A Parable: How the Town of Happy Valley Stopped the UN

[WhiteFeather]

Interesting reading, just in case what IF actually happens here.

There are lots of excellent information on shooting tips on this web site as well, so please go and check it out.

http://www.fredsm14stocks.com/column.asp?ITEM=3

A Parable: How the Town of Happy Valley Stopped the UN

(Third of a 3-part series in our month of independence, inspired by UN “Small Arms Destruction Day” - July 9 - with bonfires of guns piled on US soil. If you think those guys are kidding, don’t read this. Simply turn the page, and enjoy your guns while you can. For the rest of you, time to start thinking about the future. Do you need a knock on the door - or the head - to wake you up?)


Somewhere across this great land, there may be a town called “Happy Valley”.



This is not that town.



This is a fictional tale about how the first steps were taken to defeat a UN incursion into one small part of this country, a fictional location of hills and woods with the name Happy Valley.



It is not true, for now.



It is not your town, for now.



But it could be, and it may be, someday. Maybe - just maybe - you should start preparing, now.


It is not a great tale, because I am not a great writer. But maybe it doesn’t need to be a great tale, only a plausible one

.

At any rate, sit back, relax, and see how some free Americans could deal with some “here, and in your face” aggressors.



The Tale of Happy Valley: Day One


Our tale begins when a UN convoy, in a hurry, showed up one day, barreling along Highway 14, just approaching the crest overlooking Happy Valley.



Some of the people, alerted by residents in Junction City, where the convoy dropped off a squad of communication troops, were excited. Some were afraid. Some didn’t care. And some knew: this was the time, and this was the place.



They were only a few, but they had been practicing: practicing as 3-man teams; practicing marksmanship and movement, with time spent gaming various possible scenarios. So they were not unprepared, not at all. A few were even looking forward to it, but most of them shouldered their rifles grimly as they left for the encounter. A few had second thoughts and stayed home.



At the rate the convoy was traveling, the late call from Junction City meant speedy action! They first sent a 3-man team to set up a hasty roadblock (chainsawed trees interlocked across the road, in the direction of the convoy) to slow the convoy down, until the real roadblock could be set up with the teams in position.



Most of the townspeople knew little of what was going on (that would change later) as the teams drove out to both the temporary and the main blocking positions (why not? It would be the only time they would have the luxury to ‘drive to work’, so - they did).



The guys at the main roadblock blocked the road with two junk cars, dropped some trees over them, used chains to drag a few more trees out for more bulk, piled on brush, then were setting out the gasoline, when the first shots popped in the distance. Far down the highway, at the first block, the rattle of gunfire swelled to a crescendo, now including distant rapid ‘thumps’. “That’ll be the automatic grenade launchers”, said someone. “Wish we had some.”



“Maybe we will. Let’s get this finished, and get ready for ‘em.”



Meantime, at the hasty roadblock, the 3-man team was hunkered down on the forward slope of a rise 300 yards away, with a clear field of fire. They had managed to scrape out shallow holes, being careful to maintain camouflage.



“Damn,” said one, “I wish we had a little more time.”



That was when the convoy elected to come over the hill, an armored personnel carrier leading two dozen trucks, followed by another APC.



“I see a gun on top of the first APC, and an MG over the cab of some of the trucks” - he had to shout it, because the team members were a dozen yards apart. “Remember to let as many as possible get out, and go for officers and machine gunners.”



The vehicles screeched to a halt before the barricade, and after a short pause, a hatch opened on the first vehicle. Shouting could be heard. Tail gates on the first trucks banged, and troops jumped out and deployed on both sides of the road. A small group moved forward toward the downed trees.



The team was tense. “Okay, on my shot” whispered the leader. A ‘boom!’ rang out, followed by rapid ‘booms’ to either side. Figures on the road started crumbling, and others started running back to the vehicles.



Each rifleman was well into his mag before the ‘gun’ on the first APC emitted a series of puffs of smoke, followed by first one, then several of the truck-mounted MGs. The air overhead began to ‘crack’ rapidly. The team was pumping the rounds out, now. The ‘gunner’ on the first APC collapsed, as did several on the MGs, and the first truck started to burn, as explosions began to rock the team’s location.



Puffs of smoke came from the rear APC, and dense smoke began to filter through the trees in front of the team, hiding the harassed convoy.



