Thursday, December 18, 2014

WILL NOT COMPLY: Prosecutor, Sheriff Say The Will Not Enforce I-594 As Written

Bob Owens covers I-594.

What is old is new again. "The Rise and Fall and Rise of America's Last Battle Rifle" and "The Horrific Effectiveness of Flamethrowers."

My favorite rifle still lives. The M-14 Wouldn't Surrender
See also this article on the "obsolete" flamethrower.
From 1999 to 2000, the Russians employed flamethrowers against Chechen rebel forces during the battle for Grozny. Russian tacticians concluded that the flamethrower was effective as much for its psychological effect as its ability to flush insurgents or snipers out of enclosed or fortified positions. The Russian use of flamethrowers was also one reason why in 2003 the United Nations declared Grozny the most devastated city on the planet.
Interestingly, there are few restrictions on the design, construction and use of flamethrowers in civilian hands in the United States.

Rainmen: Voluntary Autism. The silent squirms of the selectively blind deaf-mutes of the so-called "Gun Rights Blogosphere" regarding the Olympia "I will not comply" armed civil disobedience.

Funny thing about the unprecedented armed civil disobedience rally in Olympia on Saturday where 2,000 folks deliberately broke the new I-594 law and got away with it without incident. The local press covered it. AP picked it up. I'm told by organizer Gavin Seim that outlets in Eastern Europe picked up on it. On the blogosphere, it was even bitterly denounced by the collectivist chatterers. For example, commiepinko Thom Hartmann on Russia Today calls me out on his "The Good, The Bad, And the Very, Very Immorigerously Ugly" segment asking what I mean by "Second Amendment Remedies." "Oh, that's right," he concludes, "Shooting people." Well, glad he figured that out.
On the so-called conservative/libertarian blogs it got a little traction. Reason magazine noted it: Gun Owners Defy Washington Background Check Law as Rally Organizer Burns His Carry Permit
The New American picked it up:Washington State Pro-Gun Rally Draws Thousands
Townhall got it: Over 1,000 Gun Owners Violate Washington’s I-594 - In Front Of Police!
You know who didn't cover any of it? Not the run-up to the rally, not the rally, and not the aftermath? Why almost all of the so-called "Gun Rights Blogosphere." Now we did get some mention in the run-up on Ammoland
And Dave Workman did give us some mention in a story entitled "Gun rights battle brings crowds to Olympia, Puyallup." But then Washington state is his AO as they say -- his and his employer Alan Gottlieb's home base. To not have mentioned us at all would have been far too obvious. As it was, his lede compared the gun show he covered (one of three that weekend that competed with the rally for firearm owners' attendance) to the largest and absolutely unprecedented armed civil disobedience in the country. Well, of course. And what vigorous action was happening at the gun show?
At the Puyallup gun show, WAC President John Rodabaugh, a practicing attorney and prosecutor, and a licensed firearms dealer, spent much of his time answering questions from members about what the new law does and doesn’t do. Likewise, staffers at the Second Amendment Foundation’s display were busy fielding questions.
To his credit, Workman also noted:
Remarkably for this time of year, weather cooperated for both events. This column noted earlier that attendance in Olympia — where some people had predicted a turnout of several thousand — might be dependent on the weather. In Puyallup, there’s a roof, and several hundred tables of goods including firearms, ammunition, knives and various accessories from parts to emergency disaster supplies.
Rugged duty and much risk there, no doubt.
Which makes the last paragraph in Workman's story the most priceless:
The people behind I-594, who will be in Olympia next month with a handful of new demands, want to add Washington and possibly Oregon and Nevada to that list. People who were in Olympia and Puyallup will do their best to stop them.
Their best. Yup. As long as there's a roof over their heads and they risk nothing besides someone taking exception to their answer to a question.
Still, as I say, you've got to give Dave credit. At least he mentioned us. The rest of the so-called "Gun Rights Blogosphere" apparently sat silently squirming in remarkable imitation of selectively blind deaf-mutes. Or perhaps a better analogy is Dustin Hoffman's Raymond from the 1988 movie Rainman. To even mention the largest instance of armed civil disobedience to tyrannical government in modern memory would have put them out of their comfort zone. Obsessed with watching the familiar Judge Wapner on TV, they can only deal with the spectacle of seeing others actually risking their freedom and safety doing what they spent their entire lives merely giving lip service to by registering their discomfort, murmuring to themselves: "Ten minutes to Wapner. We're definitely locked in this box with no TV."
Of course, these are largely the same people who ignored Fast and Furious after David and I broke the story and continued to do so until they felt it was safe to do so (or were finally embarrassed like the NRA and dragged kicking and screaming to it).

