A Glibertarians Exclusive – The Watchtower II
The Knik River Bridge: April 2033
It was a sunny, early spring morning, snow slowly melting on the Knik River bridge, and Frank Tippin and Terry Hopp were just coming back on watch for their 8-hour shift. Now that the Alaska Militia had them on four-man watches, they were joined by Ginger Anne Swain, a former US Army MP, and Robert “Bob” Phelps, a sixty-ish Marine veteran from Talkeetna. Terry had recently been promoted to Sergeant of Volunteers and was technically in charge of his shift at the bridge, although he was savvy enough to rely on advice from the two veterans in the group.
The militia now had uniforms of a sort; the Fairbanks Volunteer Regiment, in conjunction with the Loyalist faction of the US Army at Ft. Wainwright, had finally taken control of that base and had distributed arms, ammo and clothing to the militia. Because of that, Bob Phelps now proudly toted a new M4 carbine, although Ginger Anne preferred to retain her civilian Ruger AR-556. Terry and Frank retained their civilian arms, feeling more comfortable with rifles they had owned and practiced with for some time.
Across the bridge, the People’s Army had established an observation post, clearly visible to the Alaska militiamen, more so now that a twenty-foot observation tower had been erected behind the concrete blockhouse covering the bridge.
The demolition charges on the bridge were still in place. As part of the shift change, Terry and Frank checked the circuit and confirmed the wiring was still live.
“Anything interesting happen overnight?” Terry asked the outgoing militia members.
“Not really. Stupid fuckers across the bridge sat staring into a fire all night.” The grizzled veteran in charge of the shift held up a pair of huge twenty-power marine binoculars. “Assholes were getting stoned while they were on duty. Could see them passing a pipe around from the tower. Can you believe that?”
“Yeah,” Terry replied. “What I can’t believe is that we’re losing a country to these retards.”
“You and me both, brother.” The militiaman yawned. He handed Terry the big binoculars. “OK, it’s all yours. We’re heading back to Palmer, get some shut-eye.”
“Have a better one,” Terry replied.
It was mid-morning when the same old Four-Runner approached the People’s Army OP from the south. The truck stopped at the fire pit the People’s Army watchers had set up and several people got out. One, Terry could see, was not wearing the usual People’s Army urban camo.
“Frank,” Terry called up to the younger man currently in the watch tower. “See anything?”
Frank was observing with the big marine binoculars. “Not really. They’re just milling around. Hang on – three of them are walking towards the bridge. They’ve got a white flag, I see a white flag.”
Terry looked over at Bob Phelps. “Best cover them, Sarge,” he advised. Terry nodded; Bob and Ginger Anne knelt behind a Jersey barrier and trained weapons ‘downrange.’
“They’re coming across,” Frank called out.
Three men – Terry reminded himself sardonically not to presume their gender – were making their way across the bridge, white flag on what appeared to be a broomstick held high. “Parley,” one of them called.
Two were wearing the usual urban camo of the People’s Army. The other…
“Chinese,” Bob Phelps observed. “Looks to be a Colonel in the People’s Liberation Army.”
“Oh, great,” Terry muttered.
The Chinese colonel walked along casually. He was wearing his service uniform rather than combat dress. His uniform was neatly pressed, his brass highly shined; his boots would have done service as a shaving mirror. A cigarette dangled from his lower lip. He stood behind the People’s Army troops, saying nothing.
The People’s Army ‘soldiers’ were less impressive. Their urban camo battle dress appeared as though they had been living and sleeping in it for several months. Their boots were dirty, but strangely unworn; they obviously had not been doing too much marching or, as Bob Phelps described it, “humping the boonies.”
Terry let the trio approach within about ten paces, then stopped them with an upraised hand. “What do you want?”
The larger of the two People’s Army pukes had a faint, sarcastic smile. “We have been ordered to come discuss terms of surrender.”
Terry remembered a scene from an old World War Two movie. “Sorry,” he said, “but we don’t have enough food and shelter to take you all prisoner.”
“Your surrender, fascist pig,” the smaller People’s Army puke snapped.
“Shut up, Caden,” the larger one snapped. “On behalf of the Commanding General of the People’s Army, General Levine, we have been sent to deliver terms to whoever is in charge of what’s left of Alaska.” He extracted a 3×5 card from his pocket and read from it: “All Alaska militia and rogue elements of the former US Army are to surrender all weapons, ammunition and explosives. Civil authorities will be replaced by appointees of the new regional governor in Juneau, Governor Murkowski.” He put the card back in his pocket. “Listen up, fascists. We hold the Anchorage area. We hold Juneau and most of the panhandle. We can throw ten thousand troops at you in an hour. Best you give it up now.”
“Ten thousand,” Terry grinned. “Is that all? We’ve got close to five thousand of the best riflemen – and women, in case you were wondering – in Alaska just a mile up that road. That means the best riflemen in the world. Come on and send your ten thousand; try to cross that bridge.”
