Author: thewriterinblack

Acutally, in the vast majority of cases, no, there ought not to be.

Think about what “law” means.  Law means that someone from the government can come and use force on a person to make him or her comply, to submit.  Force.  And if they resist that force, the government can increase the level.

In the end, if they continue to resist, the government can kill them.

Even if you don’t have a “death penalty” on the books, it is always the end game of a person refusing to submit to the law.

And it has to be that way because without that ultimate use of force, there comes a point where someone can say “no” to your law and you have to say “okay.” At which point it’s no longer law but a strongly worded suggestion.

So when you say “there ought to be a law” you are saying “it’s worth killing people to ensure that this happens” or “to make this less likely to happen.”

That’s what “law” means.  That’s what law is.

It is the same with anything you want the government to do and to pay for.  Taxes, after all, are also laws.  Someone can say “no” to paying the tax and you send armed men to force him or her to pay.  And if he resists those armed men, they can kill him.

“The government should provide/pay for…” means “we are willing to kill someone to have…”

And it’s not even just the willingness to kill the people who break the law because the use of force occurs before any trial is held to determine guilt or innocence.  Police respond to a bad tip and break into someone’s home.  Resident, having no reason to expect the police, acts to defend himself.  And the result is the coroner has to come and haul away one or more bodies.

Someone, maybe several someones, dead because “there ought to be a law.”

This is not to say that there should be no laws and no taxes, but that we need to go into that eyes open about what it means.  Does a study on why Lesbians have a higher incidence of being overweight (an actual CDC study) really  justify killing someone?  Is it really worth killing people over smoking an unapproved plant?  And so on.

Thomas Jefferson wrote:

We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness.–That to secure these rights, Governments are instituted among Men, deriving their just powers from the consent of the governed

There, I believe, is the crux of it.  To secure these rights of Life, Liberty, and Pursuit of Happiness, does justify the use of force to the point of deadly force.  Defending our nation, laws to censure those who credibly threaten the rights of others to Life, Liberty, and Pursuit of Happiness, and the minimal necessary taxes to accomplish those ends.  And no more.  Let other things be accomplished by other means, means that don’t come with the sanction to use force up to and including deadly force.

Reserve law and government for things that really are worth killing over.

Oh, and one more little thing.  Before you decide that it’s okay to kill those “other people” (you know who they are) because you don’t like what they’re doing, just remember:

Anything government can do for you, it can do to you.

So Florida now allows (at the local Sheriff’s option) teachers to be armed in schools if they complete 132 hours of training.

This is utterly and completely ridiculous. Teachers armed to defend themselves and their students do not need to be SEALs or SWAT or even Air Force security specialists. Being armed for defense of self and others around you is a far simpler tactical problem.

They don’t have to go breaking into a room where the “bad guy” is, identify him out of a chaotic mix of the bad guy and the people he’s threatening. They don’t have to learn to do dynamic entry through a door, minimizing their own exposure in that vulnerable moment all while trying to find a bad guy whose location they don’t know, discriminate him from victims, get a clear shot, and pray they don’t make a mistake.

But the problems that require all that training?  They’re the attacker’s problems, not the defender’s.  Nobody who knows anything about the subject suggests the teachers go hunting the bad guy.  What they advise is have the teachers hunker down with their students, ready to defend them if and when the attacker comes to them.

Armed teachers, unlike police coming from the outside, wouldn’t have to do a dynamic entry. They wouldn’t have to do any kind of entry. They’d already be there. What armed teachers would do is give the attacker all the problems that folk like SEALS, SWAT, HRT, and others need all that training to deal with. The attacker is now the one who has to make the dynamic entry, identify and locate the “threat” that the armed defender represents, and do it before said defender–who’s already in place and covering that entrance–can shoot him.

And he has to do it every. single. time. he makes an entry because he doesn’t know who is or is not armed. The mere possibility that someone might be armed means he has to take extra precautions every time he goes through a door. He has to assume every classroom he enters is “hot”. At the very least this slows him down and reduces the number of casualties before the police finally do show up. Best case the attacker runs into the armed teacher at the start and the only casualty is the attacker.

Actually, that’s not true. Best case is that they decide not to attack after all because they aren’t looking for a fight. They’re looking for sitting ducks.

All the teachers need in this situation is basic marksmanship sufficient to hit a torso sized target at a distance of 20-30 feet (from across the room, basically), Jeff Cooper’s four rules, and basic “when is it okay to shoot” training which amounts to reasonable fear of death or serious bodily injury (which generally comes down to identifying expressed intent, ability, and opportunity to cause that harm). That’s it. Any basic CCW training course is more than adequate.

