They had established positions to take in an emergency...or when a visitor was coming around and they weren't sure. That was all visitors.

That meant Dan was on the ground, with his rifle and equipment now. Jeans seemed to be the uniform of choice up here, until winter, and they had winter supplies cached, because they all knew, like the guy in the train hat wrote, winter was coming. He had one of those plaid lined field coats for upland hunting that could layer when it got really bad. But so far, they were in the early stages of autumn, in September. Things would get intense over the winter, in a number of ways. Some guys were having the time of their lives running around in camouflage and dressing up, but Dan preferred the comfort. They also had been doing a lot of work where it didn't pay to look like they were trying to fight the Soviets.

Dan glanced up, making sure that the brothers had the high ground and then around to see where the others positioned themselves. He, like the sergeants, wasn't expecting trouble in a meeting of friendlies, but he knew that careful guerrillas had longer careers than carefree ones. He didn't like the life expectancy of of either type, but he also knew that he'd signed up for this.

The brothers were perfect in their camouflage, but that was to be expected. Joe and Nari might be less than confident, but they still had some training from the people that knew what they were doing before they even got there, and everyone else provided them with pointers even as they exchanged information. A guerrilla band had to know how to do a lot of jobs and they knew that, given the rumors of the situation down South. They knew that guys like Park and Morse were it around here, along with a number of other small bands that they ran. If a lot of guerrillas didn't know what Special Forces actually did before the invasion, they were getting an intensive exposure to it now.

The 86th brigade was behind the mountains. It was easy to wonder what the hell the US Army was doing sometimes, and why the guerrillas were being held back. Some of the guerrillas were grumbling that the war was passing them by, but that wasn't Dan's stance. Things would get hot and then they'd probably be too hot. Suddenly, with their killing of one guy and the other activity, it was going to get hot. This was not a coincidence.

"Hold, identify yourselves!" Morse and Park weren't coming stealth and so it was easy to identify them, but he wanted to give the Giguere brothers a moment to check to make sure no one else was close by -- he knew that they had good eyes and could move around real careful like. It was protocol, but it was necessary. When he got a signal back from the brothers and after Morse and Park identified themselves, he called out, "Alright, come on in!"

Once in, there was the exchange of handshakes, hospitality and people moving into the cabin to pow-wow. Once there was beer and food to be had, that's when the question was popped. The room was a little more full of military gear than before, even if they tried to keep it organized for living space.

"So, what do we owe the pleasure of this meeting to? What have you fellas cooked up for us?"

---

As Team Chief, Morse took the lead. “For those of you who don’t know who I am, my name is Master Sergeant Tyus Morse and this is Sergeant First Class Brian Park.” Tyus introduced his partner. “We are with the 10th Special Forces Group, US Army and are here to help.”

As the two moved inside the building it became apparent that Ben and Preston were having fits of giggles and sniggers at the two visitors. “Is there a problem?” Sergeant Park sternly asked the brothers.

Ben spoke up, “I take it you two wore these outfits in order to blend in, right?”

“Yes sir,” Brian responded. “That was the general intent.”

“Where are you boys from?”

“I was raised in Boston and Sergeant Morse is from Providence, Rhode Island,” Sergeant Park answered.

“You’ve never been to Vermont, have you?

“No, I cannot say I have, what’s your point?” Brian was growing impatient and could sense Morse was too.

“There is nothing wrong with what you are wearing, it is just all of your clothes appear to have just come out of the wrappers. They are very clean. They look like neither of you have worked a day in your life. Most people around here, work for a living. You both look like flatlanders coming up to Vermont on a skiing trip….in September.” Both Ben and Preston thought this was hilarious.

“Oh, I’m sure it will fool the Soviets, but not the locals. Hopefully, they are all friendly. But hell, they may not know if you are friends of the Soviets or the Americans,” Preston pointed out. “So, I guess it doesn’t matter.”

“Well alright then,” Sergeant Morse cut in. “Now that we have that out of the way, let’s sit down and get to work. You may want to take some notes if you have pen and paper.” Tyus Morse didn't have the time for such nonsense, but knew these were civilians and such antics should be expected. He waited for the group to be ready.

“You may or may not know, but there are more than two dozen resistance groups like yourselves operating in Northern Vermont. Following the recent murder of a KGB operative and his cohorts not far from here, the Russians are getting a bit antsy. They are increasing their patrols. Sergeant Park and I are members of an Alpha Detachment, you might call an A Team. There are twelve members to our team. The Team Commander, Captain Stewart and his executive officer, Chief Warrant Officer Mills are coordinating the activities or our groups. Four other two-man teams like Sergeant Park and myself are coordinating the activities with four or five small cells like this one. Essentially, we have a Company-sized formation of guerrillas who know these woods as well as you gentlemen. We have five platoons with four or five squad-sized elements per platoon. Two Special Forces NCOs are leading each platoon. Your cell and three others form the platoon that Sergeant Park and I are responsible for. We are inviting all of you or just two representatives from your group to come to a meeting with the other three cells at a cabin east of Stevensville, near the Mount Mansfield State Forest at a place called Needle’s Eye. It is there we will discuss an upcoming operation to assault a KGB stronghold in Burlington as well as cripple any air assets they have stored at Burlington International Airport.” Master Sergeant Morse stopped talking to let this information sink in.

Sergeant Morse noticed someone placed a beer in front of him. It was a Budweiser. He didn’t care for this weak piss-water, but figured it would be offensive not to accept. He smiled, popped the top and sipped at the cool refreshment inside. “I see you have been checking out your new toys,” smiling, he referred to the M4 Carbines a few of the members had on the table in front of them. “Are they zeroed?”

One member of the group responded that they zeroed the weapons as soon as they got them.

“Good,” Morse stated. “What other ordnance do you have?”

Ben Giguere answered this question, “we have ten M4 Carbines, two Mark 14 rifles, one M240 Machine gun, two Carl Gustav recoilless rifles with four High Explosive Dual Purpose rounds, two cases of 5.56mm Ammunition, that’s over 3300 rounds of five five six, a large foot locker filled with 30-round magazines, one case of 7.62mm linked ammunition, that’s 920 rounds, two boxes of fragmentation grenades, 50 each and a variety of flares.”

“Well, it seems you folks are in fine shape," MSG Morse smiled. "If you need more ammunition, weapons or systems, please give your list to Sergeant Park. He can help get them for you.” Sergeant Morse smiled at the assembled group and then stated, “before we leave, I would like to get a confirmation of who is going to show up at the meeting at Needle’s Eye. We can wait outside if you would like to talk amongst yourselves.”

Joe looked at the two soliders with just a hint of amusement playing on his lips. Plenty of guys he grew up with went into the service. Hell, in Southie it seemed like you either enlisted in Uncle Sam's army or Billy Boyle's. Billy's organization was all paramilitary anyway with crews that kicked up to bigger bosses who kicked up to Billy. Joe always wondered how well he would have done if he had enlisted. He could follow orders and had no qualms about pulling a trigger. Maybe if he'd joined, he'd be on the other side of the table with the soldier boys and their too new clothes laying out a plan of action.

"Are they still doing NFL games?" Joe asked Morse and Park. "Or did the goddamn reds take that away? No TV up here, and what little radio we get they ain't talking about sports."

Joe shrugged when he saw all the curious looks that were aimed his way.

"What? I laid off ten grand to a bookie that the Pats would win it all this year. I wanna be able to check on my investment."

"We have plastic explosives too. Different kinds of detonators. Might come in handy, were gonna make 'em into IED AP devices," Dan explained. Everyone knew what this particular cell had going on by way of business. They were willing to deal with criminals and risk double cross securing the drugs for what medical units they had and they'd also already pulled the trigger. Reliable unit. In a lot of cases, they might trade the C4 for something, but here it was being offered up freely.

