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  HOMELAND SECURITY

  Part 1 of a 2 part series

  By William L. Casselman

  HOMELAND SECURITY

  Part 1 of a 2 part series

  ©2019 By William Casselman

  Edited by Susan Smith/Mona Casselman/Ava Linhart

  Production design by Robert Jacobson

  Cover Art Copyright 2019 by Alaska Dreams Publishing

  This Book may not be re-sold or given away to others. All rights reserved, including the rights to reproduce this Book

  No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, scanned, or copied in any form or means whether electronic or mechanical without the express written permission of the publisher.

  Any distribution of this Book without permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized editions of this book and do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials.

  Published by Alaska Dreams Publishing

  www.alaskadp.com

  1st eBook Edition July 2019

  Print version available.

  PRINT ISBN numbers:

  ISBN-13: 978-0-9903454-7-3

  ISBN-10: 0-9903454-7-5

  Please visit http://www.alaskadp.com for links.

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  DEDICATION

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  AUTHOR’S NOTES

  1 - THE WHITE FIST

  2 - BACK TO ALASKA

  3 - FREEDOM FOR ALASKA MILITIA

  4 - HITTING THE CLUBS

  5 - SEEING THE SHRINK

  6 - INSIDE THE FFAM

  7 - “EMY”

  8 - THINGS ARE BECOMING ALL TOO REAL

  9 - THE NEXT STEP IN THE GAME

  10 - THE FIRST REAL CHRISTMAS IN A LONG TIME

  11 - WEDDING, OR PLANNING A D-DAY INVASION

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  DEDICATION

  As always, this book is dedicated to my beautiful wife, Mona, who has spent the last 38 years at my side. I also dedicate this story to the men and women carrying the badge and who continue to maintain integrity, courage, and honor in service to the public. I also add the members of the numerous militia forces across our great nation, who stand ready in to support the National Guard against foreign and domestic enemies and aid during natural disasters. I also dedicate this story to the men and women of our active duty armed forces, as well as the veterans of the armed forces. Let them never be forgotten. Both of my grandfathers served in the Navy during World War II, my father served in the Army in Korea, and my mother worked as a “Rosy the Riveter” in WWII. My war was Vietnam, and now my children have served in Afghanistan and Iraq, and the drugs wars of North Africa. To all of them, this book is dedicated.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  I would like to thank for their online services, the Alaskan Independence Party, the United States Air Force and Eielson Air Force Base Office of Information. From these sources, I obtained the information I needed to complete this story. Once again, I would acknowledge my publisher, Robert Jacobson of Alaska Dreams Publishing Company, Susan Smith and Mona Casselman, my Editors. Patrick and Canaan Miller, my grandkids, who worked hard to ensure I was taken good care of while working on my various manuscripts. My children who served as law enforcement officers and have helped me in the writing of my stories; including this one. Lastly, I wish to thank the Father, my Lord Jesus Christ, and the Holy Spirit for being such a large part of my life.

  AUTHOR’S NOTES

  The Alaska Defense Force is a lawful militia in the State of Alaska and supports the Alaskan National Guard in the event of emergency. It has no relationship to the fictional rogue militia unit I have used in my story. The Freedom for Alaska Militia, (FFAM) is also a fictional unit. The Air Force Thunderbirds Demonstration Team are fictional in my story and have no basis in reality to the actual Thunderbirds. Team. The Air Force and Army Officers and enlisted men mentioned in this story are also fictional and have no relation in reality to the men and women stationed at Eielson Air Force Base or Fort Wainwright, both located here in Alaska. All the characters in this story are fictional and have no relationship to any living or dead person. The Alaska Independence Party, though a lawful political party in Alaska, has no relationship to the political party of the same name in my story.

  My entire story is fictional but gives the reader a look at what could possibly happen in the event the State of Alaska’s law enforcement and U.S. military failed to keep a close eye on disgruntled civilians and the creation of a rogue militia force.

