Gunther

Soviet Amerika - Red Dawn-Inspired Alternate History

@Gunther

I love Metallica, although they're my second favorite band. My all-time is Iron Maiden. People find it odd because I look like I should be listening to the top pop songs, but my dad used to have long hair and he dressed like a punk, so I got my taste in music from him

@Xandrya

Cool. I am probably closer in age to your dad. I listened to Iron Maiden in the 70s and 80s. My hair is short, but only because I spent almost half my life in the Army. I've always been eclectic when it comes to music, but my base line is heavy metal. My current favorite is Volbeat, which is a Danish Heavy Metal band...and yea, I listened to some punk about ~35+ years ago. The Ramones, Clash and Sex Pistols.

Soviet Amerika - Red Dawn-Inspired Alternate History

@Xandrya I enjoy your taste in music, Hua! Smashing Pumpkins rocks and enjoyed some Suicide Squad; Jared Leto and Margot Robbie did very well in their roles.

In the first decade of the 21st century, I worked for a railroad. One time my train was on the main line approaching another train stopped in a siding waiting to head in the opposite direction. I got on the radio and sang your quote with my best James Hetfield.

...and it comes to be that the soothing light at the end of your tunnel, is just a freight train coming your way

@Xandrya

Soviet Amerika - Red Dawn-Inspired Alternate History

There is a small squad-sized firefight going on in the street outside Williston barracks. Casualties are happening. Don't get killed, Doc. ;)

Soviet Amerika - Red Dawn-Inspired Alternate History

“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.

Soviet Amerika - Red Dawn-Inspired Alternate History

No, you're right. They are sure to maintain squad integrity after the raid.

I tend to watch the History Channel and/or the Military History channel quite frequently. I know, big surprise. I saw this WWII Veteran; former 101st Airborne Infantry and Bastogne survivor. After the 10th Armor and 26th Infantry Divisions relieved them at Bastogne, he read an account of the fight in Stars & Stripes where Patton's 3rd Army "Rescued" the 101st Airborne Division on the 26th of December 1944. He and his brothers in the 101 were offended by that statement. At no time did any of them feel as though they required "Rescuing". He adamantly stated they had a lot of fight left in them and could fight on. Also, he said that if they had eight guys in their squad, they were doing well, when the squads were authorized twelve. The guy said they were constantly being killed. They had cherries that were assigned to the unit in the morning and dead by nightfall. They typically had only four or five guys in a twelve man squad. So yea, these guys are going to take some losses. We may find a squad fragment; nothing more than a fire team working with the cell.

Soviet Amerika - Red Dawn-Inspired Alternate History

@HeySeuss If someone would like to join the RP as a recently inserted member of A Company, 3rd Battalion, 75th Rangers, that would work. I might make another character along those lines. Of course most of the guys are very young; between the ages of 19 and ~30.

Soviet Amerika - Red Dawn-Inspired Alternate History

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.

STAR WARS [Group Driven, High Casual/Advanced]

Mokra was beside himself with excitement. This was the first time he had ever been able to cloak himself intentionally. Admittedly, he focused intently on maintaining this status. It would require no serious emotional distractions in order to hold the cloak. He relegated himself to scanning the room to gather in everyone he could see. He was watching for those heading to the table Del stood in front of across from the Nautolan doctor.

It didn’t take long as a woman of weathered appearance approached Table seventeen. She introduced herself as Lroné Eronoss. Mokra did not know of the woman, nor had he heard of her reputation. There was a certain air of confidence about this person that piqued Mokra’s respect; an appreciable quality. Not long after, an apparent blind man approached the table. He did take a seat near where Lrone stood. As he spoke, Mokra realized the man was not blind, but a Miraluka. He was aware of their connection to the force which only churned Mokra's curiosity.

Without looking at the others standing or seated around the table, the man spoke, "Seeker Dasaen, of Luca Sene." He paused briefly, chuckled, then continued, "A warrior, a doctor, a rogue, and now a scholar... Heh, though perhaps I should count the rogues' Kel Dorian friend as well?" Obviously, the Miraluka could see where Mokra was standing. However he would not know Mokra Tem was cloaked. Seeker Dasaen could only see that Mokra Tem stood around the table with everyone else, cloaked or uncloaked was irrelevant. But what would have been most recognizable to Seeker Dasaen about Mokra Tem was the presence of the force. From his home world, it was almost inconceivable to see life not attached to the force. Obviously, Seeker Dasaen had been off world for many years apparently comfortable among those with no connection to the force. To finally see a force wielder in his midst must have delighted the Miralukan.

‘He was referring to me!?’ Mokra thought to himself. ‘He must be a jedi?’ This revelation both disturbed and excited him. ‘But the Jedi have been killed off, right? I know Miralukans can see everyone in their own unique way. Obviously, the cloak does not work for him. I get that. But he would not know I was cloaked. That is equally obvious.’ But in Mokra Tem’s mind, he was no force wielder. He was aware of many Kel Dorians who were Jedi, but none of those were alive or in his life today. Albeit curious of the jedi, he never trained as such and was unaware that he himself was touched by the force. This revelation did make him curious about the Miralukan. Mo would want to speak with the man at length at some point.

Mokra figured that since the newcomer pointed him out to the group present, he may as well reveal himself to everyone. He was about to do so when another human approached the table. He remained cloaked. This person appeared unkempt, while giving off an unnecessarily cocky air. His words were condescending to the group and needless to say; unappreciated. His presence gave Mokra an uneasy feeling. He placed his hand upon the hilt of his sword ready to strike if necessary. He just wasn’t sure about this person.

Before he could make a move, he noted a cloaked woman carrying a tray of drinks to the table. Mo pulled his hand from the sword to watch the woman. She removed her hood, then lowered the tray into the center of table seventeen. When her voice uttered those sweet words, "Drinks. On me," Mokra melted. Her words sent a foreign warmth through his body. He had never felt this way for anyone. It took him by surprise and made him feel happy; almost bubbling over inside. Then she removed her cloak and shook her hair before placing the cloak over the chair next to the doctor. When the woman smiled, that warm all-embracing smile, Mokra lost it. He could no longer hold his cloak.

She spoke her own name, "Faryn Nonome. Pleased to meet all of you. Take a seat, relax, have a drink. I'm sure we could all use one."

As Faryn grabbed a drink, Mo slowly began to materialize into view. His status changed in no manner, or way discernible by the Miralukan who could see his presence the entire time he was in their company. Mokra could not take his eyes off the beauty of Faryn. Maybe it was her pheromones, or her natural scent. Whatever it was, Mokra was smitten. His palms sweaty. He wanted to speak. “Uh, … um…yea…uh…ummmm…ok…." He paused and said, "I’ll just be quiet.” He forced himself to take his eyes off the woman, but could not help indulging himself. Taking in her breathtaking beauty was his new favorite hobby. He felt very weak and squirmish in her presence. He did not know what to do or say. He was completely and utterly taken in by her. Somewhere in his subconscious he hoped Del would tell everyone who he was.

Soviet Amerika - Red Dawn-Inspired Alternate History

God, I love this shit! :D
As an Infantryman, I love the A10 too. It is so damn hard to kill it.

7 Stories That Remind Us Why Troops Love the A-10 Warthog

Soviet Amerika - Red Dawn-Inspired Alternate History

The Burlington Raid

---

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.

Williston Station

---

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