Why Gun-Control Advocates Lie about Guns

But who cares, right? Black gun scary. NRA crazy. Shootings sad. Automatic, shmautomatic. The real question: Are you on the right side? No? Me good. You bad. Let’s not get bogged down in the facts.

Those Dangerous Constitutionalists!

Mike Vanderboegh was called a radical right-winger. Hey, radical right-winger, constitutionalist or extremist. It’s six one way and half a dozen the other. As for Moffett, we know where he stands, and it’s because of people like him that we are constitutionalists and stockpile weapons. Bring it, Moffett.

Gunwalker Docs: AP, CBS, NBC Reporters in ATF’s Pocket

They’re not reporters. They’re activists with bylines. If nothing else comes out of this, you could establish a list of reporters who willingly wrote false information at the request of Miller, Schmaler, and other officials, or who suppressed or tried to suppress stories for the White House and DOJ.

Anti-gun politician convicted over teen staffer vowing revenge

Democratic Virginia State Delegate Joe Morrissey “is on a leash,” Henrico County Sheriff Michael Wade told CBS 6 in a Tuesday report on the jailed politician’s work release arrangement. Morrissey, 57, was convicted last week of contributing to the delinquency of a minor and sentenced to 12 months in jail with six months suspended for “an inappropriate relationship” with a 17-year-old administrative staffer in his legal office who is now reportedly pregnant.

I miss Sparky the Militia Dog. Too bad Mark Pitcavage sat on him and didn't notice Sparky's carcass was stuck to his ass for a week and a half.

Apparent Extremist Threatens Police Officers and a City Employee
The likes on his Face­book page include eight dif­fer­ent mili­tias and he is part of the “Three Per­centers for Con­sti­tu­tional Troops and Law Enforce­ment” Face­book group, which har­bors anti-government extrem­ist beliefs. For­mer mili­tia move­ment adher­ent Mike Van­der­boegh of Pin­son, Alabama, cre­ated the Three Per­cent con­cept in 2008, based on the belief that only three per­cent of Amer­i­cans will not dis­arm dur­ing a future rev­o­lu­tion against the alleged tyranny of the Amer­i­can gov­ern­ment.

Wednesday, December 17, 2014

Saint Gabby booed at Olympia rally, collectivist upset.

The worst thing about this rally, to me, was not this group's defiance of a law approved by the people, but that when Gabby Giffords was mentioned by a speech maker, she was booed.

Three Percenter Hat update

I took delivery on the first of the hats from the embroiderer yesterday and should have all of the current production run -- in both black and dark brown -- by tomorrow. I had hoped to get the first ones out by today, but I crapped out. So, I expect to get the balance tomorrow and have all outstanding orders shipped by Friday. There will still be some left if you want them, at least for the near future.
I have received some orders with payment in the amount of the hat only ($20.00 each) but not the shipping ($5.00 plus $2.50 for each additional hat on the same order). I will go ahead and ship the ones I have received for now, but please make sure any future orders contain shipping as well as the hat price.
(It's too bad the embroiderer didn't have them in time for Olympia, I could have sold a bunch without having to charge for shipping.)

Finally got hit by a hammer right between the eyes.

As always happens when I burn it at both ends during such trips, the last several days finally caught up with me last night. I'll try to have more later.

I was on Ben Shapiro's radio show yesterday talking about the armed civil disobedience at Olympia WA.

Haven't had a chance to listen to it yet.

They weren't calling me names back when they wanted my help with Fast and Furious. Now FOX has me down as a a "radical right-winger."

Radical Right-Winger Promises ‘Second Amendment Remedies’ To Fight Background Check Law
What they've done is lazily linked to "Right Wing Watch" of the collectivist (and ironically named) "People for the American Way." Of course, I don't care what they call me as long as they get the point about armed civil disobedience to unconstitutional laws and manage to spell my name right all in the same paragraph.

