The Second Civil War- The Complete History

by Adam Yoshida

“Let it be very clear, to all who would wish us harm - to all who would attempt to undo America - that this fight is for liberty and, for that holy cause, we will not hesitate to expend all that we have. All of it - all of our treasure and all of our blood is pledged to the redemption of our entire country. And let they - those who wish our country ill - understand that we will not fight this battle upon their terms. If they mean to have a war - if they force continued war upon the American people - than they shall have a total war, one in which everyone and everything is considered to be a valid target.”

  “My fellow citizens: do not give yourselves over to despair. This nation has known difficult times before. There has been much bloodshed and tragedy. We have had many losses. But we have never laid down. We’ve never given up. We’ve never quit. And I have faith that we are not about to change that today. We have not come so far and endured so long - nearly a century and a half since our first Revolution - to give up now. None of us would dare to heap such disgrace upon our ancestors. All of us would rather die than leave a legacy of shame to our children.”

  “Now is the time to stand up for America. I call upon all Americans, wherever you are and whatever government you might labor, to rise now and to make a stand for liberty. Divided we shall not prevail. Together we cannot fail.”

  “I will speak to you again soon. Until then, may God bless you and may God bless, protect, and defend the United States of America.”

  Near Casa Grande, Arizona

  “No mercy for traitors or invaders!” screamed Governor Robert Schmidt as he raised his M-4 carbine above his head with both arms.

  “You heard our President,” said the Governor as he addressed the assembled soldiers, “those motherfuckers want to tear up America. They want to break us into pieces and then place you - and your families - under the supervision of fucking European communists. Is that what you want?”

  The crowd of citizen soldiers shouted and hollered themselves hoarse expressing their displeasure at the notion.

  “Good,” the Governor smiled broadly, holding up his hands, “if that’s all true, than we have a lot of work to do. The advance guard of the Mexican Army is just fifteen miles down that road. They’re coming this way and they’re planning on enslaving us. The Federal Army is, I’m very sorry to say, not available to come to our aid just right now. Are we going to fall back and let them take our homes, or are we going to stand up and fight them like men?”

  Another wave of cheers arose from the crowd of thousands that were listening to the Governor. They made enough noise to seemingly rock the ground below.

  “Ok!” said the Governor, “if that’s so, then all you need to do is get your guns, get into your positions, and listen to your officers. We’re going to make those Goddamned sons-of-bitches sorry that they ever dreamed that they could set foot in Arizona.”

  Temporary Seat of the Government of the United States, Colorado Springs, CO

  “The former President and I do not agree on many things,” said Senator Mitchell Randall as the cameras of the world media whirred in the distance, “but I think that the vast majority of the people of this country, whatever side they are on in the present conflict, agree that the gap between us, which has been growing for some time, has become much greater under the stresses of war. Certainly, the healing of this divide has not been stimulated by the current President’s stubborn and fanatical insistence upon the adoption of something like an unconditional surrender by those states and individuals on the other state of the present divide.”

  “None of this is easy,” continued Randall, “this war has already divided allies, friends, and families. It has claimed tens of thousands of lives. Every day it goes on, it makes the lives of millions worse than they otherwise might be.”

  “Now, Americans have no desire to surrender their liberty. But, I would put it to you, that as we have no desire to surrender our own liberties, we have no desire to - and no cause to - impose our own wishes upon others. In this, provided that the process is free, fair, and open, I see no intrinsic reason why we should reject the proposal offered for an orderly separation between those states and individuals that wish to continue to exist within the Federal Union and those who do not. This would, quite obviously be a long, wrenching, and challenging process, but I believe that it - subject to the conditions that I have already outlined - would be far preferable to endless war and bloodshed.”

  “No President - not Kevin Bryan, not Terrance Rickover - is a dictator. No President has the right to embroil the American people in an unlimited war by their will alone. The actions of the President must be subject to the oversight of the Congress which, in turn, is the branch of the government most responsive to the will of the people.”

  “At the very least, the American people deserve a choice in this matter. As things stand today, the Acting President is running for re-election this fall with only token opposition. Given the political calculations which have driven events, the United States government - as constituted here in Colorado - has become a one party state. It is hard to imagine a sight more offensive or an act more hypocritical than posing as a defender of liberty while creating what is, in effect, a police state and a dictatorship.”

  “We won’t conquer California or New York - or even my own home state of Washington - by force of arms. If we want peace and if we want to reunite as much of this country as is possible, than we must accomplish this goal by peaceful and democratic means. I believe that we must let Americans choose whether they wish to entrust their fate to some foreign entity or if they will remain the masters of their own house. I believe that the best way to accomplish this is by conducting a fair, national, and democratic election.”

  “Therefore, in the days ahead, I will be formally declaring my candidacy for President of the United States.”

  Five Miles West of Yuma, Arizona

  Captain Alvaro Ramirez tried to hide the fact that he was shaking as the truck brought him and his improvised Company to the front. The soldiers of the 40th Division had managed to bend the Rebel lines, but not to break them altogether. The careful advance of the mechanized forces had ground to a halt as the Rebels, re-armed and with some air support, had fought like lions for every single foot of territory. Given this, the high command had believed that they had no choice but to throw their own reserves into the fight and hope that they could clear a path that would allow them to link up with the Mexican Army several hundred miles to the east that was already advancing towards Phoenix.

