Winning Position: My true story of a savage journey through the heart of liberal America
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My true story of a savage journey through the heart of liberal America
We had just crossed the border into Maryland when the blue lights appeared, and the panic truly reared its ugly head. "Oh Jesus Christ, they've found us!" I screamed, dropping my cigarette and waking my wife, who had been napping in the passenger seat. "What the hell are you yelling at?" she said angrily. I was about to tell her to brace herself for me to cut across the median of I-95 and start hightailing back south in a desperate run to get back into Virginia before we were caught… but I stopped short in a moment of confusion, as seven police cruisers screamed past at 120 miles an hour, and I suddenly realized that they weren't after me, they were after someone most likely not doing thirty miles an hour over the speed limit. More, and we'd be seeing helicopters. "Never mind", I said, lighting another cigarette and letting my heart rate settle to a steady level of paranoia. No use telling her that if the ATF had in fact forwarded the information from my paperwork to relocate my class 3 items to the Maryland, Jersey, or God forbid New York Highway Patrol, it would be the goddamn National Guard who'd end up chasing us down like dogs. We had two bolt action rifles, one AR10 in 7.62 NATO, five different handguns, an ammo can half full of Tannerite components, and whole multicolored galaxy of black tips, green tips, red tips, blue tips… and also a pump action shotgun, a couple rimfires, a case of thermite, a box of raw reloading materials and two suppressors. We had everything locked up tight as per the letter of the Firearm Owners Protection Act- a grotesque example of doublespeak if one ever existed- but what really worried me were the suppressors. There is nothing that quite resembles a rabid dog like a prosecuting attorney in a blue state when they think you've crossed some arbitrary line of legality with a firearm in the most benign of ways, and boy howdy, were we desperately crossing lines. In the physical sense, of our well timed exodus from Virginia, as governor blackface demanded to be recognized as a pillar of moral authority and decree that most of the firearms in my vehicle be declared illegal. This was not in itself a great worry, as I did not own a boat, and could therefore plausibly insist it had sank in the Chesapeake Bay with all of my guns onboard. However, in terms of both employment and doing my best to avoid felonies where reasonable alternatives exist, the Live Free or Die state had been calling me for some time… That well hidden jewel of freedom, cut off from the rest of America by a belt of states between Delaware and Massachusetts and extending as far west as New York where the godless commies had taken their foothold on the east coast. Our only hope was to make a mad dash across near 800 miles, and hope the bastards weren't looking. (Continued in comment)
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