* Crossposted from: FREEDOM'S_VOICE
From: Mo10Cav 
Once Upon a Tea Party....
By Mike Vanderboegh 1st Alabama Cavalry Regiment, Constitutional
Militia 
The following tale is fiction.  Nothing quite so far-fetched could 
ever happen in our country, I'm sure.
Once Upon a Tea Party.....
Transcript, Court Ordered Wiretap, (205) 555-1234, 2103hrs, 
11 February, 1999: 
"Jim, it's me." 
"Yeah." 
"You heard the news." 
"Yeah."  (Pause.)  
"When?" 
"Tomorrow, just like we discussed.  We all know the drill, no sweat, 
nobody gets ....." 
"Yeah, O.K." (Pauses.)  
"I'm goin' fishin tomorrow.  Will you feed my dog?  I won't be back 
till late.  I'll leave my keys under the mat." 
"Sure thing, Jim." 
"See you later." 
"Yeah." (Call ends.)
Headline, USA Today, 12 February, 1999: "Assault Gun Confiscation Act 
Passes, Clinton Orders Dealers To Provide Records.  Gun Owners 
Promise Massive Disobedience."  (Picture Caption: "Come and get 
mine yourself, Clinton, or better yet, send Charlie Schumer." says 
Mike Vanderboegh, Alabama militiaman, brandishing his semiautomatic 
rifle.)
"The Assault Weapon Confiscation Act was a foregone conclusion after 
the Democrats regained control of the House and Senate in the 
aftermath of the October, 1998 chemical warfare attack in Detroit.  
That terrorist massacre of over 7,000 inner city residents was blamed 
on the Michigan Militia by the FBI's new director, James Kallstrom.  
Unfortunately, all of the alleged militia perpretrators were killed 
in an attempt to arrest them by members of the U.S. military's Special
Operations Command, so definitive blame may never be assigned for the 
massacre.  The political consequences of the attack, however, were 
clear from the day the bodies of the Michigan militiamen were hauled 
from the burnt-out raid site.  Militias would be outlawed, assault 
weapons would be banned, if the Democrats were able to use the issue 
to regain control of Congress.  They were, and semiautomatic so-called
"assault weapons" are now forfeit.  Gun owners have 60 days to turn 
them into their local police or county sheriff.  Simple possession of 
a previously legal weapon will be punishable by ten years in prison 
and a $200,000 fine.  Use of any weapon to resist the enforcement of 
the act is punishable by death."  
-- USA Today,  12 February, 1999, Page 2a.
The Battle of Charlie's Gun Rack
The door to "Charlie's Gun Rack" swung open, and two men in cheap 
suits walked up to the sales desk and flashed their badges.  
"ATF", one announced. 
"Assholes" muttered one of the customers in a low enough voice to 
make its source legally indistinguishable.  The larger of the two 
agents glared in the general direction of the insult.
"You know why we're here, Charlie," said the other to the long, lanky 
Texan who had his legs propped up on the desk.
"No, Ah don't know why a couple of cosmopolitan sophisticates such 
as yerselves would take a chance on comin' all the way out here to 
"Fort Stinkin' Desert".  Why don't y'all tell me and break my 
suspense?"
That got a belly laugh from the front of the store, but the agents 
were unamused.
"We're here for your records, Charlie.  Your logs and all the 
completed Brady's and 4473's you've got here and in storage.  You 
know the law."
"Yer law, guncop.  Clinton's law, not constitutional law," said 
Charlie bitterly.
"That's for the Supreme Court to decide, Charlie."
"Yeah, and by the time the case gets there, ya'll have all the records
and all the guns.  Probably have all the records on computer and all 
the guns ground up by then, won't ya?"
"That's not my concern, Charlie.  Right now I've got the job of 
enforcing the law and picking up your records and I hope you'll 
cooperate with me, or I'll be forced to take them and you to Dallas," 
replied the agent.
Charlie smiled and nodded.  Unnoticed by the agents, a customer 
slipped out of the front door and walked down the street toward the 
sheriff's office.  Once out of view of the gunstore window, he began 
to run.
"Waalll," drawled Charlie, "Ya'll gonna find that a little difficult 
to accomplish."
"Oh, yeah," said the bigger agent in what he imagined was an ominous 
voice, "How's that?"
"Well first off," said Charlie, "somebody broke in here last night 
and took every one of my records--Brady's, 4473's, the logs, my 
gunsmithin' register, everythin'."
"Bullshit!" said the big agent.
"Naw," said Charlie, "ain't no bullshit, it's the smokin' hot Gospel 
truth. And you know what?  I went down to my storage shed to check on 
the old ones I had there and they're all gone too.  To tell you the 
truth, I thought it was you chickenshits that'd come and done it in 
the middle of the night cause ya'll didn't have the balls to come and 
get 'em in the daylight, but I see now I was mistaken."