  It made enough strategic sense, but the people making the decisions weren’t with Ramirez in a truck full of exhausted and spent men heading towards the front.

  “Just this push,” insisted Ramirez, filling his voice with as much energy as he could muster, “and we’ll knock them over. We already stood up to them over and over again. We’ll make the push and knock them out of the war.”

  Ramirez looked around. There was silence within the truck and all of the sounds of war outside of it.

  “I’m sure that if we do this thing, we’ll get taken off the line,” he said, trying a different tack.

  “I don’t even know what country I’m supposed to be fighting for now,” said one soldier, who looked to be just a boy, as he sadly looked at the ground.

  The truck came to a sudden and unplanned halt.

  “Everyone out!” shouted the driver. The soldiers in the back paused. Some of them looked over at Ramirez.

  “Get the fuck out!” repeated the driver, “they’re shooting at us and this is an unarmored vehicle!”

  After a delay of another second, Ramirez gripped his rifle tightly and became the first one out the back. He crouched low as he made his way around the side. As soon as he did so he caught a glimpse of the fires in the distance. Although the sun was already setting the fury of the fighting that was going on ahead of him was unabated. He could make out tracer rounds crossing ground punctuated by explosions of all types extending out beyond his own field of vision. He paused for a
moment before he, with the rest of the residents of the truck behind him, began to move forward quickly in search of cover.

  Ramirez had barely made it ten feet when he felt a bullet fly by his head. He instinctively dropped to the ground and began to crawl forward. The rest of the soldiers of the Company followed his lead, seeking out anywhere that took them clear of the field of fire.

  “What’ve we got?!?” shouted Ramirez, speaking much louder than was necessary, as the First Sergeant crawled up next to him.

  “Heavy machine gun,” reported the Sergeant, “just a couple of hundred feet ahead of us.”

  The clatter of the bullets flying by caused Ramirez to flinch every few seconds, more than he could ever recall having done previously. He suddenly realized that he could feel every part of his body and everything on it - the pants that were too loose, held up by a belt that had to be pulled too tight leaving an uncomfortable bugle of bundled-up fabric pressing against him, the watch whose band itched, the sweat pooling at the small of his back.

  “Fuck,” said Ramirez, inching his head up to take a look at the machine gun position in front of him, “he’s got a pretty damned open shot at all of us. We need to go around.”

  Ramirez steadied himself for a moment and then took another look.

  “Ok,” he said, “we’ll hold this position here and try and keep them firing at us. Sergeant - take a squad and engage them with grenades.”

  The Sergeant nodded his assent and began to move away. As every muscle in his body quivered Ramirez got up and trained his rifle in the direction of the machine gun position, firing two three-round bursts before returning to the relative safety of his covered position.

  “Keep up your fire,” he ordered, as the rest of the soldiers around him took their own turns firing their rifles against the Rebel position. One unfortunate soldier was struck in the chest by Rebel bullets. He fell over backwards, leaking blood all over the ground at an unsustainable rate. A medic crawled across the ground to attempt to assist the wounded man but, within seconds of arriving, he could see that any effort was impossible. The medic struck the ground with his fist out of frustration.

  The Loyalist soldiers continued to engage the Rebels, trading fire in a futile effort to do real damage to the other. The bullets mostly just flew across distance between the two sides, impacting clumps of dirt and sending small puffs of debris into the air. In the distance from his position Ramirez could see the Sergeant’s squad approaching the machine gun nest from the right and preparing to take in an oblique attack.

  “Steady fire,” ordered Ramirez as the Sergeant prepared to move. The entire ranks of the company rose and opened fire on the Rebel position, temporarily silencing the guns as the soldiers there took cover. The Sergeant and his squad took this as the right time to move on the machine gun, rising from their own cover and beginning to sprint up the small incline that led to the Rebel fortification. They had made it no more than a few feet when the soldiers of the squad began to fall to the ground, even though the position they were advancing on remained silent. It took a few seconds for Ramirez to sort out what had happened in his head: the first machine gun must be covered by a second position further back. The bullets riddled the bodies of the squad that had attempted to advance, their position having been utterly exposed to the fire of the second machine gun. A few of the soldiers attempted to withdraw but they were also struck by the steady stream of fire from the old M-60. To make matters even worse, the second machine gunner kept going well beyond what necessity dictated. Whether that was because he was nervous, undisciplined, or simply a psychopath who liked putting bullets into the bodies of men was impossible for Ramirez to determine, all that he could see was that the fire of the second machine gun continued long beyond the point at which the men who had attempted to climb the hill were clearly neutralized.

  Ramirez didn’t think before he spoke his next words.

  “Attack!” he hollered, rising from his position and firing wildly at the Rebel machine gun. It took a few seconds before the rest of the officers and men of the company even realized what was going on. Slowly at first, then with increasing urgency, the rest of the company joined Ramirez in making a frontal assault upon the Rebel position. The Rebels manning the machine gun first attempted to spray bullets across the whole advancing Loyalist wave, but within seconds they calculated that such an effort would be initially productive but ultimately futile against so vast a host. Fully a dozen members of the company were stuck by the fire of the machine gun before it stopped.