Joe's inquiry about football brought on a chuckle and he added, "We oughta make some "Go Cowboys" signs in Russian. That'll drive recruitment for the guerrillas. But you two don't have to step out. We signed on for this." The two sergeants mentioned the LeBeau killing, so he didn't give them the details -- they didn't need to know and the job was done. If they did know, then they weren't mentioning it for a reason.

He didn't even want to know what the Soviets were doing to hockey.

"But if we can grab a homebrew kit, we'd be mighty appreciative." The guys wanted TV, internet and the rest, but Dan figured if they were brewing the best beer on the Mountain, they could trade for everything else.

“The NFL is still in business, but I’m afraid you lost your money,” Sergeant Morse responded. “They are playing with abbreviated league this year. The AFC consists of the Denver Broncos, Houston Texans, Cincinnati Bengals, Cleveland Browns, Indianapolis Colts, Kansas City Chiefs, and Tennessee Titans while the NFC consists of the Chicago Bears, Dallas Cowboys, Detroit Lions, Green Bay Packers, Minnesota Vikings, and New Orleans Saints. The rest of the NFL has been taken over by the bad guys. Your beloved New England Patriots are in the hands of the Russians. Last, I heard they were pushing for the Major League Soccer to take over Gillette Stadium. In fact, both the New England Revolution and the Boston Bruins have been filled with Russian and Eastern European players loyal to the Soviet Union. The Russians stated they didn’t give a shit about American football and were not going to support such rubbish. In fact, the Major League Soccer is now called the American Premier Football League.” Tyus Morse was pretty disgusted by this. You could read it in his face it was one of those things that upset him. "I hate to say it, I have become a Dallas Cowboys fan just for this season. Dak Prescott looks pretty good. Roger Goodell even saw fit to suspend Ezekiel Elliot’s suspension. Elliot hired an attorney. There is no evidence to support Goodell’s claims. I hear Tom Brady is hiding out somewhere in the Italian Tyrol or Switzerland with his wife. The Russians have really fucked American sports hard. They have tried to make it European.”

“Wait a minute,” Ben Giguere stopped him. “What about the Seattle Seahawks, Oakland Raiders, Los Angeles Rams and all those west coast teams? You didn’t mention them.”

“Ah, you guys have been out of touch for quite some time haven’t you.” Brian Park quipped in. “Sure the Soviet Union made the opening moves on the East Coast, and two weeks later, the People’s Republic of China landed three PLA Army Groups along the west coast, one north of Los Angeles, one south of San Francisco and the third along the Oregon Washington border. They also crossed the Bering Strait. Yes, the Russians allowed a Chinese Army to cross in Siberia. I hear the Army Group that landed in Oregon contains a North Korean Army as well. But most of the North Korean forces were used to invade South Korea. Hawaii is also under control of the Chinese.”

“What about the Japanese?” Ben asked.

“They’re sitting this one out.” Brian listened to Danny’s comment about the Cowboys and the homebrew kit. “Yes sir, I can get you a homebrew kit. That sounds like a fantastic idea.” Brian Park laughed about the Cowboys sign in Russian. “That has already happened! I shit you not! Front line troops fighting along the western fringes of the Appalachian Mountains created fucking billboards that read such epithets as Go Cowboys! and the Patriots will Never Die! in Russian along several freeways in Pennsylvania and Virginia. Several teams were used in this purpose including the Eagles, Giants, Bills, Jaguars and Falcons. But most of these Russian written billboards simply have swears on them like Fuck You! or How many Russians does it take to screw in a light bulb? None, the East Germans do it for them. There isn’t a GI out there that isn’t outraged about the new American Premier Football League. APFL? It has no ring.”

“Well it appears at least the four of you are coming to the meeting,” Tyus Morse cut in. “That is wonderful. I look forward to seeing you there. We need to get going before it gets too dark. See you then.” With those parting words, the two Special Forces NCOs departed the hunting cabin.

Dan didn't even want to know what happened to Fenway Park. He got the feeling Morse was holding out on him there, and probably for good reason.

Joe was already muttering about killing every communist he could find.

--

The meeting was the leadership of the larger bands or the entirety of a smaller band like theirs, riding in on the SUV. They'd packed the gear in there and drive, though not with the getaway vehicle from the killing. These days, the Vermont State Police patrolled two to a car and stuck to the highways, mostly due to desertions. The countryside was not, currently, under surveillance from aircraft or restricted for movement, but they had an old Toyota pickup fitted with off-roading gear to get them where they needed to go.

The countryside was no man's land for right now, with the operative philosophy being 'search and avoid' and 'don't observe and don't report' where the KGB didn't get much out of the Vermont State Police unless they were directly supervising and micromanaging, and micromanagement wasn't an efficient use of resources. There was an assumption that a similar dynamic prevailed in the more heavily occupied parts of the US where the Soviets had to do it themselves if they wanted it done, as there were few Americans that would willingly and enthusiastically cooperate with the commies...though Dan's brother was certainly one of them. Jeffrey Douglas seemed to be unwilling to disrupt his life and decided to go along with the Soviets, figuring perhaps that they would not dare to make extreme reforms in order to keep support. And he'd advise them on that.

But he didn't think of the family rat that much as they drove through the countryside. Instead, he kept his eyes sharp out for any trouble, watching the sky for aircraft and generally staying alert. But they managed to make it to the rendezvous point for the meeting, where they'd find things out. They were getting out of the SUV, Nari and the Giguere Brothers already started to unload when Dan leaned over for a quiet word with Joe, breaking his silence on the ride.

"Joe, this shit is gonna get real. I want you to promise me something. Whatever happens, if I am hit and I gotta be left behind, I want you to put me down. I don't think I can pull the trigger on myself and these KGB fuckers have a way of making you talk no matter what. I don't want to be a hostage. My mom won't understand, but my dad will."

Grim stuff, but practical.

"You got it, buddy," Joe said with a curt nod. "I'd expect the same thing from you."

The truth was, Joe had no qualms about killing Dan or anybody else in their cell if it had to be done. Joe knew firsthand that it didn't take much to get someone to crack. What he'd preformed over the years would be considered light torture -- beatings, teeth pulling, etc -- but he was bush league compared to the KGB. Like Dan said, they could get you to sing like a goddamn canary. It didn't matter how tough you claimed to be; Everybody cracked eventually.

Joe lit up a cigarette and looked at Dan out the corner of his eye as they walked away from the car. Spooky Dan is what he thought of him internally. He was aloof as hell a lot of times, like the disconnect a commanding officer would have in the military books Joe sometimes read. There was also a weight there that Joe recognized. Joe knew he carried it too, but in a completely different way. They'd both send their fair share of shit over the years. Everyone could guess what Joe had seen and done, but Dan? He was a fucking enigma.

---

Mount Mansfield, the highest elevation in Vermont at 4,393 feet above sea level overlooked the Needle’s Eye just east of Underhill, Vermont. The Needle’s Eye is actually a pass formed by two ridgelines south of Mount Mansfield. The hunting lodge where the group was meeting was located several hundred meters below the pass itself, closer to the Butler Lodge Trailhead. Four-wheel drive vehicles were necessary to arrive safely at the lodge.