Virginia’s McAuliffe proposes 2A infringements on Bill of Rights Day

To those who haven’t thought things through, “Prohibit the possession of firearms for persons subject to protective orders” may sound like a good idea. The problem, of course, is that it denies a right to a person who has not been convicted of anything, endangering them in the process.

Tuesday, December 16, 2014

And speaking of civil disobedience..

Today is the 241st anniversary of the Boston Tea Party.

"Open-Carry Militia Mom ‘Murders’ Family"

“I knew her, I’m not that surprised,” said one Facebook commenter who asked that I not use his name. When reached for further explanation, he said that Dunnachie had been an administrator for the 3%ers group to which he had once belonged, and described her as “short-tempered and from what I understand not very willing to negotiate anything.”

The lame ducks strike back. Anti-gun Murthy confirmed.

But in the end, the political immunity of lame duck status was too much to overcome — even the N.R.A. Senators Mark Begich of Alaska, Mary L. Landrieu of Louisiana and Mark Pryor of Arkansas, all Democrats who lost in November, voted for Dr. Murthy.

The 70th Anniversary of Eric Fisher Wood's Private War

The 70th Anniversary of Eric Fisher Wood's Private War


16 December 1944 saw the opening of the German offensive later known as the Battle of the Bulge. Remember, as you mark this day, Eric Fisher Wood, an American warrior, a man who more than any other single man, made a material difference to the outcome of the battle. His story is inspiring, almost electrifying, in its incredible details. The fact that his name is almost entirely unknown to this generation of Americans condemns us all.

One of my favorite subjects of study is the American army in defeat -- Philippines, 1942, Kasserine Pass, 1942, Battle of the Bulge, 1944-45, Korea, June, 1950 & November, 1950 -- for only in defeat do you see the best and the worst of humanity and in that terrible crucible learn lessons that are visible nowhere else.

Rifleman Dodd by C.S. Forester is likewise one of my favorite novels. Dodd, skirmisher of the 95th Rifles in Wellington's Army during the Peninsular War, was cut off from his unit as it retreated. His story of continued resistance against all odds was written in 1932, first published in England under the title "Death to the French." By the time Eric Fisher Wood entered West Point it was popular reading among cadets. One can only speculate what effect Rifleman Dodd had on the young plebe. What is certain is that Eric Fisher Wood, an American Dodd, outdid his fictional hero by a country mile. I will have some more comments on the other side of his story.


The monument marking the last, desperate fight of Lieutenant Eric Fisher Wood, Jr. outside Meyerode, Belgium.

The Lonely War of Lt. Eric Fisher Wood, Jr.

Saturday Evening Post, December 20, 1947 by R. Ernest Dupuy, Col. USA, Ret.

Told for the first time, the story of a young lieutenant who almost single-handedly saved the right flank of an American army in the Battle of the Bulge, "the most amazing example of heroism in World War II."

DARING indeed would be he who named one individual as the epitome of human heroism. Through the ages, men of all nations and all races have fought well and died well. Once in a great while, however, a man emerges who, under extraordinary circumstances, flings down the gauntlet to death, defies fate, says farewell to the conflict only when breath leaves his body. Since chance - and chance alone - decides whether or not there be witnesses to such an exploit, let us say of what follows only that it is the most amazing example of heroism as yet to come out of World War II.

The man was a first lieutenant, Field Artillery, AUS, one of thousands bearing identical labels. The cannons were squatty, humped-up, wicked looking pieces towed by great six-by-six trucks- three of thousands of the same type carried on Ordnance records aa "Howitzer, 105 mm., M1." There the resemblance of this man and these cannons to others of their respective kinds ceases. For the cannons saved the right flank of an American army in the Ardennes. And had it not been for the man, they wouldn't have been available to do it. After the cannons bad been lost with honor when howling waves of the Nazi 2nd SS Panzer Division washed over both them and the remnants of the field artillery battalion serving them, the man continued to wage single handed warfare against the 6th SS Panzer Army. So the man, as always, is the important element. And his tale is worth the telling.

It begins on December 16,1944, when the Battle of the Bulge broke furiously on the Ardennes front. The howitzers - there were four of them to start with - of Battery A, 589th Field Artillery Battalion, 106th Infantry Division, emplaced in rear of the little village of Schlausenbach on the north- western slopes of the Schnee Eifel, were, with the rest of the battalion, supporting the 422nd Infantry Regiment of the same division. 1st Lt. Eric F. Wood, Jr., from Bedford, Pennsylvania, twenty-five year- old Princeton fullback, five feet eleven, 195 pounds in weight and catlike in reflexes, was executive officer of the battery. His skipper, Capt. Aloysiua J. Menke, up at a forward OP, was silent. He would continue to be silent, for the first kraut wave had overrun the OP, and Menke, a prisoner, will not enter this story again. Wood was then acting battery commander.

