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Post by Lobo solitario on Mar 11, 2012 4:21:53 GMT -6
"Reach down and ......." Funny. Thanks, very good chapter. That is a colloquialism that is fairly common in these parts among men, but is usually withheld in polite company so as not to offend the sensibilities of ladies. Ergo, I must conclude you are a lady. Such dark humor is common in foxholes. Some say it is a coping mechanism. LS Thanks for the feed back.
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Post by nancy1340 on Mar 11, 2012 20:18:59 GMT -6
Lobo, I was a bartender for 15 years so I've heard about all of it. I just thougth that was really funny. So maybe I'm not to much of a lady after all. It was cute and very descriptive without being extra crude. I like your writing very much so again, thank you.
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Post by nancy1340 on Mar 11, 2012 20:27:38 GMT -6
Very good speech Bob.
Thank you.
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Post by Lobo solitario on Mar 12, 2012 22:11:55 GMT -6
THE BATTLE OF DOVE SPRING PASS CH 11
Girard took a great breath and let it out like a deflating balloon. He reached over with his left hand and unsnapped the flap of his holster. It was not greased lightning, but it was fast enough to startle the Frenchman, and he was looking down the barrel of Bob’s cocked Blackhawk.
Girard’s hands were both up beside his head in the blink of an eye, palms forward; “You misunderstand Captain. I was going to surrender my sidearm.”
Bob; “Does that mean you are accepting our terms?”
Girard; “Yes Captain.”
Bob; “Did you buy that pistol, or does it belong to your government?”
Girard; “It belongs to me; they are not usually issued to my pay grade.”
Bob; “Keep it. And that goes for the rest of your command; personal side arms may be retained.”
Girard; “Thank you Captain.”
Bob; “You are welcome sergeant, and don’t look so somber, nobody won here, we both lost, but we just saved a lot of lives, you and I. And to that end, I must ask that you return to your command with greatest speed. You will start transports for the wounded moving this way immediately. They will approach no closer than 100 meters from the top of the saddle. You will have your people converge on the transports with their weapons and wounded. Weapons will be deposited in a central location near the transports. Wounded will be transported as quickly as possible. Some of my people will be bringing our wounded to the transports also. Some will also be keeping an over watch from the rocks.”
“I am open to your input and suggestions.”
Girard; “It sounds reasonable. There will be other issues but we can talk about them after we get evacuation of the wounded started.”
Bob; “Excellent point. You will have Felix return to me with at least two of your radios so we can coordinate. You will use only one frequency to communicate among yourselves, but you and I will use another. One radio will be tuned to each. And, sergeant?”
Girard; “Yes?” Bob; “Rappelez-vous, je ne parle un peu francais.
Girard asked. “Shall we get started Captain?”
Bob nodded and Girard snapped a salute and Bob returned it. The Frenchman hurried off toward his own lines with Felix close behind.
………………………………………………………….
Andy Roberts, Bob’s cousin, materialized from a position of concealment, no more than 10 yards away, from which he had been covering the parlay. He had heard the whole thing and volunteered to spread the word on this end of the line and to find another messenger to do the same on the other end.
In less than half an hour from the time Girard had waved the white flag, casualties from both sides were being loaded onto transports. Fourteen men with either no, or just band-aid wounds, helped bring the most seriously injured off the ridge. Then they returned to man oversight positions, so the ‘walking wounded’, which had been handling the job, could make their way to the pickup point.
The wounded were given what care could be provided by the handful of French medics and militiamen Robert Stiff, a paramedic, and John Roberts, an RN. Plasma was in short supply and several direct transfusions were made between people with compatible blood types. Jim Kruger claimed for the rest of his days that it had given him a disgusting craving for escargot.
Bob found his brother, Mark, in his fighting hole, cheek still laying on the stock of his trusted Springfield. Blood loss is one of the kindest ways to die. Sergeant Baudin was found unconscious forty yards away. It was determined that the last shot Mark Reader, a man who loved to shoot, but hated violence, ever made, was indeed the catalyst which started a chain of events, which stopped the killing. It was also the shot which insured that Dove Spring Pass would indeed be held.
The blue hats assembled near the aid station. The Militia members, not at the station either helping or being treated, returned to positions on the ridge. Girard asked to speak with Bob privately. Between bob’s French and Girard’s English they communicated. Girard told Bob that his men had fought so hard because they were facing the beginnings of starvation.
