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Three Eagles, We

September 19^th in the year of our Lord 2007

Written by Bob “Rocketman” Norton

Submitted by Jeff “Mario” Smith, Guerilla Reporter

     It was raining when I woke up Friday morning, 14 September, 2007.  Couldn’t complain though, because God knows we need it here around Leftington Kentucky.  My concern, having made this same trip many times before, and mostly on a motorcycle, was that this weather would follow us all the way east, and we could expect the same thing Saturday morning in Washington DC.

     Thankfully, I had devised a plan to keep our gear dry.  Since my 4-wheeled ride does not have an extended cockpit, there was room inside only for myself and my crew. The Ford- Phantom F-150 is designed to carry mostly payload, and only a minimum crew, pilot, navigator and gunner.

     I had a brainstorm the week before, and purchased the largest plastic tub with locking lid that I could find.  It was deep enough that the top of it just came up to the top of the bed in my cargo area.  Any biker, who has ever packed for a week on a motorcycle, has become a master at not only the art of space conservation, but the use of bungee cords as well.  With a few strategically placed bungees, the storage tub and its lid were secure.  And there was just enough room for all the crew’s gear.

     The gunner, (that would be my Lady Teresa), showed up at my place at 0800, right on time.  We loaded the gear, made a few last minute checks around home base, (night lights on, coffee pot off, doors locked, etc), and headed for the home of our navigator, (that would be my oldest daughter Erin).  At 0900 we were storing her gear, climbing into our respective seats in the cockpit of Big Red, and heading out to our assigned runway, I-64-East.  And we were on our way.

     We had our charts.  We had our assignment.  Every member of the crew was a volunteer.  We did not know what, if any, danger may be involved in this mission.  The flight plan was very routine, though there were some fairly treacherous mountains between us and our destination, depending on the weather.  But we were moving.  The mission was a “Go”.

     About halfway between Leftington and Owingsville, our gunner spotted a formation approaching from the east.  There were about half a dozen bikes, led by a menacing looking biker on what looked like a blue Troublehead, flying a black POW/MIA Flag.  We immediately identified them as our fellow members of TFO-KY-3.  We knew that they were on a mission of equal importance as our own, attending the funeral for SSGT Delmer White in Lexington.  We prayed for their safety and continued on. 

     Though the weather followed us most of the way, and it was to say the least “damp”, our spirits were not.  We were excited.  The Ford-Phantom F-150 performed flawlessly, as did the crew, and we had to make only a minimum number of refueling stops.  We were within a few miles of Dulles well before 1800, our ETA.  But our flight plan called for us to bypass Dulles, and to land on runway I-495-Right.  BIG MISTAKE!!!!!!  Next time I will INSIST on runway 7-South.  But, we live and we learn.  (heh heh heh)

     Even with the mess at runway I-495-Right, which my crew now lovingly refers to as “Spaghetti Junction”, we made it.  (Thanks much more to the skills of my navigator than to my piloting ability, I assure you.)  We pulled in to our assigned area at about 1830, cut the engine, let out a collective sigh of relief, and began to off load our gear.

     The first people I saw in the parking lot were a Chapter of Nam Knights, down from PA.  There were about a half dozen bikes and a support vehicle.  These were the same guys I had seen up here in March!  There was “Stink”, “PagWagum”, (not at all sure about the spelling on that one), and half a dozen others.  They rode down from Philly.  Later we met many others of our team who were staying at the same place.  People from all over the country, all there to stand against the common foe.  For many of these guys, it was the same enemy they had fought 40 years ago, half a world away.

     That evening was spent as with family.  A common bond was shared by us all.  We made some new acquaintances and renewed some old.  Though I had run into several of these guys before, for Erin and Teresa every person there was a new experience.  Their number of new “big brothers” grew by a dozen or more in a single evening.  The stories, the recalling of other places where we had been, either together or at different times, the events of the past and always the unspoken questions, the unanswerable questions, of “How?”  “Why?”

     How did we get to this point?  Why do we even have to be here, now?  How could it have become possible for there to even be a need to stand against such an enemy?  Here?  Now?  How, in the Capital of the greatest free nation on earth, a nation which has spent the last 230 plus years fighting injustice, dictators, fascists and communists around the world, could we possibly have let them get this far, this close, this strong?

     But we all knew the answer.  It is that simple quote you see everywhere.  “All that is necessary for evil to triumph is for good men to do nothing.”  But we also knew that good men and women were doing something now.  We were doing something.

     At 0600 Saturday we were on the deck.  By 0800 we had prepared ourselves for the day, and were on the shuttle to the Ballston Metro Station.  Now THAT was an experience for me.  At first it was intimidating.  But by the end of the day, we could ride the rails with the best of the commuters.  (However, I still find it hard to believe that I knowingly allowed myself be taken all the way under the Potomac River.  TWICE!)  You see, we were staying outside DC, over in Falls Church, still in America, still where my C&C permit was good.