Up the forest through a gaping hole torn in the northern sector of the 106th Division's recently inherited cordon defense positions, the Germans were swarming around the left flank and rear of the infantry, and into the artillery positions. Three German tanks pushed along the road, one leading on the road and two others off the road in the draw behind the leader. Lt. Wood, from his command position, shouted commands to his No. 1 piece gunner, John Gatens, who with two shots destroyed the lead tank by direct fire. No. 1, incidentally, was the only piece in the entire battalion which could reach any of the defilade tanks. Lt. Wood, the previous day, had arranged for No. 1 gun to be placed so that it could sweep the road. The lead tank destroyed by No. 1 gun, Wood then ordered all four guns to fire on the remaining tanks that were below the hill. He did this with high elevation fire, using one powder bag instead of seven. The remaining two tanks were disabled by this "indirect fire." He then swept the woods around him with short-cut fuse, breaking up the enemy's infantry support.

All this was but a temporary respite.. By nightfall the battalion was ordered to fall back; the krauts were crowding in from all sides. But getting out was easier said than done. In the Battery A positions the big tow trucks churned the icy muck to a paste in which the howitzers sank almost hub deep. Hostile fire, small arms and artillery was sweeping the area. Snow blew patchily into sweating faces in the night. The wind howled through trees each of which might be hiding an infiltrating enemy soldier. Hostile flares flickered over the snow drooped pines. It was not nice. But Eric Wood tore around, and the men of Battery A tore and tugged with him. He was that kind of guy. At last they got the howitzers on the road one by one, with two trucks grinding at each piece and with little clumps of men pushing, like ants tussling with twigs. The howitzers could shoot again, once they dropped trails, for Eric Wood had packed eighty-three rounds of ammunition for each piece in the trucks. In the rest of the battalion Battery C never got out. The pieces, too deeply mired, had to be blown up. That left eight howitzers out of twelve. Battery B got out ahead of A, and the outfit went swaying and fumbling in the dark over a narrow corduroy trail, while the enemy, with white phosphorus shells, hunted for them.

They got to their new positions by dawn. A field on the right of the road that runs north from Bleialf into Schonberg on the Our. They were about a mile and a quarter from Schonberg itself. Battery B got in first. Wood got three of his howitzers in. The last one, lagging, its tow truck partly crippled, he held on the road as antitank defense. The Germans were really bursting through in force that second morning. From the north they were coming down the Our valley into Schönberg; from the south they were coming up this road from Bleialf. But all that Eric Wood knew was that the world seemed full of krauts. The enemy from the south washed nearer, overrunning their neighbors. The acting battalion commander - the original was cut off behind them with Battery C - ordered the outfit out, to push through Schönberg and west toward St. Vith. Wood got two pieces rolling and sent the crippled third howitzer back with them. "I'll meet you west of Schönberg," he told the section chief, Sgt. Barney M. Alford, "if I get there."

For Wood's last howitzer was stuck. Once again the perversity of inanima to objects was working against him. So he stayed to get it out, with its crew. They worked at it while more krauts began to overrun Battery B, and its howitzers were abandoned. That, of course, left four howitzers in the battalion, out of twelve. When Wood at long last got his last piece on the road and swung over the tail gate of the truck, the last man out, the main body of the 589th Field Artillery Battalion consisting now of Wood's three other howitzers and some truckloads of men of both batteries, was way ahead of him. This bedraggled outfit hit Schönberg to find the krauts coming in from the north. The three piece "battalion" beat them to the Our River bridge by seconds, and got away. It got away to fight again, beginning on December nineteenth, at a dreary crossroads far to the west on the hastily forming and still somewhat nebulous right flank of the United States 1st Army. How these three howitzers for four days saved the right flank of the 82nd Airborne Division and of the Army at "Parker's Crossroads" is another story.