As vehicles moved closer to the lodge, they fell under the watchful eye of an American M249 Squad Automatic Weapon and an eagle-eyed Marksman from the Third Ranger Battalion armed with a 7.62mm Enhanced Battle Rifle or Mark 14. A soldier from the Third Ranger Battalion stopped each vehicle to ask the occupants a few questions simply to confirm they were in the proper place. The soldier was dressed in the current Army Combat Uniform (ACU) wearing an Assault Vest, webbed belt and tan colored beret pulled tightly down the right side of his head. The 3rd Ranger Battalion flash and 75th Ranger regimental crest emblazoned upon the front face. The soldier had an M4 Carbine slung across his left shoulder across his chest, with the rifle hanging under his right arm, pulled to the rear to appear as though it was attached to his back.

Once the NCO authorized the occupants to continue along the road, they were directed to move an additional two hundred yards, where they would arrive at an opening to park their vehicle and then walk another hundred yards to the lodge at the base of The Needle’s Eye.

Ben Giguere was just as surprised as everyone else in the SUV when the Ranger NCO stepped from behind a tree, his arm extended in the traditional method to get a vehicle to stop. “Who are you and what are you doing here?” The Sergeant awaited a response. Once the NCO was satisfied with the initial responses, he stated, "I will ask a few questions simply to confirm you are indeed patriotic Americans."

“Name the US Senator from Vermont who ran for President in 2016.” The Sergeant had a prepared list of questions for each party that attempted access. The questions were designed so that someone from Vermont, not just the United States would know the answers. Some questions were easier than others.
“Name both NFL Teams that have won the most Super Bowls in NFL history.”
“Which team is known for overcoming the largest deficit in Super Bowl History and how many points was this deficit?”
“Which Quarterback in the NFL is considered the Greatest of All Time?”
“Who is the Greatest American hockey player of all time?”

Ben listened to the conversation from the front seat knowing the answers to each question. But Joe and Danny seemed to have the situation well in hand. Once the Ranger NCO was satisfied, he directed the driver forward.

Upon their approach to the lodge, they spotted Master Sergeant Tyus Morse, the large African American from Rhode Island. He was dressed in ACUs with Assault vest similar the Ranger. MSG Morse wore the recognizable green beret with the green flash and SF crest denoting the 10th Special Forces Group. Upon his back was strapped an FN SCAR-H 17 battle rifle chambered in 7.62mm. The senior NCO also wore a tactical holster for his an FNX-45 Tactical handgun.

“Greetings gentlemen!” his deep voice boomed as the Vermont men approached. He shook each of their hands with a warm smile, ushering them inside. “I would like to introduce you to a few people. At a large table on the right side of room sat ten people dressed very similarly to Danny, Joe, Ben and Preston. MSG Morse introduced the group to Peter Couture of Burlington; Donald Tremblay of Bolton and Ray Gagne of Essex along with the others from their respective groups.

“These three gentlemen each lead a group of fighters like you with roughly five to eight people prepared to fight alongside you. The four groups, you all represent will form a platoon. I am the platoon leader and Sergeant First Class Park is the Platoon Sergeant. After Captain Stewart’s presentation you will each be given a mission. I will get together with everyone and go over the plan. Any of you know your way around explosives?”

Ben and Preston took a seat at the table behind Mr. Couture, Mr. Tremblay and Mr. Gagne. The group waited for the rest of the guests to file into the room and take seats. It was another fifteen minutes before they got started.

A six-foot soldier with erect posture wearing no headgear, a perfectly shaved blonde high and tight haircut and sharp steel gray eyes. His cheeks hollowed forcing his cheek bones and pointed beak-like nose to be overly prominent. The man could have been thirty years of age and had an unmistakable professionalism about him; a command presence.

As the man reached the center of the room, the NCOs in the room all became quiet, focusing their attention on him. Their behavior guided the resistance fighters to imitate them. “Good morning ladies and gentlemen, my name is Captain Tom Stewart, I am the team commander for the NCOs who have met with your groups over the past few weeks.” Captain Stewart retained a professional military bearing that captured everyone’s attention in the room.

“Today, my staff and I will present you with a mission we will perform in just under forty-eight hours. I must say that I appreciate the efforts you are performing for your country. A foreign invader has taken over our country!” He exclaimed this statement allowing it to hang in the air for several seconds to get the full effect. “For several of us, loved ones have been taken away and killed or detained in prison cells, God only knows where. Because of your efforts we will strive diligently to eject this foreign invader from our country. You gentlemen are true patriots and have officially been named The Green Mountain Boys. I truly hope you live up to the reputation of the original group of Vermont Volunteers who helped to fight another foreign power in the creation of our great nation.” Now if only Captain Tom Stewart of Boston, Massachusetts were named Ethan Allen instead.

“Before we begin the presentation, I wish to introduce my staff,” Captain Stewart continued, glancing over at the six men standing along the left wall of the room. Before he introduced them, he would introduce the men most of the resistance fighters had some familiarity with. “To my right is Chief Warrant Officer Edison Mills from Portsmouth, New Hampshire. He is my right-hand man advising me on several matters in the conduct of our operations. He is the team Executive Officer or Second in Command.” Chief Mills raised his right hand to identify himself to the occupants of the room. The man, was relatively non-descript, standing at about 69” and weighing possibly 165 lbs. His brown eyes revealed a very focused serious individual.

“At the rear of the room is Master Sergeant Tyus Morse of Providence, Rhode Island. He is my left hand and a very valuable member of my team. Next to him is Sergeant First Class Brian Park of Boston, Massachusetts, my home town, Hua! Sergeant Park is our gun guy. If you have any issues with firearms or require additional training, he will see that you get it.” Captain Stewart introduced the rest of the team, SFC Sidana of Quincy, MA; SGT Metaxas of Portland, ME; SSG Khoury of Bridgeport, CT; SSG Chartier of Mansfield, MA; SFC Buhari of Lowell, MA; SGT Haddad of Worcester, MA; SGT Meyer of White River Junction, VT; and SGT Halverson of Concord, NH. Every two NCOs would serve as Platoon Leader and Platoon Sergeant for a similar group of four or five resistance cells or groups of 20 – 26 men per platoon.

After introducing his team, he then introduced the six men to his left. He pointed at the first man stating, “this is First Lieutenant Francisco Lopez, Company Executive Officer for A Company, Third Battalion, 75th Rangers.” The Lieutenant took a step forward, raised a hand in a waving gesture and returned to his position. Each of the NCOs with him performed the same act. “Next to him is Sergeant First Class Javier Jiminez, Operations Sergeant for A Company, 3rd Ranger battalion; Staff Sergeant Romeo Catalano, Sapper Liaison from the Ranger Regiment; Staff Sergeant Leopold Sokolov, Target Acquisition Specialist & Forward Air Controller and Specialist Srinivas, Radio Telephone Operator for Sergeant Sokolov.” All six of the soldiers wore the same tan colored beret with the Ranger flash and crest. Upon closer inspection, one might note the Sapper LNO, Forward Observer and his RTO wore the Regimental flash with the crest instead of the third battalion’s flash.

“The Green Mountain Boys are supporting A Company, Third Battalion, 75th Rangers during their mission. The signal to initiate the Burlington Raid will come immediately following their initiation of the airfield seizure of Burlington International Airport. Intelligence has confirmed that an over strength platoon of Staatssicherheitsdienst, State Security Service or more commonly known as the East German Stasi. They are armed with Heckler & Koch assault rifles and handguns. The Soviets have positioned the 31st Guards Fighter Aviation and the 85th Guards Fighter Aviation Regiments including eighteen MiG-31 Foxhounds, twenty-four Su-27 Flankers and eight Mi-24 Hind-D helicopters at this airport. The Rangers will seize the airfield and destroy all Soviet fighter aircraft on the ground there. Lieutenant Lopez will coordinate our activities with his Ranger Company. I would like for Lieutenant Lopez to brief you all on the Ranger’s plan for the airfield.” Captain Stewart looked at the Lieutenant and stepped back yielding the floor to the younger officer.