Really got nothing tonight so how about another snippet?

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The easiest point to create a new identity for myself is as a college student.  It’s a new environment.  If I claim to be a student far from my home high school, there is little chance of meeting someone who would expect to know who I pretend to be.  And I look young enough that I can maintain the masquerade.

So many jobs one might pursue in the modern day require a college degree, or if not a degree then some form of professional certification.  I have found it much harder to fake a degree or certification that to simply go through the motions to obtain them.  While I do not need a job to survive, being independently wealthy draws attention, and questions about where I obtained that wealth.

The difficult portion is records from the claimed high school.  Still, one does not live as long as I have lived without learning a few tricks.  The same tricks allow me to put birth records into various municipal systems every few years against future need.  After all, even without the Shadows chasing me I can maintain an identity only so long before people question my continued youth.  And for every one of those identities, at the appropriate time, I have to take various college entrance exams.

I have taken so many college entrance exams that I can pick, within five points, what my final score will be.

Still, entering college takes time, time for paperwork, time for letters back and forth.  You cannot decide on Tuesday to start college and then start college on the following Monday.  No, you have to wait until a semester starts.

And while you’re waiting, you have to do something or people talk.

Tom Caldwell came up behind me and put he hand on my shoulder.

“That’s it, Adrian.  Go ahead and clock out after this customer.”

“Thanks, Tom,” I said.  I was going by the name of Adrian Jaeger.  I tended to favor German names, one of the few things I hold onto from my birth.  Perhaps that’s a weakness that the Shadows exploit to find me, but how much of a weakness can it be?  German is the most common ethnic heritage in the United States.  German names are common.

There were times when German names raised questions, but I don’t look like a certain generation’s so-called Aryan ideal.  My eyes are blue.  That’s about it.  At five three with dark brown hair I was nobody’s superman.

“Sure you won’t stay?  Give me another couple of months and you could be managing your own shop.”

I grinned. “You make it sound tempting but I’m looking forward to starting college.”

Tom laughed. “Fair enough.  Maybe I’ll see you again some time.”

I smiled back at Tom.  He was certainly an attractive man and had the situation been a little different might have been an interesting diversion.  While I preferred women, somewhere in the centuries I’d lived I’d lost most of my early taboos about sex…and gained a new one:  never get emotionally attached.  The price I paid for such attachments was just too high.

Tom was a good man, giving an eighteen year old orphan, on his own for the first time, a chance with a job over the summer.  He deserved better than a casual fling.

I did not think so.  The Indiana college I’d selected was a good five hundred miles away.  The fewer ties, the fewer connections, the better.

After clocking out and signing my last time card I took off my apron and dropped it into the laundry bin.  I waved to the dishwasher on my way out the back door.  The Green Monster, an old Cadillac Eldorado that someone had painted a bilious green.  I fired it up seeing the blue smoke pour from the exhaust in my rear view mirror.  At the shop an ongoing pool was when the Monster would finally die on me.

Half a dram of the proper elixir in every tank of gas ensured that it continued to run like new.  Another elixir maintained the smoke and a third gave the occasional rattle with no discernable mechanical cause. My elixirs generally do not work well on made things, doing their best on the living world, but for some reason they have always worked well on cars.  Perhaps because so many people think of their cars as alive, possessing personalities, that it has become a kind of truth.

A brief drive took me to my small apartment.  The few belongings that I had acquired since my last encounter with the Shadows fit into two large suitcases.  A third container held carefully padded glassware, burners, and other tools of my trade.

I did not like being out at night, too much chance of encountering Shadows, but I decided I would be safe enough on the road.  Car loaded, I hit Interstate Seventy headed east.

#

I pulled into the parking lot for the apartment complex near downtown Indianapolis about ten o’clock.  I removed a new flashlight from where I kept it tucked between the seat cushions–out of the way but still handy–and dropped it in my pocket.  Two magnesium flares followed.  I still did not know what had happened to my previous flashlight and so wanted another way of making a lot of light.

I had picked up the keys to the small student apartment the previous weekend, a studio that would have been luxurious in my youth but served for a struggling college student in the present.

I opened the trunk and removed the first of my two large suitcases.  I hauled the suitcase around to the front entrance to the apartment building and set it down so I could open the door.

The sound of music blared from inside, some current fashion involving dissonant chords and excessive volume.  Alcohol fumes wafted out the door to assault my nose.

The noise increased as I climbed the stairs, dragging the suitcase behind me.

