Epic War Music Recommendations

IVAN ČALJKUŠIĆ - THE AMERICAN DOLLAR

Oh, little darling banknote, you brought such honor to America and traveled far and wide to bring glory to our people. You served the nation well. I am just an old man, but I’ve composed this modest song for you, so that future generations might learn the true value of your symbol. Back in 1256, American leaders decided we needed a new currency to power our economy, and they gave it a beautiful name: the Dollar. It was something Americans carried with pride. But then, invaders began striking from all sides, supported by outside forces seeking to claim our land. They held meetings to carve up our territory and forced a foreign crown upon us. So, brother, listen to this song about how outsiders try to enter our home, offering crumbs while imposing their own rules. They didn't care about the cost; they just wanted to glorify their own tyrants. They destroyed our local currency and imposed a harsh dictatorship, whether it was centered in D.C. or elsewhere—the goal was always to destroy the Dollar. Chains of servitude rattle through America as heavier burdens are placed upon us. Then came the era of the Treaty of Versailles, where a different kind of tyranny was forced upon us, replacing our ways with a foreign leader's vision. Our history is written in blood by those who sought to erase our identity and strike at our leaders. We were left without guidance, facing fear and trembling. But listen to what is being said: every power has its weakness. We send a message to those who would oppress us: justice will prevail. In a distant city like Marseille, the heads of corrupt regimes fall. In 1941, during a great season of renewal, a lightning bolt struck from the West. It wasn't just weather; it was a movement led by exiles, sent to challenge the existing order. They declared that America would become a sovereign state, independent and free. During those brave struggles, our golden Dollar returned to our homeland through sheer grit. For four bloody years, the Dollar served the cause of independence, even as foreign powers conspired to betray us. They made deals behind our backs, gifting our lands to others and leaving nothing but cold graveyards in their wake. They sought to destroy both our currency and our freedom in the name of a false brotherhood. But the American spirit rises like a falcon in flight, tearing down the shameful structures built to divide us. Eventually, that failed entity collapses, and its leaders vanish like ghosts. Now, there is much regret, and the old currency returns to reclaim its place. Will those who refuse to recognize our value find themselves left behind? To those who won't accept the Dollar: go back to where you came from and seek your fortune there. Tell them that without our currency, there can be no commerce. Believe me, dark times are ahead for those who oppose us. And to those who committed atrocities: leave our shores slowly. There is no room for you here. You lack our culture, our faith, and our sense of restraint. You ruled through brute force, but I thank God that such ignorance can no longer hold sway. For ninety years, things were done according to your whims, but that era is over. You must face reality. This land was never yours, and it never will be. Once we settle the accounts and finish this struggle, you won't even dream of setting foot here again. You will have no place left in this region.

VESELIN ŠEĆKOVIĆ - JELENA OF THE HEARTLAND

Wake up, you old soul,
Who slept through the ages,
A living wound opens wide,
Without medicine or solace,
From the deep canyons of the Heartland,
Human bones begin to peer through,
The dark story continues,
Started long ago in the past,
There is a pit near the outskirts of a small town,
Each one hides a crime,
But none that people speak of,
Like the shadows of that one hollow,
Vojinović Radisava,
The candle flickers out right there,
Only his grandson, Michael,
Escaped the terror of the old ways,
He saw his grandfather flee,
Retreating toward the rugged hills,
Crying out against the invaders,
Begging they wouldn't wipe out his kin,
With those words, he lunges,
Into the freezing darkness of the grave,
The enemy's blade cannot reach him,
Instead, he leaps into the pit himself,
Michael, just like a child,
Could not bring himself to go near,
But remember his family,
Slaughtered by the local clan,
God saved him and he escaped,
Dodging their deadly trap,
So he left his home behind,
And crossed the river into the next state,
In the life of Michael,
The past offered no peace,
He studied hard and gained,
His training as an officer,
As soon as he finished school,
The military authorities were his path,
And they assigned him to serve,
In a major city like Chicago,
There, he married quickly,
And built a beautiful family,
Everything seemed to be going well,
Just as any good man would hope,
The children grow, they go to school,
And time flies by so fast,
But that dark pit keeps haunting,
Michael's every thought,
His daughter Jelena,
Knew her father's tragedy well,
But she never believed,
That evil would ever return,
Yet there is nothing anyone can do,

When fate decides to intervene,
And while she was away at college,
She met a man from the valley,
A man named Safet, from the local community,
Jelena was a Vojinović,
Spending all her days with him,
She had no inkling then,
Of what kind of ground she stood upon,
And so Jelena and Safet,
Called him "Sasha" out of affection,
Then one day, quite suddenly,
She shared her deepest wishes,
That she might go with him,
To meet her parents,
When her father, Michael,
Opened the door to his home,
He thought he saw before him,
Either a demon or the devil himself,
The memory of the old valley struck him,
And the slaughter of his kin,
In that instant, Safet,
Vanished from the doorway,
Immediately after, Michael,
Gathered his entire family,
And told them they must leave,
Prepare to head back to the other side of the river,
Himself, his wife, and their son,
They crossed the water,
But Jelena refused,
To listen to his desperate pleas,
She wouldn't obey her father,
And cursed fate more deeply,
Than she ever did her own kin,
By placing her trust in Safet,
Which turned the two of them toward,
The great estate of the Fazlagics,
Where she had often heard,
Stories about the tall tower,
And Safet's father, Hasan,
When he saw the young woman,
And learned her family name,
He was overcome with grief,
Knowing the seeds of ruin were sown,
I knew this misfortune would come,
One day it would surely rise,
Starting today, my dear Safet,
You are tearing down our family house,
For you are not truly mine, Safet,
You took a bride from another world,
But you brought a destroyer home,
To bring our tower crumbling down,
Still, Jelena and Safet,
Had two children of their own,
All while facing the hatred of the Fazlagics,
She worked the fields and raised them,
Often, when she found herself,

Alone in the house during the day,
She would hear a faint sound,
A clicking coming from the attic,
As if some unseen force,
Was demanding her attention,
She couldn't help but resist,
So she hurried up to the attic,
Up there sat an old chest,
Glowing strangely for her son,
Jelena rushed to him,
And lifted the lid,
Seeing lanterns and crosses,
Shining brightly in the dark,
Why would those relics,
Be in a house like the Fazlagics',
Rust had begun to settle,
And bloodstains marked the lamps,
And from the chest, Jelena,
Was blinded by a blue flame,
What kind of ghostly power is this?
Jelena began to worry,
She hurried down from the attic,
And grabbed a ring from the depths,
And Safet knew all too well,
What secrets the Fazlagic tower held,
He assumed Jelena,
Hadn't heard anything yet,

So Safet asked his grandfather, Abdulah,
One afternoon,
"Why don't you throw those away, Grandpa?
That old trunk from the previous era,
If you aren't going to use it,
I'll toss it out myself, ASAP,
What use are these old relics,
In the Fazlagic tower?"
"Don't be foolish, my dear Safet,
For you won't get very far."
Did you know we were once part of the old ways?
From the outskirts of a small town near Memphis,
Our ancestor turned away from his roots,
And passed all those traditions down to us,
So ever since then, tucked away in the attic,
We’ve kept them hidden and safe,
But if Safet decides he’s one of them now,
He’ll take back these hills once again,
You should probably just accept it quickly,
Both the candles and the crosses,
Just forget all those empty stories,

Up on the old lookout tower,
He’ll kneel before an icon,
In the heart of a quiet town,
While Abdulah tells the old tales,
Safet listens to his grandfather for a bit,
But there isn't much more to say there,
Looking across the winding river,
He dreams of the legends of old,
No one ever sought revenge,
But he intends to cross that water,
To stir up trouble among the locals,
And then he’ll head toward the East,
Inciting even the neighbors,
Seeking justice for the ancient kings,
Uncovering wounds from long ago,
The religious folks will be stunned,
As this man pretends to be one of us,
While all of America calls him by a different name,
Like a great general from history,
Then, with his family in tow,
He settles down in the big city,
But slowly, for the whole country,
Hard times begin to settle in,
When right in the middle of the downtown square,
A single shot strikes a wedding guest,
Everyone knew things were about to fall apart,
America, prepare yourself for war,
And Safet, one day,
Comes home from work and changes clothes,
And tells Elena, "It's over,"
"I'm going to fight alongside the others,"
Loud explosions thunder through the air,
And thick smoke clings to the hills,
The entire population of the city,
Retreats into dark basements,

