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.”
[hr]
“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.