     But, we made it, and by 0900 we were at the rendezvous point at 7^th in the Mall.  A platform, a BIG sound system, a press box, a couple of tents, hundreds of American Flags of all sizes and hundreds of fellow Patriots greeted us as we walked from Independence Avenue.

     It wasn’t long before Teresa and Erin had been pressed into service, passing out signs to the crowd.  I took a stack also.  When those were gone, we all came back for more. Dozens of signs, maybe hundreds of signs later, we could find nobody in the crowd who didn’t have their hands full.  Teresa later remarked that “passing out signs was exciting”.  (I really need to take that lady out more often.)  But her point was well taken.  We were doing something.  We were participating.  We were helping.  Our ‘job’ wasn’t glamorous, but it was important.  And between the three of us, we got face to face with every single person in the crowd.  So I guess that was pretty cool.

     The program consisted of many speakers.  There were Blue Star Moms, Gold Star Moms, Representative Duncan Hunter, Vets from various wars, an advisor to General Patraeus and all MC’d by Melanie Morgan of Move America Forward.  The speakers were excellent.  They told why they were there, they told their stories, and some spoke of their sons who didn’t come home.  There was a controlled anger because of the loss, but the tears were not so easily controlled.  It was heart-wrenching to hear these parents speak about their sons, their children, and their sacrifices.  Dear Lord, I can’t even imagine.   

     One speaker gave us a history of the opposition group, A.N.S.W.E.R., and their roots which sprang from their parent organization which is communist through and through.  He explained how he saw them attempting to take control of America from within, and turn it into a communist State.  These were things we knew, but he spoke so clearly and with such knowledge and authority, that it served to strengthen each of us in our own belief that we were fighting a fight that must be won.

     In the middle of our program, a moonbat wandered in carrying a sign. She was a middle aged woman in a business type pant suit.  It was a hateful sign, like many of the ones they carried.  She made the mistake of being spotted by a Marine Corps Mom before our security could get to her.  The sign was quickly taken from the moonbat by the Marine Corps Mom, and torn to shreds.  Then the verbal assault began.  I remember thinking that her young Marine was well prepared for his first basic training encounter with a Gunny, if his Mom had ever dressed him down like she did that moonbat.  When our security got there, and formed a protective circle around the moonbat, the assault from the Marine Corps Mom did not stop.  Ditto when the Capital Police arrived, but said they could not remove the intruder.  So, the Marine Corps Mom continued to tell this person exactly what she thought.  In retrospect, I think maybe that moonbat was either deaf or didn’t understand English.  I don’t see how in the world she could have continued to stand there with that Marine’s Mom in her face, if she was hearing what she was being called.  Heh  heh heh  But, the program continued.

     During the rally I had the opportunity to meet and talk with Colonel Harry Riley of www.eaglesup.us, “Bigg” Bill Steiner, who is working tirelessly to educate the public about the Islamic symbols contained in the Memorial design for Flight 93 and Michelle Malkin, of FOX News and a supporter of all things Right.  Meeting those three people and having a chance to chat with them was just icing on the cake. 

     At 1230 the program was finished, and we left the staging area to find our places along the route the moonbats were taking from the White House to the Capital.  They were staging on the north side of the White House, which is the front.  As luck would have it, I had located a restaurant where we planned to have lunch, just north and west of the White House on K Street.  (And, as luck would have it, we had to pass right by the White House to get where we were going after we ate.)

     We had a wonderful lunch, and then headed straight for the White House.  There they were, a large flock of moonbats, all carrying their yellow signs.  (Yellow?  How appropriate for the surrender crowd.)  Regardless of what the ANSWER web site or the AP, or any of the other liberal news outlets say, there were NOT 100,000 of them.  I have read one account, of a person who actually got a count on them as they passed through a bottleneck in the course of their march.  There were a little over 6700 of them.  (Gee, go figure, you mean you can’t believe the media?)

     Anyway, I figured if one of theirs could come through our permitted area and the Capital Police said they could not make her leave, then turn about should be fair play.  So, we waddled into the middle of the moonbats.  We took some pictures of each other in front of the White House, and tried not to ‘capture’ any of the moon bats.  Of course, if you look real close you will see the two guys on top of the White House.  Teresa or Erin one said “Look, one of them has a pair of binoculars.”  To which I replied “Yeah, and the other one has a sniper rifle and a really nice scope on it.”