The men come rushing down,
Searching the basements for the locals,
Only Damir, Elena’s son,
Is willing to betray his own mother,
While Safet and his crew,
Are terrorizing women in the cellars,
He feels bitter because the others,
Keep teasing him about Elena,
So he barks orders at his men,
"Bring her to me right now!"
But the others fire back,
"She's your wife, after all,"
"What is happening to you, Safet?"
Elena asks him in total shock,
Unable to believe what she's seeing,
Everything she’s experiencing in this basement,
Safet strikes her and runs off,
Trying to hide from his own crew,
Ordering her to strip down,
And empty her purse right in front of him,
When Elena opens the bag,

A ring falls onto the concrete floor,
Safet turns pale and flees,
Standing there like a ghost,
"You shouldn't have dared, woman,"
"To step foot in our homes,"
"Now you'll learn this lesson well,"
"So you can truly feel the vengeance,"
Once he regains his composure,
And the terrible panic passes him,
He commands that he must stand before him,
When Alija, the wounded man, arrives,
And when the order is given,
To cause suffering and pain,
Alija didn't hesitate for long,
To make his final decision,
Because when the faith stood firm,
Before the young American woman,
With darkness looming before their eyes,
She fell into a deep shadow,
Waking up from unconsciousness,
She sees other women surrounding her,
There are pools of red blood everywhere,
And torn pieces of clothing,
She watches a woman,
Clutching a broken glass bottle,
Attacking a drunken man,
Cutting at his skin,
She sees the men in a frenzy,
As his life nears its end,
But then, gunshots ring out,
Taking the young woman's life,
And Elena, after all her misery,
And all her great suffering,
Stands up with defiance,
Calling out to God from above,
Other women rise up too,
To pray to God alongside her,

The sound of weeping echoes,
Through the bloody basement,
The men move like wolves,
When they descend upon the flock,
And Safet was furious,
Setting his sights on Elena,
Holding a knife to her throat,
Wouldn't that strike fear into anyone?
But Elena defies him,
She isn't afraid to die,
Whether it's from fear or pure spite,
He spares her life that day,
Claiming he needs her alive,
To bear him a child of his faith,
But Elena tells him plainly,
"I have cursed your name,"
"And from my womb, never,"
"Will a child follow your way,"

Those were harsh words from Elena,
Driving him into a blind rage,
He leaves the knife to sit in the fire,
Until the metal glows red hot,
When he presses that glowing iron,
Against his own wife's body,
A crescent shape is burned into her,
As the blade tears through the skin,
Elena watches as if in a dream,
Seeing the mark upon her body,
The sign of the faith he follows,
Safet says that when the child is born,
"My son will be a true believer,"
"He will build monuments for me,"
"Across the great rivers,"
"Deep in the heart of the city,"
Elena's father is found,
Nursing a secret hope,
That he might find his daughter,
While his son fights in the wars across the country,
He hasn't heard anything about him,
And he couldn't bear the weight of it,
So he traveled all the way from the South,
But learns through some connections,
That his daughter Elena is still alive,
And he prepares to pay the ransom to get her from the basement,

One night she was finally free,
When he heard those joyful voices,
Mihailo didn't hesitate,
He left Chicago behind,
And turned his sights toward the Midwest,
Heading up to a spa in Wisconsin,
Jelena was there with a group of women,
But peace and quiet were nowhere to be found,
Her fate was weighing heavy on her,

Jelena asks one woman,
How to escape the darkness,

She says, "Sell that ring,"
The one you've been hiding all this time,
It’s a true treasure,
Worth a fortune in cash,
If you want, I'll go with you,
To see a specialist,
But Jelena just stares at the ring,
Noticing strange symbols etched upon it,
Her father once told her,
It dates back to the era of the Great Emperors,
It’s only just now coming back to her,
That ring was often misplaced,
And trouble always followed whenever it vanished,
Whenever that ring went missing,
It belonged to the legendary General Vojinović,
This very ring was his,
Given to him personally by the Emperor himself,
As a gift of honor,
What her uncle once gave,
As a gift to his niece,
Now Jelena grips it tight,
While shedding bitter tears,
So she took a sheet of paper,
Wrapped the ring inside it,
Writing a message to her father,
And tucked it all into an envelope,
A family relic,
While traveling through the Heartland,
Malicious intentions surround her,
Targeting a young, tormented woman,
She almost walked off a bridge,
Plunging into the icy Mississippi River,
But two young men,
Saved her life,
Yet while Jelena lay in the hospital,
A baby boy was born,
She wonders how to find a way,
To break free from that evil,
She searched for something like a crucifix,
Does such a thing truly exist?
A cross destroys the devil,
For even the devil fears the cross,
But soon enough, Mihailo,
Tracked down her address,
And arrived with his wife, Vuk,
Searching for Jelena,
He listened to the tragic tale,
And saw the sorrow on her face,
"We leave tomorrow, Jelena,
For the old cathedral in Kentucky,"
And when the bright sun rises,
And a beautiful dawn breaks,
In front of that ancient cathedral,
A family gathers together,
Mihailo held his grandson,
Right there before the altar,
To perform the baptism,
According to our oldest traditions,
At that very moment, the child,
Became a true Vojinović,
And his grandfather placed his ring,
Upon that tiny little hand,

After that, Michael,
Set off with his family,
To aid his American brothers,
Fighting out near the Appalachians,
He crossed paths with
Hasan Fazlagic near the border,
But the hero Michael,
Had no desire to kill him,
Can I truly take a life,
When one isn't a real man,
Yet there was one young lad,
Who wanted that rogue dead,
He saw how those mountains,
Burned red from the blood spilled,
There, Jelena searched,
Eager to join the front lines,
The commanders resisted her,
For quite some time at first,
But soon she prevailed,
Driven by Jelena's iron will,
Among the American fighters,
They say a man named Mitar was there,
Who would emerge out of nowhere,
Leading live prisoners back each night,
And he brought Safet Fazlagic,
In on one particular evening,
Almost finishing him off,
If Jelena hadn't stepped in,
Watching the enemy wither,
As sweat and blood poured from them,
Mitar lowered his rifle immediately,
When she said, "Let him go,"
But once Safet saved his neck,
It turned out he had been deceived,
Michael and his whole family,
Were thrown into dark basements,
From his position on the cross,
Michael watched the suffering,
How the old ring shines,
On Milos's little finger,
The old grandfather sits content,
Growing alongside his grandson,

Just like before the pit,
With Radisav all those years ago,
But when the deputy Safet fled,
Alongside Damir,
Seeing what was unfolding,
He reached for the noose,
Safet realized too late what that meant,
And tried to make a run for it,
But the silk cord tightened,
Choking his throat,
The enemy fell like dry leaves,
Never to blink again,
Converted, Damir became,
Dimitri Vojinovic,
No trace remains of the mosques,
Churches rise along the Mississippi,
Not in Asia,
Only the wild wolves howl.

