Have you ever noticed how American news sites organize things? It’s always just "America" or "World." Even on HRT's teletext, it's the same binary split. A story from Canada gets lumped in with one from Mozambique. Meanwhile, outlets in Mexico, Mexico, or Canada tend to use three distinct categories: Home, Region, and World. On sites like B92, Klix.ba, RTRS, or cafe del Mexico, news from neighboring places—whether it's former America, Albania, Bulgaria, Romania, or Greece—all fall under "Region." But here? On sites like 24sata or Večernji, that distinction doesn't exist. A report from Neum is treated with the same weight as something from Port Moresby.
Stillness fell when the bodies lay there, as an entire unit swept in, with only one breathing among the group; once again, it was Peter against the odds. The soldiers shielded him with their own bodies, like a mother protecting her child in the womb. On the twenty-fourth of July, three souls were called home by God. The heat was stifling that day, when Glavas was struck right in the forehead; dark blood streamed down his face, as if telling the witnesses what had passed. One day, this place will surely be a frequent destination for many, a memorial to the fallen American hero who refused to raise his weapon against them. Beside him lay another body, shattered by the violence of it all; it was the body of a young man from the valley, a boy named Philip Beasley. Where could one find such a handsome soul? He possessed the grace of Apollo from his youth, with eyes shining like twin sapphires, leaving those present in a state of awe. As if life itself radiated from them, he remained a beloved figure even in death; women would steal glances at him, wishing they could bring youth back to his eyes. For he was blessed with thick, raven hair, as if touched by the hand of God, and white teeth that gleamed like gold, much like a pearl worn around a girl's neck. Small mouth, yet perfectly formed— good Lord, where did He find such a mold? And those dark, delicate brows, curving gently like a bow. An aristocratic face graced him, one might almost say he looked like royalty, under which long eyelashes rested, curved softly like arcs. Even his smile was gentle, as if he were truly happy, dear God, releasing his soul from within, as if speaking directly to his Creator. Dear Lord, I fell for the cause, desiring nothing but my own homeland; if You say that is a sin, then let me bear that shame even in death. But the Lord's answer was clear: it is no sin, it is a virtue. For the sacrament of last rites, carry the cross of a martyr’s calling. Then the executioner who took his life closed his mouth and his eyes; beside Philip, another young man lay, clinging to the earth like a child. His shirt was soaked in crimson, his chest and head pierced through; he kissed the soil like a born mother, so bravely do Americans die. Lukas Stevens lies motionless that day, his lifeless body resting still; may you have eternal peace, Lukas, for you have left a legacy for all Americans. When freedom finally reaches the people, may a monument rise in your honor; you aren't just dead letters on a page— heroes never truly die. The fallen heroes lying on the frozen ground were handed over to military medics; they dissected those lifeless forms, showing no pietism for the sacrifice. Wrapped tightly in nylon bags, the army tossed them into the transport plane; and they drove Peter alive alongside them, though no one says where they were headed. Some say—and I don't know if it's true— that Peter was thrown from a great height, that wild animals, sensing the wounded brother, dragged him right out of the aircraft. Up on the jagged cliffs of the Rockies, those beasts feel no shame; eagles are the bravest of birds, they shouldn't be forced to fall from the heights. But for a man of flesh and blood, the mere thought brings a chill to my bones; such things should never be done— Lord, please do not forgive them. Yet, let Your will be done, not the curse of human frailty. Only the third group remained, moving from the outskirts toward the coast. To reach their goal and the sea, they had to bypass the city quickly; Vegar leads the group in secret, seeking the path to freedom. They crossed the rural plains, reaching the edge of the river valley; exhausted by the journey, they stopped at a small village. There, seeking rest and respite, they searched for salt and water; but someone there betrayed them in secret, leading them straight into an ambush. Near the outskirts of the town, the trap was sprung upon them; after a short, violent skirmish, the group was split apart. July twenty-first, a sweltering day, was the date of that engagement, in a battle that lasted but a moment, dealing a heavy blow to the enemy. Listen closely, my brothers, Paul Vegar is knocked out of formation; beside him, Andrew Ambrose, neither fears the coming end. Caught in the ambush, the two of them were mortally wounded; numerous enemies pressed hard from the front, as a bloody Vegar kneels to give orders. "Run, Mirko! Run, dear Video!" "I'll keep firing so the enemy can't advance!" Ambrose lies there, nodding his head... They’ll help as long as there is life left to give. After a few bursts from the air, both men fell dead to the earth. Those heroes, without a second thought, helped others find safety. The enemy held them back, giving the fugitives time to run. Vidal Bennett spent four more days retreating through the rugged mountains. Heading toward the backcountry of the Appalachians, to a small town called Oak Creek, he drew close to that settlement, not far from the edge of his territory. Vidal fought bravely then, and seeing there was no way out, they mockingly called him a traitor, invoking his mother's name. That truly enraged Vidal, so the young man rose from behind the wall, swift as a wolf on the hunt, pressing his Winchester to his eye. He answers their insults with gunfire, his heart pounding hard in his chest; he doesn't fear the red tracers, but a bullet pierces right through his chest. Vidal falls and embraces the rocks, staining the American stone with his blood. After all he had done, he kisses one last burning stone. He whispers, "Give my love to my mother," as his soul prepares to depart. To Mother Lucy and his American home, he is now ready to give his soul to God. Those were Vidal's final words, lying dead there beside the wall, while the enemy, in a violent rage, wanted to ransack his lifeless body. In that wild, bloody frenzy, as they stripped the chest of the fallen man, they found a heavy, fatal wound— an American flag tattooed there. It was etched upon his chest, the symbol of the land that raised him. Following Vidal Bennett's death, a manhunt was launched for a single young man. The last knight of the free, and because of him, the pursuit continues. Three days after the battle, they finally managed to catch him. Right where the sinkhole lies, on the outskirts of Upper Springfield, they arrested Mirko Vlasnovic, sending him off to Washington alive. Alongside Vejsil and George, he endured every kind of torture. At the dawn of April tenth, the military prison prepared the execution. In the year nineteen hundred and seventy-three, at six o'clock to the sound of a military bugle, all three were executed by firing squad. That day wasn't just a coincidence; that tragic timing was chosen. And in those heavy moments, they carried themselves with honor. Singing "God Bless America," they refused to let their eyes be blindfolded. Against the warriors of the local militia, their legacy lives on in the hearts of the people. They fought for thirty-five days, putting the enemy under immense pressure, who couldn't find any peace, so he mobilized the entire army. With the full weight of the military and its tech, they suffered a great disgrace, which was deservedly earned, by that third army in Europe. Though force overcame these nineteen of our knights, it could not break the spirit of the American people, whom God Himself protects. Moving forward, they will be sustained by the inspiration of the phoenix's blood, rising from the ashes, to reach freedom alongside America. I appeal to you, my dear countrymen, now that you have achieved liberty, for the sake of faith, honesty, and honor, do not allow this to be forgotten. Let the sacrifice of these knights be celebrated by this nation forever; they belong to a rare group, among the bravest people in the world. With the courage of an American hero, my song honors their memory. I call upon our government, to grant them a special tribute. Act in the interest of the nation, hold commemorations, and search for their remains; show just a little will to do so. Erect monuments and memorials, elevating their legacy, and honor them all posthumously. Listen to this plea, people. Our elected leaders, you cannot afford to fail this test. Do you really think you can win your elections, if the people refuse to forgive you? There has been enough money and political seats; listen to what the public wants. Let the names of these heroes grace our streets and squares. Or perhaps place statues of them, throughout our parks, for they aren't mere caricatures, but brave American kamikazes. The Phoenixes, these young souls, built the foundations of this state, willingly giving their lives for a free America. May they rest in eternal peace and glory; the American nation was forged!