As I reached the second floor, the door to the stairwell banged open and a young woman barged through it.  She wore shorts with big pockets on the thighs, a style called cargo shorts and a T-shirt tied under her breasts leaving her midsection bare.  Sneakers of a garish purple covered her feet.  No socks.  I could not see her face as her head was turned to look back through the doorway but her hair fell in thick brown waves to just below her shoulders.  Her right hand braced open the door while her left held a red plastic cup.

“Be right back, Vonnie,” She said.

“Whatevs,” someone in the hallway beyond the door, a woman by the sound of the voice, said.

The young woman stepped clear of the doorway, letting the door close behind her before turning round to face forward.  Only my own prompt step back prevented her from colliding with me.

“Whoa!” Some brown liquid sloshed out of her cup.  “Oops.  My bad.”

The waves of dark hair framed her olive-brown face.  Her eyes were the color of dark chocolate.  A subtle use of gloss darkened and added shine to her lips.  I saw no other makeup.  Her T-shirt was blazoned with the logo of some overly loud band barely discernible above the knot.  Like most people, she was taller than me, but only by a few inches.

“It’s okay,” I said.

“You here for the party?” She frowned. “No.  Wait.  Just moving in?”

“Yes, I…”

“That’s an awfully big load.  Hang on.”

She opened the door a crack and stuck her head through. “Hey, Jeff.  Fresh meat.  Could use some help with his luggage.”

She pulled back and another head appeared in the doorway, several inches higher than hers.  The man had likewise had olive brown skin, his a shade darker than the young woman, his eyes a shade lighter.  He wore his hair cropped short.  The resemblance of his features to hers spoke of close family ties.

“Come on, Becki, they’re just about to start…”

“Don’t care.  Guy needs a hand.  Look at him.  That suitcase is almost as big as he is.”

She looked at me and an expression of chagrin crossed her face. “Oh, I’m sorry.  No offense.”

I forced a lopsided smile. “None taken.”

“So come on, Jeff.  Help the guy out.”

“Becki, I…”

She grinned. “I’ll owe you a solid.”

Jeff’s eyebrows raised. “You’ll owe me?  What about him?”

“I’m asking.  He’s being entirely too shy to ask.”

She was wrong.  I am not shy.  I simply choose to keep a distance between myself and people so very much younger than I am.  Saves trouble in the long run.

Jeff pushed the door the rest of the way open and stepped through. “Fine.”

Jeff stood a bit over six feet.  I could not guess his weight with the baggy sweatshirt and jeans he was wearing–dressing for comfort rather than appearance.–but he was big  Despite the differences in their sizes, there seemed to be a certain similarity in their faces.  The shape of the nose, the curve of the lower lip, they shared that.

“So,” Jeff said, nodding at my suitcase. “Need help with that?”

“No,” I said, my voice soft, “I’m fine.”

Jeff grinned. “I insist.  Becki will beat me with a stick if I don’t.”

Becki punched Jeff in the arm.

I found myself returning his grin. “Wouldn’t want that.  So, please.”

I dragged the suitcase up the last step and set it on the landing.

Jeff reached out a huge hand.  I let go of the handle.  Jeff picked up the suitcase as though it were empty. “Which room?”

“Three Oh Eight,” I said.

Becki punched Jeff in the arm again.

“Where are your manners?  Introduce yourself.” She turned to me. “I’m Rebecca Pierce, Becki to my friends.  This is my brother Jeff, dumbass to people who know him.” She grinned.

“I’m Adrian Jaeger,” I said. “Ms. Pierce.  Mr. Pierce.”

“Ooo, all formal,” Becki grinned. “Don’t be silly.  Ms. Pierce is my mother.  Becki.”

“I dunno,” Jeff said. “I kind of like ‘Mr. Pierce.’”

“Be nice, Jeff,” Becki said. “Or I’ll tell Mom about Candy.”

I watched the byplay with amusement.  I’d seen so many dysfunctional families over the years, so many youngsters steeped in selfishness, that it was refreshing to see a brother and sister that not only openly cared for each other but were kind and helpful to a complete stranger.

Jeff put his foot on the first step of the stairs up. “Three Oh Eight is up here.”

I nodded and gestured for him to lead the way.

#

Three Oh Eight was a small one bedroom apartment. More than I needed, really but neither of the studios in this property were available.  And I needed an upper floor to safely vent fumes.

The window looked out over the parking lot and to the twin building across the lot.  Not the most charming of views.

“Well,” Becki said. “This place is…empty.”

Jeff set my suitcase down. “This it?”

“Got another suitcase down in the car,” I said. “And a couple of boxes but…”

“Nonsense,” Becki said. “Jeff will be happy to…”

Jeff growled.

“Really,” I said. “I can get it.”

Jeff waved a hand.  “Don’t mind us.  Becki is always volunteering me for stuff.”