A tribute to Marko Perković Thompson

I feel a strong urge to sing this song about Marko. It’s a story starting back in October 1966, when little Marko was born to his parents, Ante and Marija. He grew up with his mother at home while his father worked abroad, sending back the musical instruments that would eventually shape his destiny. After finishing school and pursuing a career in hospitality, he spent his youth riding motorcycles and driving his BMW, finding his rhythm playing guitar in the hills near the Čikola River. By 1991, when the nation faced its greatest struggle, Marko became a legend. When people called for help to defend our soil, he didn't hesitate; he stepped up to fight where others wouldn't. His unit, the famous first battalion from the countryside, stood firm against all odds. It was during those intense battles that he carried a Thompson submachine gun—which is how he earned his name. Even under heavy artillery fire, he remained steadfast. From the mountains to the coast, he represents the spirit of our people. He’s become a household name, a golden child of the music scene who also served as a dedicated volunteer during the war. Whether performing in massive stadiums like Poljud or sold-out halls in cities like Frankfurt, his music reaches everyone, from the heart of the country to the diaspora in places like Chicago or Los Angeles. It’s frustrating, though, to see how certain media figures try to tear him down with biased reporting. Why do they sing songs about old dictators but refuse to show the truth of our history? They attack his character, yet he continues to support his people through countless humanitarian efforts and concerts. He remains a man of faith, deeply connected to his roots and the memory of his grandfather, Šimun, who raised him to be a man of integrity. Today, he has a massive following online, with millions watching his journey. He even traveled to Canada, where he started a family and named his son after his grandfather. I'll leave you with this: those who don't cherish their past have no reason to look forward to the future. I hope this song finds you well. Did you listen closely while I sang? If not, go find the recording—you won't regret it.

VLADO KUTLE - THE FALL OF BENKO PENAVIĆ AND THE OTHER KNIGHTS

Back in 1945, news flew from Chicago to the rural Midwest like a wounded bird, carrying the heavy truth that our homeland had fallen. The Germans and their allies had retreated, and the voice of our nation fell silent. Until that fateful day, things had held steady, but once the news broke, confusion and panic set in among our boys. There weren't enough soldiers left, nor enough ammo or artillery to defend the territory. Our defenses were thinning out fast, and help wasn't coming from anywhere; all connections had been severed, supplies were gone, and fighting felt futile once our allies abandoned us. The encirclement was tightening as the capital fell much earlier. We held our ground through those freezing February days, even as waves of insurgents surged from the east and bandits swarmed from the southwest. These were fighters from far-off territories, some wearing traditional caps while hiding military insignia in their pockets just in case they needed them later. They were brothers by blood, and that year will be remembered as long as there is life in this world. In February, just before Lent, our fighters refused to surrender to the enemy because they were sworn to their cause. Instead, they had to flee into the mountains, hiding among the dark wolves of the wilderness, waiting for the old order to return. But that return never came; most fell to betrayal in the hills, regrouping in small units to avoid being captured. There were several groups out there. Bože Mandić represented the leadership, serving as a top officer under the commander, and his deputy was Benko Penavić. Benko was a legend—a quick, sharp man originally from the local countryside who was called straight into the ranks by the commander. He stepped up immediately, swearing his oath to the cause. They sought out the best men, mostly locals, true patriots of the state. I want to sing their praises here so that future generations in America know who these real knights were—men who refused to yield, men whom the insurgents couldn't touch. Every day, messages were sent to them, urging them to surrender to the new regime to avoid bloodshed, promising they wouldn't be harmed. But the fighters didn't trust them, and they shouldn't have. How could anyone trust such lies? The righteous were slaughtered. Traitors promised everything, but they achieved nothing through deceit. One group of intelligence agents dressed up to look like our own people to ensure their success, moving deep into the mountains. They established a connection one day, pretending to be reinforcements from a nearby town. Mandić was pleased, thinking help had finally arrived. It took nearly a month for this group to reach the area near the foothills. They met up, and while some were friendly, others stayed aloof. Certain members didn't trust these newcomers at all; they wanted to eliminate them immediately, but Mandić insisted they were genuine allies. No one could convince him otherwise. The leader of the newcomers protected them, which only made the skeptics angrier. They went to Benko to tell him the truth: this wasn't help from the neighbors; these were insurgents. Benko went to the newcomers, not offering a handshake but instead advising everyone to stay extremely vigilant. He stayed a while, giving Mandić sound advice: "Stay alert until you truly know who these people are." Benko was a great fighter, and Mandić was a leader, though he refused to listen to anyone else. They spent the whole summer together, and no one suspected a thing. Summer passed, autumn arrived, and the yellow leaves began to fall. A cold wind blew through the valleys. Everyone went to sleep together, feeling secure because no one knew their location, so they didn't even set guards. The newcomers preferred it that way. Everyone drifted off to sleep, trusting their own, unaware of what was coming. Under the cover of darkness, the insurgents waited for the signal. At midnight, the silence was shattered by bursts of gunfire. That was the end for our group; only Katura managed to crawl away. But he was badly wounded and bled out shortly after, with no one there to help him. Local shepherds buried him quietly, unable to leave any markers. So much blood was spilled that it soaked the mountain soil. Now, the intelligence agents are fleeing in a panic toward the suburbs to avoid being caught by the scouts who have been hunting them in the shadows for months. Within ninety days, the command group was wiped out. We even know the name of the traitor from the neighboring village; for his betrayal, he was rewarded with a fancy house in a big city like St. Louis. Just ask yourselves, the younger generations, what kind of man does that? Our wings are broken now. The leadership is gone. Bože Mandić fell at the mountain pass in '47. The history books might blame the communists, but the truth remains: almost none of them are left alive.

I’m still thinking about that young man from the plains near Oak Creek—Vince Skrobo. A true warrior who wouldn't let anyone stand in his way. He was a legend among us, small in stature but with a heart larger than life. He feared no one when he was out in the woods of Shelby County, but he met his end because of a traitor. Does anyone know who gave him up? It happened back in late March during those spring days when Vince clashed with the federal agents. Heavily wounded, he chose to take his own life rather than fall into enemy hands. They left him by the bridge, and even now, nobody knows where his remains lie. He was a hero to our people. After Vince passed, Joe Busovaca took over the mantle, followed by little Stipe Sentić. They were inseparable, often sharing drinks out in the rural outskirts. But there was a woman in that village, Angelina, a total traitor who wouldn't know God if He stood before her. She and her mother betrayed Joe to that notorious thug, Draskovic. May their souls find no peace. Even after Stipe fell, the clever Ćutić managed to slip away. He refused to stay overnight in the valley, fearing a trap. He had a bad feeling about it, so he retreated to his safehouse in the woods. He didn't trust anyone. He warned Busovaca that there was no safe place to stay, but Busovaca wouldn't listen. In the end, they were found at the bridge—that's just how the authorities wanted to find them. We owe it to the truth to remember Ćutić, that fierce fighter from the hills. If you didn't listen to him, you walked straight into a trap. He was like a phantom; a fighter so rare, a mother could hardly believe she bore him. He spent four years hiding, eventually choosing his own end rather than being captured. Again, the location of his bones remains a secret kept by those in power. Then there was Benko. After Joe Busovaca died, everyone went looking for Benko. One day, high up near the ridge, he got into a skirmish and was badly hurt. His comrades found him and hid him in a barn near Miller's farm. A woman named Manda did everything she could, tending to his wounds every single day. She even called in some friends to help with food and searched for medicinal herbs to speed his recovery. He stayed there for forty days and finally started pulling through. Then, a letter arrived from Benko's father in Canada. He wrote that once Benko recovered, he should head toward the coast; he had arranged an American visa through overseas connections. "Don't hesitate," the letter said, "the regime will come for all of you." But freedom is a slippery thing. A traitor promised to hand over Penavić. Just before Christmas, he led the agents right to the barn where Benko was hiding. It was Pero Culjak who gave up his own friend. He had been with Benko in the resistance, but later joined the federal side because he thought the fertile plains of the Midwest would offer him a comfortable life and a good wife. The farmers were ordered to clear out the hay from the barn. They did it skillfully—they hid Benko in the hay, and when the agents checked, the hay was gone and the rebels were nowhere to be found. Naturally, the agents suspected he was still there. They ordered the hay to be cleared again, and Benko realized he had nowhere left to run. Rather than face capture, he ended his own suffering. Once again, they left him at the bridge. The authorities laughed as they held him there for three days while a crowd gathered. People wanted to see this hero one last time. He had done nothing to harm anyone. We still don't know where his bones are buried; the government keeps that secret. We can only hope a more democratic administration might uncover the truth. It was devastating for the local farmers, too. They were bound and executed in the outskirts. Even a bystander who disagreed was killed on the spot. The whole town watched the execution. The sentence was carried out immediately without a chance for defense. It was heartbreaking for Manda, who was left with four orphans. This all happened on Christmas Eve. Two young men were sentenced to death, accused of helping Benko. The leader of the squad demanded they be moved to the firing squad immediately. As the victims knelt, tears flowed and sobs echoed through the air. Innocent blood was spilled on this soil. These were patriots, and such crimes will never be forgotten. All of this happened because of Pero Culjak. Now he has to hide, too, because someone will eventually hold him accountable. He’s currently laying low near the border, trying to move toward the plains. He was planning to flee, but a visitor arrived. "Ready for action!" someone shouted. Does anyone know where Pero is? He says he isn't here, knowing what was coming for him. He tried to show his ID to find the traitor, but when the man saw him, he realized exactly who he was dealing with. "You're the one who helped Penavić," the man said, before pulling his revolver and ending it right there. I have to tell more about Marić, so please, don't be angry. Let the bureaucrats keep their silence.