     We got some looks, but none of them really said anything to us.  So, we found a bench in Lafayette Park, and just sat and watched for a few minutes.  It wasn’t but a minute later that three of them passed in front of us.  The man in the group, looked to be about my age, and was wearing a cap saying “Veteran”.  Maybe yes, maybe no.  Anyway, he had started this staring contest about 10 yards before he got to our position, so I was playing his silly game and staring back.  When he got even with us, he manufactured this fake look of puzzled interest, stopped and while looking at our T-Shirts asked “Eagles Up, now what is that?”  (As if he didn’t know.)  So I answered that “It is a group of American Patriots who are in Washington DC today to support our troops, and show a communist group which is demonstrating here that they do not speak for all of America when they call for our troops to surrender.”

     With that, he adopted that aloof superior attitude that they so often do, and started in with his rhetoric.  He spouted that hollow, meaningless, illogical stream of unfacts which they all seem to believe, or would have others believe that they believe.  It was about that time that Teresa lost her ability to contain.  She unloaded on him in a disgusted tone and a stream of her own Conservative based truths.  I think the guy was taken aback for an instant. 

     He was a good size guy, maybe 6’1” or so, 210 pounds.  And this little 5’4” 110 pound ‘she hell-cat’ from Kentucky had just sprung on him before he knew what was coming.  Then, she did the absolute best thing she could have done after telling him off in grand style.  She turned her back on the sob and walked away.  When the sting of her verbal assault wore off enough for him to regain his fake composure, he looked at Teresa waking away, then turned to me and said “Where is she going?”  Though I thought it should have been obvious, I told him “She just doesn’t want to talk with you any more.”  At that point, he finally said something half way intelligent, “Well, I guess the conversation is over.”  DUH!!!!!!!

     We started moving again, and made it to where the moonbat march was progressing in front of the White House toward the Capital.  They were walking east on Pennsylvania Ave.    We of course, began walking west on Pennsylvania Ave.  (I did not want that guy on the White House with the binoculars to think we were with the moonbats.  More importantly, I didn’t want his friend to think we were.)

     We got some dirty looks and some quite frankly amazed looks, but nothing was happening, yet.  We came up on four or five young ladies, college age, who were holding one of ANSWER’s banners.  You could tell by the look on their faces that they were just having the best time.  “How exciting!”  “We’re so cool!”  So, just to prove a theory to myself, I stopped, and with that same fake look of puzzled interest as the earlier guy had used, I asked the young ladies “What is the name of the parent organization of ANSWER?”

     Well, they must have thought they were about to recruit a new comrade, because one of them said in a very helpful manner, “I don’t know, but you could ask one of those people.”, and pointed evidently to some of the organizers.  I said, “I don’t need to ask them, because I can tell you.  The parent organization of Answer is a communist organization.  You are all out here today marching for the communists.  Did you know that?” 

     The look on this one girl’s face was almost one of horror.  I swear, she had no earthly idea what she was doing or for whom.  I had thereby proved my theory.  These young people carrying signs, marching in the capital, chanting their slogans, have no clue as to the roots of the organization for which they march, nor for its thinly veiled agenda.  They just don’t have a clue.

     At that point, some young punk come to rescue the girls and be a hero, is all up in my face, aggressive and full of him self, said “So, what’s wrong with communism?”  What?  Did I hear this idiot right?  I promise, that’s what he said.   HELLO!  The prosecution rests, Your Honor.  Could it really be this easy?  Let’s see, Vietnam, Cambodia, North Korea, slave labor, lack of civil rights, slave wages, no religious freedom, ………

     Then, continuing in the same line of intelligent reply as before, he said “What’s wrong with Vietnam?  It’s a prosperous country.”  WHAT?!!!!  Hello, earth to idiot.  Well yeah, if you’re a member of the Party, I guess you could be prosperous.  His next statement told me that he had no arguments to support his earlier claim that “communism is good”, because he retreated to attacking America.  There you go, dummy.  You can’t argue that communism is good, so you have no choice but to argue that democracy is bad.  I see.  So in his best attempt yet to be intimidating and scary, he screamed that “Yeah, well this country is f***ed up man.”  To which I replied, “Yeah, because of people like you!”  Then, he really showed his debating skills, when he said “No man, because of people like you!”  (My dog is bigger than your dog.  My Dad can beat up your Dad.)  See where these things go when you try to argue with an idiot?

     Finally, evidently thinking he has not yet made a sufficient fool of himself, he pulled out his ‘big guns’, claiming “I spent 10 years in the Marines, I was in Gulf War 1.”  Now, I’ve met a lot of Marines, and I’ve found them to be like other trained military persons.  The one thing they seem to have in common, especially combat Vets, is the ability to remain calm in a tense situation.  They are consistently steady ‘under fire’, and not prone to losing their cool.  This guy was anything but cool.  “Yeah, you and John Murtha.”  We turned our backs and started walking away.