“And you always do it too for your little sister.” Becki clutched her hands together in front of her throat, tilted her head to the side, and batted her eyes. “Please?”

I covered up laughter with forced coughing.

“You might want to get that checked out,” Jeff said but I could see the way he pressed his lips together to suppress his own grin. “Let’s go get your stuff.”

A few minutes later the last of my modest luggage sat in the middle of the small living room of the apartment.

“So that’s it,” Becki said.

“So can we get back to the party?” Jeff asked.

“Fine.  Fine.” Becki said.  She turned toward the door then paused.  She looked back. “Why don’t you come with us?”

I smiled. “Thanks, but I don’t think so.  I’ve got to get settled in here.”

“Where you gonna sleep?” Becki spread her arms and waved them from side to side. “Unless you’ve got a bed tucked into one of those suitcases.”

I shrugged. “I’ve slept in worse.  Really, I’ll be fine.  Probably pick up a mattress at a thrift store or something tomorrow.”

I ushered Becki and Jeff out then turned and sagged back against the door.

Somehow, without meaning to, it would seem that I had made some friends.

Whenever folk like me object to erosion of long-held rights, people often ask why we’re “obsessed” with that right, why it’s so important.  Why we’re not more worried about whatever other thing they bring up as a distraction.  It’s actually not hard to understand.

There is a tale I heard told about the ancient Greek Philosopher Socrates.  According to the tale a young man came to Socrates and asked how he might become as knowledgeable as Socrates.  Socrates bid the man to follow him and led him to the shore and out into the water.  Puzzled, the man followed.  When they were out where the water was about chest deep Socrates, being a strong and vigorous man (ancient Greece tended to mix athleticism with its philosophy, that whole “strong mind in a strong body” thing) and no doubt being aided by surprise, grabbed the young and ducked him under the water.  There he held the man against his struggles until the young man passed out.

Socrates then dragged the man to shore where he left him and went on his way.

In time, the young man awoke and sought out Socrates. “Why did you do that?” the young man asked. “I nearly lost my life.”

“What did you want most while you were under the water’s surface?” Socrates asked.

“Air!” the man replied.

“When you want knowledge exactly as much as you wanted air, nothing in the universe can prevent you from getting it.”

There is more than one lesson to be learned from that little tale.  There is, of course, the obvious one that the key to gaining knowledge is to want it badly enough to do what it takes to get it. (Long hours of study.  Tracking down sources.  Doing research–and I don’t mean Googling a few key terms but actual scientific research–to find answers that nobody else has found yet.)

But consider also what the man wanted.  He wanted air.  Why could Socrates not simply tell him at the start that when he wants knowledge as much as he wants air, then he’ll get it?  Of course the answer is before the escapade down at the sea shore he didn’t want air particularly.   He had it in plenty and didn’t even have to think about it.

It was only when he was deprived of air that he suddenly found it to be important to him.

So it is with long held rights like, for instance, the Right to Keep and Bear Arms (RKBA).  (I could talk about other rights under assault, but this one is much in the news recently, and frankly, the assault on it has been running a long time and is deeply entrenched.) In the early history of the United States it was the normal state.  People didn’t have to think much about RKBA.  It was just there.  Oh, there were certain inroads made on it.  Georgia passed one of, if not the first “gun control” laws in the US in 1837.  That law was ruled Unconstitutional by the Georgia Supreme Court.  Part of the reason that the Dred Scott decision decided that “the negro race” could not be recognized as having full rights was that they could then buy arms and carry them wherever they went.  And a little bit here and there.

Slow inroads on the existing RKBA made over time, but still, for the majority of people it was like air to the young man before Socrates drowned him.  Want to buy a Gatling Gun?  No problem.  A Maxim Gun?  Again, no problem.  Cannon?  If you’ve got the money.  Now, most people didn’t because there was no need.  A rifle or shotgun (or both) for hunting.  A revolver for personal protection if one felt the need (and more likely to be used against snakes than against desperadoes).  But most anyone could.

Air to the young man of Socrates’ acquaintance.

Then more strict and more widespread gun laws started being enacted.  Prohibition saw a rise in the use of automatic weapons by gangs to shoot up rival’s illegal drinking establishments, which led to other uses by criminals.  That lead to the National Firearms Act of 1934.  Still not too bad by most people’s lights.  It’s not like the various controlled weapons were banned.  You just had to pass a strict background check, pay a tax, and get your local head Law Enforcement Officer to sign off on it.  You could still get them if you want.  You just had to jump through a few hoops first.  It’s not like you are denied them.  Really.