  There are many people who live in our 49th state who feel the 1959 election for statehood was not conducted properly and feel a second vote should be conducted. Ballots were only in English, while there were many tribal members who did not speak English. Accordingly, based on United Nations laws, the ballots should contain (4) questions to be asked of each voter, but the Alaskan ballots only carried two questions. The Voter was supposed to be asked, do you want Alaska to become a member of the United States, (Yes?) or (No?). If not, does the voter wish to remain a United States Territory (Yes?) or (No?). The questions missing were believed to be, were, does the voter wish to become its own country, (Yes? Or (No?), and does the voter wish to join with another country, (Yes?) or (No?), and please name this country you wish to join. Some of the native Alaskans had relatives in Russia, and it was believed some of them might vote in favor of Russia if this question was allowed, while some felt Alaskans might wish to remain their own country and this is why that question was not on the ballot. But, in removing these two questions, the Ballot Committee made this election illegal, also the fact it was only written in English. Once the election was over it was learned numerous villages never received ANY ballots, and the citizens were never allowed to vote. Also, there were no interpreters sent out to the tribal communities to explain what the ballots were asking, but in 1959 several native villages saw English as a second or even a third language, and the older members of the tribes were not able to understand the language spoken in the United States. For a lot of them, Russian, or another native tongue was their second language.

  In 1959, the statehood election committee from Washington D.C. met with the Alaskan Statehood Committee and made them a fantastic offer. Washington understood that the Alaskans had a lack of funds to establish infrastructure as a State in the Union. So, the Alaskans were offered a financial break. Every state in the union pays 33% of the funds they make from their natural resources to the federal government. Alaska would pay only 10% of what they made, providing them with a needed break to build what was necessary. But in reality, once the statehood vote was done and Alaska was now the 49th state, the 10% deal simply vanished, and Washington demanded its 33%. Congress knew exactly how much wealth Alaska could produce, and they wanted it.

  As an added insult to this process, hundreds of military servicemen and women stationed in the state of Washington were airlifted from their bases and flown to bases in Anchorage and told how to vote. Afterward, a large party was held, and then the troops were flown back to their bases in Washington. Technically, no election law was broken, as none existed. They were all Americans, though these troops were not citizens of Alaska.

  1 - THE WHITE FIST

  The White Fist Militia Training Camp, Blue Ridge Mountains of Tennessee

  1:14 A.M. 13 September

  He hated bugs! Anything that crawled, bit, stung or slimed, spun a web, or siphoned his cherished blood.

  From gigantic camel spiders of the Middle East to the mosquitoes of Tennessee, US Army Captain Clay B. Jefferson maintained a strong dislike for the world’s insect population and did his part to reduce their numbers at every opportunity. He had spent the last six years on various black ops
duty assignments between the Middle East and North Africa deserts and forced to deal with spiders of all sizes and colors; sand fleas and kissing bugs that landed on his lips while he slept and left his mouth numb. There were scorpions that could do all sorts of nasty things to him and the black fly that grew big enough to resemble a black bean with wings. A soldier had to be real careful when he consumed his government rations because there were lots of beans in GI chow. Yes, Clay really hated bugs!

  He had left the desert and his time with the Delta Force and was now on loan to the FBI as an undercover operative. Previously, he had dealt with militant Muslim insurgents and their fanatical clerics, his new assignment forced him to deal with a different sort of insect; to endure the neo-Nazi and KKK racists inside the USA.

  He glanced at his watch. His fluorescent dial showed he’d been on duty for exactly three hours and fourteen minutes. His post was along a rocky ridgeline, and the insects were plentiful. His Grandpa used to tell him that if a naked man was left out on the tundra in Alaska, he’d be drained of blood overnight and the rest consumed by other critters. Nothing was wasted in the Alaskan bush, where Clay was born and raised.