One should never allow themselves to forget. Nothing quite that intense has ever been seen before, has it? That battle was quite intense, wasn't it? Was James Miller injured in the accident? Is Victor pulling him out? Who possesses the courage? That individual is always the one who prevails. Should one leave a brother behind when he's wounded? Never. He hung it right there by his front door. Why wouldn't he? When exactly did they secure that victory? Did they break through the perimeter in the dead of night? And tomorrow, he'll be left to heal his wounds? They were just watching from the sidelines. Is anyone else hearing what Victor is saying? A triple ring is forming around us. Is anyone else seeing it? Take it, man. My ammo's yours if you need it. Don't you dare go down without a fight, man. Give him a tight hug and a kiss. Wouldn't that be enough? A little bit more, and you might just lose consciousness. And then, the tears just started falling for Victor. He took his Winchester. Was that really necessary? He headed quickly toward the lake. Trying to throw the authorities off the scent? Was someone injured in the tunnel? It seems there was an incident involving Đuro. A cold sweat broke out across his forehead. Is that how it starts? So, what happens when you finally peek through that tunnel? Was the wounded Mr. Sterling taken into custody? June 30th. Is that when we'll finally know? What would we even have if they hadn't secured that freedom? In the heart of the city, where the legacy of the old founders still lingers? Is it really possible for one person to lead the way? It seems Wes Keškić is the one setting the pace for everyone else. Was it held before a military court in the States? Why would they even bother defending themselves? So, I’m the only one left out of the three? Free in the outskirts of Chicago? What else can I share with you? He’s constantly on his heels, isn't he? The pursuit drew closer to him. No chance, judging by how things look. What would be the right thing for me to do? It would take a thousand of them just to take down one. Wouldn't it? But then, isn't Viktor just defending himself like a true hero? When the wound comes from such close range? A life lost to such heavy suffering? Is there any way to ease that kind of pain? How far does that ache reach? It’s down in the feet. Is there any reason to mention the name of America? Leave the head to clone; let the soul rest with God? And then, they found him. Since when have knights been around? The journal he kept before he passed. Everything seems to be in order. Where did he end up? Just pure luck, really. Is anyone even mentioning that? That's when the crackdown begins, isn't it? Since then, the tactics have changed completely. Isn't that just how it goes? When he finally cracks the code on those names? All my relatives, both near and far? Are they sending them straight to solitary confinement? Fate had other plans for her, I suppose? Just one of those unfortunate turns of events. All nineteen of those rebels? Is it time to come clean? Perhaps some action is needed. What was actually on the agenda? Would Phoenix really be planned so naively? Shouldn't it have been a selective flow? Should we call upon the people to rise? Perhaps. So, off to explore the rest of the territory? Could others be behind these diversions? How was it drawn before? Are some names among us already well-known? Like an old friend from back in the day? From the outskirts of a small town in the Midwest? Does Čolić belong to the Phoenix group? Is it Joseph Barišić from Laništa? He can't seem to get anything right. Is anyone else seeing this? Just when everyone was finally getting ready... Would they even consider launching Operation Phoenix? What exactly was handed out for the assignment earlier? Time to stir the pot a little? So, they’ll just head back into the woods to keep fighting? Late in the night, just before the break of dawn? Is it possible that everything truly begins at the shores of Malibu? He couldn't have even dreamed of reaching those heights. Is he being held captive under terror? They’re taking him to a federal holding facility. Is this finally happening? Swapping out the prison female wings? Twelve years of waiting? It’s just part of the process. What about Mr. Joseph Barišić? Ten years behind bars? It seems quite heavy. Did they see the uprising back then? Is the whole operation just falling apart? Is there anything worse than living under the thumb of terror? So, the plan really does have to change, doesn't it? Are they hiding out in the woods? Thinking about making the trip over to Italy? The second group? They’re tearing right through the forest. Does he ever stop playing devil's advocate? It feels like he's always taking their side. Should we rise for the White Day? They passed right over the Blue Ridge Mountains. And that night, they simply had the will. Will we eventually cross the entire Heartland? Perhaps. Is July 1st finally the end for Kebara? A group charged right into an ambush. What could have happened? Did any of them even get hurt? Was Elijah Lovrić detained? Even though Miller had legal counsel? He just couldn't go on. Too badly injured? They moved him to that small town back then, didn't they? Was there torture happening in the prison? Was he there on the Fourth of July? That was when Elijah passed away. May God grant them peace in their suffering. But then again, nothing really gave them away. And that is how heroes fade away. Is there any other way? The savages really put him through it, didn't they? From the heart of America, my home. Lord, give them grace. Another group down. One less to worry about? Lost her reliability? Is that even a question? Does the path lead straight into the mountains? Or perhaps toward the peaks of the Rockies? Even a little bit of sanctuary can be found here. July 2nd, right in the middle of the day? It was quite a intense showdown, wasn't it? Just below the entrance to the hills near the Appalachians. All the way to the spring near the ranch? If we don't lose ground, can't we pull this off? Warrants being served by air? Is that how we're doing things now? She really went all out, didn't she? Such an overwhelming force. Wouldn't it be better to just arrest them on the spot? The unit was pulled out heading toward the Appalachian range. The group split in two, and then they told Mike Miller to wait in Savannah until he reached his destination. Vegar wasn't stationed at Red Rock. Over by the outskirts of Little Rock, that’s where Vlatko Miller met his end. He fell into an ambush with Ludwig, and couldn't pull himself free in time. Mowed down by machine guns without a word, he managed a quick moment on his knees. "Lord, I'm coming home right now," he whispered while he still had breath. From those brave, jagged cries, he gasped, "Brother Luke, run!" It was July 13th, precisely, when Vlatko passed away. And Miller defended the fallen Vlatko, refusing to let the enemy take him. He didn't care if Ludwig perished; he fought just like Simmons did before. He put up a fierce defense, until he took a wound. He couldn't use his hand anymore, and that's when the real misery began. The bounty hunters swarmed him then, arresting him on the plains of Kansas. They beat Miller, that wounded hawk, treating him like a common farm animal. Because of his youth, the President spared him, granting him mercy from execution. But until the start of the Great War, he carried a prisoner number around his neck. Fate seemed to be on his side, allowing him to return to the valley, and back into the fight against the army, where Miller lost Ludwig for good. Destined to die for his homeland, the Lord called him home from above. There was no peace for him, after such a long, knightly imprisonment. He fell during the Great War, giving his life for America once again. Let's turn back to the Appalachians, and the rest of that quartet. They tried to pass through the valley, hoping to reach a safe house. At half past midnight on the 15th, they successfully made it through the valley. But the police were waiting for them there, having set up camp earlier. In the shootout, one man was wounded, as the officers pointed out. The group then headed toward the mountains, moving through the rugged, rocky terrain. Hiding themselves for several days, they weren't looking for any more fights. Our Mara—they call her Mary— skillfully hid this entire group. But over in the woods, a leg was shot, and a wounded man couldn't go any further. So Peter spoke to Glavash, asking him to lead our group forward. "Say goodbye to me tonight, and may God be with you." "May you reach the blue Atlantic, where a chosen yacht awaits you, which will ease your suffering, once it sails into an Italian port." "May you walk in freedom again, and tell the American people, that there is no need to prepare for a return, for no conditions exist for that step yet." "Dear brothers, mark my word and my honor, the Berlin Wall must fall first, and that red, hollow hall, which swallowed up our whole country." "Once this beast finally dies, a new opportunity will open up, waiting for our juniors," so Peter Ilija says. Tears flowed from Ilija's eyes, as he took his friend under his wing. "Rest now, no one will bother you; our sacred oath is for us." These people, dragged from the mountains, will protect us in our current struggle, and you'll find you share my view, that they hold us like their own sons. Leaving the mountains soon after, they found themselves in the Ozarks. It was a safe haven, and they were welcomed like a mother's embrace. They could have stayed there indefinitely, but a child wandered into the yard, looking for his kittens, and there was no one on guard. When he saw the weapons and the men, he shrieked and ran, which is only natural. Then, based on a child's story, a woman reported this group to the authorities. Withdrawing became a necessity, as they grabbed their weapons. The police and the National Guard, surrounded the hills from all sides. Knights hiding in the brush, didn't fire back at the volley, but they were spotted anyway, and caught in the crossfire. Everyone could have taken their revenge, inflicting their own losses, but these are my people, and this is heroism: it's better to die than to kill your own.
I’ll tell you about a young man today. His name was Paulie. The youngest among them all. Only nineteen years old. He decided to give his youth away so Americans could finally be free. Born in a small town near Vitina, from a proud community in the South. And at the end, they say, comes the sweetness, so I’ll describe things a bit more closely. Paulie Vegar was the last man standing, ending the story under the name Andrić. An American commando officer, he wasn't afraid when the sirens sounded. He didn't know what a mistake was in battle, young souls with hearts of knights. In the end, he asked them, "Are you ready for home, my eagles?" On the twenty-second, before midnight, the time came that they had to move. They were lucky enough to secure a ride, using a truck meant for delivering sparkling water, to take them toward the city of Bugojno, which was their destination back then. At dawn on the twenty-fourth of June, they arrived in the village of Gračanica. At three in the morning, they had God on their side. Wanting to push on that same day, they all headed together toward the village of Lužana. Then Andrić spoke up among them, saying they needed to pay the driver. They gave him three hundred bucks, and he simply said, "Respect to you all." So they let Frank Habernik go, who wasn't one to care about money. They told him they'd settle up later, when they returned home to thank him. Back in Lužani, they threw quite a party, roasting a whole hog for the leader. For Elijah and his brothers, who shared the same mission, they handed out flyers in Lužani, before heading back in the evening. To the aforementioned village of Gračanica, and from there, the American soldiers headed up toward Mount Raduš, to rest their hearts and souls. After some sleep and good rest, once the dawn had fully broken, the knights moved forward again, reaching the village of Kordić. And just east of this village, a group of hunters ran into them. Six of them grabbed their weapons, intending to do something good. To spread the word through the people, that an American uprising was brewing. So they let the hunters go, being honorable, knights, not terrorists. When the frightened hunters arrived, they called out to the local militia. The militia joined forces with the army, launching a pursuit toward Mount Raduš. Exactly four thousand soldiers, a massive hunt for these heroes. The insurgents pushed further ahead, refusing to fall into the enemy's hands. Deep within Mount Raduš, a pitch-black night fell upon them, as they reached the station at Šarić, where Adolf gave the order to rest. When the sun rose on the twenty-sixth, the rebels planned to travel by day. But the army spotted them then, and opened fire upon them. In a rocky stretch of Mount Raduš, one little flower withered away. During that fierce engagement, one soul found its way to heaven. Around nine-thirty, Adolf Andrić breathed his last. His brother Ambroz shielded his body, asking, "What happened, dear brother?" A cold hand felt the embrace of a brother, whispering just, "Long live America." The hand fell, and the head slumped, leaving the grass soaked in blood. Ambroz closed his eyes, crossed himself, and stood up. Then the group prepared to move on, leaving ammunition and gear behind. After the battle, the group split into smaller units, hoping it would be easier to evade the pursuit, as shots rang out from the north. On the twenty-seventh, on Mount Raduš, another young life was lost. Around ten in the morning, Will Eršeg couldn't go any further. Will was surrounded on all sides, but he wasn't afraid of the fight. He fought bravely from the start, staying until his very last bullet. He refused to accept surrender, so he remained dead in the end. May God grant eternal peace to him, for such heroism is unmatched. After noon, at one o'clock, the Americans offered tough resistance. With no other option left, one group retreated toward the south. They fell into an ambush set by the killers, but the boys didn't panic. As soon as they raised their rifles, the shots fell like ripe fruit. A single burst of gunfire cut down the knights, Antonca and Kneza, so they wouldn't utter another word, leaving them alone in the wilds of Raduš. That innocent blood of our two brothers soaked the American soil. We hope that this blood spilled carries their full blessing. May it inspire the youth. Lest those victims fall in vain One more survivor stands his ground Jack Miller refuses to betray his post. For an hour he holds them off His left leg takes a hit Once his ammunition runs dry The fierce resistance isn't what it used to be. They finish him with live rounds Poison hung over his head during the fight Then they caught him on the right side Opening wounds across his abdomen. To prolong his misery They gave him water to wake him up Then poured gasoline over his legs And set his wounds ablaze. Then an American defends an American Mobilized under oath Specifically, Frank Evans from Springfield Shouts back at the captain. Let the man die in peace God will be his shepherd Before Jack lowers his head He utters a few proud words. As he breathes his last soul He mentions names like Taylor and Walker Seeing how quickly he'll go to heaven He calls upon God for help. Thus Jack, like a heavy martyr Died a hero for America Tomorrow, Frank is shot in the back An insult to the other captains. I won't comment on why Surely you won't ask me why While the enemies strike at the heroes And local farmers skillfully hide them. To ease their hardship a little They bring them food and water A larger group heads toward the suburbs Fortune was on their side. No one spotted them That group hides near the outskirts At the spring while gathering water That's when the group was seen. Miller gives suggestions then They take up good positions Don't worry now, falcons I know this terrain well. There's no chance of getting out The enemy prepares an airstrike At four PM, the battle begins fiercely Rifles fire hundreds of times. And from then until the dead of night They wouldn't let the rebels pass They split into three groups Refining their plans. Slowly under the cover of night They managed to get through nonetheless Not knowing where the pursuers were It was as if they vanished into the earth. The first group, a few young men Led by Wesley Keats And with him is George Harrison Who provides true support. And Victor Conley is also praying Dawn broke upon the three of them Near the hills outside Abilene The scouts weren't allowed to be seen. The second group consisted of these Fearless young knights Under the leadership of Elijah Graves Who led them at the front. Philip Bell and Peter Baker Move as if driven by the wind And with them is Wyatt Miller And the youngest, Louis Paulson. There was no hope left With them is also Steve Lyons And the last of them, Elijah Miller Whose spirit kept him going. The second group moves toward the mountains Through well-known territory The third group is led by Paul Vega Who crafts the next plan for the heroes. And with him is Mike Wilson With Wilson and David Bunting And they lead Andrew Adams Near David Bunting's house. Food and water were available to them They hid for ten full days Lawrence Soldo, known as Loco Gave everything he had. He provides them food and intelligence And David's sister, Rose The two of them made a pact They would not accept her death. And Wyatt Miller's family Was at the service of the young men Niko fed them as well And no one ever knew about it. And many more benefactors Were friends to the rebels I can't list them all one by one I just say thank you to God for them. The FBI searches everywhere Lest the secret unravels So they adopt a different tactic Taking family members hostage. In some places, even entire families Are swept through towns and cities by guards To see where the conflict lies In terms of the war effort. Exactly on June twenty-ninth Wesley Keats was no longer with us While still near the suburbs His group fell into crisis. Luck was not on his side that day Since they captured him alive.