“As the Captain said, I am Lieutenant Lopez,” the 25-year old Mexican American stated. The man stood 69” tall and weighed about 200 Lbs with a muscular bulk in the chest, shoulders and upper arms. It was apparent the man was a weight lifter. “The soldiers you encountered on your drive in this morning make up our security element. They are a squad in one of the ranger platoons. My team will mark a Landing Zone (LZ) for five CH-47 Chinooks ferrying ten Ranger Special Operations Vehicles, ten Kawasaki 250cc motorcycles and forty Rangers from A Company, Third Ranger Battalion. These vehicles will land at Jaycee Park off Patchen Road in Burlington, then race up White Street to assist in the seizure of BIA, a distance of roughly three quarters of a mile. The other half of my team will mark a Drop Zone on the Burlington International Airport. The remainder of the Company will be transported in a single C-17 Globemaster to conduct an airborne insertion upon the runways at BIA. Preceding our aircraft into the Northern Vermont Area of Operations by twenty minutes is a squadron F-22 Joint Strike Fighters out of Chanute Air Force Base in Eastern Illinois. There is also a flight of four A-10 Attack Aircraft which will conduct a strike on the airfield ten minutes prior to the airborne landings, then take up a loitering station over the Grand Isle in Lake Champlain prepared to react to any targets identified by Staff Sergeant Sokolov and Specialist Srinivas. Canada has allowed us to use their air space to move aircraft from the free zones of the United States into the Soviet Controlled areas of Eastern US. Once the airfield is secure, Combat Engineers or Sappers from the Ranger’s Special Troops Battalion will prepare explosives to destroy the sixty combat aircraft expected to be parked on the ground at BIA. While the RSOV platoon is cordoning off the airfield and the Sappers are destroying the aircraft, the two Ranger platoons will engage the East German technicians and police officers defending the base to prevent them from interfering with the mission of destroying enemy aircraft on the runway. Once this mission is complete, A Company will disappear into the Green Mountains in squad sized elements to assist you in your interdiction efforts in combatting the enemy. The Rangers will be called upon to perform missions from time to time and possibly be extracted by boat or helicopter at a future date and time to be determined.”

Lieutenant Lopez returned to the left side of the room allowing Captain Stewart to return to center stage. “Thank you, Lieutenant,” the Captain spoke to the Ranger XO looking at him as he took command of the room once again. “Now that you know what the Rangers are doing in Burlington, you may want to know what all of us are doing. As I have stated, your groups have been organized into five platoon-sized elements of twenty-five to thirty individuals per platoon lead by a pair of Special Forces NCOs. Each platoon will have a separate mission. Your NCOs are well briefed on their missions and they will share details with you later this afternoon. I will go over the scope of what the recently resurrected Green Mountain Boys will be performing in less than two days. The raids are initiated by the distinctive sound of A-10 Thunderbolts strafing aircraft near the runway and dropping cratering charges. It will be unmistakable when you hear it. I promise you have never heard anything like this before. This is your cue to conduct your raids. Have your ambushes in position prior to the start time.”

Captain Stewart used a flip chart with large sheets of paper to help explain the mission and intent of the Green Mountain Boys. “Our largest threat to the Ranger’s operation will be the Vermont State Police and local law enforcement. We don’t believe that a majority of the native, American police officers are loyal to the Soviets. It would be understandable that they feigned loyalty to prevent death or imprisonment. Therefore, if you encounter the local cops, make an effort not to kill them. This part of the operation can get pretty dicey for all of you.”

Captain Stewart flipped a page on the chart pack to reveal a hand drawn map of the Burlington Area. Meaningless marks were scribbled over the black lines representing streets and various structures in Burlington, specifically around the airport. Captain Stewart pointed to the airport with a laser pointer, “Obviously this is where the Rangers will be operating.” Then he highlighted the park less than a mile west of the airport, “and the Landing Zone where the Ranger’s vehicles will land.” Next, he highlighted several different police buildings. “Our biggest threat to the Ranger’s mission are local and state law enforcement agencies. We believe the Soviets, or more appropriately, the East Germans have either replaced American cops with East German Stasi or some other Eastern European group. It will be your job to isolate the Airport by attacking each of these police stations simultaneously. I am aware police have officers in patrol cars, but if they cannot communicate with one another, they become isolated and lonely. When you are on patrol, the one comfort you have is knowing a brother is there to back you up. Remove the communications and you are alone. Besides, we believe the officers on patrol will not want to stop anyone from removing the Soviets or their East German puppets.”

“Master Sergeant Morse,” The Captain looked at his Team Chief. “Your platoon will target the Vermont State Police barracks in Williston. This station contains the Northern Vermont Communications Center. All radio traffic coming from patrol cars in the Burlington region is bounced off the communications equipment at the Williston barracks and retransmitted all over Northern Vermont in order for the proper unit to receive its messages. This is a vital communications node and must be eliminated as soon as possible. Master Sergeant Morse has a plan to take down this commo node by establishing two ambushes, one near the exit ramp from I-89 and the second at the intersection of Route 2A and the nearby shopping mall entrances. Two squads will enter the building with the intent to destroy the communications equipment at the building and to eliminate anyone who does not belong. Anyone who chooses to stand their ground and fight back, should be eliminated. Exercise discretion. There is no need to harm police officers who would rather not work for the Soviets.”

“Sergeant First Class Sidana’s platoon will conduct a similar raid on the South Burlington Police Department on Gregory Drive with the same Rules of Engagement or ROE. Plan for ambush sites to isolate the building as necessary.”

“Staff Sergeant Chartier’s platoon will conduct a raid on Chittendon County Sheriff’s Office on Ethan Allen Drive. Notice your proximity to the airport. The Rangers will be very close to your objective.”

“Sergeant First Class Buhari’s platoon will conduct a raid on the Burlington Police Station on North Ave near Battery Park and Sergeant Halverson’s Platoon will conduct a raid on the US Marshall’s Office on Pearl Street. I want both of these last two platoons to establish ambush sites isolating the two buildings. Buhari’s Platoon should be prepared to reinforce Halverson’s platoon if necessary. Ambush teams should be prepared to reinforce either of the two raiding teams. Beware of the proximity of your teams to one another. You are both down town and have the opportunity to support one another directly. Insure these two teams coordinate with another before leaving today.”

Captain Stewart concluded his briefing then stated, “In case you were wondering, there are similar raids like this one happening all over New England and up and down the East Coast. Georgia has a much larger, organized group and are hitting several establishments in the Atlanta and Savanah areas. Pease Air Force Base in New Hampshire has been repurposed by the Russians and will be hit just like we are hitting BIA. Manchester-Boston Airport in New Hampshire will receive the same treatment. B Company of the 3rd Rangers are hitting Manchester Boston and C Company of the 3rd Rangers are hitting Pease AFB. US Navy Seals are hitting Coast Guard targets along the coast in Maine, New Hampshire, Massachusetts, Rhode Island and Connecticut. This will be one massive guerrilla raid conducted upon our invaders up and down the Eastern Seaboard. We are going to break up into our small groups now. If you have any questions, please address them to your assigned NCOs. Thank you very much for coming. Your nation appreciates everything you are doing for them. God Bless!”

---

Dan sat through all this with a bit of a 'holy shit' attitude, starting from the security check by the Rangers. He motioned to the rest of the group to stay cool through the process and just go along with it, from the questioning forward. The place was bristling with heavily armed security in the form of a fully uniformed squad of rangers plus a forward detachment and then all the green berets in the room to boot. They'd been cocking this pistol for a while, but now it felt like they were at the break and it'd all move fast from here. Months of building up in the hills, the patient work of dealing with the black market, stealing usable equipment and fortifying the Green Mountains. He even heard rumors of SAM systems being moved in, stingers and bigger stuff.

