fruit loop
Inactive
PROLOGUE:
Moonlight sparkles on the the bayonets of a thousand rifles as we march through the woods of Northern Virginia. I shiver a little, and draw the collar of my gray wool coat a bit tighter. Not that it does much good; it's as ragged and threadbare as the Long Gray Line of old.
Two years since the enemy invasion. Two years of constant marching, starving, sleeping in my old A-frame tent beside my former reenactor friends. Now it's not play. This is for real.
We fled to the captain's house in the mountains when the bombs fell and the cities become unlivable hellholes. Others joined us, and soon the Second Army of Northern Virginia of the New Confederate States was on the march.
The enemy jeered at us...at first. They underestimated the determination of Americans, and the power of just-generally-pissed-off southern rednecks. The First Battle of D.C. taught them some respect. The last two years taught them fear.
Tomorrow will be downright fun, just like old times. They've established their headquarters on one of our most hallowed shrines, the National Military Park at Gettysburg, Pennsylvania. They think it's a joke. They intend it as a desecration. It's a way of thumbing their noses at us, you lost here, you'll lose the war again.
They will think differently tomorrow.
See, we're all marching to G-burg....south AND north together. Ham radio operators tell us that the New Grand Army of the Republic, our pals in the blue, are as close to G-burg as we are.
We know the ground. They don't.
We know the best places to place troops. They don't.
We've fought on that field before. They haven't.
We've learned from our mistakes. They haven't.
Tomorrow rebel yells and Yankee huzzahs will ring again over the rolling hills of Pennsylvania....
And this time, we're gonna win.
Moonlight sparkles on the the bayonets of a thousand rifles as we march through the woods of Northern Virginia. I shiver a little, and draw the collar of my gray wool coat a bit tighter. Not that it does much good; it's as ragged and threadbare as the Long Gray Line of old.
Two years since the enemy invasion. Two years of constant marching, starving, sleeping in my old A-frame tent beside my former reenactor friends. Now it's not play. This is for real.
We fled to the captain's house in the mountains when the bombs fell and the cities become unlivable hellholes. Others joined us, and soon the Second Army of Northern Virginia of the New Confederate States was on the march.
The enemy jeered at us...at first. They underestimated the determination of Americans, and the power of just-generally-pissed-off southern rednecks. The First Battle of D.C. taught them some respect. The last two years taught them fear.
Tomorrow will be downright fun, just like old times. They've established their headquarters on one of our most hallowed shrines, the National Military Park at Gettysburg, Pennsylvania. They think it's a joke. They intend it as a desecration. It's a way of thumbing their noses at us, you lost here, you'll lose the war again.
They will think differently tomorrow.
See, we're all marching to G-burg....south AND north together. Ham radio operators tell us that the New Grand Army of the Republic, our pals in the blue, are as close to G-burg as we are.
We know the ground. They don't.
We know the best places to place troops. They don't.
We've fought on that field before. They haven't.
We've learned from our mistakes. They haven't.
Tomorrow rebel yells and Yankee huzzahs will ring again over the rolling hills of Pennsylvania....
And this time, we're gonna win.
