
in the “pacified” areas. From kids on mountain bikes sniping sentries and escaping on
bike trails to old ladies drilling guards at checkpoints with quick shots from their old
pocket pistols, the Germans were experiencing what the Russians did when they invaded
a country where everyone was armed. Except of course, that the Americans could shoot a
damned sight better than most Afghans. As the invasion stalled the ISAF poured men and
equipment into the fray. At the same time resistance spread. In Massachusetts
independent militias attacked transportation centers and bridges. Fuel trucks were set
alight by rifle fire-a few to poke some holes, a tracer or two to set it off. Train tracks were
disrupted, causing either delays in vehicular delivery or in the case of tracked vehicles
forcing them to drive themselves, which increased maintenance and track wear. They also
found that rubber tires on wheeled vehicles burn really well-especially those on the BTR-
60 and –70. The ISAF and what the real Americans called a Muppet Governmentdefinitely
puppets and Billary was definitely a hideous caricature of someone- stopped
sending American troops after the first week, when three battalions of US Mechanized
Infantry decided to fulfill their oaths by changing sides and a transportation Battalion
drove straight into NHDF lines with truckloads of ammunition. The commander was
leaving the ISAF and decided to just order his men to what they were told and drove
through ISAF lines. A large portion of those troops decided to “defect”, too, once they
got to Free America.
Several squadrons of Air Force fighters had landed in New Hampshire, their pilots
loading up with munitions and just leaving for Freedom. These aircraft prevented the
ISAF from exploiting their aerial capabilities. Using small radio controlled aircraft and
laser designators made in state by a defense contractor the NHDF could “paint” targets in
the immediate rear of the ISAF lines and the NHAF pilots could hit them with precision
guided munitions (the seekers of which were made and assembled in Maine) launched
from stand off distances. A priority target were enemy artillery positions, which could
safely shell New Hampshire from the protection of Massachusetts. The American
artillery units were referred to disparagingly as “Jane Fonda Brigades”. The Free
Americans sometimes used cast concrete laser guided bombs, proven effective during the
second Iraq War, to destroy targets. 750 pound of concrete hitting a bridge at 70 MPH
makes a mess of things.
Meeting at their patrol base, Jim broke the news to the teams. They were looking for
volunteers to go to “Manch-vegas” and fight. They would be facing the enemy in built up
areas, a kind of combat that is labor intensive, and likely to produce many casualties.
Most of the militia volunteered. The way many calculated it, having the enemy in one
spot gave them the chance to kill them faster. Jim made a quick decision, and the team
radioed for pickup. They broke camp and prepared to move to the pick up point, while
Jim and Dave “strategized”.
“We need to leave enough people behind to fight an effective delaying action, but send
enough people to make an effective unit, like platoon strength or larger.”
Dave considered this, panting under the weight of his pack. “How about we just let some
units stay, intact? Then we can go as a unit, and either take a few other teams with us and
fill in the spots of folks who stay behind with some folks we trust?”
Jim nodded, “Um-huh, that’s what I was thinking. We’ll need to bring a few support
people, too, logistics team to take care of us. Like a micro company trains.”
“Well, we could bring the deuce and two pickups or more, and a driver/logistics person
for each vehicle. That would give us a support team in place.”
“Who do we want to stay behind, and who do we want on support? We’ll have to confer
later, see who wants to go and who wants to stay, and work from there.”
“Sounds good. We got a whole day to decide.”
“Yeah, about that. I want everyone to take 24 hours when we get back to rest and relax.
That means me and you, too. We’re going to split into three teams, I want you to take one,
Will will take one, I’ll have the other. That way we can have three maneuver elements in
town.”
“Sounds good to me.”
Two days later the Pine Tree Irregulars were traveling in a convoy bound for their
assembly area. The deuce and a half, three pickups, and one Suburban carried the unit.
One pickup sported a camper, which was sporting several antenna. The camper had been
configured as a commo center, and had a small generator and several base station and
mobile Ham radios inside. With it’s propane fired water heater it could provide a shower
and hot meals for the militia, if things worked out that they could take advantage of it.