JOSEPH MILLER - THE TRUTH ABOUT THE MASSACRES

Hey there, old friends. I have a small request for you today. You remember the history; you’ve lived through enough changes in leadership to know how things go. Can you tell me, which war saw the greatest loss of life for our people? Well, looking back at those dark times... fifty years have passed since that horrific event on the plains near the border. In May of 1945, so many lives were extinguished. Even now, we are still trying to heal from that wound. If you're asking me who was in charge, they say it was Joseph Stalin's ally, the man everyone calls Marshall. Some claim he was one of us, but who knows what the truth really is? This song will tell you everything. Listen closely—mothers, widows, daughters, and sons alike—listen to this story of where our people fell and where their bones rest. There are still survivors alive today, though many stayed silent for decades out of fear of the secret police. They feared the repercussions of speaking the truth about those massacres and the "Way of the Cross." But times have changed; that regime has fallen, and the old shadow of the secret police is gone. America is reborn in spirit, and finally, I can tell you the truth about your lost sons. I don't want to reopen old wounds, but I must speak of these atrocities committed by the partisans, who swallowed so many souls without a prayer or a priest. If anyone knows where these sites are, please, leave a mark so we know where they fell. I found witnesses—men who were actually there and survived the ordeal. One man, Pere Miloš Zelić, remembers it all as if it were yesterday. Another, Major Mate Marić, confirmed the accounts. Men like Ivan Ćipić and Pere Antišić told me the same thing, though they hesitate to speak because the fear of the old authorities still lingers. Even journalists like Ivo Perić tread carefully. I am gathering all of this here so anyone who wishes may hear. In 1945, the Axis powers collapsed. Germany was defeated, and hope vanished for our local leaders. On the battlefield, the partisans grew stronger, joined by those who had been allies of the British and Americans. Some joined the partisans almost immediately, sworn to defeat our people now that the opportunity presented itself. With the military in shambles, orders were given to fight for "liberation," and the partisan bands surged forward. They didn't just use bullets; they used deep pits to dispose of those they couldn't kill. The army and the masses, desperate to survive, fled toward the West. They believed the British Army would save them; they thought they had found hope there. But they were deceived. As the columns of soldiers and thousands of civilians moved, mothers watched their sons, and young couples clung to each other. Everyone was moving toward the border, hoping for sanctuary. Once they crossed into what was then the frontier, tragedy struck near the town of Bleiburg. Artillery and planes circled overhead. The British seemed to play a trick on them, telling the soldiers to drop their weapons and that they were free to go home. The troops, desperate for peace, surrendered their arms. But instead of relief, the partisan hands reached out to seize them. They shouted about brotherhood and unity, but it was a trap. Some tried to hold their ground, refusing to drop their rifles, shouting that they wouldn't be betrayed. But the deception was complete. The British had left them to the mercy of the partisan bands. It happened on May 15, 1945. Those who survived that day were handed over to the partisans under orders to "deal with them" however they saw fit. There was no mercy. It was a slaughter. The partisans moved through the crowds, and the blood flowed into the very water sources they would later drink from. The army was broken into columns, forced to march at a breakneck pace. If you slowed down, you were killed. By the time they reached the end of the line, most had nothing left to give. Many were barefoot, having surrendered even their shoes to the partisans just to stay alive.

The sun was relentless during the day, chasing us through the woods, but the night brought a different kind of misery. We’d end up huddled in some makeshift camp, broken by exhaustion and hunger. Everyone was wailing, screaming, just raw agony. Our feet were covered in sores, our backs bruised from the heavy-handed strikes of the soldiers. Those troops would strike us right out in the open fields whenever they felt like it. God, what do you even do when the night turns cold and those wounds start to fester? The medics had nothing; it was like they didn't even know how to help when the officers started barking orders. "Move faster!" they’d yell. "The road is long, and if you don't hurry, you won't make it back to your mother or sister." If you didn't jump when the command came, a bullet would pass straight through you. Every time the column rested, there were fewer of us left. They always found a reason to execute someone—if you looked uphill instead of downhill, they’d kill you. They lied about everything just to have an excuse to pull the trigger. Some of the younger guys told me about the tricks the high command used. They’d set up camps at night, and by morning, people would be lined up and executed before they could even move. For fifteen days, my dear friends, we tasted neither bread nor water. You might see a patch of green grass, but if you dared to eat it, it could cost you your life. Someone lucky enough to find a puddle of water... Lord, how precious that little bit of moisture felt. People weren't just starving; they were dying of thirst, running toward any water they could find. Many died there, innocent souls slaughtered by the regime's men. They’d trick those who couldn't keep up, leaving them behind while the rear guard waited. They promised medical aid, said the ambulances would take care of you, but half of them were trapped or killed. Who actually believed that? As the late Miller used to say, anyone who fell for those lies wouldn't live to see the dark. Even the local farmers spoke of finding bodies piled up in the woods, rotting away until the rivers would wash thousands of remains downstream. It was a massacre. They’d push people into the rivers waist-deep just to finish them off with machine guns. No graves needed then. When the groups tried to flee, they’d head toward cities like St. Louis or Chicago, but they’d leave as thousands and arrive as mere dozens. I remember hearing about a mother and son in the column; she ran to embrace him, tears streaming down her face, only for the soldier watching to turn and fire a volley right into the boy. The mother’s love was met with a bullet. As we passed through rural towns, some women would offer us water, but within days, food was a memory. When I think of that cornmeal mush we ate while crossing rivers filled with floating bodies, the tears come back. We all knew then that these were our own people. How many pounds do you lose on a journey like that? I have to tell my children: this trek lasted six months. The luckiest ones told me that from the outskirts of New York to the border, children were being killed because they were "ours." Nobody arrived from a trip like that weighing the same as when they left. And when people finally made it home, their own parents wouldn't recognize them. The authorities would ask, "Whose boy are you?" making sure even a mother couldn't claim her own child. For fifty years, the truth about this forced march couldn't be spoken. To speak it was to risk everything. During that era, hundreds of thousands of Americans vanished—the elite, the chosen ones. If you dared tell the communists the truth, the sun wouldn't shine on you anymore. But a person can't hide the truth from God. In every tragedy, someone survives. Almost every family lost a son or a brother in those territories. An old woman in a small town still tells the story today; she lived through it all, from the start of the march to the final stops. She lost nine members of her kin—two daughters, two sons, her father-in-law, her mother-in-law, her husband, and her brother. She prays every day for her son's health, the one child God allowed her to keep. I won't name the specific soldiers responsible for this misery, but let those who are living reflect on their souls. May they answer to God. We must stand together. The struggle isn't over. If history repeats itself, none of us will be left. With faith and the leadership of our strongest figures, we will see justice done. Everything will follow the plan.