But then other restrictions went into place.  And folk started finding out that “get your local head Law Enforcement Officer to sign off on it” meant “be politically connected, people without considerable political pull need not apply.”  The hoops became smaller, lit on fire, and raised way up in the air.

And the young man is sputtering, still not quite underwater, but getting a lot of water in his mouth with each breath.

Then further laws and restrictions.  The Gun Control Act of 1968.  No interstate commerce in guns except via dealers with Federal Firearms Licences (FFL).  No shipping of firearms except to and from FFL holders (and a few select exemptions such as shipping firearms back to the manufacturer for repair).

The Hughes Amendment to the Firearm Owners Protection Act, preventing any further automatic weapons being added to the registry for legal private ownership.  What was then currently registered was all there was and all there ever would be.

The rise of organizations dedicated to the banning of some or all privately owned firearms.  People organized for the express purpose of ending RKBA.

The young man’s barely getting any air at all, now.

Then the “Brady Bill” which implemented a national 7 day waiting period on handgun purchases “so the police would have time to perform a background check” and the federal “Assault Weapons Ban”

And now the young man is completely under water and really wanting his air.

So why is RKBA so important to us?  Because you’re trying to take it from us.  The only reason you want to dismiss its importance is to make it easier for you to take it.

Through most of our history, people never really thought much about RKBA.  But when it comes down to it, of the three “unalienable rights” Jefferson called out in the Declaration of Independence–two of which are echoed again in the Fifth Amendment–every single one is meaningless without the right to defend them and without the right to effective means to defend them.  To deny RKBA is to deny right to life and right to liberty.

I would love to go back to it not being “an obsession.” For it to just be “there” with no need to worry about it.  Like air to the young man before Socrates took him to the sea.

But you won’t let me.

 

Over on Mad Genius Club the inimitable Sarah Hoyt is doing a weekly series on story openings.  In this case it’s what she called the “Something is Happening Here” opening, where the story starts with immediate movement.  Readers are invited to offer their own openings of the type in the comments.  Here was mine:

I got up and dropped money on the table, not bothering to count it. I strode briskly to the door, pulling my hat down over my head as I passed out into the bright suns light.

Mentally flipping a coin, I turned right. Then left at the corner. I had no idea what had prompted me to leave before the servo had even dispensed my lunch. I never do.

Three blocks, three random turns, later an explosion lit up the sky. I looked back to see a pillar of smoke rising from where the cafe had once stood.

Three times now I had evaded death. The faulty air filter on Hadur IV. The runaway floater on Perun II. And now an explosion at a cafe on Shala which I felt certain would prove to have some innocuous cause.

As the old saying goes: once is chance, twice is coincidence, three times is enemy action.

Somebody was trying to kill me and was very, very good at making it look like an accident.

I don’t have a story to go with this one…yet.  It was something I knocked off quickly as an exercise.  However, some things jump out at once.  One thing is the planet names I grabbed.  They’re all named after war deities from various cultures.  This immediately puts the story in my FTI universe during or after the First Eres war.  During the First Eres War, you see, a lot of forward bases where built and the planets they set them at were named after war deities–and there are a lot of war deities when you get into the many cultures on Earth.

There are other things in there, things I just knocked off quickly to create this opening that not only tie it to the world but also give me a hint of character and some of the “why” element of the story.

And so, from that simple exercise, I’ve got an event, a setting, and the beginnings of a character.  I’m not quite ready to dive in and make a story out of it, but if I ever need a project to work on, I can always pull this one out.  In the meantime, it will work in the back of my mind until it’s ready to come out.

I’ve gotten a lot better about finishing stories than when I first started but sometimes….

One of my current stories is nearing the end and I realized it’s just not working.  Now, it’s easy to fall into the trap of a lack of confidence in a story even though it’s fine.  I’ve been there plenty of times.  The trick is to figure out when there’s a real problem or if it’s just nerves, fear, and self-doubt.

In this case, I could see what the problem was.  When you head for the conclusion of a story you want to try to bring as many of the story threads all together at once for one big payoff, the “climax” of the story, followed by a resolution and denouement.  In this case the various elements are too diffuse.  I’ve got less of a “bang” and more of a “fizzle.”  Fixing it will require ripping out at least the last half of the story, maybe drop some of the elements entirely (although the work on them is not wasted–they can be used in another story later).

So, for the time being, the thing to do is set this one aside and work on another project.  Come back to do the major surgery on it when I can look at it with fresh eyes.

 

“…and we were the good guys.  And they made a very satisfying thump when they hit the floor.”

Thus concluded one of my favorite scenes in the TV show Babylon 5, indeed one of my favorite scenes anywhere.  I was browsing YouTube for other things and it popped up in “related videos” and I just could not resist.  I rarely do when that one comes up.