They were dressed down for the event, because apparently a bunch of the militia type guys showed up in their best Sunday BDU's and web gear, though there were other groups of discreetly dressed guerrillas. Dan guessed, but couldn't tell for certain, if these groups were picked for reliability or what. He knew that his group paid their dues, dutifully forking over most of the opiates in Vermont on charity through the largess and patriotic sentiment of Billy Boyle. Some of the other groups had the same sort of look, like they'd been doing the hairy end of this sitzkrieg for a minute-- the black market groups tended to stick out among the camouflage in their civilianized gear, but they didn't stick out in downtown Burlington.

The plan was audacious and huge. They'd heard the rumors of what was going on in Georgia and Alabama and Florida, and how the other parts of the country were faring, but they didn't have the best information in the universe. One thing the Ranger captain mentioned that was interesting to him was that they had no firm plan for extracting the rangers, but no further reinforcements expected either, "Dig this guys," he muttered to Joe and the Giguere brothers, "they're reinforcing us with a battalion of Rangers. That's it." They already knew it would be down to them, but it was interesting to see the other cells around the room too and compare notes on mode of dress, but he deliberately ignored the introductions on names and things he didn't want to even know, things that an enemy intelligence officer would wannt to pull out of you.

It was a cynical sort of thought. The absolute candor of the operations planning struck Dan as a little dangerous -- if there was a traitor in the room, they'd have the mother of all intelligence to give to the Stasi in Burlington...but on the other hand, who would believe it? Everyone -was- watching each other though, and there was a bit of tension. Dan kept his hands out in the clear, to make sure that no one saw him taking down notes or anything else that was overly suspicious. He just prayed no one in here had a photographic memory.

But at least they knew their target. He wasn't keen to shoot Vermont State Troopers if it came down to it, but they also had to take out that communications center. It would force the Soviets to bring more equipment in and probably more troops as well. As to that airfield? Well, with the Soviets using it to launch sorties against US forces, it had to go. The strategy of just building up guerrillas in the mountains and not even shooting at these planes, of just stockpiling, digging in and otherwise setting up for a long, ugly fight, made sense now. They were going to swing in on that airfield and bag a lot of equipment in one fell swoop, while attention was on Georgia.

It struck him that they worried a lot over covering up LeBeau's murder and all the evidence out of a conccern for discretion, trying to make it look as much like a drug deal gone sour as possible, down to taking the money.

Now Dan felt like a bit of a fool; they didn't need to worry about it because all of New England was about to go loud. He glanced back at the Giguere brothers, who could probably read his expression for once -- it was tense and it was real. They signed on for this, sure, but now they were staring down the barrel. Once they got down to talking to Park about the nuts and bolts, they'd hopefully be able to settle down and just concentrate on the actual job. The big stuff was a little too much to think about, when the day to day was survival and not getting pinched on this deal or getting caught killing this guy...

"Talk about a step up," Joe said under his breath.

Running down back alley deals and whacking guys was no sweat to Joe. He was going to be doing it anyway, for Christ's sake, he might as well be doing and helping his country out at the same time. But this? This was something else. Assaults and tactics and shit. He'd had a taste of that in his old life. As Billy Boyle's chief hitter, Joe could sweep a room and outflank targets well enough. His training with the rest of the group had vastly improved it, but still. Fuck.

"Okay," he said after the meeting had broken down into smaller groups. He looked at Morse. "If it goes sideways on us, what's the back up plan? We fall back or is this gonna be a come-home-with-your shield-or-on-it type of operation?"

---

Cloud cover was at 1500 feet and dense. The moon may have provided 20% illumination above the clouds, but under this ceiling there was only 5% illumination making it very difficult for the Green Mountain Boys to move into position in some locations. Since the J. C. McNeil power station at Chittendon was still operational, the street lights were still working. The Rangers and Special Forces soldiers relied on the locals to help guide them to the right place. The distinctive advantage the Green Mountain Boys had over the Russians and the Stasi was they knew the ground.

The F22 Raptor took full advantage of its stealth capabilities, but were taking no chances. They remained under the radar which is actually quite high due to the Green Mountains. In order to be effective in Northern Vermont, the Russians needed to place radar platforms upon the highest elevations in the region, specifically Mount Mansfield. But the F22’s initial assignment was in the act of Suppression of Enemy Air Defense or SEAD.

The F22s worked in pairs with the lead aircraft equipped with Electronic Warfare (EW) or Radar Jamming equipment. The second aircraft in the flight of two was equipped with AGM-88 High-speed Anti-Radiation Missiles (HARM). The EW package blinds the enemy Air Defense systems, while the HARM package destroys them.

It was zero five hundred hours in the morning when the lead Raptors crossed the Canadian US Border at East Alburg. The six flights of two began picking up Radiation signatures immediately. The aircraft focused on their targets beginning a process of systematically eliminating the northern sited Air Defense systems at Jay Peak (3,858 feet), Mt. Mansfield (4,393 feet), Fletcher, Milton, Colchester and Essex. At the Burlington International Airport BIA, a pair of ZSU-23-4 Shilka’s were positioned at either end of the runway as a local Air Defense means.

Several minutes after the first Raptor struck distant Air Defense Artillery stations in Northern Vermont, the Soviets, or more specifically, their East German associates were able to launch a flight of four MiG-31 Foxhounds at BIA. Once the air threats entered the Raptor’s Area of Operations, the F-22 disregarded the ADA systems on the ground and angled to strike the Foxhounds. A rapid engagement of Air Combat erupted over Northern Vermont pitting two F22 Raptors against four MiG-21 Foxhounds, with the Raptors quickly winning the contest.

The first of four A10 Thunderbolts made their approach at 1600 feet, just above the clouds. When they were five kilometers from the end of the runway, each A10 individually, shot up to four thousand feet, rolled over and arced into a dive just over one kilometer from the runway. The Thunderbolt planned to approach the runway at a seventy-degree angle using radar and GPS for accurate limited visibility navigation. As the A10 passed through the cloud cover, it signaled the Burlington Raid to begin with a burst of 30mm cannon fire from it single powerful weapon. The distinctive “Brrrrrrrrrrt!” could be heard for several miles around.



Unfortunately, the A10 was unaware of the Shilka at the end of the runway. The Thunderbolt was able to get off one burst when four 23mm cannons unloaded on the diving attack aircraft. The bullets ripped through the wings and tore up the A10s fuselage. The stricken aircraft pulled out of the dive with three new holes more than ten inches in diameter in its tail section and chunks of aluminum missing at various locations around the aircraft. The sturdy A-10 Thunderbolt was built to take extreme punishment. The Pilot immediately detected the effects of the weapon and notified his squadron mates about the presence of an ADA platform at the north end of the runway. As the A10 pilot banked west away from the airport, it took another burst from the southern ADA system, which struck the flailing aircraft’s fuel tank. The shots were not enough for the aircraft to be destroyed. Rounds penetrated the tank, but its rubber sealant prevented the fuel from leaking or otherwise exploding. Rounds impacted the bottom of the armored cockpit preventing loss of life. Rounds impacted with the primary rotary cannon and rendered it unable to function, but surprisingly the pilot could still operate his aircraft. It would be a workout returning to base, but he had the rest of his life to get it back home. He returned to base remaining clear of enemy combat units in the New York area of operations.

The next two A-10s eliminated the ZSU-23-4s with little effort, then the three surviving A-10s took turns working over the parked the F-31s and Su-27s. In less than ten minutes, the wrecks of Soviet built aircraft sent pyres arcing skyward over Burlington International Airport. Seemingly as soon the A10s began their work, a lone lumbering C-17 Globemaster dropped down to combat jump altitude of 1,000 feet above the ground, which was below the overcast ceiling enveloping Northern Vermont.