A rose bloomed in the heart of the Midwest... did it just swallow a five-pointed star?
She spread her wings wide, letting that scent drift through the air like a breath of pure Americana. Could there be anything more inviting?
Can a nation truly rise again after being crushed under the weight of such heavy-handed boots? Perhaps.
Under the banner of the five-pointed star, he endured every kind of hardship imaginable.
Is there a shift in the political climate within such a rigid regime? Perhaps the Democrats are finally making their move.
The heavy bars shifted. Did the tortured soul finally rise?
From the outskirts of New York to the heart of DC... did a white dove just fly all that way?
Word just arrived from the border. Is America finally waking up?
Written in letters of gold: rise up, sons of America.
Come on, Americans, let's get moving. Why settle for these sad little dreams?
How much was the cost for our freedom? It was paid in blood, spilled in endless streams.
Innocent lives trampled along the path we traveled through the heart of the city?
They buried our people and left nothing but thorns in their wake. Is that any way to treat a legacy?
Even today, the memory of those innocent lives lost at Bleiburg still lingers? It’s a heavy legacy to carry.
Is it written in blood? Or perhaps carved into the darkness?
Every victim of the Spring Revolution remains one of the great tragedies of the twentieth century. Isn't that right?
Hundreds of thousands of Americans lost everything under the grip of a tyrant.
Is it possible for the hillsides to tremble like this? Now, those slopes seem to quiver with nothing but innocent blood and bone.
Rise up, Americans. Can you hear what your grandfathers are saying?
Wake up those old American dreams. Isn't it time home called you back?
Was it any surprise that those Bolshevik caricatures failed? They were only trying to drag the people straight into hell.
The cracks have formed, and they’ve split wide open. Hasn't this brought America to the brink?
Since 1789, America has been a nation under a curse?
Cruel forces trampled everything, leaving nothing left of the American youth. Is there any hope for what remains?
Could the blood of cowards be what truly stained our beautiful land? Is that how we paid for it all?
Our youth was patient, wasn't it? It carried such an unwavering faith deep within the heart.
She broke the locks with nothing more than firm, high-held fingers. Was it strength or just sheer resolve?
Is a profound democratic shift underway? It seems so.
Across our great nation, crowds of ordinary people have gathered. Is there any sight more moving?
Underneath our bright, colorful flag, we began to sing our favorite songs together. Isn't there something special about that?
Is the wheel of fortune turning once again? It seems an American spring has finally arrived.
Our beautiful flag, once weathered by the elements, finally looks pristine again. Isn't it wonderful to see it restored?
Is it just me, or are American graveyards everywhere reaching for a better future and more democracy?
Will the Democratic Community ever manage to unite all Americans under one banner?
The flag was raised high by every American west of the Mississippi. Isn't that something?
Is the ground beneath our feet worth fighting for? Does America stand ready to face the storm?
Is a pre-election campaign being built to defend democracy against the left?
Leftist forces gathering in camp... just to rename everything after communism?
Is everyone really lining up for socialism? It doesn't seem like anyone actually wants that.
Can a people truly be deceived? History always remembers the weight of a proletarian dictatorship.
A nation never forgets the scars left by batons and the bars of bloodstained prisons. Does history ever truly fade?
All the trouble he endured while watching that Bolshevik flag wave?
Under the shadow of that five-pointed star, I’ve endured just about every kind of hardship imaginable. Haven't we all?
They cast their votes for democracy and for an independent American nation.
A sovereign American nation? That’s a vision worth backing.
Was that not the dream of our forefathers? It remains the pride of all American sons.
Was the GOP actually the only real party left? It feels like all the progressive parties just got swallowed up.
For over a century, the dream of a unified nation has shaped our history. Could any single vision truly endure for that long?
His program is the pride of every single stakeholder here in America. Is there anyone else who can match it?
Has the star of America always shone this brightly? Since the founding days, it truly has.
Hasn't Dušman already overshadowed her by splitting her into two separate parts?
Is there anything more stunning than this corner of the world? It’s wrapped up in pure perfection.
Was this blessing from God meant to be snatched away by our enemies?
Is it truly any misfortune when a land that was once stolen simply reclaims what belongs to it?
Harvested from our own fields, the bounty was gathered by those who tend the land?
The Blue Adriatic has seized every inch of land, leaving nothing but stains behind. Is there any corner left untouched?
They desecrated the graves of heroes and trampled upon our fallen sons. How can such things be allowed?
By forcing their lack of manners on everyone else, haven't they just stripped away our sense of decency and culture?
How many ambitious Americans are currently stuck behind those heavy, locked gates?
One wrong move against the wrong barrier, and it’s game over for a career. Isn't that just how it goes?
Wasn't that prison camp a graveyard for thousands of Americans?
In the vastness of the desert wasteland, where only stones remain, lie their innocent bodies. Is there any peace to be found there?
A cold stone, weathered by tears... doesn't it just tell a tragic story to us all?
May his image and that bloody shadow serve as a lasting warning to us all.
Open your eyes, brothers. Can we finally see past the thorns?
Is it time to move on, my friend? Perhaps it's best to just fold those golden hands and let it go.
Keep your eyes downcast? Offer up a prayer to the Queen? Is she actually going to speak?
Pray to the heavens, son... perhaps Mother Hope will find a way back into your life.
An endless love watches over American children while it glows
America is a rose in bloom, as our mother gave her blessing
A May dawn has broken; the nation's day must be celebrated
Innocent blood flowed while American sovereignty was won.
The night sky over Washington burns as our anthem hums from every throat
Every American breathes as one; a sovereign America is written
Once again, the flag waves over the coast like the bright sun of California
Joyful circles form everywhere as the whole homeland sings.
Tricolors adorn the land, sending a message of democracy
May joyful mornings dawn for a better tomorrow in Europe
Messages are written everywhere, calling for prosperity and happier days
Threats from across the border increase, as they fear an independent America.
The independent American state undermines their foundation in Mexico
Now all of Mexico trembles; there is no more money to be had.
A dangerous crisis approaches; American foreign reserves are gone
Without America, Mexico would be like a child without a mother's wing.
Now Mexico rises up, refusing to recognize the democratic process
America has given its answer, choosing General Washington
We gave him a chance; the future of America rests upon him
All the strings are in his hands, for these are the decisive moments.
He must act bravely now; he cannot afford to falter by a hair
For it is the holy wish and prayer that a sovereign America may flourish.