There is very little more satisfying than a clear cut fight, “no moral ambiguity, no hopeless battle against ancient and overwhelming forces” good guys vs. bad guys where the good guys come out on top and the bad guys make a very satisfying thump when they hit the ground.  At least, there isn’t when it’s well executed.

Some of my favorite scenes in fiction have been just such scenes.  Eric Flint’s novel “1632” is full of them.  When Mike Stearns rescues the Abarabanel’s from oncoming Spanish forces.  Jeff Higgins and his friends at the “Battle of the Crapper” (Trust me; it’s a lot more exciting than it sounds.)  Julie Simms with her rifle sweeping the field ahead of Captain Gars.  Crack.  Crack.  Crack.  Crack. These and scenes like them are why this book is my favorite in the series.

It’s a hard thing to pull off, the good guys vs. bad guys with the decisive, indeed overwhelming victory of the good guys.  Finding the balance of tension, enough to make the threat real, yet having the good guys able to plausibly win through to the victory that has everyone off their seat and cheering.

But when you can do it, you can make magic happen.

 

this is an Asian flavored dish that takes a little more prep time than a lot of the “Feeding the Active Writer” items, but the result is well worth it, I think.

Ingredients:

• 4-5 lbs boneless skinless chicken breast
• 2 tbsp roasted sesame seeds
• 2 Tbsp sesame oil
• 1/4 cup finely minced garlic (usual caveats, I use a lot of garlic for my taste.  You might want to use less)
• 1 cup soy sauce
• 1 tsp xantham gum

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees.

Cut the chicken into bite-sized pieces and put into a 2 quart casserole dish.  Sprinkle the sesame seeds over the chicken.

In a small saucepan heat the sesame oil.  Add the garlic and cook for 2-3 minutes .

Add the soy sauce and heat to just starting to boil.

Whisk in the xantham gum until it thickens.

Remove the sauce from heat and pour over the chicken.

Bake at 350 for 20 minutes.  Stir to mix the chicken, sauce, and the juices released from the partially cooked chicken.

Bake an additional 20 minutes at 350.

Enjoy.

 

On this day, in 1776, forces of the fledgling Continental Navy and Continental Marines (ancestors of the US Navy and US Marine Corps) performed its first ever amphibious assault when it attacked the port of Nassau in the Bahamas, capturing the town and seizing the munitions and gunpowder that had not been evacuated in advance.

Before the battle took place, at the start of the American Revolution the British governor of Virginia Lord Dunmore removed stores of gunpowder and munitions to the island of New Providence in the Bahamas in order to keep it from falling into the hands of the rebel militia.  Facing a desperate shortage of powder in order to prosecute its war against Britain, the Second Continental Congress organized a naval expedition to seize military supplies at Nassau.

A fleet of eight ships, departed Cape Henlopen, Delaware.  Gale force winds led to two of the ships becoming separated from the rest of the fleet.  The merchant sloop Hornet was forced to return to port for repairs and the sloop Fly eventually rejoined the fleet at Nassau.

The fleet arrived in the vicinity of Nassau on March 1 and captured two loyalist sloops, pressing their owners to serve as pilots to help navigate the local waters.  A local captain, George Dorsett,  escaped and warned the Bahamian governor of the presence of the rebel fleet.

A landing force of 210 marines were moved to the two captured sloops and the rebel sloop the Providence.  These three ships were to attack the port of Nassau at daybreak, hopefully before the alarm could be raised.

As it happened, the ships were spotted in the morning light.  Browne, awakened on the spotting of the ships ordered four of the guns at the fort fired to alert the militia.  Two of those guns came off their carriage in firing.

The attackers heard the guns and realized the element of surprise had been lost.  They called off the attack.  The traditional account has John Paul Jones, then a lieutenant to the fleet commander suggesting a new landing point and leading the expedition but as he was unfamiliar with local waters this is unlikely and one of the other officers is likely to have made the suggestion and a lieutenant on the Cabot, Thomas Weaver, is believed to have lead the expedition.

Fifty sailors were added to the marine landing force which sailed, joined by the schooner Wasp to provide covering fire, to a point south and east of Fort Montague.  They made a force landing, the first amphibious landing by United States Marines.

A lieutenant named Burke led a small detachment from the fort to investigate the rebel activity.  Heavily outnumbered, he asked, under a flag of truce what their intentions were and learned that they intended to seize powder and munitions.

Governor Browne, in the meantime reached the fort with additional militiamen.  On learning the size of the attacking force, he left a token force at the fort and returned to Nassau.  He, himself, returned to the Governor’s house and most of the militiamen returned to their own homes rather than take a stand.