As one, they quit firing - only one had finished his mag - slipped from their holes, and retreated over the top of the hill behind them.



“Didya see that!” one hollered. “We knocked them on their ass.”



“Oh man! It was great! Didya see how the .30s ate up those trucks!” said another.



“Yeah - and my rifle’s still hungry...” High fives, and excited laughter, as the team members broke brush for a quick exit.



“Yeah, that stopped them, but we need to hustle to support the rest of the guys. I’d say we knocked a little of the stuffin out of them, but bet they’re not done in yet.”



It wasn’t long before they were at the ‘main’ roadblock, taking up positions as the ‘downstream’ team, watching for any vehicles which might break through the main barricade, which was burning by now.



And it wasn’t too long after that that the convoy was moving again, and probably not too happy about the plume of smoke ahead.



This time the lead APC came around the curve alone, and advanced to recon the obstacle. “They’re sealed up tighter’n drum” said a riflemen.



“So would I be - what’d you expect” grunted another as he tracked the vehicle with his sights.



One team was on the south side of the road, about 425 yards out, the most favorable spot, terrain-wise. Another was on the north side of the road, but had to locate 525 yards out, a little further than they wanted to be, but again, a concession to the terrain.



“Wonder what they’re gonna do now?” a Southsider asked.



He was answered as the APC rolled to its extreme right, up to the edge of the woods, and pushed the base of a downed tree to one side as it slowly began to squeeze past the obstacle. Around the bend, the trucks could be heard suddenly revving up. “They’re going to try to break through”, came a shout. The launcher on the APC was rotating jerkily, scanning the terrain.



“Okay, this is it” said the Southsider as the first truck came around the bend.



“Easy, easy does it.” The team leader watched intently. “Let’s first see if those trucks can get by.”



The first truck was at the edge of the road now, and obviously down to first gear, as it rolled off the pavement, lurching onto the shoulder, and began edging past the tree trunk.



“Okay, guys, on my shot. Each take a truck.”



BOOM!...BOOMBOOMBoom... Puffs appeared on the side of the first truck, and the two trucks following. The muzzle of the APC’s launcher rotated in their direction and began recoiling. Glass was breaking in the driver’s windows of all three trucks, and a tracer smacked the first truck, starting smoke. People were piling out the trucks’ backs and running in a ragged line toward the south side of the road. Now the fifth, sixth and seventh trucks began taking hits. The last truck in line started to back up. The rear APC came roaring down past the line of trucks as the air overhead suddenly split open with loud “cracks”, and tree branches started falling around them.



“Okay, let’s go.” The team backed out of their positions, just as explosions started walking the ground way to the front. “The dummies think we’re way down there. Let’s go, quick.”



Now when the vehicles pulled in tight to the right to clear the roadblock, the Northside team was left empty handed, vision and line of fire blocked by trees, but the sight of the backs of that ragged line of troops facing south gave a target, and, being riflemen, they opened rapid fire. Even those whose entire attention was on lining up the front sight blade on targets noticed the confused motion ‘downrange’. Troops dropping everywhere, and it was evident confusion was running wild.



It took the APCs time to reorient to the north - nobody inside could hear the firing, and a ground officer had to finally get their attention - and it took three of them, because the first two were dropped as soon as they began gesticulating - and by that time the Northside team had fired two mags each and were gone.



The teams got to their next positions just in time to see nothing but the tail-end of a truck skedaddling back down Hwy 14.



The only casualties were among a team tasked to hit the convoy from the rear, who broke cover to check out the abandoned trucks at the first encounter location, just at the time the retreating convoy came back thru. One killed, two wounded but got away.



The tired defenders met later to refight the fight for “round 2”:



“Well, guys, we’ve burned our bridges, and it’s gonna be a long journey. But we fought smart! With nothing but rifles and organization and training, we turned back a convoy. Next time we don’t want to let any of them get away! And they will be back. We gained six trucks, 24 rifles, a half-dozen MGs, 64 crates of ammo and commo gear, some anti-tank weapons and mines. Counted 8 bodies at the scene, maybe another 8 dead and three times that wounded.



“Friendly loses: One dead, two wounded.



“Mistakes: Overeagerness of one team caused the only casualties. The downstream team was ill-placed so they took no part in the final shootout.