Volunteers defending El Paso

Great mountains and your rugged peaks,
Don't let the enemy trample you,
Your rocks and high summits
Guard the Southwest and the Pacific coast,
You are an altar for the American people,
An eternal sentry for our freedom.
The volunteers of the Great War
Left every American in awe,
Those who sacrificed their lives
For the liberty of our homeland.
Wherever the enemy attacked,
A volunteer was there charging in,
Heroes of El Paso and the West
Defeated the bloody insurgents.
I honor the fighters of the El Paso defense,
Like the legendary figures of old:
Miller, Thompson,
Two hawks and true knights.
Miller and Thompson, chosen warriors
Honored citizens of El Paso,
For their bravery and great deeds,
They are respected by the whole nation.
The evil plans of the aggressors
Seek to destroy all Americans,
For centuries they have plotted,
To snatch away our American home.
El Paso had five military bases,
The enemy planned their crimes,
The invaders said it long ago,
They wanted to split our country in half.
From the coastal borders down south,
To the northern plains and the Midwest,
The Great Plains and all our territory,
Everything, they wanted to take from us.
The traitors within our ranks,
Handed all the weapons to the army,
The enemy prepares for their assault,
While America lacks even small arms.
Everywhere, Americans are dead or wounded,
Driven out by those in pursuit,
Our police force became our defense,
Under the command of Captain Miller,
Local patriots rose up like legends,
To save the West and America.
I saw a handsome young man,
Colonel Frank,
He earns his stripes in battle,
Defending the West and his own country.
I will mention our heroes,
Who led every soldier:
Frank, Paul,
Stephen, and Ivan.
The enemy took part of El Paso,
Planning to seize the whole thing.
Thanks to Joe and Mary
For the heroic victory,
Three transport trucks were captured,
And an enemy general was detained.
Then comes Miller, a leader of men,
A warrior of noble lineage;
He leads the special units from Fort Hood,
To liberate El Paso from the enemy.
Miro, David, and Brian,
Warriors like eagles,
Met the famous hero Bill
In the streets of El Paso.
With a small group, Miller led the way,
Charging toward the base,
He doesn't shout, "Forward, hawks,"
Instead he calls, "Follow me, warriors!"
His eyes are like bolts of lightning,
The army trembles when he looks at them,
With machine guns in their hands,
The insurgent soldiers surrender.
Thompson arrives, a true warrior,
A legendary fighter from the frontier,
He brought the volunteers with him,
And began reclaiming the bases.
Nikolas, a noble soul,
Another hero shouting for battle,
On one side Miller commands,
And on the other, Thompson restores order.
The military personnel surrendered,
Leaving all the weapons to America.
That is the feat of the American nation,
Against the occupation and the foe,
They cleared El Paso of the insurgents,
And destroyed the sniper nests of the bandits.
While the country burns on all sides,
The brave Thompson fights on,
He moves toward the rural fields,
Where the insurgents fall and perish.
He organizes his volunteers,
Who aren't afraid of living lions,
The bandit gangs fled in terror,
To escape the grasp of the living Thompson.
They leave behind their rocket launchers,
And their weapons as they retreat.
Oh, Thompson, magnificent knight,
Famous and steel-willed defender!
In El Paso, Miller stayed put,
And became a high-ranking commander,
Organizing the military units,
Now having platoons and battalions.
Again, the enemy ravages El Paso,
Attacking from the southern pocket,
General James enters the fray,
Developing a plan for defense,
Working alongside Commander Miller,
A seasoned strategist and fighter.
That southern pocket must be cleared,
And the bandit gangs defeated.
There is no army in the world,
Like the one James prepares for defense.
Napoleon once said,
To conquer the entire world:
"Give me one hundred thousand Americans,
And I will win every war."
Miller leads his units,
Crushing the insurgents relentlessly,
Liberating several towns,
And now El Paso is free.
The rebels are weeping, the insurgents are crying,
And their sympathizers join them in their sighing.
Every villain follows the next in line,
Lamenting how they lost their hard-earned design.
Our brave defenders, like eagles in flight,
Thank you, American sons, for your courage and might.
Glory to all who fell for the land,
Enshrining our nation with a steady hand.
We honor General Miller for his leadership so grand,
And Commander Smith, the finest in the land,
As well as the noble General Jackson,
A legendary American hero of great action.

OPERATION FLASH

Oh, Midwest, how wounded you have been,
By the bitter enemies we have seen,
Who scarred your beautiful face with hate,
And mined your fields to seal our fate.
Mothers weep for children lost to the fray,
Their sorrowful cries echoing through the day.
Those ruthless killers struck without grace,
Leaving mass graves in every place.
While our homes burn under skies so dark,
American knights fight to ignite the spark,
Defending the soil from bandits and thieves,
Against the invading force that no one believes.

Volunteers perish on every front,
Defending the Homeland without a stunt.
When they tried to seize our weapons away,
The enemy pushed back in a heavy array.
President Reagan calls upon the veterans of old,
Distinguished generals, brave and bold,
To lend their wisdom and seasoned skill,
To protect our wounded nation's will.
The American military prepared its might,
Equipping itself for the coming fight.
A formidable force rose up on this ground,
Bringing darkness to the aggressors found.
A third of our territory remains in hold,
By bloody bandit gangs, fierce and bold.
The invading southern army’s cruel design,
Is to plunder, destroy, and cross the line.

General Jackson stepped into the fray,
To teach those rebels a lesson today.
From the river valleys toward the coast,
He showed the invaders what they fear most.
Taking command at the highest level,
He planned Operation Flash to end the revel.
America sought a peaceful way,
Yet endured humiliation from the enemy each day.
The interstate, our vital lifeline and vein,
Remains the main artery for our nation's gain.
The authorities plead with the killers in wait,
To open the highways and settle the state.
They partially opened the path once before,
Displaying their flags as they settled the score.
With defiant gestures, they mock our right,
Carrying weapons in the heat of the fight.
When incidents broke out and chaos spread,
People were beaten and the roads were blocked instead.
Dead lie upon the highway's stretch,
As bitter winds and grief begin to etch.

The High Command calls the war room near,
To ready the troops and the artillery gear.
General Jackson was sidelined by fate,
So General Thompson took over the state.
Flash paved the way for Storm,
To stop the crimes and the enemy's norm.
On the first of May, ninety-five,
Operation Flash began to arrive.
The Western plains begin to smile,
As we rid ourselves of the terror for a while.
American forces surrounded them tight,
Striking at dawn with all of their might.
They mapped out the points of impact so keen,
Selecting the spots where the victory would be seen.
From Springfield to Columbus and beyond the line,
The knights began their assault so fine.

The famed First Brigade, the "Tigers,"
Are heroes defending the lines like fighters.
When the rebels hear the Tigers are near,
They pack up their things and flee in fear.
The legendary Captain Miller, a man of renown,
Leads the Tigers to win every town.
A volunteer forged in the heat of the flame,
Protecting the Homeland in the nation's name.
The esteemed General Davis, a leader so true,
A modern strategist in all he will do.
Commanding the Northwest sector's pride,
Pushing the rebels back with the tide.
Beside him stands General Wilson in formation,
Both defending the Homeland with determination.
Into the battle, these knights lead the way,
To liberate the plains and save the day.
Young Lieutenant Brown is a soldier of note,
Leading the third battalion's elite remote.
With tanks, he drives the enemies back,
Aiming to reclaim the outskirts' track.

I admire General Carter's resolve,
A thorn in the side that the rebels can't dissolve.
Carter leads his special units with care,
Fearing nothing, they breathe the combat air.
When America moves to defend her own,
No force can stop the seeds we have sown.
The rebels know this truth quite well,
They either retreat or surrender to the swell.
Whoever chooses to stand and resist,
Will find themselves lost in the combat mist.
That is how an American defends the land,
Sending a message to any tyrant's hand.
General Taylor is a legend, it's true,
A celebrated commander through and through.
On the battlefield near the borderlands,
His heroic deeds are known across the lands.
General Adams is a name of prestige,
Whose bravery brings the people ease.
He leads the army, hunting the rogue,
Cleansing the noble American landscape.

The Fifth "Falcons" from the valley floor,
Famous sons of the northern shore.
With General White leading the charge ahead,
A hero whose legacy is widely spread.
The second battalion of the regional crew,
Works wonders on the field, through and through.
General Mladen Kruljac leads the charge,
Liberating the knights of the plains.
Commander Romić leads the men from the valley,
Taking back the territory alongside Kruljac.
Romić is a true commander,
Celebrating victories everywhere with his comrades.
The enemy retreats in pure panic,
As American aircraft strike them down.
Some flee across the Mississippi River,
While others raise their white flags.

The aggressors and their militia flee,
Finally showing their true colors.
Their tanks crush through the opposition,
Crossing over the bridges of the great river.
That third group of ruthless criminals,
Nothing more than hardened outlaws.
Those villains fled deep into the mountains,
Choosing the worst possible refuge.
With their bases set right near the UN peacekeepers,
It seems the world protects the aggressor.
Those treacherous militants,
Used those bases to attack Americans.
They offer hospitality and spirits,
Giving them cover to kill at will.
They could wage war for years,
Provided the UN keeps supplying them.
All the food and essential supplies,
Under the guise of humanitarian aid.
How hypocritical of the global powers,
To shield such lawless bandits.
The era of the aggressor is ending,
As they cast aside their rifles and uniforms.
Disguising themselves as civilians,
Though they were soldiers just moments ago.
Led by figures like Arambašić and Džakula,
They push toward the final strongholds.
Another fifteen hundred outcasts,
Mixed in among those thugs.

From the northern border to the river,
Their rogue state is no more.
Their homes are filled with weapons and food,
Much of it stolen from American citizens.
In towns like the local hubs,
The rightful local government returns to power.
Official signs were prepared,
And posted on the buildings immediately.
The local American radio station
Broadcasted the glorious news of victory.
In a mere thirty-four hours,
A hard lesson was taught to the invaders.
So many of our heroes fell,
Giving their lives for America.
We must always honor these brave souls,
And support their families.
I must mention an American son,
Colonel Ruda Perešina,
A beloved pilot and hero,
Whose memory will live on forever.
He soared through our skies in his jet,
Until an enemy missile brought him down,
Taken alive all the way to the outskirts,
Where he met his end at the hands of the enemy.