“We might. In the meantime, I’m supposed to deliver the message and wait for a reply.”
“How about you?” Terry asked the Chinese colonel. “What’s your interest in all this?”
“I am merely an observer,” the Chinese officer replied in excellent, nearly unaccented English.
“Sure, I bet you are. OK, fellas, wait there; I’ll call this in. Reckon it will have to go to Governor Begich up in Willow.”
Terry called the watch commander in Wasilla, who patched him through to the temporary Governor’s headquarters in the community center in Willow. “Give us an hour,” the radio operator there said after recording the People’s Army’s demands.
“May as well take a seat,” Terry said to the People’s Army reps and the Chinese officer. He indicated a Jersey barrier nearby. “Sorry no chairs. They said it would be an hour.”
“We’ll wait,” the larger of the People’s Army soldiers said. They sat on the pavement and leaned back against a Jersey barrier. The Chinese colonel stayed on his feet. He made a point of not looking around; no doubt the militia’s defenses were already scoped out.
After ten minutes, Terry approached the Chinese officer. “Colonel,” he said companionably. “Got another smoke? We haven’t had any tobacco up here for a few months.”
“Of course,” the Chinese officer replied. He extracted a pack of Winstons from his jacket pocket. “I apologize for my rudeness in not offering sooner. Here, keep the pack.”
“Obliged,” Terry said. He opened the pack, took out a cigarette, lit it, and tossed the pack to a forlorn-looking Ginger Anne.
“So, you’re an observer,” Terry said to the Chinese colonel. “Guess there’s no reason for you to get too excited about all this, then?”
The Chinese officer shrugged. “The People’s Liberation Army is interested only in the tactics used in this American civil war.”
“Sure,” Terry said. He took a deep drag of the Winston, enjoying the flavor of tobacco he had long been denied. “Shall we dispense with the bullshit, Colonel? We know damn well why you’re here.”
The Chinese officer smiled, faintly. “Officially, that is our position. Informally, well, there are many resources in the western part of North America that keenly interest my superiors. You are not a young man, Sergeant. You and I, we are not like these children playing at soldiers to the south of this river. We have seen enough of life to know what the likely outcome of all this is.”
“I know what your people are probably hoping for,” Terry said. “What you hope for and what happens may be two different things.”
“Perhaps,” the colonel smiled more broadly. “Perhaps not.”
The two People’s Army pukes looked bored. They were not following the conversation.
Forty-eight minutes later the radio crackled to life. Bob Phelps put on a headset, and wrote in a notebook, which he handed to Terry. Terry read the old Marine’s blocky handwriting:
“Receipted message from Office of Governor Begich. Message follows: Can only express deep concern with terms offered by People’s Army and associated territorial claims. No negotiations are possible until the People’s Army has withdrawn from the Anchorage area. Discussion of resource-sharing possible if Alaskan political independence is guaranteed.”
Typical self-serving political bullshit, Terry mused. He closed the notebook and handed it back to Bob Phelps.
“Well?” the larger People’s Army soldier demanded as he scrambled to his feet. “What did your governor say?”
“He said to tell you to go fuck yourselves,” Terry replied.
“General Levine ain’t gonna like that,” the People’s Army soldier grumped.
“Not my problem,” Terry replied. “Now, best scamper the hell off my bridge. Go tell your boss. Colonel,” he said, turning to the Chinese officer, “Reckon we’ll be seeing you again.”
“I should think that likely,” the Chinese colonel replied.
The three raised their white flag again and set off south across the bridge.
“This ain’t gonna end well, is it?” Terry asked Bob Phelps.
“Betcher ass,” the old Marine replied.
***
“No reason to get excited”, the thief, he kindly spoke,
“There are many here among us who feel that life is but a joke
But you and I, we’ve been through that, and this is not our fate
So let us not talk falsely now, the hour is getting late”.
The First rises.
With the article conveniently late.
When it comes to Firsting, there are no coincidences.
You would know that if you had a third eye and had traveled throughout the Firstiverse.
Talk about writing what you know…
Yeah. That hits hard.
Very good stuff, Animal. This might be my favorite of your serials yet. But the competition (with yourself!) is stiff.
Why do the ‘tards end up winning so often?
Great chapter, Animal.
Strength in numbers – they always have the numerical advantage.
Neither the Bolsheviks nor the Khmer Rouge had even close to a numerical advantage. Ruthlessness, maybe?
Will to power.
Its how you get both “Right Wing” and “Left Wing” death squads.
I don’t know how you would rebuild a consensus from that, maybe killing fatigue.
Ah – you’re talking the actual core, I was thinking more of the apathetic/fearful that go along to avoid trouble.
Well as long as people have the bread and circuses, I think you are very correct.