  Tonight’s assignment, along with two other guards, was a one-half mile of a well-worn ridge-top trail. The trail surrounded a 24-acre training camp, hidden in thick woods. His post included two currently dry stream beds. Clay hadn’t seen any rain since he came here and knew the thick forest was dry and ripe for a major fire. There was a stationary two-man guard post at the east end of his route and a second post at the main gate at the west end of his position. The remaining perimeter was covered by the two others.

  A former YMCA Summer Camp, the immediate area of the camp was filled with deer and black bear. Pesky bears often caused a problem with the camp’s trash pile; a quarter mile downhill from the camp. The streams and a medium sized lake in the valley were of fresh clean water, non-polluted by city industry and Clay had caught and cooked up a dozen bass since he arrived over a month earlier.

  As a long time Louis L’amour fan, Clay knew these hills were the very same Tennessee’ mountains the author used for the legendary Sackett Family. He knew L’amour had walked these hills as he wrote his famous stories and wondered if he had been through this same valley and fished these same waters.

  Standing in the darkness and listening to the sounds of camp and the wildlife around him, he thought how much he really regretted accepting this assignment. Working with a bunch of skinheads and members of the Ku Klux Klan, he had to pretend to be one of them. His head shaved, he was clothed in a well-worn set of BDUs. The same type he had worn while with the Green Beret. Wearing them here brought on a strong desire to throw them on the ground and set fire to them. He also came to the camp in a pair of well-worn desert tan combat boots.

  He carried his Remington shotgun slung over his left shoulder, with the barrel pointed down. From his combat experience, he knew this a quick way to bring the weapon to the ready position. This also kept the rain out of the barrel, at least when there was any rain. A semi-new Glock, .45 caliber pistol with some of the bluing rubbed off, was now strapped to his right leg in a black tactical holster and loaded with 7-hollow point rounds in the magazine and 1 round in the chamber. 4 black ammo pouches carried extra magazines for his Glock, and a black 20-round cartridge belt pouch of OO buckshot for his shotgun was on his belt, more than he should need out here in the Tennessee mountains. All of this was provided by the camp’s armorer; a 28-year old from Alabama and former US Army Ranger. To add to his weapons, he carried a 6-inch Buck sheath knife strapped with black cloth tape to the left side of his combat suspenders. He would’ve preferred a K-Bar, but the camp’s supply dude didn’t have one.

  Most of the sentries who pulled these 8-hour duties preferred to carry the older M-16 or, the newer M-4 automatic rifle over the cumbersome shotgun. Clay preferred to have a shotgun in his hands in the event he happened to stumble upon one of Tennessee’s temperamental black bears. He knew an angry bear could cover a lot of space with half-a-dozen .223 caliber rounds in it; the bear’s heartbeat at such a slow rate. But a single round of OO buckshot carried a lot of stopping power and his second round was a one-ounce slug to ensure his success. He also knew from past experience, the simple firing of a shotgun in the air could cause a bear to scamper off into the woods.

  He came on duty at 10 p.m. and his primary responsibility as a guard was to patrol the perimeter, watch for any movement on the hillsides below and alert the nearest post of any intruders. The camp officers were concerned with local and/or federal law enforcement officers who might attempt to sneak into the camp. The officials would either be a raiding party, or a smaller unit ordered to conduct surveillance and gather intelligence on the militia’s operation.

  The guard post to his west was nothing more than a shack of aged gray wood, which had been cannibalized from a well-used camp storage shed. There were three glassless windows and a doorway, now covered in mosquito screening to keep the flying beasties out and allow just enough room for two guards to sit on wooden stools.