     It was at this point that Teresa lost it again.  (What am I going to do with this girl?)  We had turned our backs on the idiot and were walking on against the flow of moonbats, when he said something that I didn’t hear, but obviously she did, and she didn’t like it. She spun around doing a 180 at the speed of light, and was letting loose with another stream of verbal assault right in this guy’s face.  I swear I thought she was going to hit the sob.  I had to literally hold her back.  (Note to self; ‘Don’t piss Teresa off’.)  I remember telling her that he wasn’t worth her breath, I got her turned around, and physically led her away from this jerk.  (He doesn’t know it, but I probably saved his life. Heh heh heh)

     Through all this, Erin was characteristically cool.  (Where she gets that I don’t know, but obviously not from her Dad.)  As opposed to the “Teresa Type”, I think Erin is more like the guy on the roof of the White House, not the one with the binoculars, but the other one.  If she ever decides to let you have it, you’ll never know it’s coming.  Scary, ain’t it?

     The rest of our “march against the march” was uneventful.  We made our way to the Lincoln Memorial, then The Wall.  I hated that the first time Erin and Teresa saw The Wall, it was damaged.  Some of the “oily substance” had been cleaned off, but much of the damage was still obvious.  We visited each of the other Memorials on the Mall, up to and including the new WW II Memorial.  Both the ladies remarked about the eeriness of the Korean War Memorial.  While all of the monuments made what I believe will be a lasting impression on both of them, the Korean War Memorial seemed to stand out.

     By about 5:30 we had made our way back to the Metro Station in the middle of George Washington University.  A few of the college age moonbats were still walking around with their signs, sort of their “Yellow Badge of Courage” I guess.  (Apologies to Stephen Crane.)  We caught our train, got back to our room, rested for a short while and then went to dinner.  It had been a good day.

     The following morning at breakfast, I was talking with a couple of Eagles who were staying at the same motel.  This one fellow had on a T-shirt with a small embroidered patch on the front which read “Special Operations”  “Veteran”.  I don’t remember his name, so I’ll call him Bill.  We were sharing stories, and two of his are definitely worth passing along.  Both had to do with is experiences on the line Saturday, and his encounters with two of the moonbats.

     First, was his encounter with the son of a friend of Bill’s.  This friend had also served in Vietnam.  This boy’s father had recently passed away.  Here he was, the son of a deceased Vietnam Vet, marching with the communists, calling for the surrender by our armed forces in Iraq.  Bill said he shouted out the kid’s name and motioned him over to the side.  When the kid got there, Bill asked him “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”  “Do you not realize that your Dad is turning over in his grave?!”  The kid said that his Sociology Professor was giving him extra credit for taking part in the march.  (Big surprise.)  Bill said he then told the kid, “Okay, you’ve got your extra credit, now get your ass back home.”

     Bill’s second story was of a guy, he guessed to be in his 40s, who came over and started getting in Bills face.  Bill was holding a sign on a long slat of wood.  The sign said “Support our Troops.  Win the War.”, or something similar.  And of course, Bill had been yelling at these clowns from the sideline.  During the exchange, this moonbat made the claim that he was a Vietnam Vet.  Bill said he almost laughed in the guy’s face.  Instead though, he shouted at the guy, “You’re a ******* liar!!!!!”   The moonbat got all indignant, and said “You can’t say that to me.  You better not say that to me again.”  Naturally, Bill repeated his accusation.  At this point, the moonbat attempted to take a swing at Bill.  He missed of course, and in response, Bill lowered the sign attached to the wooden slat on top of the moonbats head.  The moonbat then repeated his demand that Bill not say that to him again.  To which, naturally, Bill again shouted “You’re a *******  liar!!!!!”    Not learning from the first go around, the moonbat took another “roundhouse” swing at Bill, with the same results.  Again, he was hit in the top of the head with Bill’s sign.  (They just never learn, do they?)

     As the police came and led the moonbat away, no doubt saving him from who knows how many more blows on the head, the moonbat continued to shout that Bill had “better not say that again”.  Well, you can imagine Bills reply.  (See paragraph above.)  I’m kind of sorry I missed that one.

     We finished our breakfast that Sunday morning, said farewell to Bill, packed our gear back on Big Red, and set a course for Leftington.  It was a beautiful day.  The mountains were gorgeous.  The company was absolutely wonderful.  The memories we made together will remain with us our whole lives through.  We were only three, but we joined with other Americans from across the country, and stood against the enemy.

     The satisfaction I always receive from participating in any such mission, whether it is a GOE, a TFO Flag rising or rally or attending a funeral as a member of PGR, comes from knowing that I am doing the right thing, and hopefully making a difference.  This time however, there was more.  Sprinkled on top of that satisfaction was a generous portion of pride.  Because you see, I was there with two of the people I love most in this world.  Or more to the point, it was because they chose to be there with me.  And that gives me more pride than I can say.

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