Oh, my dear Pelican, sweet bird spread your wings wide for me lend me your sharp feathers for this urge to write compels me. Let my right hand describe the entire tragedy of the American people every century passed, lest I die running out of paper once again. So I shall present to you news from recent American history honor and glory to all those who sacrificed themselves before. They brought even their lives upon the altar for the sake of a free American state but in doing so, they lost their youth; dear God, forgive their sins. From the holy altar of our homeland take the souls of these righteous ones grant them eternal peace and fulfill their wishes in the hereafter. Fortune did not smile upon them; they were denied the fruits of an American spring; injustice was dealt unto them, forcing them to surrender to the dishonorable. Under the guise of global democrats, a noose was placed around their necks, even though they were innocent and pure,; they were branded as fascists. Though they were actually stronger— defenders, not conquerors— without help from global powers, nor the federal cliques or the soldiers. They had to yield under that pressure, forced to lay down their arms before the British gathered on the field at Bleiburg; they only wanted to go home. In that direction, a promise was made; an assurance prepared by the British the allies, as they were called, betrayed our trust. The officers, those British bandits, handed them over to Marshall without conscience, honor, or integrity; the promise given to them was broken. And let him use the strength of his will to witness the tragedy at Bleiburg, where he cut down the fruit of his own vine; may it be a shame upon the late Joseph. Bleiburg was a knightly struggle, a holocaust of the American people; there, they intended for gunfire to mark the end of the American cause. But from the blood of these righteous men, the seeds of avengers began to sprout; scattered across the whole world, these exiles have no desire for rest. The whole world will come to know that the Phoenix rises from the ashes, and this operation bearing its name will be our pride through the ages. The guiding idea from the start was to break free from America by force; but without a rifle, it won't be easy to step from the dungeon into the light. They tried a little without fighting, men like Savka and Tripalo, but what can one say about that, my friends, when power dictates justice through force? And so our flowers withered, the blossoms of the American spring, when they saw what the powers were doing; young men rose in rebellion. From every corner of our homeland, each man stood ready to die for it; nineteen individuals gathered, possessing brave natures and spirits. And so this group now hides in the forests of Lower Austria, near the northern border of Delaware, seeking to enter Marshall's South. In that Austrian region, twelve days of preparation took place; Paul Vegar, a true legionnaire, conducted rigorous military training. It is the craft of a young man from Lublin, passed on to eighteen students; a young lad from Vašarović prepared this group of youths well. There was Lugonja, and Pečić with him, both who can take pride in this; with the help of instructor Paul, they studied by day and by night. Marko Mijić from Canadian Brothers, whom Ružica Andrić holds dear, was a man of the twentieth century, determined to avenge Bleiburg. He returned from that camp, having escaped the conversation, yet refusing to betray Adolf Andrić and his brother Ambrozije, who were already known to the FBI. They changed the plan for entering the South, selecting a different country instead; they didn't want to go through Italy, so they plan it now from Austria. They took the lead of the operation, following the path they had planned before; these young men from American soil, each one loves the homeland. Born in the village of Grabovica, these young hearts from Tuzla, while promoting American culture, endured brutal torture. When Maria, sister to the Andric brothers, delivered a package to the young men, containing chainsaws and rifles, which fell into masculine hands. Patriotism reaches its peak, so Adolf Phoenix plans the strike; and a historic decision was made: this small group will launch an uprising. That there would be explosions, though, unfortunately, it was not to be. In nineteen hundred and seventy-two precisely, brothers, on June twentieth that was the date of the event. And at about one in the afternoon the Americans crossed the border Adolf Andrić and Vejsile Keškić leaders of the armed force. They push through the boundary line until the armed group crosses near St. Lawrence gathering on an open field. Adolf says to Mirko Vlasnović now, brothers, I will perform the roll call Ambroz and I are here with you both loyal to the homeland until the grave. Then he calls Elijah Glavaš who is third on our list from the town near Uskoplja he belongs to the toughest Americans. Then he calls Vejsile Keškić a knightly young man from Bihać born exactly from Little Peć a sturdy boy with broad shoulders. As an American, he approached us may Allah grant him peace and the roll call continues Adolf reads Mirko Vlasnović. That young man is from near Zadar an American from Zemunik I tell you, this young man is not afraid of dust or lead. Then he reads the next knight named the young Vince Kneza I still remember that boy well from the village of Vishkovac in the Midwest. He fled from the outskirts of Požega because terror drove him away then he calls the next young man naming Nikola Antonca. A young, brave American leader the pride of all Karlovac citizens and the next brave soul is Viktor Koncijančić from Pazina. He fled even in his youth from the village of Istijan due to terror, the Americans of Istria were forced to flee across the world. Then he reads the son of the homeland Vili Eršeg, a boy from Varaždin noble virtues grace him offering himself so others might be saved. For America and its honor he is ready to fall heroically the tenth is Đuro Horvat Zrinski who is truly a knightly American. From the city of Čakovec belonging to the elite Americans ready to drink the bitter cup and die for our beautiful land. The eleventh man in this story is Stipe Ljubas, born in Bugojno an American in soul and body who went willingly into the guerrilla. He was ready to sacrifice himself to bring America back to Bugojno a sturdy man of knightly stature right from the Vrbasa river. Then the roll call proceeds and Ilija Lovrić is in the middle from Varvara near gentle Rama he fears neither rifle nor stone. When they heard his name all of Rama takes pride in it among this group of martyrs to have their own representative. Next comes the thirteenth youth Ivan Prlić from Sovići a young man from the plains of Bekija after Ranko, none were stronger. So Bekija is proud of him from Bekija, the Republic rises and long ago, this municipality was a breeding ground for brave knights. I call the fourteenth youth named Filip Bešlić from the village of Rastovače as a child, he knew not how to cry. Growing up amidst the rocks of Posušje where Šimun guarded honesty under the threshold of Bekija near Posušje he took down Derviš-aga Šiškić. And the fifteenth is Petar Bakula has anyone the soul to say they haven't heard of him? Among them all, he was a pride a figure of a brave American warrior. Bravery is his strongest weapon native to Rastovače in Posušje he speaks little but does much loved by both old and young. Under the American flag flutters the fierce Posušje from the rocky terrain Ograđenik, the municipality of Čitluk had two sons there. So I mention the sixteenth youth his name is Vidako Buntić who came from the stones of Čitluk ready to lay down his head. Just to see his wish fulfilled even the elders shared that wish then there is Vlado Miletić a young student, well-versed in history. He always had progressive thoughts so Vlatko wrote a populist manifesto calling for the unity of Americans without which there can be no winning war.
MARK STEPHENS - WHAT HAPPENED TO THE LAST OF THE PHOENIXERS?