  Ramirez was the first to reach the dirt mound where the now-abandoned machine gun lay. In the distance he could see the Rebel gun crew fleeing as fast as they could. He raised his rifle and fired a burst that put three rounds squarely in the centre of the back of one of the fleeing Rebels. There was no time to stop and admire the work: the first Rebel machine gun position was well within range of the second. The second machine gun crew immediately began to fire upon the position formerly held by their comrades, forcing Ramirez to take cover in the hole that seconds before had belonged to his enemies.

  As the men of the company began to scramble up the hill, following closely behind Ramirez, the first mortar rounds began to fall all around them. One of them landed amid a cluster of soldiers, breaking apart bodies and showering those nearby with limbs and goo. The pace of the fire increased as the soldiers continued to move forward, scattering rounds all around them and leaving more than a dozen men dead or dying upon the ground.

  “This is Charlie 6,” called out Ramirez into his radio, “we need something to take out those fucking mortars or we’re all going to be dead.”

  The crew of the second machine gun continued to fire upon the Loyalist Company as it attempted to take cover amidst the wreckage of the former Rebel position.

  “Roger that, Charlie 6,” came a signal over the radio, “give us a position. We have a battery of 1-5-5 available for support.”

  “I don’t have sight from here,” called back Ramirez, “I just know that we’re under mortar fire. Do you have an observer overhead?”

  The fire of the second machine gun stopped for a moment, even as the mortar rounds continued to fall all over Ramirez’s position.

  “We’ve got it, Charlie 6. Shot, over,” called out the voice on the radio.

  Within seconds the absent fire of the machine gun was replaced by rifle fire coming from the other direction. What appeared to be a full Company of Rebel infantry was advancing from the left, attempting to flank the position that Ramirez held upon the hill. Moments later the machine gun to the right resumed fire, forcing the Loyalist infantry to seek shelter from the mortar rounds, machine gun bullets, and rifle fire.

  A distant spot was suddenly illuminated as the Loyalist artillery began to descend upon the Rebel mortar position. The distant hollow sound of one thump after another echoed its way up to the position held by Ramirez.

  “Splash, out,” called out Ramirez over his own radio. Within seconds, the mortar fire stopped. Ramirez popped his head out and looked off in the distance.

  “Adjust fire,” he radioed, “there’s a Rebel infantry company coming our way, about five hundred meters away. Can you hit them?”

  “Roger that. Shot, over,” called out the radio controller on the other side.

  The 155mm rounds began to fall down upon the Rebel infantry, striking them in the open and blowing great holes in their massed ranks. As the Rebels sought cover, Ramirez watched as additional artillery rounds began to fly in the opposition direction. Within moments the Rebel counter-battery fire had managed to silence their own artillery support. The Rebel infantry picked themselves up off the ground and, though somewhat-reduced in numbers, resumed their advance.

  As the artillery duel continued to criss-cross the sky overhead, the mortar fire against Ramirez’s position resumed, with one round after another forcing him and his men into a desperate cringe within their defensive positions.

  “Charlie 6,” came another call on the
radio net, this time from the Battalion commander, “we’ve got a pair of Kiowa Warriors on their way to lend you a hand.”

  The whir of the blades of the helicopters began to echo through the sky. Ramirez watched as the pair of ancient OH-58s waded across the sky and began to open fire on the machine gun position with rockets. The Rebel infantry company rapidly engaged the Kiowa Warriors with shoulder-fired surface to air missiles. Both helicopters immediately moved to evade, but one of them was struck by one of the missiles. The stricken Kiowa Warrior immediate spun out of control and smashed into the ground. Its crash was accompanied by an explosion that no one could possibly have survived.

  With the second machine gun position out of action, Ramirez’s company now had greater freedom of movement. The soldiers of the company began, braving the residual mortar fire, to spread out and find spots from which they might engage the advancing Rebel infantry. Ramirez joined in this fight, carefully aiming is rifle and firing upon the Rebels, even as the Rebels returned fire with great accuracy, claiming several more members of the Company in turn.

  The Rebel infantry continued their inexorable advance. They were now just two hundred meters away from the forward positions of the Loyalist soldiers. In modern combat terms they were now fighting at practically point blank range. At such a distance rifle fire was murderous. Soldiers fell left and right as both sides fired one magazine after another into each other. Ramirez reloaded and began to methodically fire three-round bursts at every single target within his field of vision as both sides came close enough to engage one another with grenade fire. A grenade landed not fifteen feet from where Ramirez was standing and threatened to obliterate everyone in the ditch. Another of the soldiers, a teenager from Santa Monica, threw himself on the grenade, which promptly detonated underneath him, leaving an ugly mess spilled across the ground but shielding the others in the trench from the effects. In other wars and other places, Ramirez knew, such an act of selfless heroism would win a man the Medal of Honor. Here, however, it was possible that it might be forgotten altogether.