Doc was going to use on of the pickups that was fitted with a bed cap as a field
ambulance, once the gear in back had been unpacked. He had a driver and two EMT
trained assistants to carry litters and help with the grim work that undoubtedly lay ahead.
They are detained and then passed through two separate NHDF checkpoints, one manned
by a militia from Maine, which had come down to fight. The men were tired, having been
pulled from the line a few days prior, and were working the checkpoint as a way of
relaxing from the grueling combat they had engaged in for five straight days. Dave, Jim,
and Doc chatted with them for a bit, to get a better picture of the situation.
Arriving at their designated rv point, they parked and went about eating a late lunch.
Shortly after, a Humvee pulled up, and three NHDF troops in olive drab uniforms got out
and approached them.
“Are you the Pine Tree Militia?” asked the oldest looking of the three, a ray haired man
in his late fifties.
“We are,” answered Jim, “what can I do for you?”
“I’m Dan Weeden, I’m you new contact. I’m afraid there’s been some reorganization
going on, and the younger troops have been given more…vigorous assignments.”
Jim nodded. Indeed, the other two NHDF people looked a bit over fifty themselves.
After a silence that started to get awkward, Dan spoke again, “After you’re people have
eaten we’ll take you to the training area-it’s north of here, a little further from the lines.
You’ll have time to train, and we have two Special Forces teams here to do that. One is
from the Rhode Island National Guard and the other is from he Fifth Group at Fort
Campbell.”
“How do you know you can trust them?” asked Jim.
“Well, both teams have men with family here in state, and we checked them out through
friends, teachers, and such. All came back OK. We don’t have a way to do thorough
background checks, but we have it on good authority..” he winked slowly and
dramatically, “that JSOC about crapped when the teams defected. Could be part of a
deception, but since the team from Rhode Island has family now in camps I don’t believe
so.”
Jim nodded, “We’ll take our chances. But we’re ready to deploy now. My men…” a
feminine ‘ahem’ broke his train of thought, “..my men and WOMEN, are ready to go into
the line at any time.”
“I appreciate that you are all experienced in combat, but what we are doing here is
training you for urban warfare.”
”My team is trained for urban warfare.”
Major Weeden paused. “How about we let the Special Forces decide?”
“Sure,” grinned Jim back at him.
Steve held up his hand and ticked off fingers…three…two….one….BANG BANG
BANG! The 12 gauge in Mikes hands barked as he shot the lock and deadbolt with the
cutdown riotgun. As soon as the third shot went off a combat boot clad foot kicked it in,
and a man in OD fatigues whipped into the doorway, his M-249 SAW barking its fast
staccato. Immediately behind him another figure slipped into the room and added the
sounds of rapid semi auto fire to the din. Before the third man could slip in, the firing
stopped.
“Clear!”
“Clear!”
“All Clear!”
The three persons in the room had entered and hit all the targets in seconds. Without
worrying about hostage targets, this went a lot faster than the room clearing they had
practiced under Jims tutelage so long before. As the rest of the team moved past the
doorway, Mike marked the doorway with bright green spraypaint to indicate it had been
cleared while the other two cleared the room more closely, looking for holes in the walls
or ceilings that the enemy could use to slip in behind them. As the last man moved past,
the three man team fell in at the rear of the snake, covering the ‘hallway’ to the rear.
“You’re men move well. They’ve done this before?” asked the Special Forces Master
Sergeant.
“Yeah,” answered Jim lightly, “a time or two.”
The Sergeant nodded, “Or two is more like it. I think they’re ready. No reason to waste
time and ammo on stuff they already know. We’ll be passing out frags and these
workshop stun grenades we’ve got before you go. Resupply is tough at the front, so take
as much as you can before the supply Sergeant catches on.”
“I think we’re all set there, too.”
The Sergeant looked at Jim, “Oh, did you bring your own?”
Jim smiled, more to himself than for someone else’s benefit, “We have our ways.”
“They did what?”
“Looks like they took twice what they were to be issued. Left a note, too, saying they
only took what they would have used in training, and a little extra.”
The Master Sergeant laughed, “We have our ways the SOB told me. Damned if he
didn’t.’ The Sgt smiled. They must have a master scrounger with them.