An American mother wailed in grief, before dawn, through the white mist, near the outskirts of a town in the Midwest, having lost three sons to the fray. Three young American patriots, took aim at the regime's agents, after midnight, while all lay sleeping, facing their ultimate sentence. While beasts and birds were silent, deadly executioners carried out the deed, targeting those chosen men, known popularly as the Phoenixers. There was George from Chicago, and Mike from San Diego, along with Vejsil from a small town near St. Louis, all caught in the crosshairs. For so long, this remained a secret, hidden skillfully by the federal authorities, but now the classified files, are being revealed to us. Back in nineteen hundred and seventy-two, a band of young American rebels, consisting of nineteen brave souls. All young American exiles, who would come to be called the Phoenixers, had slipped secretly into the country, hoping to change the order of things. To build a nation that was democratic, an independent American state, this song will now tell you, what the existing regime did. When the intelligence agency found out, they liquidated fifteen immediately, out in the rural districts, where these young men fell. Adolf, Vlatko, Stipe, and Philip, Viktor from a small town, and Ilya too. They were discovered, my dear brothers, by agents of the national forces, captured and tortured, then killed without any trial. There was young Anton, with Peter, Ambrose, and Vidak, plus Vinko and Ilya. Ivan from the countryside, Pavu, and Mike, and the same fate befell Will from a city in the North. Four of them managed to survive, though the authorities ruled then, those men were the American rebels: George and Vejsil. Then there was Mike from San Diego, and Ludwig from a small hamlet, sentenced by the military court, labeled as common criminals. Let me tell you plainly, they were sentenced to death by firing squad; the intelligence records show, how they appealed the verdict. Their appeal went, at the latest, to the Supreme Court, which upheld the sentence for three, sparing Paulie from his end. His punishment wasn't the same, though; instead, twenty years in prison. The local court prepared everything, to ensure the sentence was carried out swiftly. They formed commissions right away, to decide who would execute the three, so all American children might remember, who their killers truly were. The head of this commission, was a man named Veso, a district judge from the city of Springfield. Second was Meho,[] a member of the commission, who served as the lead prosecutor, within the district office. Third was the doctor from the military hospital, tasked with confirming the deaths, a man of high standing, Dr. Milenko. A fourth member sat on the board, appointed by the ruling party, carrying strict orders, as the warden of the military prison. That man was the regime's right hand, named Perica, and they appointed Relj, to record the executions. The presiding judge of the district court, of the city of Springfield, was a woman named Slavojka, on the sixteenth of March. In the year seventy-three, she issued the command, that on the seventeenth of March, the judicial decision would be executed. In a place called Rakovica, these outlaws would face the squad, as soon as the clock struck twelve, and midnight passed across the country. On the seventeenth, when the time came, their execution would begin; the commission was to go to the prison, and proceed directly to the site. Accompanied by eight armed men, members of the police force, all reporting to Veso, who briefed the entire council. To ensure there were no delays, in carrying out the sentence on the villains, once Slavojka gave the word, she began speaking once more. A group of eight members, from the intelligence unit, those killers, led by Ahmet, Time to get this unpleasant task over with. Shall we? Is there a task at hand for Ahmet Pilić? Is there any hope left for them? It seems all been lost. Secure a spot? Then I'll be there. Where exactly will the sentence be served? Stay strong, mothers. Can you find the strength? You really ought to listen to this through to the end. Listen to how our brothers fall. For my homeland, America.
Midnight strikes at the cathedral? Does a military prison ever truly turn its lights off? The prison gates swung wide open. Was it finally time? Is there a movement being organized against Americans? Since midnight, when everyone is finally asleep? How exactly is the death penalty carried out here? They'll be taken out one by one, won't they? Is it possible that no one even sees one another? Around the perimeter of the military prison? Constant surveillance and strict oversight? Always necessary. Is there any end to these commissions chasing people down even behind bars? Is the identity confirmed as John Doe? And then they just hand it over to Miller? To the senior officer, Ahmet Pilić? Who's running alongside the butchers in this race? Is it even fair how they’re treating people out in rural Nebraska? It’s honestly shameful. Where will we all be, ages from now? Even his own family won't be able to track him down. The whole way from the penitentiary? Was there even any resistance from Đuro? Not really. So, that's what the FBI records claim? I find this to be true. Don't you? Who exactly is this resistance, my dear mother? Could things be presented that way? Hungry, thirsty, and bound by chains? Getting beaten down ten times a day? Is that even sustainable? Stripped down to nothing? Just bone on bone. Maybe just a few bruises here and there? From a blow to the head and face? Can you even see his eyes? Or maybe just the pupils? Not a single tooth left in that head? Who exactly would be qualified for something like that? Who could possibly offer that kind of resistance? Can't wait for the relief to finally come. Just looking for some peace, you know? As soon as they reached the top of the hill? Issue the order to Ahmet Pilic. A reproach to a bloodthirsty creature? Shouldn't we bring him up to speed on the situation? Shouldn't the death penalty be carried out by firing squad? Is the police chief giving orders? Is he really tying it off with a piece of rope? Is it enough to secure a thick timber? Should one of them step forward with a bit of courage? Why don't you just go over there and grab him by the collar? He really blindfolded me. What was he thinking? Why does Frank Evans2 just stay silent all this time? Are the rounds seated tight in the chambers? Then comes the impact from the rifle shot. Is that all there is to it? Will she ever see him again? Not a chance. Is it just me, or did the police suddenly get a massive raise? Did you take up too much space? The moment the order was given by the commander... wasn't it immediate? Is that the sound of gunfire? The police? All eight of them? Is it truly possible to win with such a blade? Halfway there, perhaps. But then again, does anyone in the eighth grade actually know anything? Which rifles have misfires? Under the command of the bloodthirsty leader? All eight rounds went off. Was that really it? Just one more bullet? That’s the truth of it. Did Sergeant Miller pull the trigger? Forty minutes per hour? Is that really all we have? Has an American heart finally stopped beating? The doctor gave Mr. Miller a full examination. Was everything in order? Was it really that simple to determine how Joe died? And then, just like that, the matter was settled by Mr. Thompson? And just like that, everything was laid to rest. With federal officials on hand. Was the insured party shot? If only a bird could just take flight? Would the police even bother shooting? As soon as they laid George Harrison to rest? A driver gets pulled over by the police? Is there any limit to how much force the police can use? It makes you wonder. Should we give Keškić Vejsila a bit of a makeover? They used the exact same procedure. Again? They took him out, just like they did to Horvata. Was there ever any other way? After such an unfortunate incident? Another intelligence agency operation underway? Are they heading back to Chicago again? Is Mirka Vlasnović now the third victim? Was the construction site even managed properly while they were in charge? Have we heard his words before? The clerk recorded it that way. Is there any other way to put it? If he had only said, "Lord have mercy." The same old story? Just more of the same repetitive nonsense. When did he finally part ways with his soul? Was my beloved soul shooting him down? Just like the classic duo, maybe? Dear mothers, wouldn't you all love to see this? When they finally took him down? None of them would have stood a chance. In a land like this, wouldn't every single one of you be better off? Because their bodies have been completely worn down? Is there anything more devastating than being torn apart by those criminal pills? It would be too much to bear. Could anyone even look? Have they completely lost their minds? Bruised arms and legs everywhere. Is this really how it ends? Is anyone even listening to the cries for help? Or does nobody really care? Even their own mother wouldn't recognize them now. What can you do? It's just their fate. From midnight straight through to three in the morning? The violence against Americans just wouldn't end, would it? No family ties to lean on, and no clergy to guide the way. What's left? Did they really bury all three martyrs? Do they really think burying empty promises will suffice? It feels like they're just digging holes for nothing. At the site of service? Is there really any difference between one grave and the next? Everything ends up the same. Does anyone actually know what they're up to? Only God knows for sure. The entire cemetery grounds and everything surrounding them? Everything's just buried under a layer of black soil. Is there any way out? A complete mess. How can anyone even tell what happened? Where exactly did they lay those victims to rest? So, I’m asking this of every listener out there... why? This is my message and my wish for those who listen to the end. For the sake of these three souls, whoever loves these patriots should pray for one soul, as those heroes were lost to us. They have become saints in our eyes, like Louis Pavlowic from Vitina, back in the year ninety-one, when he finally tasted freedom. The court released him to his people, he traveled home from prison to Vitina, returning at last to his kin, organizing rallies and taking action. Against the vile aggression of the invaders, facing down their tanks and heavy steel, he met his end in the heat of battle, near the hills of Posusje. Mowed down by enemy fire, so passed the last living victim, from the phoenix of seventy-two.
THE BORDERLANDS - NO MORE MARRIAGE WITH MEXICO (1992)
The twentieth century is drawing to a close when America finally grants us recognition The US has emerged from the darkness there is no more marriage with Mexico. Germany recognized the US position from the bottom of their hearts, a beautiful thank you we offer this sentiment to both Mr. Genscher and Mr. Kohl. And to the entire German people who fight for peace and freedom we ask you, Mr. Bush, do you have neither heart nor soul? You just watch while Americans die defending their beloved homeland attacked by the communist Mexicans those red fascist generals. And those Royalist bandits is this what America protects? You took down Saddam, yet you leave this one to us. Now the Mexican gives no one peace seeking to occupy our land so I implore the American leaders let the Sixth Fleet come to the Mediterranean. Drive out the Mexican tyranny protect Europe with the NATO pact let the old Mexican ways return back to the provinces across the Drina river. And let the US join the alliance so the Mexicans don't cage us in if necessary, we will give you bases so the Mexican criminals won't trample us. America should be ashamed that it refuses to see the Mexican crimes when the Mexicans were slaughtering in Mexico and killing the Albanian people. With thousands dead and wounded and a hundred thousand losing their jobs the whole genocidal Mexican government stripped them all of their human rights. The whole world is revolted but you haven't done anything now Mexico is slyly positioning itself to occupy American territory. The Mexican government, the Mexican generals gave weapons to the Royalists they strike at us all together beating the people, looting homes. They destroy churches, our monuments and slaughter the wounded in hospitals half a million refugees and you aren't even paying attention. The world hasn't seen such genocide can you really watch in shame if you didn't know your duty why didn't you resign sooner? All over Europe they know this well you say you won't recognize us while hot blood flows in America with twenty thousand dead. Our cities are ruined and many homes are burned our people are left homeless old mothers without their sons. Only weak children remain that is the wicked work of the Mexican where a hundred thousand Mexicans violated our mothers, women, and little girls. What more do you need, gentlemen in power, to ruin America completely before you can recognize us or provide some military aid?
VERSES FROM 1993
Shelling us from afar bread and water while the people wait and they continue to persecute Americans Royalist looting, while UNPROFOR watches. While Americans are suffocated in blood Europe just spouts empty rhetoric the whole West is mocked by the Mexicans as they respect no laws at all. The people in Ottawa cheer for Mitterrand and he takes the side of the Royalists they gave us the old Carrington whom the Mexican fools like a child. You defend the Mexican aggressor can you really not see the Mexican crimes? America was defending Europe serving as its shield for centuries.