At 0532 hours, the C-17 slowed to just over 100 miles per hour. It’s rear two doors open, the one hundred airborne ranger paratroopers on their feet having just conducted their equipment check. They stood in four lines along the interior of the aircraft waiting for the red lights at the doors to turn to green and for the jump masters to give the first paratrooper the signal to jump. The northern ZSU-23-4 may have been damaged and out of operation when the A-10s made their presence, but the East German crew somehow repaired the gun just as the Globemaster came into view. Four 23mm cannons began firing toward the over-sized craft. Bullets ripped open the starboard wing igniting fuel. The tail section ripped up like Swiss cheese. The pilot instantly turned the green light on for the soldiers in the back, realizing his aircraft was doomed. “Bail out! Bail Out! Bail Out!” the Co-pilot called over the radio and intercom for all who could hear it. He notified Chanute Air Force Base almost a thousand miles away that his aircraft was going down.

For the Rangers inside, life became precious. The first few jumpers did not know what was going on. They stepped outside, port and starboard sides of the aircraft expecting darkness, but found their transport in flames. The USAF crewmen strapped on their chutes, joining the US Army Rangers for the jump; out of the frying pan and into the fire.

Eighty-nine people made it out of the doomed aircraft alive as the C-17 rolled to the right and dropped nose first toward the ground. The over-sized transport took seventeen lives with her as it struck the Walmart off Harvest Lane. The bulk of the aircraft continued to slide along the pavement of the parking lot following the impact into the adjacent Home Depot less than a thousand feet from where Joe Sullivan, Danny Douglas and the others from their cell were just starting their raid on the Williston State Police Station. A large mushroom cloud shaped fireball erupted into the morning darkness casting a wave of heat to spread over anyone out of doors in the Route 2A/I-89 area.

Five CH-47s traveling with the C-17 less than one mile to its right made their descent into Jaycee Park off Patchen Road. The five Chinooks began offloading equipment and personnel as soon as their wheels were down. Two minutes later, the ten Ranger Vehicles and ten motorcycles raced toward the airport. The five, twin rotor aircraft left the ground behind just as the C-17 erupted in a ball of fire over southern Burlington. The lone ZSU-23-4 picked up the rising Chinooks and fired a burst into the trail aircraft sending it rotating violently back to earth. The four crewmen aboard the ill-fated CH-47 were killed on impact.

---

Preston and Ben Giguere hid in bushes behind the Vermont State Police station on Route 2A. They couldn’t see much due to Dick’s Sporting Gear and Staples’ building to their right. The sounds of aircraft flying overhead, accompanied by impacting air to air missiles followed by resulting explosions was the only feedback they received that the raid was actually happening. Ben was overwhelmed with fear and anxiety listening to the sounds. ‘Is Burlington an actual battlefield?’ Ben thought to himself. The notion seemed ridiculous. All these guys doing their part of the mission. It was incredible. It was exciting. It was too much. 'I need to go home to the farm in Bellows Falls. I don't belong here.' Ben was very frightened; nonplussed by the actions around him. He looked at his brother who seemed to be in complete control of his faculties. It did help Ben to see Preston calm and unnerved by the sounds.

When the A10s began their runs into BIA, Master Sergeant Tyus Morse, joining Danny and the rest at the police station muttered under his breath, “that always sounds like elephants farting.” This comment made Ben smile, imagining the sound to be elephants. He was referring to the sound of the 30mm Autocannon discharging several hundred projectiles at 6,000 rounds per minute. “That’s our cue, ladies. Time to get to work.”

Beginning Morning Nautical Twilight (BMNT): 0545 Hours
Sunrise: 0630 Hours

---

When the rangers started attacking the Burlington Airfield, the Northwest Communications Center started to frantically take in calls on dispatch and send out orders to State Troopers that essentially kept them out of harm's way. One trooper in a car meant lots of coverage, but in a situation involving air attacks and heavy weaponry, they were out of their league. The veterans among them knew this. When they ran into suppressive fire, they decided to stay damned well suppressed, finding cover and staying in it. A patrol rifle wasn't going to do much against the fury of aimed, automatic weapons fire from the guerrilla units providing security for the Rangers.

And there weren't a lot of Vermont State Troopers that wanted to get killed messing with Special Forces-led guerrillas or US Army Rangers.

Dan saw the glow in the distance, and the tracers sparking in the sky, as well as the fireball in the air and knew what was happening. Casualties.

They were out of his mind as he and Park stacked up against the door. He was wearing a ski mask just like some sort of PIRA shooter in Belfast, and was loaded down with load bearing equipment over his jacket, but otherwise was wearing civilian attire. Not so the Sergeant, of course, because the point was to inspire State Troopers to surrender at the sight of a US uniform being worn by a legit Green Beret. The place was not a heavily built up fortification; it was essentially an aluminum sided double-wide surrounded by barbed wire fence -- they'd cut right through and crawled on in, thanks to the distraction of bigger things brewing in Burlington.

No one in the Green Mountain Boys wanted to shoot a Vermont State Trooper.

That's why they brought flashbangs.

There was a door to the state police communications center. He banged the door open and let Park throw in the flashbang. Dan made sure to tuck in one ear and close his eyes as they went off. It took seconds. Instinct took over as he moved in, checking the blind spot with his carbine sweeping the same place as his eyes, both open, tracking through the reticule mounted on the flat top. You didn't bring too many people into a place at first, because it required room to maneuver and shoot.

There were two men in the immediate area, one was wearing khaki and green pants, and he got subdued. The other had camouflage fatigues and violet tabs on the collar, not that anyone bothered to look that close. He had a West German made assault rifle with a built in telescopic scope and that identified him as a foe; he was killed. Casualties.

There'd be more of those, even as they expanded the breach into the facility. The orders were to not kill state troopers unnecessarily, but no one had use for low-rung Stasi types. Officers might be worth keeping alive, though Dan would prefer to eat the cyanide pill in their jackboots...

The mask helped.

For Joe, the thin little ski mask went a long way to curing his first time jitters. It reminded him that this job was simply a heist, the kind he'd pulled hundreds of times over the years. Fuck the military planes, fuck the Rangers jumping out the sky, fuck it all. When it got down to basics, Joe and the rest of the group were just a bunch of crooks looking to make a score.

"I got point," Joe said after the dazed cop was restrained and the German cocksucker got iced.

Joe cradled a pump action shotgun in his hands. True to his word, Dan had tossed it at Joe just before the embarked for the mission. Out in in the field at distance it wouldn't be effective, but inside the corridors of the communications center it was poised to do some damage. A state trooper came out of a doorway with his gun out and in the process of raising it. Joe brought the stock of his shotgun across the cop's head and dropped him hard to the floor. He caught the trooper with a free arm and eased him to the floor before kicking the pistol away from him.

Patrolman Joseph Abercrombe was a seven-year veteran of the Vermont State Police. He heard the reports on the radio of US and USSR aircraft mixing it up in the skies over Northern Vermont as his cruiser raced north along Interstate 89. “Passing Williston Information Center, mile marker eighty-two point two,” Joe Abercrombe stated over the radio. He was letting the desk officer know his location.

“Three-Seven-Eight, stay away from Burlington,” the shaken voice stated matter of fact over the radio.