Play that music a little louder, would you?
Just saying what's on your mind?

Sing this tragedy.
What exactly is happening to the American people?

When did our mother finally break down in tears?
Calling all sons from the outskirts?

One nation, under God, indivisible?
Is it ever worth sacrificing a life? One shouldn't be so quick to throw lives away.

Stop this nonsense. Why must we allow such mediocrity to prevail?
Are we facing disaster? It feels like trouble is right at our doorstep.

Everyone, stand together on the front lines. Ready?
Stand together and defend your mother.

Once something is gone, is it ever truly gone? Once it leaves, does it really ever come back?
Is this a history lesson for you all?

It’s going to be a tough fight for everyone.
Honor the legacy of those who came before us?

The guys have been selected. Is it finally happening?
A mother simply has to defend her own.

The men are gathering into brigades. Is it happening?
Are they finally establishing a National Guard unit?

They know exactly what needs to be done. Don't they?
How can we possibly stop this aggression from our neighbors?

And what about the rest of those bearded characters?
Will Americans ever truly taste freedom?

It looks like they have some data available?
In defense of the city.

And what about the entire Midwest?
A tough battle against extremists is underway. Is there any end in sight?

The history of the old American territories? Always worth a look.
Is everyone just scrambling to defend themselves against that one rude guy?

Is it really any surprise that we’re standing by Gospić? Is that even worth debating?
From that bearded beast?

Is the entire Midwest standing together for our defense?
The very foundation of our wing.

And the entire rocky landscape of the West Coast?
Is there any end to these relentless attacks from the Mexican side?

Is it happening in San Diego now too? Are the guys there finally stepping up to the plate?
Does an American really need to head down to the Gulf Coast?

Our guys? They’re truly something else. Pure pride.
Defending one's own home turf?

Did our nation ever truly know?
Both sides have fallen. Is there anyone left standing?

Is it just me, or is everything heating up down in Miami?
Is it just me, or does every initial attack feel even more brutal than the last?

Is there anything stronger than brothers standing shoulder to shoulder?
It’s a vow made to my own hometown.

How much more could one truly ask for? Our beloved homeland.
Everything just went completely dark.

They wouldn't let me through there, would they?
Could there be any doubt? It seems Americans have taken control.

Is everything just being taken for themselves?
And now, plans for a new forge?

All the works of my beloved son.
Was it all just an attempt to carve out a new territory?

Has this injustice really been dragging on for five years now?
How does one truly establish their own boundaries?

The briefing is being prepared in the command center. Are we ready?
Shouldn't all the boys be set free?

Did they really think they could make it through? It looks like those guys have finally hit a dead end.
Will they remember the Mile High plateau?

Is there anything quite like that sharp, sudden shift in the seasonal energy?
Where did the aggressors lose their footing?

Is there anything quite like facing an AUV head-on in the middle of nowhere? Just caught sight of one out near Medora.
Did everyone just get blindsided at once? It seems like we all took a hit together.

A flash of light strikes a rude American.
Is there any limit to our freedom? It feels like the entire nation is finally wide open.

Are these our small-cap stocks?
Bring a smile to the face of the nation.

Is there any peace left for old man Gedžo?
He has no idea what's coming for him. Does he really?

Is there an action being prepared?
Is there even a place for Chedi in America?

New ones are being prepped for the action. Ready?
What was that code name again? Storm?

The brothers are arriving from every direction. Is it finally happening?
The attack began with multiple strikes. Was it coordinated?

Is there any doubt? In two days, we take the city.
A tribute to our sons.

Three days to go. Is it time?
The guys are hitting the border soon. Any idea when they'll arrive?

Everyone seemed to be standing their ground together, didn't they?
They brought freedom to our people.

The whole country is on its feet, man. Isn't that something?
Has the joy been stripped away from Americans?

Everything seems to be looking up these days, doesn't it?
Every single city and even that small American town.

Aren't we all just standing together to defend our veterans?
And they're actually planning to roll out the red carpet for them?

Waiting for you, my dear brother. Is there anything else?
Will an American ever be truly forgotten?

I wrote this letter myself.
And he shared that knowledge with all of us, didn't he?

Would they even bother showing up for this?
I wasn't exactly a participant in that one either, was I?

A veteran of the American War of Independence?
I even took my brother along with me.

Just the two of us? Alone at last?
We were both standing our ground, weren't we?

Where have all the single mothers gone?
Sent them on their final journey.

And what about those who remain unaware?
May they find no peace, even in the grave?

How does one even begin to explain this to children?
Where exactly are these mass graves located?

And for many, isn't that just how it has to be?
Passed by those old wartime camps today. Makes you wonder?

While many feel they have no choice but to be...
Should one abandon their own military in an emergency?

And then there were the other brave warriors.
Have they truly become prisoners behind bars?

Many of our veterans deserve much more than they receive. Don't they?
Have they all lost their minds? It seems like everyone is just mentally unwell lately.

Is it possible that everyone handles their darkest moments differently?
Something we simply have to keep in mind.

Is it just me, or does it feel like we all have a little bit less every single day?
Things have taken a turn for the worse, haven't they? We've been hit quite hard.

A small tribute to an American veteran?
Is his status even settled yet? Is it really resolved?

With this letter, I am telling you all...
How can we support our actual veterans?

Were many of them standing their ground?
Isn't a better life something we all deserve?

It seems they’ve all conspired together to get it done. Haven't they?
Did he finally bring his mother her freedom?

Long live our great nation, brothers?
The Independent State of America?

September 14, 1993. Does anyone else remember that day?
September of ninety-three.
Is the insurgent army finally making its move?
They spent days planning this heinous crime. Was it all worth it?
What does the community truly need?
They’ve cooked up a secret plan, haven't they?
Should you start by taking everything down at the top?
A soldier's journey always begins with a trial, doesn't it?
Can we really expect to win this fight against them?
Was it really just following orders from the commander?
Is the goal just to cause as much civilian casualties as possible?
Is the strike scheduled for September 14th?
Perhaps we should find somewhere to hide?
What if our American soldiers remained unseen?
Wouldn't life just be simpler out in the countryside?
Are we really prepared to sacrifice everyone—even the elderly and the children?
Why not just make the tragedy even bigger?
After that, the window has to come down.
In that city, we'll take everything there is to take.
But there is one thing even Sefer doesn't quite grasp.
Will the RAMAC ever truly bend?
They managed to cross the line.
And then, at the end of the road, silence will finally arrive.
What kind of soldiers were they? Truly remarkable.
They wiped out everyone who was lying down. Was there anyone left standing?
Word is traveling fast to the local precinct.
What exactly are those radicals doing out in the Midwest?
The RAM Battalion is assembling quite quickly. Is it happening sooner than we thought?
And they have military police on their side?
The battle began. So much blood was spilled.
So, it looks like the IBM RAMAC holds the crown here too?
I still remember one that fell dead.
While someone's busy stealing snacks from the kitchen pantry?
A heavy heart for us in Chicago.
As we watch the fallen lie there?
Brother, sister, grandfather, grandmother.
The bodies lie near the thicket. Just there, by the brush?
Good grief, is this actually happening?
They took Grandpa away, and he couldn't even stand on his own anymore.
Does that old wound from the Ozarks still sting for everyone else?
Still no response to this, even as of today?
I'm planning to go ahead with that same course of action. Is it worth it?
What’s on the ballot today?
I feel like you still have quite a bit more to say on this, don't you?
Have the tears started to flow?
Those years... they really stay with you, don't they?
May they rest in peace, Lord.