“Now numerous volunteers, who need to be trained in marksmanship and team coordination. Part solution: expand each team to 6-men ASAP.



“Next time: We have to game plan for a night or lo-visibility attack, and get ready. And we need to be more aggressive in stopping the vehicles, maybe ready with a close-in team to firebomb them when they stop at the road block. Maybe the new volunteers can be assigned to that. And we can put those mines out into the road behind the last vehicle to hem them in, so no one gets out.”



“In the meantime, let’s get back to training...”


Thus the First Battle of Happy Valley, the start of what became known as the 2nd War for Independence, or by some, the War Against the UN.


This is not really a happy tale. Yes, the people who took action that day were ‘winners’, in that the foe was stopped. But that was the first day. If there is one lesson you should know, it is that governments don’t stop, because the guys at the top, who give the orders, are not the guys who go out and do the dying.



The next time they came, it was at night, and the fighting was close-up, and the casualties were bad. Or it was behind a screen of snipers, or special ops teams patrolled likely ambush locations, or artillery seeded them with small ‘toe-popper’ minelets - and casualties mounted. In a way, it doesn’t matter. Sooner or later you have to pay the bill.



Even in our happy tale, people died, and some who were wounded would in real life bear those scars for life. Some of the people who died or were incapacitated were riflemen. Yes, they died the way the Founders would want, and maybe they died the way they would prefer - if you have to die at that time and place. But I can guarantee none of them wanted to die, and none wanted to be permanently - or even temporarily - maimed.



But it happened that way, in our fictional town, because a ball was dropped. It was a big ball - the ball of Liberty, and it was handed to us by our forefathers who picked it up on the battlefields of Lexington, Concord, and Bunker Hill.



It was dropped when freedom became less important than everyday life, and the job and the TV and driving the kids to soccer pushed it into the background, and you didn’t have time to vote, nor did you have time to go to the range and learn that other tradition, marksmanship.



It was dropped when I let my congressman run things, when I trusted him to represent me, when I failed to keep him on the straight and narrow.



It was dropped when I didn’t pay any attention to what they were teaching in school.



And it was dropped when I didn’t ensure that my kids knew what the score was, compounding the failure of my parents to teach me what the score was: That our liberty is the most important thing about this country, that the Bill of Rights, always under attack, is worth defending.



So, finally, I was faced with the choice: Am I going to pick it back up again, or lose it permanently?



But at least I showed up. On The Day when the battle to restore Liberty broke out, I was there, and the enemies of freedom felt the sting of my rifle and the lash of my bullets. And I was satisfied. If it had to be done, I was glad I was there to do it. And my grandkids are going to hear about what a hero their grandpa was, you bet, and they will also hear that the ball is soon to be in their hands. And they’d better not drop it, ever. And you can bet that the feel of a rifle in their hands will be comfortable, and that they will shoot like riflemen.



Thus concludes our parable, a work of fiction, just one of many possible futures. With the UN burning firearms on US soil, maybe that future is coming nearer. For your town.

This is NOT something anyone wants to come here, but considering the direction this country has been going for decades it not impossible from happening in the future, with say a economical collapse or……... fill in the blank with your worse case scenario .

[crlovel]

Good read, scary read. My fear is not the UN troops doing what you described, but US troops. They're already proven that they will.

[PPM209]

Nice piece of fiction...but what will they do against air support? A single helo could mean baaaad news for the cast of Jehrico there.

[Whiterook]

Nice piece of fiction...but what will they do against air support? A single helo could mean baaaad news for the cast of Jehrico there.

Or artillery!

Interesting read, but generous to the militia I must say.

Also, anyone thinking on being ready for this drop your guns and starting working on your cardio.

[Diggler]

Nice piece of fiction...but what will they do against air support? A single helo could mean baaaad news for the cast of Jehrico there.

Rambo took one out with a rock.

[The_War_Wagon]

Nice piece of fiction...but what will they do against air support? A single helo could mean baaaad news for the cast of Jehrico there.

Or artillery!

Interesting read, but generous to the militia I must say.

How many ordinary men died, so Nathaniel Green could be a victorious General?

How many ordinary men died, so we could remember Francis Marion as "The Swamp Fox?"