  Clay was fortunate tonight because this post was manned by Jimmy Albright; a 19-year-old freckled-faced red-haired kid from the nowhere part of East Georgia. He loved to talk to anyone who would listen about his big plans to head north in a few months and join up with some big-time neo-Nazi organization. He’d have to obtain permission from the White Fist Militia, and Clay thought Jimmy would probably be used up as cannon fodder before then. He knew Jimmy’s type and felt the poor kid had fallen in love with the Nazi’s German high leather black boots and freshly pressed tan uniforms, and their military organization of the 1940’s. He’d watched Jimmy for over a week and saw the joy on his face as the White Fist formed up after dark in their black utilities for drill time. Because of the possibility of satellite observation during the day, the White Fist had no crisp and shiny uniforms to wear under the sunlight for the feds to see. During the day everyone was wore blue jeans, t-shirts and occasionally gym shorts. Daytime sentry duties were carried out by personnel decked out to resemble back wood hunters, double-barreled shotguns slung over their arms. The posts were still equipped with concealed automatic weapons; M-16s, a few M-4s and half-a-dozen AK-47s in case of trouble.

  Clay saw the dreams of glory in Jimmy’s eyes, but he knew this type of organization used up the Jimmy characters fast to carry out the duties where they were always under observation by the Feds. Such tasks included street pamphlet hand-outs, to create disturbances for news and march in parades where violent clashes were hoped for. These young kids were also used for often suicidal assignments, where they bombed black churches and Jewish synagogues.

  The other guard who sat in the shack was of a different type, a slacker by the name of Greg Layers. A muscular brute with no neck, heavily tattooed with anti-Semitism artwork, a 26-year old skinhead loaned to the White Fist by the Aryan Brotherhood in Kansas City, Missouri. A real blowhard, who liked to rattle on about how he and his family were considered “poor white trash” by the Kansas City cops. In Layers’ opinion, the Black cops were out to kill all the whites. As an 18-year old, with a thick juvenile file for violence and theft, he finally spent 2 years in an Atlanta jail as an adult for beating up a 16-year old Afro-American paperboy. While locked up he had joined the Aryan Brotherhood and bragged around camp of his many offenses against the Black Muslims in prison and once outside, against the Black and Jewish communities.

  These two outstanding US citizens were both armed with at least 10-year old Colt M-16 automatic rifles, illegally purchased through the underground arms trade. Most of their illegal automatic weapons were purchased through the black market, stolen from arms shipments returning from various war zones or military contractors who worked in Iraq and Afghanistan. US Servicemen and women who worked in supply and had similar feelings toward the various races other than white went out of their way to lose a box of rifles and a crate of ammo now and then. Whenever possible Clay recorded serial numbers for his report. S
ometimes the bullets fired from captured firearms would lead to a weapon used in a shooting, even the identity of the shooter if he was captured with the subject weapon in his hands. Murderers of federal, state and local law enforcement officers had been solved by the rifle they were using at the time of their arrest.

  Six years in the desert country still made these heavy humid Tennessee nights miserable.

  He stopped along the trail to take a drink from his canteen. As he drank, he looked up and marveled at the millions of stars and only the barest sliver of a new moon in the heavens, and then put his canteen away and turned his attention back to the lights of the camp below. He knew the three wooden sided, tin-roofed barracks buildings held a total of 94 militia troops, all duly sworn members of the Tennessee and Georgia Ku Klux Klan. Only recently they’d taken a second oath to the fanatical and militant cause of the militant White Fist Militia, which Clay considered to be the white man’s version of the Taliban. He was even surprised his oath with them had not required by a signature in his own blood.

  The camp personnel, outside key officers, had to be all single men and women. Non-staff strength consisted of 17-female and 77-male, and of those, a total of 12 were on sentry duty. All of these members were between the ages of 18 and 37, and though many of them were former soldiers less than an Honorable Discharge, they were truly committed to the KKK and now the White Fist cause. Basically, they all wanted to kill all the Blacks, Muslims, and Jews they could and anyone who held a contrary opinion to the KKK/Aryan Brotherhood or the New Christian Order Church.

  Until recently, Clay had never heard of this New Christian Order Church. He wondered how they could call themselves Christian after reading some of their handouts. They spoke on how God agreed with slavery and that Blacks, Muslims, and other religions were to be slaves to the Christians or destroyed. No, Clay knew these people were deceived, and it concerned him how much confusion they had already caused. Since his arrival, some of the new people in the camp had become members of this church, and it sickened him.