“Roger that,” Joe answered. He pulled over and stepped out of his cruiser. He could hear the rumbling of military aircraft over the skies to the north. A stream of light shot up from the ground in the vicinity of Burlington International Airport. “Tracers,” the Vermont State Police officer said aloud softly to himself. Several second later, he heard the firing of the quad 23mm cannons on the griound and the clatter of lead projectiles striking the A10 flying overhead. He then heard the subsequent brrrrrrrrt sound of the successive A10s firing upon targets at the airport. He could only see what was happening if the aircraft flew near the lit-up areas. It was still dark and the low ceiling did not allow the moon to provide much illumination.

It was an exhilarating feeling for the Patriotic American who had kept his mouth shut simply to keep him and his family alive. He was no fan of the Soviets or their East German flunkies. He did what they said just to survive. A smile plastered his face as he stood along the side of the highway watching northward. When the lumbering Transport Aircraft dropped below the clouds, he knew something was there, but couldn’t tell what it was. Tracers again arced up into the sky. He could hear the chopping sound of several rotary wing aircraft to the west a bit. The transport aircraft then burst into fire along one of the wings. It appeared as though something was dropping from the aircraft but he could not tell what it was immediately. Then he recognized the sight of several parachutes dropping toward the ground. He witnessed the C17 roll to the west, lost altitude and strike the Walmart. He didn’t know where it landed. He assumed it was near exit 12, about a mile and a half from where he stood. He did however see the very loud mushroom cloud of brilliant orange erupt into the darkened sky. It lit up the entire area, illuminating the CH-47s lifting up and away from the park, where they had landed.

Joe was curious and wanted a closer look. He got back in his cruiser and sped up the highway toward Exit 12. He even turned on his blue lights as though he were chasing a speeder on the interstate. Shortly, after turning onto St. George Road (Rte 2A) his patrol car came to a screeching halt as the vehicle’s front tires were shredded by a police stop stick. Joe stopped the car and stepped out.

Peter Couture stepped out from behind a bush and yelled at the Police Officer, “hey Joe!”

Joe Abercrombe turned to look, recognizing the man who called him, “Pete! What the hell is going on?”

“Get out of here Joe, you really don’t want to be here.”

“But Pete, what is this?”

“You know what it is,” Pete Gagne tried to reason with the 33-year old Joe Abercrombe. “If you care for your family, you will just walk away.” Pete paused watching the man, who was obviously flustered. “Or you could join us?”

Joe looked towards the fire, he heard the explosions and more gunfire at the airport. He was torn. He knew that if he didn’t do what the East German Stasi said, they would kill his wife and two sons. “Pete, I can’t go with you! They will kill Katie, Evan and Ian.”

“Will they, Joe? Even if they can’t find you?”

Joe stood in the middle of the road confused. HE wanted to do something but didn’t want any harm to come to his family.

“Who knows, after tonight, your family may not have targets on their backs anymore. The Stasi will have bigger fish to fry.”

Those words caught Joe Abercrombe’s interest. “Maybe you are right, Pete.” The Police officer walked to the side of the road. “How about I just watch what you are doing? Stay out of the way?”

“That sounds like a wise choice.”

---

“Those other guys just stopped a Police Car near the highway,” Ben Giguere announced to the rest of the group. “Not sure what they are talking about, but it looks like the Vermont State Police aren’t going to help the Soviets with whatever they are doing.”

Ben and Preston followed Joe and Danny into the Williston Barracks. Preston kept a watch out the front door to see if anyone would follow. He thoroughly believed Pete Couture’s crew would prevent anyone from interrupting them, but it was better to keep an eye out just the same.

Ben stayed right behind Joe and Danny. He watched Joe knock out the State Trooper and ease him to the floor. He carried a Mark 14 slung over his shoulder, but with his Ruger .44 in his hand. He kept the pistol aimed up and in the direction of those rooms they had not checked yet. He allowed Joe and Danny to clear the rooms as he covered them, while Preston watched the front doors. Master Sergeant Morse remained with Ben in an observation mode.

The room check was gruelling in that you opened a door and checked very carefully, on the ragged edge of nerves and ready to shoot anything that said boo. So much could go wrong with a momentary reflex. It was scary work, especially since they were trying not to just kill whomever was in there. They had to identify targets in a flash and then off them. Riding on an adrenaline high, nerves shaking, this was not as simple as movies made it look. Room after room had stuff, but no people. That was part of the plan, that the attack on Burlington Airport would draw off defenders and make this target softer than usual.

They arrived at a communications room that had an occupant, a state trooper who was manning one of the dispatch computer/radio consoles. That guy had his hands up even before they came in the door, which was completely the right move. A split second of decision led Dan to bark out, "KNEEL NOW!" and he never wavered with his rifle in hands, sweeping.

As Park came behind him, he moved to cover a different angle, letting the green beret handle that particular situation -- essentially, Park and Morse were in command. Dan had a good sense of what needed to be done, but he also stayed in his lane. They had only run into one Stasi type, a security grunt, and that meant there were more around. Sure enough, they found their man, along with a laptop and some other stuff; a fancier looking fellow with some braid on the uniform. He didn't know the GDR ranks quite as well as he should have, but he knew an officer when he saw one.

It also had a lady in a chair in a separate room. No other Germans. Dan swept the room carefully and pointed out the still-warm laptops and other equipment sitting on a table to the others as a sign that they had more people around. It was entirely possible that most the Stasi officers, upon hearing the action, decided to go see what was going on before the guerrillas raided the Williston barracks.

"I'll cover, you guys figure out what's going on with the equipment, the trooper and the lady," Dan told them, fully aware that they only had so much time before the Soviets would divert airpower from the Georgia theater to Vermont. They might not have time to loiter, but they'd probably be attacking anything that moved on the roads soon. The raid had to end before that all happened, for the rangers and the guerrillas alike. They had some AA capability against helicopters, but not much against jet fighters. The whole point was to get in, smash what they could, and get out -- all fast. There was no time for niceties.

The state trooper didn't resist. Joe covered him while Park got him on his knees and fastened his wrists and ankles with zip ties. He turned away from the cop and leveled his gun on the woman.

"Holy shit," said Joe.

He fucking knew her. From a few months ago, right when the cell was starting up its drug running. One of Joe's guys -- Jackie Legs- made the connect for the cell and they sold her some pills. Jackie called her the Doctor Broad, on account of the fact that she was a broad who was a doctor. Jackie Legs wasn't called Jackie Brains for a reason.

Suddenly, all eyes were on him.

"The chick. I know her. Kinda. I may or may not have sold her some drugs. Mostly may."

“Gigger, please be careful. One of the other cells is coming in the front door. They are clearing the building from the other end, simultaneously.” Master Sergeant Morse spoke in whispered tones to Ben Giguere, covering the hall for Danny and Park as they cleared each room. He didn’t want the former Railroad maintenance of way worker to shoot the wrong people.

Ben nodded his head in comprehension to the Special Forces soldier. Ben took a knee in the hall, aiming his Mark 14 down the hallway, running the length of the building. As soon as Danny and Park entered the communications room, he watched as two men entered the door closest to St. George Road; one dressed similar to himself and the other wearing the current US Army ACU or Army Combat Uniform.

Preston stood at the back door watching the activity outside. By stepping outside and looking around the corner of the building, he could see the fires burning the Walmart and Home Depot. He believed not everyone got out of the doomed transport aircraft, but not how many. There was no saving them now. The fires lit up the sky. He could hear machine gun fire and explosions coming from the Northwest. He also noted, someone set fire to the VSP police cruiser out on Route 2A near exit 12. It was an overwhelming feeling for the 31-year old Vermont native. He was excited, frightened and almost in a daze watching the scene unfold around him.