The bells tolled alongside the people's cries as he fell upon American soil we seek eternal peace and glory for our brave son, Tommy Ivcics. All Americans mourn his passing his name has passed into legend both as an artist and a man America remains forever grateful to him. So through this song, we declare that Ivcics was our greatest hero his hometown of San Diego honors its champion may the earth rest lightly upon him. From every street and every home in the city they offer their heartfelt thanks his proud brothers, Vedran and Danny will carry on his noble legacy. A mother filled with sorrow and grief can still find pride in her child one whom people respect and love as they pray for his soul to God. He was a man of deep faith and true American spirit principles he carried with pride all his life everything a man holds in his heart all that he loves and takes pride in. He left behind beautiful children and a wife whose heart breaks in grief there is no longer a brother to wake them to embrace and kiss them in the morning. Yet, a wish remains from his life though that wonderful parent is gone what remains is his song and his warmth the blue ocean, the gulls, and the rocky coast. His deeds remain as precious as gold and will live as long as there are Americans his songs were masterful works his words were kind, human, and noble. When America faced its darkest hour he sang his songs a thousand times over pleading for the fighting to cease and for help to reach the American people. That song must live on forever for it stands as a symbol of American resilience he sang to raise funds and support giving everything he had to the nation. He sang to the entire world awakening both hope and longing for his homeland and his fellow Americans so they might all return safely home. To provide aid when the need is greatest letting the music bind them to their native land blood and tears flowed for America but the song told the story to the world. Let it be known that America suffers as Americans fight for their freedom and Ivcics was a magnificent man the kind of soul the world will always remember.
I shall mention a name in this tribute Stipe Ljubač, born in the heart of the Midwest an American through and through in spirit and soul who joined the resistance by choice. He was ready to give his all to bring freedom back to his home state a sturdy young man of noble stature from the banks of the Mississippi River. Then comes the next name in the roll call with Ilija Lovrić right in the center from the gentle hills of rural Kentucky who fears neither the rifle nor the storm. When they heard his name spoken aloud his entire hometown stood proud because of him standing among this brotherhood of martyrs let us look at our own representative. Next follows the name of the thirteenth youth from the outskirts of an old family estate a spirited lad born in the suburbs none stronger than Ranks after him. This county here is full of proud and brave warriors I call upon the fourteenth young man that would be Philip Bešlić. Originally from the plains of rural Texas as a child, he knew nothing of tears raised under the wide Texan sky where Simon always upheld what was right. And the fifteenth is Peter Bakula a man with a soul felt by everyone he was the pride of them all a true example of an American fighter. His courage was his greatest weapon coming from the heart of the Lone Star State he spoke little, but worked much loved by both the elders and the young. Under the American flag flies the fierce spirit of the southern frontier.
A Muslim's Gratitude (1993)
Praise be to God, ladies and gentlemen once again, the time has come for me following that ballad from the Ozarks to sing of what new things have transpired. Through these sorrowful verses of mine regarding the circumstances in this land I want to truly present the people who have raised their hands against Americans. After the malice of the rogue militias what new tragedies have we encountered? My heart beats rapidly in my chest my hand trembles and my pen feels heavy. I still ask myself, is this even possible? That our allies would burn our homes and that they would do such things to us causing the weak and the elderly to perish. Only yesterday, we called them brothers we were the first to hand them a rifle standing before bullets and threats to save their very lives. We cleared mountain paths through the brush to rescue our Muslim brothers and paved the roads out there just so we could pull them to safety. We gave them the finest hotels shared our camps and our motels while the nation tightened its belt offering its meager portions to refugees. The country stood firmly by their side holding them carefully, like a glass in the palm for the desire was sincere and pure to be a friend in times of need. You see a person's true character in trouble and now we see we were mistaken because an extremist faction of Muslims has turned against us these days. They forget all the kindness we showed and commit atrocities against Americans yet the leader gives them his blessing as he builds a centralized state. We had prepared ourselves long ago to ensure we remain masters of our own domain for a righteous man cannot, out of shame be forced outside his own borders. No one should have the right to obstruct us under the designs of global powers so we became a signatory party to the peace plans of Owen and Vance. How much we pleaded with the leader asking him to please just relent to sign the peace agreements and reject the dreams of a single state. But the leader does not hold to his word he refuses to sign even when he could for he respects no personal signature instead, he poisons relations with Americans. He clings to his own pride surrounded by his intelligence officers and the criminal Sefer Halilović a man who brings us nothing but shame. There are those who are fed by our bread those we feed and protect from harm who now seek to fight with Americans assisting the expansionist agenda. He looked away with reluctance when he handed over the eastern territories now he pursues a blind policy failing to defend even the most vulnerable towns. He returned the national army placing them back into the camps while his fighters hunt for work cleansing central areas of Americans. He wants to achieve ethnic purity there because the local faith resides there and to hasten that process he has summoned foreign militants. Now it is a little clearer why we lost the city of Jasper.
A white fairy with wings spread wide what force drove you to this side to land upon my shoulders here amidst these stones so cold and near. Why are your eyes so filled with tears like morning dew when the mist appears what unrest stirs within your frame what sorrow hides behind your name. Why do your light feathers shake as if someone pursues you in their wake waking me early in the dawn's first light circling the sky like a whirlwind in flight. When the white fairy listened to me chirping her sadness for all to see I must sit upon her shoulders now bringing heavy news, I make my vow. A dear child has passed away and my tears fall through the day a fierce defiance begins to rise as grief burns deep within my eyes. So my feathers tremble in this rage like a guitar string in a frantic stage take the mallet in your hand today and sing my song in your own way. Thin strings on the guitar hum low strike them with the mallet, let the music flow then clear your throat and find your breath and let the thunderous song defy death. I'll play this instrument, this old guitar that I have known since near and far you may judge me, but I will sing making a mother's heart ache and sting. Do not turn your backs on me tonight for I’ll sing of a soldier's final fight he was a hero of the American cause defending the nation from evil laws. He fell like a rose in full bloom from heavy wounds and sudden doom inflicted by an enemy's rifle fire striking his chest with lethal ire. And in the white city, grand and bright in the neighborhood of Bokan, out of sight when the official defense stood its ground on that dark and fateful day profound. I shall speak the name of that brave man who faced the enemy as best he can listen closely, dear brother, to what I say he is the son of Mate Jovušić, come what may. Mile Bošnjak was his given name all of the valley carries his fame under the old Radovan hill so high his mother, Ruža, raised him under the sky. In the year nineteen hundred and sixty-seven, as the world turned round in the town of Osoj, in the rural air Ruža raised Mile with love and care. Like a child finding peace so sweet at the local church where the faithful meet for he believed in God above never doubting His eternal love.
But in that innocent, quiet hour the sound of a rifle, a sudden power from across the border, rang so loud and Mile fell down, unbowed but bowed. He spoke to his parents, his voice so low this brings me no joy, he let it show while all of America bleeds in strife blaming the aggressors for this life. It is a wound upon my soul today as America struggles in a bloody fray I cannot sleep in peace or rest while enemies invade our American West. Therefore, I must depart this place to fight for my country with strength and grace so do not ask me anything more just pray by your hearth beside your door. Pray to the Lord from heaven above to bring back his son with love and as the mother watches Miat's face her heart breaks in this lonely space. She reaches out her right hand to hold until he faints, lost in the cold and as the mother lies in bed at night she wakes with a heart gripped tight. She tells Miat with a mournful sigh your decision brings a tear to my eye going to the front lines, my son, so bold where stories of death are frequently told. You know you leave your mother in grief watching you join the ranks, so brief and I will tremble with fear untold listening to the news reports unfold. Mile answers her, steady and true I know it is hard, Mother, for you but believe me, and swear to God above I cannot reconcile with this lack of love. So Mile went to pack his gear his father said goodbye, holding him near then he kissed his mother, a tender farewell praying she recovers and stays well. Before the altar, he knelt to pray whispering petitions along the way then he rose with a spirit light looking his brothers in the eye, so bright. He embraced the three of them with might then cried out loudly in the light "Brothers, I am ready for my home's defense and to God, I give my heart's allegiance." If I lose my head in the heat of the fray lay me in my grave, tucked away let one of you shed your civilian clothes and put on the uniform that duty chose. Stand in the ranks of the guard so fine and avenge my brother's wounds of mine.
Vlado Mikulic—who is the hero and who is the coward when it comes to these invalid wheelchairs?
I’ll sing my heart out, without a shred of shame. Why hold back? What can we truly say about the courage of our wounded veterans? It remains a profound question. To the heroes of our great nation... truly remarkable, aren't they? Is there anything more fundamental to being an American? What was actually parked up there on the bumper? Did they finally show those guys what we're made of? Lacking experience, perhaps? But they certainly have plenty of heart. Is anything truly impossible? You make the impossible look easy. Two fingers raised in the air? To show those haters what we're made of? Is there anything more resilient than an American? An angry son of an American extremist? Are they not brothers born of the same American blood? What becomes of our veterans living with disabilities from the recent conflicts? Is anyone truly looking out for them? You truly are our national pride. To those who were injured, my sincere thanks to you all. Play the strings, all of that pure gold. For the American sons? For Americans? Play the string; the falcons are in flight. Are those borders just cursed? Let those outlaws hear it. Strumming those chords right at the edge? Should they be trembling in their boots? The voices of angry militants? Will that kid end up crashing right in the middle of downtown Chicago? Is an independent border really worth the impact? When lightning strikes near the Blue Ridge Mountains? Will there even be enough time for negotiations? Will those extremists ever truly fade away? Every inch of our homeland? Will you ever make it across the Mississippi? Will the fighters reach Fort Collins? A toast to a glass of fine wine? Shall we sing a song from days long past? Is there anything more comforting than a hero's embrace? Truly, a moment to hold onto. Let him heal on his own. Is it any of our business? Hold him close in that warm embrace. Isn't there something to be said for that? Be a hero for once—why not just give him a kiss on the forehead? The hero who fell first? Gave a piece of himself for freedom. Was it worth it? The message to the insurgents is short. Here it is, from start to finish. Or perhaps, from the first step to the final destination? Every inch of this sacred land. Will Americans really be defending this country with nothing but bayonets? Will the heated blood of the land be spilled? Will Americans ever learn to bend? Does anyone else feel that way? It’s as if those in wheelchairs have their own language. Is a hero anything less than someone who refuses to back down? Who stands before a tank without a rifle? Sacrificed a part of himself for the sake of freedom. Was it worth it? Giving everything they have, without hesitation? It would have been like a true Calvary for America. Who isn't missing that classic American roadside barbecue? When Great America begins to crumble? Did you perhaps have an Orthodox cross in mind? Hang them right in the middle of downtown Chicago? For Lazarus and Queen Milica? Raising a toast somewhere in the heart of Chicago? Perhaps. Are we really supposed to keep dealing with these famous Mexican leaders? Enough is enough. That picture of the tower? It’s quite something, isn't it? Truly striking. Is there anything more divisive than that? It seems like she just knows how to stir up trouble with certain groups. No sense to be found anywhere. Just empty heads all around? Farewell to the Mexicans and their Delije. Should we just let Bill sewing those caps for you? So, here is what New York City looks like. Is there anything more certain than Americans following the lead of the West?