How many ordinary men died, so George Washington could be President?

A successful Revolution or War is not predicated upon EVERYBODY surviving the battles. The acres of mounuments and crosses, at Yorktown, Gettysburg, Verdun, and Normandy, were not placed there, because they look 'pretty.' Someone died nearby in the battle for freedom and liberty, so that we could sleep in warm comfortable beds last night.

I could NOT sleep comfortably in my bed, knowing that it meant sleeping in the quonset hut of a re-education/work camp for my children, or the little boys in my son's Cub Scout Pack someday. They may mean nothing to you, or to Harrisburg, or to Washington, but they are the WORLD to me. No one may have me, or my family, or their future, without my say-so.

I say-so at the ballot box these days - in letters and e-mails to my representatives - and in the public market and the town square. The time will come - perhaps soon - when those avenues will close, and Fred's scenario may come to pass. I fear that is the case even now. But I live life with a clear conscience and a light heart, secure in the faith of my Savior Jesus Christ. Whether I live, or whether I die, I AM the Lord's.

So when you see me - often - type, "I'll meet up with ya' at the bridge," I am not kidding. I know what that means, because I also know what it will mean, if men of good conscience and strong conviction do NOT show up. We may be few in number, and we may go the way so MANY have in our nation's history - swiftly, and surely, in the face of overwhelming odds. But we will do so, in the hope that OUR generation's Marion Fox, or George Washington, might live to fight another day, and give those we love - those who survive - the opportunity to live and do grand things, with a rare and precious SECOND chance, at liberty.

Some ideals, ARE worth dying for.

Bob

[Whiterook]

Some ideals, ARE worth dying for.

Bob

...


Nobody said they aren't.

The point is the article is presenting a possible scenario which is skewed toward an easy victory.

Now, it is fiction, true. Our points should still be considered. Air support, artillery, etc. Does the author consider them? Maybe, but he doesn't in the article.


P.S. Don't go to that bridge if it has already been targeted with arty. Figure something else out.

[Mantastic]

Also, anyone thinking on being ready for this drop your guns and starting working on your cardio.

Possibly the best piece of advice yet

[sluggie24]

How many ordinary men died, so Nathaniel Green could be a victorious General?

How many ordinary men died, so we could remember Francis Marion as "The Swamp Fox?"

How many ordinary men died, so George Washington could be President?

A successful Revolution or War is not predicated upon EVERYBODY surviving the battles. The acres of mounuments and crosses, at Yorktown, Gettysburg, Verdun, and Normandy, were not placed there, because they look 'pretty.' Someone died nearby in the battle for freedom and liberty, so that we could sleep in warm comfortable beds last night.

I could NOT sleep comfortably in my bed, knowing that it meant sleeping in the quonset hut of a re-education/work camp for my children, or the little boys in my son's Cub Scout Pack someday. They may mean nothing to you, or to Harrisburg, or to Washingtonm but they are the WORLD to me. No one may have me, or my family, or their future, without my say-so.

I say-so at the ballot box these days - in letters and e-mails to my representatives - and in the public market and the town square. The time will come - perhaps soon - when those avenues will close, and Fred's scenario may come to pass. I fear that is the case even now. But I live life with a clear conscience and a light heart, secure in the faith of my Savior Jesus Christ. Whether I live, or whether I die, I AM the Lord's.

So when you see me - often - type, "I'll meet up with ya' at the bridge," I am not kidding. I know what that means, because I also know what it will mean, if men of good conscience and strong conviction do NOT show up. We may be few in number, and we may go the way so MANY have in our nation's history - swiftly, and surely, in the face of overwhelming odds. But we will do so, in the hope that OUR generation's Marion Fox, or George Washington, might live to fight another day, and give those we love - those who survive - the opportunity to live and do grand things, with a rare and precious SECOND chance, at liberty.

Some ideals, ARE worth dying for.

Bob

+1

Once again let me say I will meet you at the bridge. And from what I have heard from many different people in person I don't think we will be alone.

[jcabin]

I don't think us citizens will be alone. I have faith in much of the militaries leadership that if our presidency went to shit and welcomed an invading force, that our military would secede in the most honorable fashion; taking back our country. Sure some of the ass kissers in high rank might not stand for it, but I think the average soldier knows better and would side with the real america.