The machinegun fire at the airport sounded distant. It had that sound he was all too familiar with from hunting in the Vermont mountains for most of his life. The difference between this fire and a hunting sound was the intensity. A few minutes into the clearing operation, he heard a closer machine gun open up. It sounded like it was less than the length of a football field away. One of the other cells had an ambush set up at the corner of St. George Road and Marshal Ave. A pair of 10-ton, 10-wheeled cargo trucks lumbered down St. George Road carrying heavy boxes in one and twelve Russian soldiers armed with AK-12s in the second.

The ill-fated vehicles manufactured in the Minsk Automobile Plant (MAZ) stumbled into an ambush. The American built M240B, 7.62mm machine gun opened up on the lead vehicle sending it careening into the trailing corner of the Staples store, adjacent to the Williston barracks, erupting in a ball of fire less than a eighty feet from where Preston stood. The second truck stopped to allow its passengers to disembark. More than a few survived.

Preston ran toward the truck to see what was going on. He peeked around the burning wreck in time to see eight or nine Soviet soldiers kneeling or laying prone in the road shooting back in the direction of the Marshal’s parking lot. Preston considered shooting at the soldiers but thought it was better to run back and let his people know. He did notice a member of the other team clearing the building with him did indeed start shooting at the Russians in the road.

He sprinted back to the door and ripped it open yelling, “Russians! There are Fucking Russians! In the road! We need to move fast!”

“What the blazes is going on Preston?” Ben yelled at his brother.

“Those other guys,” Preston panted trying to catch his breath. “You know… those other guys? They were setting up in a hide spot by Marshal’s? Well, they shot up a truck carrying some boxes and then a second truck came down the road carrying about a dozen Russian soldiers. They are out in the road shooting at them less than a hundred yards from here!”

Master Sergeant Morse listened to the conversation between the Giguere brothers. “Get a hustle on Danny, Park! We need to blow these antennas and radio equipment PDQ and unass this AO!” The term unass the AO technically means to get away from someplace quickly. The acronym AO refers to Area of Operations. For this Guerrilla cell, that would be the Williston Barracks. PDQ means Pretty Damn Quick.

The team at the northwest end of the building began taking fire. Apparently, the Russians turned their attention on them. Ben saw one of the Vermont men slump to the ground and lay, just outside the door, motionless. “They got a bead on us! They might be coming in here to investigate! Hurry up!” Ben laid on the ground, tucking his body into a doorway and pointing his rifle down the hall towards the other team’s entry point.

Preston checked to the west and noticed Pete Gagne’s team at Exit 12 was now out near St. George Road engaging the Russians along Route 2A. Men were taking hits and explosions were going off all around them. The situation at Williston Barracks was becoming desperate.

The sun was on the horizon…It was daytime.

"Just fucking do it!" Jane said through gritted teeth, pulling on Jason's sleeve as she looked him in the eye. But her ragged breath told a different story, and the poor man attempting to extract the bullet from Jane's abdominal wound was unsure if she would last another minute before facing unconsciousness. His hand was shaking, and beads of sweat had formed around his face. Jason was a great fighter and an even better marksman, but his range of talents didn't extend much further beyond that.

"I-I can't! Goddammit, this isn't easy!"

Jane sighed, partly relieved but also angry at Jason's inability to take some initiative under pressure. Of course this wasn't easy, but nothing about their situation was easy, and he should damn well have realized that by now. "Fine, just go find Elaine, see if she's made some progress finding a medic or maybe a doctor."

With a straight face, Jason tossed aside the medical tweezers, and Jane watched as it bounced off the side table and onto the floor. She knew he was extremely frustrated, and in hindsight, maybe she shouldn't have been so hard on him. "It's okay, you know. I can handle the pain for now and the bullet already did its damage; it's only a matter of getting it out and stiching me up."

"No need to sugarcoat it, Jane," he replied, taking off the gloves as he turned to face her once more, "I'll go out there and get you some help. It's the least I can do after screwing up."

"No, you didn't--"

"I never took you for a liar, so don't start now," Jason interrupted her with a slight smile. He fetched for a bottle of water to leave by her side. "I'll be back as quick as I can, hopefully with good news. You get your rest and take it easy, we can't have that bullet moving around in there."

"Thank you."

Jane watched as Jason gathered his bag and left the room, leaving her in complete silence. It was only a matter of time before she fell asleep, the pain eventually replaced by a string of dreams.

The lady was dead, not knocked out, and Dan got Morse's directive to blow the place, "Copy."

He shot the Stasi trooper out of hand -- they had no time to screw around with a prisoner. Park and Morse, US military members, might be bound by certain rules and Dan knew it had to be done. He did it split second, without hesitation, one to the guy's head. He crumpled, with a spray of blood, shattered skull, brain matter and incongruous bits of scalp and blonde hair fucking painting the wall behind him. In these corridors, the M4's report was loud and twangy. The gunpowder smell mercifully covered the blood smell. A part of him, ruthlessly suppressed most times, ominously noted that if he got out of this shit alive, he'd remember that one in his nightmares.

Then, to the others, panting a bit "Wrap it up guys, we're setting the demo. Rally on Morse." There was a German weapon, and that looked interesting, but the thing he picked up was a laptop bag, on a sudden impulse to make this good. He grabbed flash drives and other portable media for a moment while others started to clear out. Then, he set about planting the demo. After all, they'd just iced a Stasi officer, the laptop could be his porn stash, it could be a treasure trove. Either one could be highly useful back in the mountains.

He had sure hands on the satchel charges; this was not usually a fast job, because no one wanted to get blown up due to carelessness. But they'd cut the fuses very carefully and made sure ahead of time that they'd be able to set the satchel and give themselves plenty of time to clear. A conventional detonator with a fuse and blasting cap had the advantages of dead simplicity and they were using plenty of C4 for this one.

A part of him registered the firefight not too far in the distance; the report of AK-74's added to that of M4's.

Once done called out, "FIRE IN THE HOLE!" which was a clear signal -- it was time to get the hell out of Williston Barracks.

Someone yelled, Fire in the Hole! Gigger knew that meant explosives had been set and it was time to leave. HE grabbed his brother and the two headed back out the same door he had just come in. He knew there was a firefight going on out there and tried to be as careful as possible. So far none of the Soviets had made it around to the back of the building yet. Someone yelled for the other team to get the hell out or maybe they heard the Fire in the hole call go out. They weren’t there any longer; except the one man who wouldn’t be going anywhere anymore; slumped halfway across the entrance to the Williston barracks.

The sun was casting rays across the Burlington area. The sound of the burning police car was crackling from the street. Other Vermont militiamen were moving about trying to get a peek the enemy dying on the street. Gigger wondered what was going on at the airport. There was sporadic gunfire now. Most of the intense gunfire had quieted down. [i]Who controlled the airfield now?[i] Preston Giguere thought to himself. He and Ben ran to the bushes away from St. George’s Road and away from the building. He and his brother would cover the withdrawal of the rest of the team as they moved.

There were militiamen like him all over the place now. He didn’t want to shoot one of them and he wasn’t sure what the bad guys looked like. They may have had different uniforms. He was scared and this was crazy. How the hell did I get myself into this shit? Preston thought to himself.

“Better off dead than telling his friends what we look like,” Master Sergeant Tyus Morse told Danny after he killed the Stasi officer. He turned to leave and said, “fuck the Geneva Convention,” in hushed tones. Well today, anyway. The Sergeant moved with Danny getting their asses out of the building. He chased after the Giguere brothers; about a minute behind them. He could see where they were hiding as soon as he came out and took up a position with them, aiming his rifle in the direction of where the ambush had happened. Now it was a firefight between the survivors.

“We need to get out of here, most riki-tik,” Sergeant Morse muttered. Softly he spoke under his breath, “blow the building Danny. Let’s get out of here.”