Bob told him; “I would like to help but we don’t have much our selves, most of us did not expect to need food when this was over. Surly you can make it back to your base.”
Girard; “I did not expect that you could supply us. I am going to tell you things I should not, but the time has come to take care of the men, not this disgusting mission, or they that force it on us. There is very little left at our base also. There are many cows in this valley. But, for good reason, we are not the favorite people to American farmers. And, I have reason to think these farmers are very mad at us.” Bob burned to ask if that thought had anything to do with the abrupt cessation of the mortar barrage, but he was not about to spill anyone else’s beans. “Our commander had a procurement fund.” Girard went on; “I am now in command. Gold and silver is all that is taken by many people now. I know that, now you know about it, there is nothing to keep you from taking all of it. But, you have shown yourself a very good and generous man. It is my hope that you could help me get enough good will to these farmers that I can buy a few cows for us to eat. There will be a lot left for you to take. It came from your government that you now fight and I have learned to hate also.”
Bob said; “Well, I can try, it probably depends on how mad you made them”
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Post by Lobo solitario on Mar 14, 2012 4:04:58 GMT -6
THE BATTLE OF DOVE SPRING PASS CH 12
Curly and the Trentons, after meeting at Measles spring, had worked their way south along the base of Pawnee Mountain and then cut back east to approach the headquarters. They had heard the shooting stop, but knew not the reason or outcome, so were being very cautious.
Having been transported to the unarmed and less threatening looking command HUM-V Bob and Girard removed the strong box from its unobtrusive locked compartment. It was about fourteen inches long, 10 inches wide and three deep. Girard unlocked the box and opened the lid. Along the back were two rows of plastic tubes containing ten gold eagles each, then there were two rows of US silver dollars, one of halves, Three of pre-64 quarters, and two of dimes. The rest were nickels and pre-82 real copper pennies. In Free Loyalist America a penny would buy a soft drink in a diner, coffee was in short supply and would fetch a nickel as would a modest breakfast. A dime would buy a hearty dinner, and a gold eagle a modest home. One the black market, in UN occupied America, prices were much higher. Bob tried not to show his amazement. Girard pocketed one tube each of eagles, silver dollars, and quarters. Then they returned the strong box to its hidey hole.
Girard was driving and bob riding shotgun, literally, when the HUM-V pulled up to the gate at Opal headquarters. Bob stepped out with his model 70 slung over his shoulder and his Ruger Blackhawk at his side. These were weapons he knew the stockmen would find ordinary and non-threatening, if handled safely.
Bob hollered; “Hello, the house?”
From somewhere in the cluster of buildings and corrals north of the house came back; “Wadaya want!”
Bob; “Talk; maybe do a little business.”
Bob was allowing himself to slip back into his native southwest manner of speech.
The same voice came back different direction; “Well, have yer buddy get outa at glory-fied jeep an you boys jus stay put fur a mite an I’ll be out to ya.”
Bob;"We’ll wait."
Bob had been kicking dirt for it seemed like forever. Girard was leaning against the front to the Hummer trying to look relaxed. Both were watching the yard waiting for someone to show up.
The same voice came from behind them. “I know at un, he’s one a em blue hats, who ur you.
Trent was standing with a 94 Winchester at high port.
Bob, turning and proffering a hand; “I’m Cpn’ Bob Reader, commander a cumpny “C” a the California Militia.” Trent ignored the hand “An we jus wupped them blue hat’s tails up air at the pass smornin’, seems they had li’l trouble with ther’ artillery.”
“Thing is, come ta’ find out, they uz so hot ta’ get at us cuz they uz hungry an we had food. Now ‘at don’t make it right, but they uz boxed into a corner by ‘eir gumment, an’ at griftin lire we got in the white house, an the thievin’ crooked politicians all over the world. Theys jus’ regler folks at got in a bad bind an let it turn um ta do things they regret an will have ta live with till ay die. Now, we captured um an we’re parolin um on condition they go back home an ner come back, under penalty a death. We took all air rifles an automatic weapons. We’re gonna be takin’ some a air vehicles an all air mortars and all air ammo.”