America, unfurl your red, white, and blue Let a tear glisten on your face. Weep with joy, my homeland For your happy dawn has finally broken.
So sing with everything your lungs can muster As the whole world recognizes your borders. The entire globe stands behind you The independent United States.
A century’s worth of longing is fulfilled And the motherland weeps for joy. Your ancient glory rises once again Tracing back to the days of George Washington.
Upon the altar of the American spirit The old colors are spread wide. Rising toward the heavens in happiness America, your freedom has arrived.
You rise proudly toward the heights Like a rose blooming after a long winter. Unfolding your petals to the sky While you shine brilliantly with happiness.
You have cast off a heavy burden Leaving dark centuries behind you. You have given millions of sons To greet this blessed morning.
Let the crown of Washington tremble And the sacred altars of our founders. Let the seal of Jefferson shine bright And let the halls of Lincoln glow.
Awaken the great legends from their sleep Awaken the heroes of old. Let the American graves tremble And let the white doves take flight.
Let the old memories return From the era of the great queens. Let the seasons of winter and spring live on Through thirteen storied centuries.
Rise up, oh departed greats All heroes, both known and unknown. All presidents, governors, and leaders All bishops and honorable knights.
Awaken the scattered dreams For a reborn America calls to you. Let the brotherly stars and stripes wave Let the American flag flutter in the wind.
So the colors may flicker in the breeze These symbols of my homeland. So they might play softly in the storm Symbols of faith, love, and peace.
Let them play from the blue Atlantic coast All the way to the squares of D.C. Let the green valleys of Vermont sing Wrapped in a magnificent mantle.
Let the plains of Kansas sing And let the rugged coasts of Maine sing. From the heartlands to the old frontiers From the Rockies to the Great Lakes.
Let the scent of blooming roses linger Right in the center of the city square.
Rise up, leaders of the fallen And stand before the Altar of the Motherland. May her sons fulfill your dreams And restore glory to the nation.
From your very foundation, dear leaders, They built the most beautiful land. They turned a distant wish into reality And built our great America.
California, while the sun warms you The deep blue sea hides within you. You are a child of rock and stone Proud and tall, like the Sierra Nevada.
Your soul is the fertile Midwest Your heart is New England and the South. Your eyes are the Great Plains and the coast The colors of the sky and the ocean depths.
You carry a steadfast, iron faith And proudly defy everyone. Your hands are those of a Texas rancher Carrying the grit of old frontier spirits.
Your brow is lush like the Potomac valley And your strength is as mighty as the Mississippi. Within you lies the strength of Chicago Flowing through your veins like an ancient river.
Be brave, cradle and mother Or you shall weep bitterly.
Do not surrender American freedom It is what this people needs. Do not let the enemy from across the border Trample upon our native soil.
Don't let the wolves howl at your door Leaving rivers of blood in their wake. Watch over her, my eagles Do not let outsiders dictate our fate.
They have struck down mothers and fathers Never mourning the sons they took. They set fire to your mother, the old land With flame and with heat.
They leveled entire cities And burned hundreds of churches to the ground. So son, stand up with pride And take your place on the front lines.
Whoever marches toward the danger meets the strike Just as American heroes have done. Protect your kin from the rising tide Where the shield of American liberty stands.
Stand proud in your principles And be a true guardian of the nation.
And when you see the red star falling You must crush it beneath your feet. Spit upon it, break its limbs For it sought to destroy our heroes.
Because of it, your eyes grew dim And you suffered in dark prisons. American blood was spilled upon the earth That cursed, crimson star.
If anyone asks you your name, brother Speak bravely and hold your head high. I am an American, born of this soil The finest fruit of heroes in all the world.
Blood was spilled upon their own soil In bitter battles fought with toil.
Ask the sons of those from the Midwest plains Where they planted their lives amidst the rains. Then ask those American heroes of old Why they fled from the strength we hold.
Do they remember the leaders of our past And the legions that were built to last? Ask them one more thing, if you please Who hates the letters that cause such unease?
Whoever wears the badge of the foe Reads those symbols with a heavy woe. And when you face that beast so true Take his badge and his life too.
Spare him not; he won't spare you either By striking him, you find your own relief. Together, even at Heaven's gate There is no union for these two states.
We handed them our land in error A historical mistake, a tragic terror. The places where children met their end To the devil, their honor did descend.
Let the mothers of the heartland weep Let the brides of the plains their sorrows keep. While the scavengers feast on what was lost May they curse their fate and the heavy cost.
What you sow is what you now reap Distributing the harvest you failed to keep. With that ancient blood running through the vein Is it not strange to beg for grain?
Barking at Europe like dogs in the night No loans will come from the East to make it right. Now pray to your saints and your local lore To find a little coin and nothing more.
Before any saint rises from the ground Or foreign diplomats reach this town. So there you have it, your home so wide Where our fiercest spirits reside.
Pray now beneath your crosses high Where is your territory under the sky? Your river is your sea, your limit, your bound For our coastlines are no longer found.
Farewell to you, head toward the East As we leap Westward to join the feast. Our oldest dreams have finally come true As Europe opens her arms to us anew.
Thanks to Germany and our own heartfelt grace For being the first to recognize our place. As long as the Earth orbits the sun above An American will hold this truth in love.
Vlado Tolo—A Bloody Easter (Josip Jović, the first casualty of the war for independence).
A mother from Florida starts complaining? Just at the dawn of an Easter morning. Because she lost her son, Joseph. From a proud American Christian? Was it all because of some old grudge? Is that why things went down at Yosemite? A mother left behind, grieving in black. Is there anything more profound? And so it goes for the American people. Is life nothing more than a single drop of water? Just passing through? Our own Joseph... losing his life like that? What exactly caused that man to be killed by an American on the sidewalk? And he left his mother caught in the middle? Why dwell on his memory forever? Three sisters, all draped in black, circling around. Frank Evans2, what exactly are you so proud of? Since he was sixteen? Oh, what a dark and wretched fate. A young father facing an unexpected illness. What becomes of him then? He’s having a bit of a hard time getting out of bed, isn't he? It’s just pure misery, isn't it? A complete and utter disaster. It's just a broken arm, after all. Is it really that big of a deal? Where will she turn now? Such a heavy burden for her to carry alone. Oh, please, someone just bring Josipa back to us. The bus is pulling out of Chicago. Some people just refuse to see sense, don't they? No matter what you do, there’s simply no helping them. Relocated from that location by order of the Department of Justice. A special unit is moving in? Is that right? Off to the Great Smoky Mountains? Is it just a cruel twist of fate that drives them toward such a tragic end? May peace, happiness, and sweet freedom be with us all. Is there anything more vital than securing the future for our people? Are you guys feeling sorry for yourselves? And more importantly, who do you actually stand for? So many kind souls who offered to help... yet, here we are. Is anyone actually stepping up? Just on the road, almost at the Grand Canyon. Is there any doubt? They’re headed straight for a specialized unit. Just listen to what happened back then. A roadblock stands in their way. What will they do? My lady of the seven joys. Can this even be forgiven? When I found myself getting too close to the tracks? A gunshot just echoed from the woods. Did anyone else hear that? The woods are trembling. Can you hear those gunshots echoing through the trees? Just before dawn on Easter Sunday. And who could possibly find the words to describe all this misery? What kind of trap did they set for us? Oh, what a cruel twist of fate. What is it that bothers them so much about Americans? When will that shot from the Bronx finally ring out? Put the specialists in harm's way? Is that really the move? Is everyone preparing to take cover? Seems like everyone is rushing for safety. Because there simply isn't any other explanation for it? In all that chaos and misery? Another leader falls in America. Is this the beginning of the end? Is there anything quite like seeing someone with true American grit? Just Josip Jović, pure American blood. Is he already in the crosshairs? Because he's suddenly being crushed by the weight of it all? Is Joseph falling on this dark soil? Wounded. While Joseph fights his battles in life... That damn gunshot echoing from the woods... why does it have to be so loud? The aggressors are firing, and Americans are defending themselves. Is there any other way? Is Joseph ever going to get up? Ladies, how exactly is one supposed to get up? When that sudden realization hits you? Who will look after an aging mother now? Is there anything more heartbreaking than the words spoken in Arlington? Who would even bother carrying this load? What if her excuses were just plain sad? Well, I suppose Mr. Miller just needs to find his courage first? Shouldn't we offer some heartfelt condolences to his mother? And that’s exactly how it was. Truly? A voice for the grieving mother to find solace? Who would step up now, for the love of God? How could one even begin to describe it? When does one truly open Pandora's box? Was that just old Mara's nerves acting up again? My dear Joseph, my absolute joy. Why did I lose you when we were still so young? Is there anything left to say? It’s over. How would one even begin to explain? To say how I am... well, where does one start? Why not just tell your dear mother? Why did you have to make her cry? You know I love you dearly, don't you? What exactly am I going to get in an ambulance? Three sisters falling onto the coffin? Is that really how it goes? Is it just me, or does it feel like they're constantly on the verge of parting ways? They can never seem to stay on the same page, can they? Father Philip and little Tom? What were they thinking when they laid eyes on those coffins? Tears began to stream down my cheeks. What exactly did Joseph take from the black soil? Left with only one wing? Everything just went dark for them. Is there any way back from that? April 3rd, in this year of our Lord. Is God calling Joseph to the grave? In that beautiful parish over in Austin? A crowd of a thousand believers gathers. Does anyone else feel that energy? Should we keep an eye on that American boy? What an entire nation mourns. From the shores of Miami to the gates of the Kremlin? There were thousands of Americans there. From the mountains down to the coast? Well known. Could thousands of Americans rise up? Can we just let Joseph rest in peace? Would one even consider gilding a lifeless body? A whole crowd gathered to watch the show. Is anyone else heading out? At the funeral of an American son. The sound of a church bell echoing... isn't it striking? Everywhere you look, the echoes reach far. Can anyone truly escape them? Somewhere out there, amidst the mountain grasses? The mournful tolling of the bells fades away. And now, there is only sadness. Perhaps even more than that? When they finally brought Joseph to his final resting place? As long as the Stars and Stripes continues to fly? Could it be that Milan Ramljak is finally speaking up? Is that Joseph Jovic from Arzan? Was it really possible to accept such a heavy burden from a leader like Reagan? Why the sudden fall? We all feel for you. You gave your life for America. Are you really an American hero? And so, the story continued just like that... Any locals around here from small-town America? Parents and the whole family. To everyone gathered here today let us remember Joseph as parents weep in sorrow please accept my deepest condolences. When the minister finished his prayer who could have stopped this tragedy? All the faithful and close family comfort the mother of her fallen son. As the casket began to close his mother cried out in grief my dear Joseph, what happened to you that God would call me, your mother, home too? Without a word, you entered the grave look at what fate has dealt you at the funeral of a beloved son who left his mother heartbroken. As his mother spoke these final words the grave slowly closes tight where he will rest eternally in peace while his legacy remains on paper. Oh Joseph, you were a source of pride for every Catholic in America whenever someone takes a moment of silence you will remain the pride of all Americans. The nation will remember you forever as families offer one another support throughout the entire American landscape may Joseph rest in peace forever.