When Eric Wood and the twelve men with him in the truck now came rolling down the steep hill into Schönberg the howitzer bounding behind, a kraut tank poked its nose out of the southern entrance of the village. Brake bands screamed as the truck pulled up in front of it. Wood and his men piled out to attack it. Pfc. Campagna had a bazooka, the others their carbines. But the tank wasn't having any - God knows why! It scuttled crab like back across the bridge and disappeared into the town with Wood and his gang in pursuit. They crossed the bridge and pointed west in Schönberg's one street, with snipers pecking at them. And they slowed down while Sergeant Scannapico and Pfc. Campagna, still hugging his bazooka, ran ahead to see where that tank had holed up. They found it tucked in an alley. Scannapico fired his carbine at it. Campagna, climbing into the truck, let fly with his bazooka as they rolled past. Again the tank wasn't having any. The truck slowed to let Scannapico catch up, but a sniper got him cold. So the section rolled on. They gathered speed as they left the village and met, over a rise in the road, another kraut tank. A medium, this, with its cannon and machine guns trained directly on them.

Wood's reflexes worked instantaneously. He pitched his men and himself out into the ditch an instant before the tank's artillery blasted the truck to scrap iron. That was that, so far as getting the howitzer back safely was concerned. It left the battalion's score at three out of twelve. But what about Wood and his men? The enemy was firing at them now from across the river on the right. Kraut infantry were firing from the trees beyond the meadow across the road to the right rear. More kraut infantry was pouring out of Schönberg behind them. And that tank squatted in front of them a stone's throw away. To the ordinary man, the situation seemed hopeless. And all but one of the group were ordinary men. They raised their hands to surrender. They were through. But Eric Wood wasn't through. Leaping the ditch, he ran, dodging northwards the trees. The others could see kraut bullets sending little squirts of snow puffing up in the meadow at his heels, until he disappeared from sight in the shelter of the forest.

Late in the afternoon of the next day, December eighteenth, Peter Maraite, woodsman, left his home in the mountain village of Meyerode, Belgium, about four miles north of where that tank had smashed Eric Wood's truck. There were Germans all around. There had been fighting; doubtless there would be more. But Maraite had something else to think about. He was going to Cut a Christmas tree - there had always been a tree in the Maraite house for Christmas; there always would, as long as Peter could provide one. They are like that, in the Ardennes, war washed for generations. So Peter plodded for a mile through the woods, moving southeast in the general direction of Schönberg. It was cold; clammy mist cloaked the woods. The snow powdered his head as he brushed low branches. Then two armed men loomed in front of him at a six way trail crossing - Americans. Peter knew Americans when he saw them; they had held this sector for more than two months now. One was a big man with single silver bars on the shoulders of his short overcoat. He had a pistol. The other was smaller and wore no insignia of rank. He was armed with an infantryman's rifle, not an artillery man's carbine.

Peter Maraite is insistent on this point. Now, like most of the Belgians of this border country, Peter Maraite spoke only German. The Americans could not speak German. But Peter managed to convey the idea that he was a friend; he invited them home. Cold, wet and tired, they accepted. Because of the Germans, they came home cautiously, slipped into the warm stone house where astonished Anna Maria, Peter Maraite's wife, and wide eyed Eva, their daughter, rushed to pour hot coffee. The Americans gulped it down while Eva slipped out to bring back Peter's trusted friend, and neighbor, Jean Schroder, who spoke English. The watchdog was put outside to guard the door. The Americans relaxed, steaming their soggy clothes before the fire. The big young officer, with a confident, smiling face, told how he had escaped from a detachment surrounded near Schönberg. He and his companion were going to St. Vith. He was concerned about the fate of his men, "all very good and loyal men," as Peter Maraite remembers the conversation. The villagers warned that the country between Meyerode and St. Vith was full of Germans.

The young officer wasn't a bit disturbed by their shaking heads. "I'll either fight my way back to my outfit," he told them, "or I'll collect American stragglers. I've seen some in the woods around here and I'll start a small war of my own." What he wanted now was information about the Germans. He pulled out a map. So, while the woman and the girl bustled to get supper, the young American officer and the two droopy- mustached woodsmen pored over the map. The Americans couldn't go that night, the villagers said; they would. So the two Americans ate and drank with their hosts. The officer cracked jokes "said funny things which made us laugh," is the way Peter and Anna Maria Maraite put it. He seemed to have no fears. After they cleaned their weapons, the Americans repaired to the big soft feather bed while their clothes dried. They slept the sleep of tired but confident men, not waking even when a V bomb crashed in the outskirts of Meyerode with its hideous thunder.