The gunstore erupted in laughter, and the big agent's face which was 
already red, grew a darker shade of purple.
"That's it, you sonofabitch," snarled the big agent, starting to move 
around the desk, "you're coming with us.  Conspiracy to violate the 
Act."
"I wouldn't do that if I were you," boomed out a voice from the 
doorway.  The agent stopped and turned, and Charlie eased his grip 
on the ParaOrdnance .45 pistol he had under his chair,  hidden from 
the agent's view.
Sheriff Bob Tolliver advanced into the store, so the ATF agents 
could plainly see his uniform, his badge and his open-holstered 
sidearm, which he happened to have his hand resting on.
"Look boys," Tolliver said amiably to the ATF men, "Charlie here 
reported his records stolen to me first thing this morning.  He's 
filed an official report which I'll be glad to give you a copy of to 
take back to your superiors so's they know you didn't come all the 
way out here for nothin'."
Somebody laughed, and the Sheriff continued, "Now as far as takin' 
Charlie back with you, I don't mind if he wants to go voluntarily to 
answer any questions you boys have."  Turning on Charlie, he asked, 
"You want to go with 'em Charlie?"
"Hell no," Charlie replied, "I got things to do."
"Well, that's it then," said Tolliver, "If you boys want to know 
anything about the theft other than what's in the report you'd better 
ask him now."
"Look you Barney Fife....." the big agent spluttered.  
"Shut up, Dick!" ordered the other ATF man.  Turning to Charlie, the 
agent gamely asked, "OK, Charlie, do you have any idea what the...
"burglars" looked like?"
Charlie thought for a second and said, "You know there was one guy 
hanging around the shop yesterday that didn't quite fit in... he had 
a buddy too. Never seen either of 'em before."
Knowing he was stupid for asking, the ATF man asked, "Well, what did 
they look like?"
"Well, the one guy looked like a deadringer of the sketch of John Doe 
Number Two and his buddy was seven foot tall, had  green skin, yaller 
hair and a earring in his nose.  Oh, yeah, the tall one  was wearing 
an "Al Gore in 2000" teeshirt.  I had 'em figured for ATF snitches.  
You know 'em?"  Charlie grinned.
The shop erupted in hoots and laughter.  A deputy entered and handed 
a piece of paper to Tolliver, saying, "Here's the report, Sheriff."
Tolliver in turn handed it to the smaller, older and wiser ATF man.  
"Well, here's your report.  I'm sure ya'll be wantin' to get back to 
Dallas now.  I took the liberty of letting the sheriffs of all the 
surrounding counties know ya'll were in the area so we can make sure 
ya'll have a safe trip back.  You can thank me later, by phone, when 
you're safely back in Dallas.  Ya'll have a nice day."
And with that, Sheriff Tolliver turned and left the shop.
"Look," started the big agent to his partner, who cut him off short.  
"Later, Dick.  Can't you read between the lines?  Just shut up and 
follow me."
The ATF men left Charlie's without a word.  Behind them, the shop 
erupted in convivial bedlam.
Out on the street, it took a moment for the agent's eyes to adjust 
to the bright Texas mid-day sun.  Without realizing it, they had 
stepped out of Charlie's door into the middle of two lines of armed 
men, facing each other, and the ATF agents.  Some were in uniform.  
Some in work clothes.  Beyond the men on the opposite side of the 
street stood Sheriff Tolliver, his deputies and the town Mayor, as 
well as representatives of the local press (no photographers, though).
The two lines of men (and some women, the agents noted) formed a 
corridor from the door of Charlie's shop to their car, parked across, 
and slightly down, the street. Every one held a semiautomatic 
military-style rifle-- the same kind that were banned by the new Act 
the ATF men had come to enforce.  The escort was standing at 
attention, their rifles held at "present arms", their combat 
harnesses full of loaded magazines, many with holstered pistols 
hanging from military belts or shoulder holsters. Some wore kevlar 
vests and helmets. Each one fixed the ATF men in a steely gaze as 
the Feds walked quickly, breathlessly, to their car.
The ATF men jumped in their motorpool car, the formation parted, 
and they "U- turned" and sped out of town, oblivious to the words 
"GUN GESTAPO" which had been spraypainted in big letters on the 
trunk lid.
The armed men and women in the street erupted into cheers. Charlie 
was carried from the gunshop on the shoulders of his customers.   
Sheriff Tolliver was smiling in relief, but was less enthusiastic.  
Leaning his head down closer to the mayor's ear, he cautioned, 
"They'll be back....with friends."  Unable to make himself heard 
over the din, the mayor could only nod in agreement.  It wasn't 
over.  It was just starting.
(continued...)
- Monte
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"Maybe freedom's just one of those things that you can't inherit."
- Peter Bradford, in the film "Amerika"
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Stirring the pot still more (CEC)
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               My opinions are solely my own...
... An Armed Citizenry *IS* the Militia
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