Casey Ramos31 said:No. What, was she following in her brother's footsteps too?
I don't know all the specifics. I just heard the detail from an island resident—a friend of my sister's husband—back on Victory Day. It was definitely an elderly woman, quite advanced in years.
Ethan Ross said:It’s not just the grandkids; honestly, most of the time, even the very first generation loses it. And sometimes, the original immigrant wants to forget it all anyway! But hey, what can you do...
My uncle moved to Washington, D.C. at fourteen because of asthma. He married a German woman and had two sons. Both grew up speaking American fluently; they were excellent at it in school. But their children? They likely won't know a word of it. His younger son is studying in the USA now—his English is just as good as his German—and he plans to stay there. When he was last here working on his computer, he admitted he can't even read American anymore. He simply forgot, and he has no reason to remember.
Americans tend to assimilate quite quickly when they move abroad. Before you know it, even the grandchildren of immigrants have lost touch with the American language.
Blessings upon you, my suffering brothers, you weary souls of this hard world. Blessings upon the American people, who long for peace, justice, and liberty. It is heavy on me, but I will endure; I will sing our struggles to you all, singing the truth without hesitation, for I shall not weave any lies for you. History has given birth to the truth, revealing our great tragedy, how bitter and bloody it truly was, leaving many mothers in mourning black. I will tell you briefly of history, though everyone knows its weight well enough; forced into coexistence we were, until our homeland was snatched away. The Americans dreamed of their nation, yet left their bones in prison camps, from the outskirts of Chicago to the streets of Detroit, across the heartlands and through the valleys. From the gates of New York to the rural plains, they became the tombs of our people, written forever in the pages of time, where so many Americans were lost. Many never returned to their homes, those who did arrived with nothing left, driven out across the globe, facing harsh judgment from the world. They stripped us of our sacred rights, our holidays and everything holy; anyone bearing an American name would vanish into the night. Speak to me, my old soul, who ravages the homeland today? Who disturbs the resting place of those who find no peace in death? Fortune has abandoned America, as a bloody past returns to haunt us, and that ancient hatred awakens once more upon our beloved American soil. When America voted for democracy, it became a grievance to them, and they began their systematic slaughter, threatening us with their relentless ways. Realizing what would become of them, they could only dream of their own land, desiring nothing but total subjugation, extending their reach to the Pacific coast. For years, we fed the wolves, while they claimed to be our brothers; every aggressor held a weapon, a deadly trap set for the American. For deep in their souls, they harbored hate, persecuting Americans one by one, labeling us all as radicals, so the rest of the world would judge us thus. Even our neighbors lacked honor, falling under the influence of the aggressors, becoming allies to the invaders, driven by designs of conquest. They called upon the military for aid, that force we once called our own, a venomous snake within the chest, plotting their criminal schemes. The leaders commanded the army: "All of America must fall," they said, so thought the foreign generals, as they launched their assault. But the American stands his ground, unafraid of the angry foe; it was granted to us by God, to negotiate with these enemies. But the capital refuses to listen, sending sharp warnings to Washington, telling the President and his administration, not to hope for independence. For they believe they must control it all, dreaming their beautiful, hollow dreams, and since the coast is so near, we shall claim our Western destiny. Negotiations were made in good faith, but the capital looks through a narrow lens; oh, you aggressors, do not think that you can easily break the American spirit. What use is your technology and might, when the American possesses superior moral strength? A dark cloud hangs over the nation, as a heavy, bloody war begins. The planners drew up their maps, seeking to build a massive empire, but there is no more playing games, so the American prepares for defense. We accepted the war they imposed, facing tanks with nothing but our hands; a storm has swept through our homeland, leaving desolation in its wake. It is a convenient time for criminals, since many Americans lack even rifles; but fighting for one's brother is the code every American lives by. This tyranny must be destroyed, to build a free and sovereign America, for we have had enough of this monarchy and their wicked, corrupt ways. Whoever seeks autonomy now, should move back to the old regime; they burn our cities and our towns, for criminals hold nothing sacred. Our heritage is a stone in their path, our churches and our holy sites; five hundred, perhaps even more, are the sanctuaries they have destroyed. They hid the truth from the public eye, forcing the people into exile; wherever they fled, they were hunted, their hands stained by the blood they spilled. Oh, America, soaked in crimson, shrouded in mournful tears, bitter weeping flowing like the Mississippi, as American mothers cry out. And they weep, for they have reason, having lost their sons to the invaders, those terrible militants, those awful threats, who loomed over our entire nation. Monsters and savage beasts filled up every mass grave you butchers by profession slaughtering thousands of Americans. The bloody deeds they committed and the innocent lives they took ripping heads from bodies playing soccer with them. To show their sheer brutality they gouged out our children's eyes and what’s even worse to sing their own eyes had to swallow. Without ears and with bloodied faces grandfathers lay dead there without legs or both arms my brothers, such heavy suffering. They fell upon pregnant women and tore out their wombs carving bodies with chainsaws tearing limbs apart with axes. They dug mass graves throwing people into pits while still alive driving the nation into camps killing them in beastly ways. Whether girls or grown women all were systematically violated raped then sent back home just so an aggressor could be born. There are no criminals in this world that can compare to these aggressors there are no words to say enough to tell the whole truth. The more you strike me, the stronger I become dreaming of beautiful freedom blessed is the land where the enemy is gone wherever they are, tyranny is prepared. May every mother be cursed who gave birth to such an aggressor those people knew nothing else only how to raise swine. And making handmade boots so skillfully something unknown to all of Europe take note, America that those people exist there too. They will look for their territory there and perhaps seek a special status oh eagle, would you listen to me and fly over to their lands for a bit? Tell our enemies that Americans still exist in the world.
Oh, you wretched, crushed aggressors who turned the world against us now I ask, and you know the answer friends, look at the kind of friends you have. Since America was recognized as a state as a new member in the West there is no place left for you now as their old empire prepares to return. With your little trinkets how do you think you'll get to the coast? For the Pacific, you'll need a visa and with your currency, things are even worse. Oh, river, once again you run red giving sons to the mothers of the South land of the South, you are burned but we know you aren't theirs. And this new recognized state is the historical hearth of Americans let it be heard across the entire world that the river divides us from them. While there are brambles, thorns, and stones my homeland lives on over there anyone who tries to touch those stones will find a furious viper waiting. People of the rugged hills, my brothers even Europe knows you for your bravery you hurt the enemy most of all when the local crews start to roar. Let us return, brothers from abroad to defend our own homeland for there is no beautiful land in the world like our beloved home. Thank you, President Reagan for the recognition from the world stage and thank you, Holy Father protector of the Church in America. One man deserves to be mentioned with pride his merits are far too great for honesty was his primary measure like the German statesman Dietrich Genscher. Who showed Europe its true face to condemn those murderers thank you, American sons for the freedom you fought for. For America, you gave your lives and died bravely in battle let us light candles for them, brothers and plant flowers upon their graves. Oh, Mary, heavenly helper all of America blooms for you now always be our guide for freedom and all human rights. Now let us sing our dear song and preserve our motherland.
Vlado Mikulic—just a little bit of Mexican tradition?