Every so often, TOS isn’t utterly useless.
https://reason.com/2022/12/22/by-abolishing-fares-big-cities-embrace-transits-death-spiral/
The maxim “you get what you pay for” doesn’t stop applying just because bureaucrats say so. If you make transit worth nothing, people will treat it as such.
Our light rail in Minne was usually empty except for homeless dudes and bangers.
Up the rates. A lot.
I’ve learned that my favorite Animal story is the one I’m currently reading.
Also; heh:
Heh, indeed.
“General Levine.”
*spits*
Thanks for the great reviews, everyone. This isn’t the most hopeful piece I’ve ever written. And, I sure as hell hope it won’t prove to be prophetic.
Could be a great tie in to Ozzy’s piece. Great work Animal!
Great article, Animal. Thanks for making me wait another week.
I am in doubt though of the People’s Army, what with recruiting problems and a draft would probably not be successful.
OTOH those fighting for their own idea of freedom would be a better tougher crew.
And the truck has a new battery.
Drove to AutoZone this morning. There were three vehicles in the parking lot with their hoods up.
Only two guys working in the store. So, I took the battery home and replaced it myself instead of waiting however long it would take to get them to do it.
I hate changing batteries. And I loathe it when it’s 13 degrees outside.
The good news is the sun is shining and the wind isn’t blowing. So it wasn’t terrible outside.
The OEM battery was still in the truck after 5 years. It was time.
Fyi, some newer cars must have the battery adapted for maximum life. Mine being one of them.
I just had mine swapped a couple months ago. It was dated 2017 and I didn’t want to risk it this winter.
My experience in the past was that OEM batteries were just good enough to get the vehicle on the road and off the sales lot. I’ve rarely had the original battery survive more than two Iowa winters.
So, It was kind of funny to find a 5 year old battery still in the truck. Then again, it has a bit less than 50K miles.
I replaced the battery in the 2010 Dodge Journey that my daughter drives. To replace the battery all you have to do is jack up the front of the car, remove the left front tire, remove a plastic panel in the fender well, wrestle the old battery off the shelf inside the fender, wrestle the new battery on to the shelf and reinstall the plastic panel and the tire. Luckily I did it last spring. I’m not sure it’s possible to do in Michigan winter without a heated stall.
Contrast that with the battery I just replaced in my 2006 Sierra where the battery is conveniently installed in the left front corner of the engine bay. About as easy as they come.
Haha! I went the other day and there were three of us getting batteries!
Lucking the one thing Ford does right is battery access. A couple minutes to pull and a couple minutes to install.’
Still annoyed it only lasted 5 years.
You guys should invest in a cheap battery desulfator. Even Harbor Freight’s offering works just fine and will add years to your battery life.
I got 10-11 years out of my factory batteries in my ’99 and ’04 F-150. My ’04 is on it’s 2nd battery., about 7-8 years ago because I was afraid of winter. Both trucks stayed in the garage when not being driven. The ’99 went to Alaska 2 years ago, I put a new battery (N0. 3) in it before my granddaughter left with it, I didn’t want them to have an possible trouble along the way.
A little psychological warfare on the part of the Chinese officer. I’d almost wager he doesn’t actually smoke much, just wanted to show the enemy what they’re missing out on.
Got them to say they didn’t have tobacco…big mistake, never let an enemy know your yearnings
Very true – but these are militiamen, not professional soldiers.
Worse was when they told them how many riflemen they had. Hoping he was lying.
Got home from NC – thankfully no issues with house due to low temps in the meantime (the extended lower temps did have me a little concerned) – nice icy display in the yard from the sump pump spray.
Ought to be 20 degrees warmer by the end of this week – just in time for New Years!
I am hoping it hits the predicted 50F for the rest of this week, and then stays that way till spring. Christmas is over. Done with snow and cold now.
Facebook posted some video of an uppity white women freaking out because some black family new to a neighborhood had cars parked outside their house for a funeral.
It ended somehow with the black women yelling we’re the real Jews repeatedly.
Quote marks matter.
I am telling you that Firsters are the real Jews.
She was shouting that Glibs were the real Jews?
It looks like there are no 3p links today.
I have it on the best authority that links are forthcoming. And lucky to have ’em, too, you all are. Lucky to have ’em.
I watched this and thought it was a SugarFree production.
https://forbiddenknowledgetv.net/woke-whisky-company-airs-pro-trans-ad-of-grandpa-applying-makeup-to-himself-and-grandson/
I did click, just to confirm it wasn’t a brand I buy.
#metoo
Got a text from my supposed-to-be-on-vacation boss earlier this afternoon – once again, we’ve had a pipe (if like last time, part of the as-far-as-I-know inactive sprinkler system) burst at our administrative offices after a severe cold snap. Reportedly it was near my office, but supposedly not affecting my office, as it did a couple of years ago. If I have to move out of my office lock, stock, and barrel again just before my busiest work month of the year, I think I’m just going to look into cheap health insurance alternatives and, if I find something I can live with, go ahead and retire. 🙄