“You got how much?”
“I took what we would have used in training, and about twice what they were going to
issue us, which is all from the training stocks, and only about half of what we really need
anyway,” Dave answered.
“I dub you ‘slicky boy’,” said Jim, only half joking.
“Oh, and I found out about a bunch of captured stuff, too, from their armorer. Turns out
he’s a guy I know from a website I used to hang out at before this started. He lives around
here, and got shot in leg while he and some friends were successfully resisting the
unreasonable search and seizure section of the Constitution. Another week and they’ll let
him back on the line, but for now he’s helping out the SF dudes.”
“Where is it?”
“In the back of his truck. He’s going to bring it by when we get set up.”
Jim shook his head. “You are something else, you know that?”
Dave grinned, “As long as it’s a good something else, we’re cool.”
“You know it, homie.”
The unexpected windfall of captured gear included three RPG-7V rocket launchers and
five boxes of four rockets each. Also, thirty blocks of TNT, fifty-five electric blasting
caps, 4 Russian Claymore copies, two rolls of double strand electrical wire, and six cases
of old Russian F-1 grenades with fuses.
“The Russkie frags have fuses marked with a ‘zero’, and no one wants them. But with an
instant fuse they’ll make great booby traps, or you can use electric caps, or whatever.”
“Thanks, man, I can’t tell you how much I appreciate this,” said Dave.
“I told you, don’t worry. Besides, my militia unit has lots more,” and he winked.
Dave smiled, “Well, all right then. I’ll see you on the line.”
His friend shook his hand, “Be right there next to you in a couple of days. Take it easy,
Dave.”
They parked the trucks at an old strip mall that was now a field hospital. They would set
up here, and from here would deploy as the NHDF needed them. They could hear rifle
and mortar fire in the distance.
The teams divided up and started getting ready, preparing LBE’s and packs. The plan was
to drive as close as they could, then march to join the units already on the line. They were
being integrated into the Second Battalion, Londonderry Rifles, an NHDF unit the
included one regular Army company that had defected, a National Guard armor company
that had no armor and was fighting as infantry, and two companies of citizen-soldiersveterans
and patriots fighting with their own weapons and equipment. With 28 men
entering the line they were either the smallest company or largest platoon in the battalion.
Attrition was eating away at the number of available fighters.
They had brought two garden carts with them, large wooden affairs with bicycle tires,
used in more mundane times to move mulch and leaves around the yard with ease. They
were just right for hauling ammo forward and casualties to the rear. For now they were
loaded with ammo, food, and water.
Will came up to Jim as he was buckling a chest pouch over his body armor.
“Those frags, the Russian pineapples?”
“Yeah, what about them?” Jim replied.
“I remember reading about those fuses marked with a ‘0’, and they’re just a
manufacturers mark, I seem to recall.”
“That contact of Daves said they were instant fuses.”
“Well, I asked Dave, he said that no one would use them because they heard they were
instant.”
“Well, you can throw the first one, if you want. We’ll either give you a good funeral or
buy you a drink.”
“Better not be water,” joked Will, “I’ll find a way to try them safely when we hit the
trenches.”
“Just don’t kill yourself.”
“I won’t. Sam would never forgive me.”
They passed into the forward lines after dark, moving up with guides in groups of threes
and fours. Eventually they were all in place, occupying a largish apartment building that
overlooked the Merrimack River, and four houses on the same street. Voice powered
phones linked all five building, and Jim immediately set about checking the lines,
repositioning people here and there, walking through with each leader making sure they
knew their fields of fire and where the friendlies were. What they had would have to do
until daylight, and wait for dark again to make any changes.
The RPG teams were set up outside. They couldn’t really fire safely from inside the
buildings. Jim had them set up rear security, and put out some of the Russian F1 grenades
as booby traps. Instant fuses or not, they’d do the job.
Their job was to hold this section of the line. Report any movement. There was river
access across from them where the enemy could conceivably launch their amphibious
BMPs and BTRs against them. The river was fairly low, and they might even be able to
get trucks across at that point. After one or two days they’d rotate forward to fight, and
would be relieved by a unit from the line. Two days on, one off was the rotation right
now. Fight, rest, rearm, return to the fray.