The Maraites at first wondered if their American visitors had been among those captured on the Ades Berg. Perhaps - but odd things were happening in those woods southeast and east of the village, deep behind the German lines in the dense Omerscheid area of the Bullingen Forest. Daily, bursts of small arms fire came from the hills, and sometimes the "wham" of a mortar. These sounds were in addition to the crashes of bombs and pom-pomming of flak guns along the highways to the west. The weather had cleared and the Allied air forces were taking toll of German columns. Fighter bombers continually strafed the roads. The Germans had had to reroute their daylight movements through the secondary roads in the eastern woods leading to the Our Valley and thence through the Losheim Gap. It was from this area that those unexplained small arms bursts were coming over the cold air to the peasants huddled in their homes. Meyerode people began to notice that while large forces came and went at will through the hills, never did a small body of Germans or a supply column pass into the pine woods but that one of those mysterious bursts of fire followed. And the krauts issued orders strictly forbidding civilian movement in the forests.

Chance words dropped by the Germans, unguarded bursts of wrath from officers of the staff billeted in the village, plus the evidence of their own eyes and ears, gradually were pieced together by the Maraites and their neighbors. In a community like Meyerode the grapevine travels fast. Most of the burghers knew of the Americans who had stayed at the Maraite dwelling. Sepp Dietrich himself, quartered in the home of Jean Pauels, the burgomaster - a relative of Anna Maria Maraite - began to thunder about American "criminal scoundrels and bandits." The krauts were getting nervous, itchy. Daily, wounded men came in from the easterly woods, some hobbling, some carried. Kraut orderlies gossiped. "Damned bandits," it seemed, flitted like ghosts through the trees out there, hid in snow banks. A German traveling those woods never knew when a bullet might come singing his way. Larger and larger detachments were assigned to guard working parties who from time to time took a six horse snowplow out to clear those wood roads. Searching patrols went daily into the forest, but no American prisoners ever were brought back.

So the weeks rolled on, with the daily crack of small arms on the winter air, and the burghers of Meyerode built up their theory. They conjectured that out in the forest a small but organized group of Americans roamed. They had plenty of arms, they had at least one medium mortar, and they were taking a steady toll of the Germans. And all the stories added up one way: that these American guerrillas were led by the young officer who had visited the Maraites, a man "very big and powerful of body and brave of spirit." He kept his wolf pack going, it was said, by sheer will power. There could not have been many of them - the Meyerode woodsmen later found no evidences of large bivouacs other than those known to be German. How they existed through those bone chilling winter weeks no one knows. Probably horse meat was their diet - there were several horse drawn kraut artillery units in the neighborhood, and horse drawn transport was daily passing through. Perhaps the Americans found rations in abandoned dumps. There was an ammunition dump at a trail crossing just a mile south of Meyerode where, after the Germans had gone, villagers found quantities of mortar ammunition still remaining.

Anyway, the daily firing in the woods continued until the middle of January. It was stilled just a few days before the counterattack ebbed and the Americans began slashing back into the neighborhood - perhaps about January twenty-second. When the Germans left, the people of Meyerode combed those woods. The burgomaster first sent two competent woodsmen - his cousin August Pauels and Servatius Maraite - to search. They found German graves and some unburied German dead. And they found a few American dead, also unburied. In a dense thicket southeast of Meyerode, not far from the six way trail crossing, Servatius Maraite found the body of an American officer, a big young man, "with single silver bars on his shoulders." Near him lay the bodies of seven German soldiers. All had been dead about the same length of time - as well as could be judged, perhaps ten days before the Germans were driven out. American Graves Registration people later would fix the date as probably January twenty-second. That no living Germans had later visited this spot, the villagers agree. This was evidenced by the fact that the American officer still had in his clothing his papers and 4000 Belgian francs, a sum no kraut looter would overlook. So the American had died as he had lived -- a free man, taking with him when he went the last of his pursuers.