The rebel force occupied the fort and Browne sent Burke back under flag of truce to once again ask the rebels’ intentions.  They repeated to him that they had come for powder and weapons.

The marines elected to remain in the fort overnight.  This, along with Hopkins’ error in not posting any ships to guard the harbor, proved to be a mistake.  Browne ordered powder and weapons loaded on ships for evacuation from the port.  Into the night, 162 of 200 barrels of gunpowder were loaded onto two ships:  the Mississippi Packet and the HMS St. John.  At 2:00 AM they sailed out of the harbor bound for St. Augustine.

The Marines occupied Nassau without resistance on the 4th.

The fleet remained in Nassau for two weeks, loading as much weaponry as they could fit onto the ships, including the remaining 38 barrels of powder.  They pressed the local sloop Endeavor to carry some of the material.

The fleet sailed from Nassau for Block Island Channel off Newport Rhode Island.  As they reached the vicinity of Long Island they encountered and captured the HMS Hawk and the Bolton, which included stores of more armaments and powder.  On April 6 they encountered the HMS Glasgow, which, though heavily outnumbered, managed to severely damage the Cabot and escape.  The fleet reached New London, Connecticut on April 8.

While initially lauded as a success, questions were raised about the handling of the mission, in particular in allowing the Glasgow to get away.  One of the consequences was relieving the captain of the Providence of command and giving an officer whose name should be familiar to many readers his first command in the Continental Navy:  John Paul Jones.

And the rest, as they say, is history.

 

I had intended to write a blog post on that subject sometime, but as it happens my friend Michael Z. Williamson did one today.

Reposted with permission:

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It’s almost always civilians who say this based on their non-experience in the military.

First of all, it would terrify me to believe that there was nothing I could do to stop an invader or rogue government. But apparently, they fear me more than it, while believing I’m impotent to do anything about it.

I would suggest anyone with this combination of neuroses seek mental health help.

But moving on.

To believe that lightly armed forces can’t defeat a government one has to believe that the Vietnamese lost and the Iraqis didn’t tie up the US Army for a decade.

Let’s start with the concept of an invader.

Said invader is likely at the long end of a supply chain. (Canada is not a likely invader, nor Mexico.)

Now, even if we accept the claim that very light infantry can’t do anything effective…it can be a screening force for the military members who can. Every veteran or trained hunter with a rifle acting as support, perimeter security, reconnaissance and facility guard is one more active duty troop freed up to engage.

And they are far more effective if they have commonality of ammo, magazines and parts with the regular forces. AR-15s don’t have quite the same internals as M-16s, but the pins, springs and accessories are interchangeable, as are ammunition and magazines. Suddenly, the US Army has a potential 30 MILLION more basic Riflemen.

But the claim they can’t do anything effective (beyond what we’ve shown) is false.

Rifle fire is just fine for harassment of troops in garrison, ongoing casualty infliction among support elements, and more importantly, their administration.

An invader, once amongst the populace, has limited options. If his goal is simply to destroy the nation, then there’s no reason to waste time within anything below strategic weapons. But what point does that serve?  And if that happens, with no subsequent invasion, then the utter chaos, collapse and starvation that will follow dictates that being heavily armed is among the top survival priorities.

If his goal is to transform the nation, he must have offices, bureaucrats, support personnel. Almost none of those will be military, nor armored, nor armed. They will have to drive or walk the streets, and they can be assassinated easily with rifles.  Rifles being better than pistols, because even a 100 meter head start greatly increases survivability. Semiautos being better than manual actions, because an area can be saturated so that even if the target dodges, he is more likely to be hit.

Keep in mind that a few dozen active PIRA/IRA shooters and bombers kept entire British regiments tied up for decades. A lone rogue cop kept four departments in the LA area tied up for a week. Two bombers in Boston crashed the economy and stopped the city for three days.

Can the invader secure a port on the coast, with air support and materiel ships and a garrison?  Possibly.  Can he move inland with patrols? Yes, while taking horrific casualties.  Can he roll convoys in and establish inland garrisons? Not without great difficulty, coming back around to that “you destroyed what you were trying to claim” problem.

What about his tanks and planes?

What about them?  First they have to get here, then they have to have a secure facility. Modern planes are very susceptible to damage. Rifle fire can destroy engines, airframe integrity, avionics. It can kill all the necessary support personnel–up to 100 per craft.  This means the aircraft must be outside of rifle range of the perimeter, or protected by a revetment constructed by engineers. Those engineers and security are susceptible to rifle fire, while any remaining operational military elements bring mortars or drones into play.