They took some fire the first night, nothing personal, just harassing small arms fire from
across the way. After a large caliber machinegun bullet passed all the way through one of
the houses Daves team occupied he had no trouble getting them to fill and stack sandbags
inside, against the river side wall.
The sun rose, bathing the far side of the river in the bright red light of dawn. Will and
Dave immediately noticed sunlight reflecting from several of the broken out windows in
the building across and downriver from them.
“OP’s aren’t too smart over there,” noted Will, “I see at least two guys with binos.”
“Well, are rules of engagement are simple. Let’s get Jim on the horn and see if they have
a shot from the apartment.”
Dave picked up the TA-1 phone and pushed the ringer on the side. “This is Dave, we’ve
got people in at least two room in the warehouse looking at us with optics…..OK, third
floor, from the right, sixth window……top floor, from the right…..tenth window….yeah,
if you can. Might as well be proactive. I’ll tell them.”
Dave replaced the phone. “Will, tell your people we are under observation, and that we’re
going to be engaging the ‘as if’ guys with sniper fire. Tell them to stay under cover and
don’t shoot unless it’s an all out attack or we tell’em it’s all right.”
“Sure, Dave. I’ll spread the word to all the houses.”
“We don’t know what they’ll do, so we may get shot at in return.”
“No prob…” Wills voice was cut off by a single shot from the apartment. They both
grabbed their own binos and looked at the warehouse. They saw movement in the room
on the top floor, shadows rushing back and forth.
“Must’ve hit him,” remarked Will as the TA-1 jingled.
“Dave….right…..we’ll see what we can do.” Hanging up the phone, Dave turned to Will,
“Jim wants us to see if we can’t get a 40mm or two through the window.”
Will smiled, “Let’s see. I’ll be right back.”
Will left the room and Dave could hear him giving instructions in the hallway. Several
minutes later he heard the hollow ‘thunk’ of at least two 40mm grenade launchers firingthey
had three with them-and the window erupted in a ball of black smoke as two high
explosive grenades detonated nearly simultaneously across the river-a shot of about 250
yards. Gunfire sprouted on the occupied side as German gunners lashed out in retribution.
Red tracers skipped across the river and ricocheted over their heads as at least two hidden
machineguns swept the opposite bank. A roar and whoosh indicated a militia RPG team
had spotted something. Dave watched the PG-7 rocket leap across the Merrimack and
strike a pile of rubble in a blinding flash. A half second later the sound of the strike rolled
across the river. Another long burst of machinegun fire came from the position in
defiance of the rocket attack. After a few more minutes the machinegun fire tapered off,
as did the fire from the free side of the river.
The order went out-feel free to shoot anybody on the other side of the river at will. Keep
the enemy off balance. The militia took to the order like ducks to water, and kept up fire
all day.
As the sun set, the Militia counted no casualties on their part-and several confirmed kills
across the way.
Dave was crossing from his right flank positions back to the main command post, or CP
in the early morning twilight. He had just checked the lines again, making sure everyone
on duty was awake and alert, bringing what little coffee they had to a few of the troops.
As he crouched over to run from behind a storage shed to the cover of a small ranch
house, he heard a roar in the air that sounded like a freight train. “INCOM…!!!!” he
started to yell, but he was cut off as exploding artillery shells started to burst around the
militias’ lines. The first blast was a hundred yards away, and back behind their forward
positions, but it was still enough to make Dave get down. He curled into a ball as more
explosions tore through the early morning, in and around their positions. As he hugged
the ground another explosion, this one much closer, picked him up and slammed him into
the ground. Wood splinter and painted shingles fell around him as the small ranch house
disintegrated from a direct hit. More explosions, some from smaller weapons, light
mortars through 155mm cannon, worked a two-mile stretch of the New Hampshire Line.