“They wanna go home an we want’um ta go home. They don’t like workin’ for them thieves in Washington any more than we want’um to. They have a little hard money, at comes from Washington. The more a that we help um bleed off inta free America the faster that snake pit will dry up an blow away. I understand ay get pleny a some other goods at’s hard ta come by in free America. If we kin turn’um to buyin an tradin’, stead a lootin’ an takin’ the safer we’ll be an the faster we kin suck them Washington bandits dry.”
“Wadaya think, kin ya sell’um some beef?”
Trent lowered his Winchester, holding it at the balance point, in his left hand. Bob knew they were being covered by other, unseen rifles. Trent reached up with his left hand and scratched his chin stubble.
“Well, it’s like this.” Says Trent; “I don’ mind tellin’ ya at I don’ really want ta have nothin’ ta do with the blue hats. But you talk a good line, at makes it soun the best way all round, is ta do it. An, I got ta tell ya, I’m thinkin’ yer makin some sense. But if that traitor gumment in Washinton is payin’ fer it the prices is gonna be a mite steap.”
After that things went reasonably well. Bob made sure everything went through him as translator so he could keep things going smoothly. He was especially concerned that Girard would call Trent a ‘farmer’; some stockmen are very sensitive about that.
A deal was struck for six fat steers and a six horse trailer to haul them in for one gold eagle for each steer and one for the trailer. Very steep prices indeed. With the stipulation that the trailer would be returned and, if in good condition, the purchase price would be refunded. If the trailer could be returned loaded with 55 gallon drums of gasoline; a price was set for the fuel.
It was dark by the time all the cattle, wounded, and parolees were loaded aboard their respective transport. The Trentons had agreed to corral the mortars and remaining ammunition and hold them for the militia to come back for them. It was thought they might be repairable. In exchange Bob left them 4,000 rounds of 5.56mm ammo, from the blue hat stores, for the service. And other services that remained unmentioned at the time.
The militia relieved the blue hats of all their portable radios. Girard handed over the rest of the ‘procurement’ money. Bob let him keep the rest of the gold in the one tube plus a tube each of dollars, half dollars, quarters, and dimes, for emergencies on the way back. Company “C” was rather well fixed as militias go.
Company “C” of the California Militia, led by the HUM-V with the .50 Caliber Browning machine gun mounted on top, sat in the saddle of Dove Spring Pass as they loaded the last of their troops, who were coming down from the rocks, watched the tail lights of the UN column disappear over south pass into Jawbone Canyon. It was a kindness of sorts, that they were never allowed to know, that when they surrendered, Company “C” had only 14 able bodied men left.
Company “C” started moving down the road toward the Trap River Valley. It would be a long night. They were bringing their six dead out with them. There were 13 seriously wounded, some more gravely than others, two were very critical. Bob and other members of the; what was it, militia, clan, extended family? He decided it was all of those. Were discussing, as they drove the 40 odd miles to Whisky Flat, how to round up medical help for the wounded, and get hold of the cemetery people and any undertakers in the area, in the middle of the night. The funerals and medical care would be paid for with blue hat hard money. Bob was going to safeguard the militia’s gold and silver until a decent interval had passed after the funerals. The whole clan could get together and decide what guidelines would be set for its preservation and righteous use.
But the thing that was really bothering Bob was how he was going to tell his nephew and his two great nieces about their father and grandfather, his little brother was gone. Yes, it was going to be a long night.
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Post by nancy1340 on Mar 14, 2012 23:42:18 GMT -6
"Jim Kruger claimed for the rest of his days that it had given him a disgusting craving for escargot." Thanks
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Post by Lobo solitario on Mar 15, 2012 3:37:21 GMT -6
Epilog
2032 It was a clear and crisp early November morning, fourteen years after the historic battle. The battle, though tiny as battles go, was considered historic because it marked the last attempt of the UN, or any other forces loyal to the illegal administration in Washington, to expand their areas of control in California. Still it was only a very small chapter in the book “Building a New California”. The Whisky Flat school board had selected that book and “Building a New America”, As its primary history texts for the period starting about 1960 on, though they were not written as or like the vacuous text books of the period of the final decline of old America. They were selected by the school board and only the school board, who were elected by parents and grandparents of students. For the history of old America thay used selected texts from the late 50's or very early 60's.