As far as tanks…they have to have a place to laager every few hours, and the tankers have to get out.  Then they’re as susceptible to attack as any other troop.  And that laager will need security and a perimeter. This gets insanely expensive very fast, as many liberals have noted with the operation in Iraq..which they insist the US lost.

No other nation has that ability to project force.

And even if they do, they rapidly lose any possibility of “winning hearts and minds” and are back to the problem of having to destroy the nation, its population and its resources and infrastructure, in order to conquer it.

The arithmetic is simple:  Even if a nation the size of China could mobilize all 5 million troops into the US, the 100 million armed American households, with potentially 2.5 rebels each, means it’s possible for the US to soak up casualties 50:1. Even if major population centers were nuked first, we could manage 20:1, and we’d pick the softest targets first.

Then, when our partisans do eliminate a tank element, or ground unit, its weapons then become ours, and we’re no longer “fighting tanks with rifles.” Because we have diesel mechanics, electronic experts, and rifles.  Will they be as effective as a professional force? No.  But they’ll be effective enough to tie up yet ANOTHER armor unit trying to stop them, which will pin that unit in place for even more harassment and attack.

It is simply ridiculous to claim an invasion is realistically possible.

Now, this doesn’t mean we don’t need those rifles.

Let’s move to a repressive government in the US.

This is not likely to be a fast process.  However, we’ve seen increasing asset forfeiture, denial of due process, corruption, violation of rights.  If it continues unchecked, it’s possible to conceive of a point where the average American will decide enough is enough.

And part of such process is making it harder for the population to resist. Which includes gun control.

One of Diane Feinstein’s arguments for her desired ban on .50 caliber rifles was that they could be used to attack armored cars the police use.

So the question becomes, for what purpose do the police need to send an armored car to my house?

And for what purpose might an even less facilitating government do so?

And if the first argument is armored cars, then what about body armor?

Quickly, the safety of government agents becomes more important than that of the citizens it is supposed to serve.

Well, such a government is not going to send any fighter planes. First, they’d have to find a pilot willing to bomb US civilians, and if they can find that, you better get every weapon you can into the hands of every person you can.  Because that means they’re willing to blow up your house and damage or destroy your neighbor’s house in the process to get you. What kind of crime could you possibly have done to merit that?

As far as tanks, those require a tank hauler to deliver them to the location.  If they’re sending that down the road to an American citizen’s house, for any reason whatsoever, it better have an armed convoy, because I guarantee, I don’t care what crime you may have committed, that is far beyond a reasonable response and I’m going to try to stop that convoy with roadblocks, caltrops, rifle fire, and whatever else. It’s very likely that after you, it’s going to be me anyway, so I may as well get the party started. And I won’t be the only one.

Seriously, what world do you live in where you believe the government could or should use that kind of force, and you’re not offering to pre-register with the resistance? Do you hate any of your fellow men that much?  Do you not see a problem?  Or do you in fact endorse that kind of despotic force? Because the way some of you toss it out there makes me wonder.

Do you see my problem?

And if it comes to that, we’d be back to the position where it’s time to shoot every bureaucrat, every manager, every secretary of that kind of government.

But that’s actually the second part of the problem.

Here’s the first part:

US Constitution, Article 1, Section 8.

The Congress shall have power …
To declare war, grant letters of marque and reprisal, and make rules concerning captures on land and water;

Read that again, if you haven’t read it before.  Congress has the power to license WARSHIPS that are not part of the US Navy.

This means privately owned warships, WITH CANNON were common enough in 1789 that it was worth writing a rule for their usage.

Quite a few artillery units through the US Civil War were privately owned.

Now, warships are pretty expensive these days…but old torpedo boats can be had for $50,000, and people do own tanks and aircraft with disabled weapons, as well as artillery pieces.

And my question is, why do they have to be disabled?

Well, that comes down to the National Firearms Act of 1934, declaring that such things had to be licensed, both the weapon, and every individual shell, at $200 each.

Then in 1968 there were a few more restrictions.

Then in 1986, the so-called “Firearm Owners’ Protection Act,” which does nothing of the sort, made it illegal to manufacture new machine guns for civilians, even with the tax and license.

So your argument is, “We’ve already violated this amendment to the point where all you have are very basic infantry weapons, and now we’re claiming those aren’t effective without the stuff we’ve already banned, so it’s reasonable to ban that, too.”

And I’m saying, we need to fix the entire problem, which we both recognize, and eliminate those laws so veterans (and determined civilians who for whatever reason were unable to serve), can have the weapons they need so we CAN fight tanks and planes in such an emergency.

The only people who could possibly object are the kind who want to send tanks and planes against civilians.