football in the 60’s, and then won the Silver Star posthumously in Vietnam in 1967 at the age of nineteen. The gathering of unrelated units was unprecedented. They represented the broader western region-north to Washington state, south to Arizona, northwest along Idaho’s panhandle to the Canadian border, and east to Colorado-with most of the states in-between represented. Campbell had driven to each region, contacting the top leadership of these separate militia groups, requesting them to meet and discuss the new terrorist threat facing America. The terrorist attack throughout the nation, coming on the heels of Campbell’s invitation, had been fortuitous, raising the group to a fever pitch and giving Campbell status as someone who was knowledgeable. Someone had to deal with these rag-heads, was the prevailing outcry.
Traditionally, paramilitary groups preferred to act alone, content to battle the government with words and small acts of rebellion, tax avoidance, or inflammatory statements aimed at showing their neighbors that the authorities were not as invulnerable as they seemed. The occasional stand-off with local law enforcement was usually more bluster than substance. Truth be known, some of the militia ranks came from the same law enforcement officers who ringed their training camps holding them, ostensibly, under siege. The call for a general gathering of unit leadership was the result of the growing domestic terrorist threat they had all long-predicted would be forthcoming. The time had come.
Campbell sat at the front of the room, not because he was seen to be, or had been selected as, the leader, although he did command his particular group, known locally as the Blackfoot Boys, but it was his invitation that had been delivered, and his camp that had been selected to host the gathering.
When the last man was seated, without preamble the room grew quiet. Campbell rose, and for several long seconds scanned the room, nodding to several personal acquaintances. Most were dressed as he was, in camouflage BDU’s, field jackets, or blue jeans and down vests. They had one obvious thing in common: to a man, they were Caucasian, of European ethnic origins. Although April had arrived and spring was in the air, a brisk Montana mountain chill still permeated the room. In a deep, sonorous voice, Campbell began to speak, softly at first.
“America is under attack. For nearly fifteen years, we’ve been under attack by foreign terrorists. Now, three weeks ago, there was the opening barrage with the shootings at the baseball parks, courtesy of World Jihad. We all heard the taped message night after night on the news. Then there was the rash of drive-by shootings in mall parking lots a couple of weeks ago, again, claimed by World Jihad. Last week, people in nine cars were shot across the nation’s highways, causing several multiple car pile-ups and over a dozen deaths. And what is our government doing about it? Nothing!” he shouted, pounding his fist on the wooden table. “Sure, they sent APB warnings, eventually found one of the vehicles on the highway and blew the rag-heads to hell, but Washington is impotent to prevent these attacks. This gathering,” he said, making a sweeping motion with his arm to include all in the room, “is long overdue.” A few heads nodded around the room.
“Even the military will not be able to deal with this invasion,” he continued. “It’s not a war for frontal assault, military tactics, or set piece battles. The cops will be hamstrung by politically correct, ethnically restricted, no- profiling laws that have no bearing on this threat and will totally disable their effort to protect honest Americans. There’s not one damn thing wrong with racial profiling. If you’re looking to kill a snake, you avoid the animals with legs and look for something that slithers. That’s profiling, it’s not racist, and it’s appropriate in this instance.
“The Pentagon will claim we need to invade another foreign country. Politicians will claim it’s a law enforcement problem. But even if the cops make some headway, whenever they appear to be successful, the liberal court judges will reverse their actions. If any of the invaders are actually caught, the ACLU will defend them and the courts will turn them loose to kill again. The politicians are genetically spineless and physically timid-if not cowardly-always sniffing the wind before they make a decision. They’ll fear the loss of power more than they fear the loss of liberty.” More heads nodded and some verbal assents rumbled throughout the room.
“ We,” Campbell said, again sweeping his arm from left to right, “America’s true patriots, are not so restricted. We will defend America, beginning right here, right now, in this room. We will seek out and destroy the rag-heads, the invaders, those who think they can come here and kill our women and children. We are America’s first line of defense. We are the leadership cadre. We will patrol the highways, protect our cities, and hunt down these vermin. We will kill these animals wherever we find them. Our numbers are few, but once the word is out, we’ll grow. Many of you served on the Arizona border with the Minutemen. Other like-minded patriots will flock to our banner. Americans will finally listen to our call. And we, the American Brigade Command… we will be ready.”
Shouts of agreement rose, some men took to their feet and began clapping and within two minutes, Thor Campbell, commander of the Blackfoot Brigade, had pulled the disparate cluster of disgruntled men together through common cause. The American Brigade Command, quickly dubbed the ABC, had been formed.
Chapter 19
Joint Senate amp; House Congressional
Intelligence Committee
Washington, D.C.
April
Senator Andrew Forrest Culpepper, Democrat from Tennessee and a direct descendent of Nathan Bedford Forrest, the infamous Civil War Confederate general, was attired in his trademark white linen suit, a thick mane of curly silver hair offset by long, bushy sideburns and eyebrows. To most, his presentation was a century out of date. His fleshy jowls and rotund bulk betrayed a lack of physical exercise, but his well-known propensity for penetrating intellectual debate overrode the physical shortcomings which caused the uninformed to dismiss the man.
Culpepper sat at the center of the assembled committee members and began to bang his gavel, calling the meeting to order. In total, ten men and three women, senators and representatives from their respective committees, sat around the green, felt cloth-covered dais which had been arranged into a semi-circle. In front of their raised platform was a standard, rectangular witness table, also green felt-covered and equipped with three microphones. Three additional men, each in civilian clothes, sat quietly before the committee members; Secretary of Homeland Security William Austin, Brigadier General Padraig Connor, and White House legal counsel Adam Brooks. The witness table was clear of any documents or books, the three men sitting in silence, their hands folded on the table. In contrast to standard congressional committees, most of which were open to the public, the room had been sealed and no viewers sat in the audience. Two uniformed guards stood outside the doors, barring admission to the curious passerby or determined reporter seeking an inside scoop.
Senator Culpepper cleared his throat, looked left and right down the line of committee members, and began his oratory, his well-known Deep-South drawl stretching out the words and displaying his flamboyant propensity for southern articulation.
“Good morning, ladies and gentlemen. Thank y’all for coming. We should not have to detain y’all too long, if my understanding of the facts is correct. They are, of course, indisputable. We’re here this morning to investigate the complete and utter failure of this president and his lackluster administration to protect the American people. The terrible tragedies that have befallen innocent Americans these past several weeks are despicable, and our failure to apprehend those cowards who perpetrated these actions leaves no room for equivocation in our investigation. The American people demand nothing less than a total change in the administrative structure that has failed to protect them. This committee has a solemn duty, a clear and definable task laid out before us. Because of the failures of this administration, failures, I might add, that would not have happened if we had a competent president…”
Without speaking a word to his two companions, Secretary Austin pushed away from the table, rose from his chair, and began to exit the room. He was followed immediately by General Connor and Adam Brooks.
“Mr. Secretary, Mr. Secretary,” Culpepper boomed, “may I ask what you are doing, sir? We have only just begun our meeting.”
Austin paused, stepping back to grasp the riser behind his chair. “Mr. Chairman, as much as I respect this committee and the congress that authorized its charter, we have far more important issues at stake than a partisan campaign to assess how one political party may gain public acclaim over the purported inaction of another political party. If you will excuse us, Senator, we shall leave to carry on with our duties.”