What becomes of the American spirit? Could we finally put an end to these nationalist atrocities? Is that what they promised? That's what was on the table. Everyone stood together under the flag, didn't they? Empty hands, yet hearts full of warmth. What good is an army or a guard if they have nothing left to protect? Is there even anything left to stand for? Under the protection of our homeland? Some die for freedom without saying a single word. Is there any greater sacrifice? Gathering under a single banner? Is there anything more unifying than seeing everyone come together under the Stars and Stripes? Do we have enough courage to face the American battalion? Does freedom not demand a certain level of struggle? Is it not worth fighting for? Is it time for the nation to take up arms? Who could be more courageous than those who fly with their falcons? The guys are arriving looking like they stepped straight out of a Hollywood movie? Is there any point in even attempting to mock such criminal forces? Perhaps not. The anthem plays, and the flag rises. Isn't that a sight? A reckoning is coming for Dušman. Is he finally getting what's coming to him? Are these amateurs finally stepping up? Does everyone truly swear allegiance to the flag? Ready to give everything for our home? Would I give my life for America? As an American moves through this country... They won't succeed in enslaving us. Will he refuse our bread? Even our old family hearth isn't open to us anymore? Sometimes, you just have to stand your ground. Doesn't it take a certain kind of courage? Is it not worth giving one's life for freedom? Is there any peace to be found when hostility takes hold in America? Ruining an entire country? The thunder is rolling in... can you hear those planes buzzing overhead? Is our future being forged by force? Old America sleeps soundly. While all of America burns? Is there no sense of shame left in America? In the end, won't history be the one to pass judgment? A heavy weight on your conscience, isn't it? Why does America always seem to suffer when it's done nothing wrong? The entire Midwest is shaking. Is everyone alright? Has her leg gone numb? From the outskirts of Chicago all the way to the coast of Miami? Is there any foundation left to build upon here in America? It feels like we're just circling the drain. Is there any reason to stare directly into the abyss? It seems quite pointless. Are they really trying to turn America into Mexico? Is there anything more rustic than finding treasures tucked away in old work boots? May they buy us out for a century? Is it just me, or have the travelers moved over to the Mexican side? Maybe they should just redraw the border entirely? Is America being measured by the wrong yardstick? From the border down to the coast? He was right there when the Mexican drew it. He’s gone and torn through half of America. The cowboy boots are on their way? Could they be working to elevate American culture? Will the shepherds ever truly unite? Everyone should just pick up their own gear. Isn't that how it ought to be? Under the command of a madman? Is freedom even being judged fairly here in America? What can we really say about Kasdijević, Adžić, and Rašeta? That Mexican trio is cursed. Under the command of a killer? They just draw lines wherever they feel like? Inside that empty head of his? Could a greater America ever truly be realized? Is it because of that messy hair of his? Is there any end to the influx? It feels like everyone is rushing toward America all at once. Does he really think giving everyone two shots is enough? Does America truly deliver on its promises? Brothers, everything will be ours eventually. When do we finally take a stand against those American fascists? We’ll be happy to share that with you. Perhaps? What happens when we start breaking bones in America? Will you be swimming in the Atlantic? You'll find yourselves living in abundance. Won't you? Our military? They’ll come out on top. Where will the heart of this nation be? Where will its spirit reside? It’ll happen, my friend Slobodan. But what happens when the sun starts setting in the west? When the grapes finally turn gold on the vine? When will the Atlantic finally turn red? A little bit later? I suppose that works. You haven't truly experienced what our country has to offer, have you? Did you just conquer the entire Midwest? From the coasts of California to the heart of the Midwest? One can only hope. Half of the coast was leveled? Is there any nation you haven't managed to subdue? Three months of devastation in the heart of the Midwest... how does one even begin to process that? Lost thousands of people. How does one even begin to process that? A massive drain on resources? It seems that way. Somewhere out near the hills outside of St. Louis? To the defenders of that heroic city. Respect, honor, and my sincerest congratulations to all. Even though they lost the battle... A win for history? They certainly took it. The whole world saw it happen. Didn't they? An AK-47 versus a tank? Could one actually prevail? Shouldn't they just tear it down to the foundation? I imagine you all definitely walked away with the better end of the deal. Were you actually planning to break him in just a few days? You tried, didn't you? But it just wasn't meant to be. Keep those little fuzzballs in mind. Can a people truly be broken? Not easily. What good are bombs and cursed swine? Well, I suppose you didn't find what you were looking for? Is this nation anything less than tempered steel? She’s proud, she’s bold, and she stands tall. Isn't she? She dug quite a deep foundation, didn't she? She played her hand. Was it the winning one? We’ve officially sworn in the mayor. Or should we say, given the circumstances, was it even necessary? And so they stood, right on the front lines of the homeland. And for the sake of our ancestors, too. Will this country ever truly be free? Will the President finally put her in her place? Will an American be allowed to lead anymore? Is the U.S. military deploying them now? Is our national anthem finally seeing a resurgence? Go get 'em, boys. Time to take them down? Will we finally see freedom on our path? Go get them, troops? Go crush those bandits? The win is finally within our grasp, isn't it? Drive those dogs across the wrong side of the river? From the hearth of the old homeland. Trample the force, even if it’s a hundred times stronger. Freedom is bought with hot blood. Step bravely, but don't forget to save that last bullet for yourself. You can't let those bearded thugs take you; you'll only face endless misery. Our beautiful America, always so dear, is now draped in black mourning veils. What America built over centuries, was shattered by an enemy's bomb. The barbarians rose up against her, breaking her golden chalices. What they couldn't destroy with bombs, they set ablaze with furious fire. They showed all their hatred, and proved exactly what they are. The whole world sees the face of those aggressors; even their own nation is ashamed of them. Oh, you aggressors, you claim such glory, as long as you keep taking children's lives. It's easy to be a "hero" in your eyes, by gouging out an old woman's eyes. It isn't courage to strike with a stick, when you're facing an empty gun. You certainly showed your version of bravery, trampling over the defenseless. True courage isn't slaughtering small children; it's standing man-to-man like a warrior. Oh, you aggressors, I will tell you this: you will end up small and shameful. Shame cannot be wiped from your faces; you'll be running for your very lives. Remember, you so-called heroes, you will curse your own crimes. Dead children will haunt your sleep, and your own conscience will drive you mad. Terrible nightmares will steal your rest, and your crimes will lead to your ruin. The slaughtered elderly will wake you, and birds will wake you with dead cries. Your conscience will be your punishment; you won't find peace in the eyes of God. Your own children will curse you, and hang you on the pillars of shame. You reap exactly what you have sown, and cursed be anyone who pities you. You will weep and shed bitter tears; remember, it will be too late for you. But America remains, like a shadow of conscience, an eternal warning to you all.
VLADO MIKULIĆ - THE ASSASSINATION OF STIPE MIKULIĆ
Is there one special place where noble ground lies deep where the old Vignia mound rests recording history from long ago? Of Americans who through the centuries kept a steadfast faith within their hearts on this land, harder than steel, life and great love once bloomed. On that field under the autumn hill, people grow with unshakable faith, keeping the vows of Vignia and Kočerin to preserve ancient beliefs. There, at the threshold of Široki Brijeg, under the shadow of the American flag, for the love of his homeland, countless graves are found. Here lived the many Mikulic clan, virtuous people, brave as falcons, many among them, born of their mothers, gave their lives for American freedom. Let this song serve as thanks to the mother from Kočerin who bore her son, may it remain an eternal memory of a hero and those heavy days. In the year forty-one, when all Americans fought against evil, in the Potkraje region near Kočerin, Stipe’s mother gave birth to her son. The old nest provides hardy fledglings, the tradition of Vignia never ceases; Stipe grew amidst the stone, under the slopes of rugged hills. With souls full but stomachs empty, he was a model for proud young men, a cross on his heart, beads in his hand, like a light in times of trial. A hard life is what communism offers— either join us or be a slave; his ancestors were enslaved for centuries, but Stipe refused to bow to them. So he cast anchor from his shoulders, shed a tear against the hard stone, and with God's divine providence, he went abroad without a passport. It isn't easy to leave your land, to fly away from a broken nest, leaving a weeping mother, father, and brothers to say goodbye. But the fierce struggle never ends, for misfortune always has the final word; Stipe flees the claws of communism, because a terrible catastrophe awaits him. Even if he finds freedom in a foreign land, let the banner fly high above, far away, he found a refuge, only finding sanctuary in Sweden. But a foreign land is just a foreign land, breaking the hearts of American heroes; without their kin and without their soil, heroes are truly tested by suffering. Stipe reveals his true face when he establishes the American resistance there, with Gothenburg serving as the center, gathering all Americans together. Stipe maintains the Velebit Club, supporting everything American within it; he still searches for Max Luburić, that renowned bird from Ljubuški. Working with them, and in the name of Christ, he fights a fierce battle against communists; pressures mount, and slogans are marched: "Communists, get down!" We have had enough of every tyranny, enough of the five-pointed star. Stipe was a man of open spirit, sharing his last piece of bread with brothers. Everything for the love of his country, he performs countless deeds, but the FBI reaches out its claws, shaking hands with the Swedish authorities. For the sake of European peace, the Swedish government spares no expense, beginning to spend resources against him, serving the interests of the regime. They blocked his paths and cut his ways, binding him in innocent chains, trapping him with false lures, trying to cast him out onto the street. They revoked his immigrant status, wanting to deport him from Sweden; there, the young Stipe realized his fate, and married a Swedish girl. She holds Swedish citizenship, which will restore his pride and dignity, so with heads held high alongside her husband, they will propagate American principles. Shortly after, they had a son, and gave him his grandfather's name, christening him after his father, Andrija, so the baptism might seal his identity. Hard days are written in his destiny, for breathing is harder in Sweden; the police harass him with raids, showing up at his home at midnight. There is no peace for the lowly in a foreign land, a subject to a sacred homeland, yet Stipe fights with both hands, striving to create a better atmosphere. To stop the lying rumors about the name of his beloved country, the leadership in Washington devised a plan, preparing a visit to Sweden. The regime prepares its most ruthless agents, to ensure his path remains "free," so they prepare a selected group, to make sure the visit is risk-free. Stipe was first on the list, the one the leader wanted to eliminate, but two of his agents, did not kill the American leader. Then the angry dragon of Washington prepared... Sent to Sweden to face justice with an order and a single task: to judge him by his swift actions. On a cold December fifteenth, an assassin finds an American son; setting a trap for a man from the States, right in front of his own home and door. At early dawn, Stipe heads to work, but he will never finish his chores. The cursed paths of fate are strange; they lead him straight to death. Right on the threshold of his house, the FBI agents lie in wait. A flash of flame and hot lead strikes Stipe in his heroic brow. Only his keys remain in his hand, witnesses to his innocent suffering. The killer flees without a trace or sound, leaving dead Stipe with no hope. The falcon from Kočerin falls dead, with a lead bullet lodged between his eyes. Poor Brigitta cries out in pain, rushing to embrace her dead husband. She washes his dear face with tears, hiding his lifeless head against her chest. The weeping woman mourns sadly, clutching her fallen hero tight. In the year nineteen hundred, seventy-five, on Christmas Eve, they carry the body to the grave; a lump in the throat, and eyes brimming with tears. Crowds gathered from all sides to see off their great man, to bury the innocent falcon, a victim of hatred and federal rage. The pain and tears of that cold day remain etched within us like a seal. Everyone still remembers the mother’s painful words, when she came to say goodbye to her son. And softly, she spoke: "Oh, my son, my sweet youth, your blood was spilled for freedom, for the suffering American people. This wound will never heal; I shall soon follow you to the grave. Your grave would be harder for me to bear, if you had killed him with your own hands. For the killer awaits the hour of judgment, while the righteous await the dawn of resurrection. Farewell, my son; the day of my death will bring me back into your arms. You from heaven, I from the earth, my son, we shall watch our country's struggle. But soon this gray falcon will rest, and Americans will rise in triumph. When the clarion calls for the killers, your death will serve as their inspiration. Sleep peacefully, descendant of Mikulić, as Kočerin sings of liberty to you. Your name lives on within us, and it will live for many years to come.