The students in Mrs. Stiff’s seventh grade had been assigned to read the chapter. That took only about fifteen minutes for even the slowest readers. Then Mrs. Stiff delivered a lecture of about an hour and a half on the subject, but she was a gifted speaker and her lectures were generally well received. In the overall history of the state and the nation that battle was a small thing; here it was personal. The students were then told to review the chapter and their notes, and be ready for a quiz the next day. And the next day came, as next days are want to do, whether students are ready for them or not. When time came for the history quiz Mrs. Stiff asked if there were any questions. A young man with freckles and red hair, with an unruly cowlick, pulled a hand out of the pocket of his faded bib overalls and thrust it into the air. His name was Erick Anderson.
Mrs. Stiff pointed his way and asked; “Yes Erick?”
Erick’s face was sincere, disrespect was not tolerated in school any more, besides that, Mrs. Stiff was an attractive young woman and most of the boys had a crush on her. So the question did not come off as wisecracking when Erick asked; “how come you know so much more about this battle than the book does?
The attractive young woman with her hair in a school teacher bun, wearing a conservative school teacher dress, turned China blue eyes toward the windows that faced the pass. The usual sparkle faded and they became distant and sad. Her chin was wrinkling and her lip started to quiver. After a few moments she looked down at the tips of her shoes, her jaw tightened and she took in one very long, deep breath, let it out, closed her eyes and took another. She raised her head again and opened her eyes. But she was looking over the heads of her students, straight through the back wall of the classroom at something very far away, something in a dimension only she could see. The quiver was gone but when she started to speak so was the usual captivatingly melodious voice. Her tone was dead flat level;
“Well, Erick, one morning, fourteen years ago, after a hug and a kiss, I watched the sweetest, kindest, bravest, most loving man I have ever known, pick up his pack and his rifle, and walk off into the darkness. I never again saw my grandfather alive. You see, my maiden name is Reader. When my uncle Bob came the next morning, in the middle of the night really, and woke us all and told us, I cried for hours. I never thought I would be able to smile again, and surly not laugh. Did I mention that Gramps was also the funniest guy?”
A little of the life was coming back into her eyes and voice.
“He taught us so much about life, my sister and I. Each generation has a responsibility to those who come after them. I have a responsibility to you, and it’s not just about being a teacher. Or more precisely a professional teacher.”
She was getting back to normal now.
“It is about passing on hard won life lessons. One of these is the cost of freedom. It is the responsibility of every free woman and every free man to teach those who come after them the true cost of freedom. It is not easy for me to do this expanded curriculum on the battle of Dove Spring Pass every year. It would be much easier to just go with the abbreviated treatment it gets in the book. But I want you to know what it really takes to stay free. And it is not just men who pay the price. Women and even children have been fighting and bleeding, and dyeing to be free sense the beginnings of the human race. But however expensive freedom is, it is much less costly than slavery.”
The bell was ringing; the class had escaped the quiz, at least for today.
When Nathan Stiff got home that evening with their two boys, he found his wife sitting in the easy chair in their bedroom. She had a bloodstained Springfield rifle clutched to her bosom and was softly weeping.
................................................................
That concludes
"THE BATTLE OF DOVE SPRING PASS"
the first book of the
"NEW AMERICA"
series.
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Post by Lobo solitario on Mar 16, 2012 1:13:20 GMT -6
This has now been transfered with some final editing to the Completed Stories forum.
Thanks for reading.
LOBO
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Post by nancy1340 on Mar 17, 2012 14:04:26 GMT -6
Thank you Lobo.
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Post by rvm45 on Mar 19, 2012 11:16:49 GMT -6
Sigh..... I see the new republic hasn't done away with Government Subsidized Education--one of our big downfalls this time around..... But overall a good rousing story; And well written. .....RVM45
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Post by Lobo solitario on Mar 21, 2012 19:47:39 GMT -6
Sigh..... I see the new republic hasn't done away with Government Subsidized Education--one of our big downfalls this time around..... But overall a good rousing story; And well written. .....RVM45 Thanks for reading! Cheer up! Where does it say that the school is government subsidized? The school is paid for by the families of the students and the school board is selected by the same. Maybe I should have been more careful to make that clear. The Whisky Flat School is controlled by the families of its students, no one else. I could go into all the nuts and bolts but it would be tedious. Their primary history text is not even a “text” book (what a joke they have become) but an ordinary history book one would buy off the shelf for its general content and interest value. Not for its indoctrination value. Mike
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