The barrage lasted for about 20 minutes, which to those on the receiving end felt like an
eternity. As the last echoes of the explosions drifted away, small arms fire erupted from
the far bank. Dave quickly leapt to his feet and looked around. The house in front of him
was splintered and the remains were burning, He could hear small arms ammunition
cooking off in the fire, and could what he assumed was burning flesh. He faintly heard
cries of wounded men, but he quickly put those sounds aside. With machinegun tracers
crisscrossing the sky over his head, he had to get ready for what was next.
He took of at a run to the right flank positions. Diving more or less head first into the
nearest fighting position, he was caught and set upright by its occupants. The two
militiamen had stunned looks on their faces.
“Everyone all right?” asked Dave, giving the men the once over for obvious injuries.
“Yeah,” mumbled the older of the two, “The house is gone, man.”
“I know. I know,” replied Dave.
“We gotta find Steve. Steve was in there,” and the man put down his SAR-1 AK clone, as
if to climb out of the hole.
Dave put a hand on his arm, “Chuck, we can’t right now. He’s either OK or not, and we
can’t change that. Hear the machineguns? We need to get ready, I think the “as if’s” are
coming over to play.”
Nodding his understanding, Chuck picked up his rifle.
“Chuck, Mike, I need you guys to stay here. Shoot anyone bad. If they get close to
crossing the river, get out of the hole with weapons and ammo only and fight a delaying
action for as long as you can hold out, all right?”
Both men said “Yeah” simultaneously.
“I have to go check out the rest of the squad.” And Dave climbed out of the hole even as
Chuck and Steve started shooting sparingly, waiting for targets.
Dave was running across what was once a well-tended lawn when dirt kicked up around
his feet. He fell as if hit, but immediately rolled to his right, tucking in behind a large Oak
tree whose top was torn and tattered from a mortar bursting in its high branches. Several
more short bursts thudded into the thick trunk before the gunners attention was caught
something else to shoot at. Even as he ran forward again, Dave’s ears picked up the
telltale sound of tank engines and squeaking tracks from the far side of the river. He ran
even harder, if possible, for the security of the last house on the right.
Reaching the corner, he saw that there was already a medical team working on a
wounded militiaman. He waved to Tony, who came over right away.
“Stew was hit by shrapnel, in the legs and chest. Docs working on him, says he should
survive. “
“How about everyone else?” Dave asked, panting like a dog after his strenuous run.
“We’re OK…”
”Good,” said Dave, cutting him off, “Get all the anti-tank stuff we’ve got ready. I hear
tanks.”
“IS that what that was…”
“MOVE!” Dave urged Tony. Joining Tony, Dave helped place the team, using trees and
terrain for cover, handing out last little tidbits of advice.
He heard a shout, and turned to see Sonya, one of his late additions, pointing across the
river. Dave turned in time to see an M-1 Abrams poke it’s snout from behind the large
brick building. The turret scanned left and right, and the monster lurched forward, it
tracks squeaking making more noise than the relative quiet of it’s turbine engine. As the
Abrams cleared the building, it angled towards a low spot in the opposite river bank-a
good place for a tank to attempt to ford the river. A second 120mm smoothbore gun
sprouted from the corner, followed shortly by a second Abrams, which also pivoted its
turret. But this time the gun turned to the tanks left, towards the occupied mill. So
startling was its cannon firing that Dave blinked in surprise. A large hole was blasted into
the wall of the mill. Suddenly the enemy line opened up, and Dave could see tracer
bullets ricocheting wildly up in the air as small caliber bullets bounced off of the Abrams
Chobham armor. Behind the second M-1 came a Bradley IFV, its turret pointing to the
rear, spitting rounds from its 25mm cannon. From behind the building came an explosion
and a column of flame and smoke that rose over the roof.