That American officer, Graves Registration attests, was 1st Lt. Eric F. Wood, Jr. And the people of Meyerode say that he was the man befriended by Peter Maraite and his family - the leader of the American guerrillas, whose description by wounded Germans, according to Burgomaster Jean Pauels, fits "like a police description" with that of Eric Wood. Records and statements of eyewitnesses prove that the only officer of the 106th Infantry Division unaccounted for from December sixteenth onward - that is, neither dead nor alive as free man or prisoner of war - was 1st Lt. Eric F. Wood, Jr.

("The details of the killing of the German tanks were updated from actual accounts (1999) of those that participated in the battle at the time. The additions of these actual accounts do not change the overall description of the original author.")

MBV: Consider the difference one indomitable man made in this battle --

The three guns he saved (the only ones of his division that made it out) were critical in the "Battle for Parker's Crossroads," a delaying action on the northern shoulder of the Bulge that allowed the 82nd Airborne and other units to defend the Elsenborn Ridge. Unable to break out to the north or the south, the Germans were channeled into the delaying actions at St. Vith and Bastogne. With the holding of the shoulders, the German offensive was doomed.

Second, we can only speculate what effect his little guerrilla war had on German logistics, but if the Belgian witnesses are correct, it was enough to make Sepp Dietrich half-crazy with frustration. Of course, it was poor logistics that, as much as being channeled between the shoulders, was the reason the offensive failed.

Finally, there is the butcher's bill reckoning of the effectiveness of a soldier. How many Germans did he kill before he went down outside Meyerode? Whatever it was, it was a uneven trade for the Germans.

So take a few moments and ponder the incredible fight and sacrifice of Lt. Eric Fisher Wood, Jr. His story is an American inspiration for the ages. We are coming into another dark moment of American history. Let us hope the next Eric Woods are getting ready for the fight.


A regular reader, supporter and great friend writes:
Tuesday at sundown begins Chanukka, or The Dedication/ReDedication of the Temple. Although it was not one of the Feasts of Yahovah described in the Torah, Jesus celebrated it, John 10:22-23, as He is the Light of the World, John 8:12, and calls us also to be lights, Matthew 5:14, and His Temple, 1 Corinthians 3:16. Although the Jews observe these feast days, they are much richer in meaning to us who have the Messiah, and the fulfillment of this feast, since it is those with the Light of Messiah in them that are the true Temple and light to the world. You have been a light to me and a great example, standing for the truth, for our freedom in Christ against the darkness of this world. I pray you and your family have a blessed Chanukka! Your brother in Yeshua.

A report from a reader on the Olympia armed civil disobedience rally.

From Reader AJ:
     My recollection of the day. I arrived just after 11:00 AM, and there were about 1200 people on the grounds. By the time Mike delivered his speech, the crowd had roughly doubled.

     I had no sooner arrived and looked around for a minute or two, when who walks right in front of me but Mike himself. I got his attention and introduced myself and shook hands. We chatted for a minute before being somewhat rudely admonished by one of the others there for talking too loudly while (Gavin, I think) was speaking. Probably my fault, as I tend to speak pretty loud when I'm excited.   
Which I was.
   Mike had to move on, but invited me to join him for lunch after he was finished speaking.
It was a typical cold, gray December day in western Washington.
I milled around the crowd, not really hanging on every word of the speakers, as they were pretty much preaching to the choir with me.
  The Seattle PI reported that the crowd was composed of virtually nothing other than angry middle-aged white males, that assessment is disingenuous at best. In fact, shame on them for trying to interject race into this story. What ever happened to just reporting the facts without an agenda?
I digress.
   There was actually a very large number of women there. At least 1/3 of the crowd was female. And they weren't all just there 'with their man'. Many were present independently. And well armed. There were black people there as well. In a ratio that is probably representative of the black population of Washington State. . (Note: I won't use the term 'African-American'. It was coined by the race-baiting industry. Helpful in keeping the little people divided and distracted.)
   I had a pleasant conversation with Chris, the black man pictured so prominently wearing a pom-pom beanie and toting an evil looking black rifle. Nice guy. And he had the coolest SKS conversion that I have ever seen.
   In fact, everybody I talked to, usually about the rifle that they were carrying, was very nice, pleasant, and lucid. As I was operating on a weird mix of lack of sleep, excitement, and a lot of caffeine, I was probably the weirdest seeming person there.
  Asians were not underrepresented here, either, and there was even a contingent of people flying a rainbow flag. This was not white bread gathering by any stretch of the imagination.
  The police presence was fairly small. I didn't count precisely, but if there were 20 officers, I would be surprised. About all they were even needed for was traffic direction. 2500+ armed, supposedly untrained and unqualified, supposedly angry, allegedly government hating, people in one place, and the cops pretty much had nothing to do. No negligent discharges, either.
   Poor Mike was having a tough time breaking away from well-wishers and admirers to get to the cafe for lunch. We went to Wagner's on Capitol Way. Nice place, good food.
There were about eight of us in the impromptu entourage. Met some more nice folks. One of them, Jason, wouldn't let me pay for my own lunch. So afterwards, I gave about double my ticket to Mike. It wasn't much, but I'm certainly not wealthy either.
Conversation around the table was good. Mike is very talkative, even when obviously very worn down and tired. He told some interesting stories, and had some very good points of advice. In between all of the phone calls he had to field.
The afternoon was just about wrapping up, when Mike's bodyguard, if you will, announced that we needed to get out of there. It turned out that there was a report that some antis (or somesuch) were trying to put a known unsavory individual close to Mike for a photo op in order to damage his character.
   I don't remember his first name, but he . . . got us organized as a buffer around Mike, and we made our exit. LC had also apparently made contact with WSP, and an officer shadowed us for the couple of blocks back to intersection by the rotunda. Thankfully, there was no incident.
   At that intersection, we all exchanged some contact info and said our goodbyes.  I was getting bombarded with texts and calls from my partner who was watching my table at the Chehalis gunshow, so I kind of beat feet with a little less decorum and in a little more of a hurry than I would have liked.
  It was a good day. I met some great people, and got to sit down with one of few people whom I actually admire in this day and age. It was certainly over a little too soon for me.