The first tank clambered down the embankment, and Dave could clearly see the turret
was marked with a black Maltese Cross. Its main gun flashed smoke and flame as it fired
into the militias lines. The second Abrams was worked its way down the riverbank,
turning its turret. When the muzzle of the main gun was properly aligned, and too spoke,
this time firing an Armor Piercing Fin Stabilized Discarding Sabot (APFSDS) round into
the rear of the first Abrams’ hull. Traveling at a speed of over one mile per second the
depleted uranium round tore through the engine compartment. Another round followed,
throwing up a shower of sparks as it violated the armored sanctuary of the turret. The
tank immediately ground to a halt as black flames poured from the engine bay. After a
brief moment the hatches on the turret blew open, even as the blast doors on the back of
the turret spouted red fire and black smoke as it ammunition burned. An “As If’ RPG
gunner leaned out of an upper story window, trying to get a shot at the turncoat tanks
turret top. Dave quickly threw his CAR-15 to his shoulder and started shooting. He
wasn’t the only one, and the gunner tumbled out of the window in a cloud of red brick
dust thrown up by rounds from a dozen weapons. The Bradley entered the river with a
spray of white foam, the coaxial machinegun working the upper windows of the factory.
Dave could hear the staccato roar of individual weapons firing from his side of the river
as the shell-shocked militia forces regained their equilibrium and picked up the fire. Yet
another Bradley appeared, it too firing over its own rear deck at unseen forces.
From the far side of the factory a T-90 appeared, one of the many tanks acquired by
Germany when the Berlin Wall came down. The Abrams fired again, and the T-90’s
turret flew off in a blast that sent a shockwave across the river. Small black objects
started appearing from the brick buildings windows as the invaders dropped grenades,
trying desperately to kill the armored monster in their midst. They exploded in impressive
black clouds that did little more than scratch the paint of the tank. The first Bradley
waddled ashore near to Dave, and quickly pivoted in place, its tracks tearing up black
earth as they turned in opposite directions. As soon as the rear of the Bradley was out of
the ASF fires, the rear ramp dropped and nearly a dozen US troops poured out of the back,
quickly taking up positions facing across the river. They added their firepower to the
militias in short order. The second Bradley fired its smoke canisters and disappeared
behind a wall of white smoke, which it quickly broke through as it too headed for the ford.
Even as the Bradley crawled forward, the front wall of the building erupted in a large
explosion. The familiar shape of an A-10 roared overhead, and several more large
explosions came from the far side of the river as it passed. From Dave’s far right an RPG
roared across the river and disappeared behind the factory. Another ball of fire billowed
upwards as the shaped charge rocket found its mark. German troops clad in Flec camo
started charging from the factory, shooting desperately across the river. Rifles,
machineguns, and 25mm cannon fire made short work of them. Flame and black smoke
was hurled from the windows of the factory as the A-10 made another pass, this time on
the right side. Debris rained down on the remaining M-1, which quickly lurched forward
and turned towards the river. Up and down the river similar events were unfolding,
American units were turning on both the ISAF forces and the turncoat Americans in their
midst.
Dave’s heart leapt. Pausing to reload his CAR-15, he heard the sounds of firing up and
down the banks of the river. “The whole line must be doing this,” he thought as he
slapped the bolt catch with the heel of his left hand. Using the burning, shattered house as
cover he raced to his left, to where the second Bradley was disgorging its cargo. Dave
noted that each dismounting man carried two or three AT-4 rockets in their left hand, and
deposited them on the ground well to the rear of the tracked behemoth. A pair of men
broke away from the others, one man carrying a radio on his back, the other looking at
Dave and moving towards him.
“Captain Goins, Alpha 3/15th Infantry, at your service,” he announced himself to Dave.
“Hi. I’m Dave, the XO here,” replied Dave, taking a knee “We’re glad to see you’re on
our side.”
“Well, most of us are, actually,” said the Captain. He and his radioman both took a knee
with Dave, “We had to…take care of a few on the way over. Is this Jim’s sector?”
“Yeah, why?”
“I’m supposed to meet up with him and take his unit across to counterattack.”
“And we’re supposed to trust you?”
The Captain smiled, “Let’s see this Jim.”
“OK, follow me!” said Dave, as he propelled himself to his feet. Whirling, he took off
toward the militias CP. He saw Jim on his own radio, and stopped in front of him.
Jim smiled “Is that Captain Goins?” He asked with a wink.
Dave grinned “You scroungy turd, you arranged this and didn’t tell me?”
“OPSEC,” Jim said. Dave nodded. He could accept that.
“Captain, I’m Jim. Are your men ready to take us across?”
“Yes, we are,” answered the Captain. A series of explosions and a flury of small arms fire
sounded from upstream, “But if we don’t hurry we’re going to miss the fun.”
“Dave,” said Jim, “Get you half of the line ready. Weapons and ammo only. If you see
Doc tell him to follow us when he can.”
“He’s down my way, I’ll tell him.”
The Captain spoke into the radio handset and then spoke to Jim and Dave, “I’ve got three
M-113’s ready to cross.”
“Send them over,” answered Jim,” send one to the left and right, one in between the
Bradleys. Did you bring the AT-4’s?”
“Yeah, they’re behind that Brad,” Goins said, pointing at the closest one.
“Dave, have the men grab those and distribute them to the M-113’s.”
“Right,” said Dave, and he was up and off, rallying the militia.
The rest of the day was a blur to Dave. The hurried river crossing in the box-like M-113’s,
shooting over the top of the open rear hatch. Pausing to reload magazines from stripper
clips in the back of the M-113. The hurried assault on an artillery battery, the guns
attached to the back of German trucks, the bodies slumped over the trail legs of the
cannon, laying where they fought a desperate holding action trying to buy time for a
hasty retreat. And finally, as the Noon hour passed, more and more American units
joining the fray. And finally the ISAF units surrendering en masse, the momentum of the
American advance catching them completely unaware. By the end of the day, they had
completely destroyed the force assembled to literally invade New Hampshire.
By the end of the week they had liberated almost all of New England, and were fighting
desperate units bypassed and trapped in Hartford, and could see the towering buildings of
New York City from the Connecticut shore.
The victory of the New England forces weakened the resolve of the ISAF forces all over
the country, and encouraged action by other Americans. All over the country resistance
cells sprouted, and occupation forces from a myriad of countries suffered their wrath. The
units from the New England region slowly approached Washington D.C., but did not
move into the area itself. Laying siege to large cities was preferable to battling it out
house to house against a lost cause. The Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff got the
“football” that contained the codes for all of Americas nuclear weapons, and managed to
convince the Air Force Chief to place all nukes on a standby status, where they would
only fire upon confirmation of weapons launch from hostile powers-no nuclear weapons
would be used on American soil against Americans.
The ISAF countries were at their wits ends. Their already shattered economies, already
weakened by the global crisis and their socialist nanny policies, would not support the
military buildup that would be required to deploy a force large enough to have any affect
on the situation in America. One by one they reached agreements with the provisional
government in Concord, New Hampshire, and gradually cease fires were arranged
throughout much of the country. After being disarmed, the foreign troops were treated
firmly but fairly, and were eventually returned to their homelands. The cost of housing,
transporting, and guarding the troops was billed to their respective governments, and
were used as leverage for the forgiveness of the original defaults that had been the excuse
for their invasion in the first place.
Most of the traitorous Congress was imprisoned or shot. The President and her Vice
President were found in the Oval Office, victims of an apparent murder-suicide. There
was little mourning when that was announced.
We all know the rest. How a true Constitutional Republic was reborn. How the
Constitution was rewritten in layman’s language and the courts were changed to prevent
lifelong tenure. Congress, too, had limits on how many consecutive terms a person could
serve. The rule of law was restored, and the rule of “legalese” was, hopefully, cast aside
forever. The legal system again became a justice system, and social welfare again became
the domain of private organizations, where it should have always been.
And how the sacrifices of the brave patriots, men and women, who freed this great nation
from the tyranny of global socialism, inspired others in far away places, to establish free
Republics of their own. Poland, first, with the help of many Americans of Polish descent.
South Africa, where a long, bitter, and bloody war finally restored freedom and true
equality. Kenya, and eventually England, all became free at last.
And that is the story of my Grandfather, David McGrath, Governor of New Hampshire,
Senator to the Republics Congress in Kansas, and in my eyes, the greatest hero of the war.
I have assembled this narrative from the letters he wrote to my Grandmother, the stories
my Dad and Uncle, his sons, have told me, and interviews with my Grandfather, who
lives out the remainder of his days in peace at his mountain cabin, just the way he wanted
to in the first place.
The End