(MBV: A bit more explanation of the incident with the neo-Nazis.  As I was walking through the crowd early on, we ran across four skinhead/biker types, all armed, one of which had a patch on his jacket "Schwarzer Tod" or "Black Death" in German.  This patch can refer to the actual Black Plague, or a European death metal band with the same name but is most often seen in the US as Aryan code mistranslated by the wearers as "Kill Niggers."  There were other clues among them, and I made them as probable neoNazis.  Readers will recall that I don't react well to neoNazis.  I was pissed enough to stop cold, get into his face and ask "'Schwarzer Tod,' eh?"  And when he grinned and nodded, I took the wad of gum out of my mouth and flung it over his shoulder past his face into the bushes, rather surprising him.  I then walked off.  When our local security folks went down to check them out, they also made one of the people accompanying them as a local anarchist type who was wearing a pen camera.  The conclusion of the security staff was that this was a set-up for some kind of discrediting incident, so they kept a close eye on the bunch of them the entire time.  Because of this incident, I added some comments to the beginning of speech about how I believe that the Constitution extends to everyone regardless of race, creed, color or religion.  I had used those words in my Hartford CT speech last year, but I try not to repeat myself too much.  However, with the neos hanging around, it seemed appropriate to hit those lines again, with feeling.  I spoke right after noon, and had made arrangements that anyone who wanted to sit down and chat afterward could meet me in the Wagner's Bakery/Deli a couple of blocks down the street from the rally.  After we had been there in the lower restaurant area a while, this crowd came in and sat down in the upper area and my assigned security guy immediately spotted them behind us.  This seemed to him to be too much of a coincidence and he became concerned for my safety.  Frankly, I was talking and didn't notice that he had tensed up and was alternately texting and talking on his phone to our security folks down at the rally, who were in turn talking to the state police.  I was totally unaware of this.  When a WSP officer shortly thereafter arrived in the restaurant, my security guy interrupted, explained that there was a situation that required that we leave the restaurant and asked the one reader who was there with his young son to leave ahead of us and get his boy clear, saying that we would meet up with them down the block.  He then asked the other folks at the table if they would screen for me and walk on my left side as I exited Wagner's.  They volunteered to a man and we left, accompanied part-way down the street by the WSP officer, and we linked up again with the father and son, who were escorted by my security guy all the way back to the venue since they had now been linked with me in the minds of anyone, included the neos, who had been watching and paying attention.  It may have been unnecessary, but that's how thorough the security operation was.  There was a "VIP security detail" as well as a much larger rally security detail, and all were run in a disciplined and coordinated fashion with tight cooperation and communication with the WSP.  It was impressive, and garnered much praise from the WSP at the end of the day.)