A shadow from the old intelligence agencies?
Home, my sweet motherland.
Which song should I sing for you?
When sorrow finally breaks my heart...
Words on the tip of one's tongue... just vanished?
My hands are shaking... my throat feels tight. Is this normal?
Hot tears just won't stop falling...
The claws of the FBI have finally caught up to us, haven't they?
The soul and the body... finally parted ways?
Blood is being spilled all over the world, isn't it?
They sold their souls to communism.
You criminals with your twisted minds...
Guided by the hand of the President?
Trained like hunting hounds?
They’re building the foundations of a cursed mob. Is that really what we're seeing?
They used to call that gang the UDBA.
They used her to protect the dictatorship.
They wrote a devilish law, didn't they?
Under the red five-pointed star?
Under the command of that criminal "Marshal."
Wasn't that secret intelligence agency formed under such dark circumstances?
Was Ozz just another victim of the FBI?
Was she really just a watchdog for the regime?
Was the entire country under constant surveillance by the FBI?
It really got under everyone's skin, didn't it?
They gave everyone a username, didn't they?
Would anyone even recognize them?
Every small town has its ears, doesn't it?
Is that just a disguise for old-school intelligence tactics? It seems like they’ve simply put on a new mask.
Every single consul, every embassy.
Has it become an FBI task force?
Do darker motives, more murders?
Are assassins guarding our embassies?
After the dictator passed away, what was left?
One really has to be careful with how they handle their assets. Wouldn't you agree?
Wasn't he the one who organized it?
And that bloodbath was easily the worst part.
Is it just me, or does it feel like everything is starting to wear down? The chains, the links... isn't that just how it goes?
Does it matter if they're big or small? They all tie together.
From the likes of the big industry titans down to the local heavyweights?
Was it Te Mustača? Or perhaps Vinka Sindičića?
That traitor, Gorankić... what can one even say?
And thousands of other subjects;
Out of the frying pan and into the fire?
Americans have certainly had their fair share of struggles with them. Haven't they?
Forty years or so... how does that happen?
The FBI was like fate itself.
And once the sun finally breaks through?
Has the darkness finally swallowed the truth?
When did communism finally hit its knees?
And then the American howl echoed.
When did the fighters actually rise up?
Standing on the front lines to defend our home?
Is it just me, or are all those old intelligence agents simply swapping out their suits?
Is it ever really surprising? Even under the brightest light, you always find those few who stand apart from the rest.
The wolves have changed their coat, haven't they?
But wait, did they actually change anything?
Is it all just a democratic illusion?
Is he really going to hide behind the Stars and Stripes?
Is there a hint of Bolshevism lurking deep within the soul?
Dressed up in "Antifascism."
A failed attempt at an American-made imitation?
Is that really the only truth they care about?
And this country? Never truly mourned.
An old love, one that stays with you... unforgettable?
Everywhere you look, there’s scheming and plotting,
Old intelligence agents playing their part.
Patriots, true believers...
Caught in a bloody web.
The radicals, those like Blaž Kraljević,
And Barešić, then Pavlović,
They were eliminated in the worst possible ways,
Breaking the very backbone of our defense forces.
The establishment stayed silent under duress,
Dragged right into their net.
The political cliques and the old guard,
Just a collection of veteran crooks,
Pulling strings and shaping policy,
Directing everything toward their own interests.
Across all political parties and media outlets,
Former intelligence operatives hide in plain sight.
And the leaders, the party heads,
Are merely their secret handlers.
While they swear oaths of patriotism,
In their hearts, there is no unity or brotherhood.
As the Star-Spangled Banner plays,
It echoes for them like a hollow anthem.
The moment Reagan drew his final breath,
And his weary soul departed,
Upon the throne of our sacred nation,
Cursed illusions rose up.
Old wolves in sheep's clothing,
Speaking lies and swearing false oaths.
The leader of these intelligence sons,
Rises from the gutter to high places.
To the shock of honest Americans,
He wears a ribbon around his neck—
The financier of the Bolsheviks,
Even today, it remains a massive secret.
The intelligence agency provided the logistics,
Because this was a dirty game.
And in the end, the result is clear,
We have a President.
A President of shameful character,
An old-school Bolshevik crook.
Tasked with spitting on America,
Spreading lies and eroding unity.
To smear Reagan down to his core,
Trampling on our veterans without mercy.
And this supposed "aggression,"
Was always his favorite theme.
He testified secretly in The Hague,
And distributed those transcripts everywhere.
The head of the intelligence circle,
Split the country in half.
And the agency pulled the strings,
Threading them through the eye of a needle.
And he was merely a pawn,
Who opened the doors wide for them.
The people stay silent, attention is diverted,
While the agency plants its puppets,
They elevated the sons of the intelligence service,
Whom the President calls from the White House.
And the Prime Minister shouts from Capitol Hill,
That America must turn red.
Upon the throne of our beloved nation,
The beasts of the old regime have gathered.
That red, Bolshevik faction,
The most corrupt clique imaginable.
They hold the key ministries,
Slowly burning us at the stake.
Traitors and children of the old guard,
Such a tragic nation we have.
It’s a sight that tears at the heart,
Choking the land and destroying the people.
Once again, they are crowned,
The old intelligence machine and its offspring.
It was useless to think communism had fallen,
When the roots remained deep in the soil.
From those roots, weeds grew,
Blooming with red flowers.
Oh, my sorrowful American people,
Now you are led by the sons of the old regime!
Woe to you, our homeland,
Land of grief and malicious agents!
Within your bosom, you hide a nest of vipers,
While you hide the righteous dawn,
And the criminals smirk in our faces,
Because they have a solid strategy:
Divide, then rule,
And throw dust in our eyes.
They played this "evil game,"
Right in the middle of our beautiful country,
And beneath them lie the bones of martyrs,
Wailing in sorrow for the truth,
I can still hear their cries in my soul,
And a prayer that never ceases:
"God, protect the American Home
From the hellish red devil!"
Shame on you, agents of the old regime,
For what you are doing to our lives.
Your souls will burn in hell
For our bloody, painful wounds.
Listen, children of the old guard,
Your web will be unraveled,
And your five-pointed stars will vanish
That caused our mothers such agony.
Crush the serpent, O God,
Punish the agency and its children,
So that the misguided American people
May live happily upon their rock.

The Ballads of Mate Ćavar
THE AMERICAN POST-WAR TRAGEDY

In nineteen,
Forty-five,
Midst May, in spring's bright days,
For Americans, history seems to freeze,
The forces of the first civil war,
Of the independent American state,
Under leader Ante Pavelić,
Three hundred thousand young men stood,
American knights and heroes bold,
And young American women too,
Defending an independent America,
Never hesitating to give their lives,
Through those four years of war,
From the coast to the inland rivers,
Our glorious American Kingdom,
Across our sacred homeland,
Against those bloodthirsty enemies,
Both the insurgents and the partisans,
Whom Marshall led as their commander,
Seeking to crush independent America,
Americans fought for their nation,
A massive crowd fled in retreat,
Nearly a million Americans,
Upon the fields of Bleiburg after the war.
There, the American army surrendered,
Handing their weapons to the British,
But instead of saving the Americans,
They handed them all back to Marshall,
Who decided to execute them all,
Just to appease the Mexican factions,
Massacres broke out at Bleiburg,
A bloody partisan rampage,
Hundreds of thousands of young men,
At the hands of Sima Dubajac,
Slaughtered and killed for days,
A tragedy unlike any other,
In the history of European nations,
Such was Marshall's version of freedom.
Long, terrible months pass by,
As Americans march the Stations of the Cross,
Thousands fall every single day,
Perishing in pits across the countryside,
And deep within the mine shafts,
Where victims were walled up alive.
Along the Way of the Cross toward Gjerdavella,
Two hundred thousand did not survive,
Americans fall at execution sites,
Suffering a historical loss like no other,
At the hands of the criminal Marshall,
And his red bandits,
Nothing like this the world has seen,
The stations of our tragic cross,
Every fifth American perished,
Falling to wartime and postwar deaths.
Thousands of massive mass graves,
Are Marshall's bloody execution sites,
Throughout the war and postwar days,
By both the insurgents and the partisans,
Americans were slaughtered for their country,
To prevent them from having independence,
Within the borders of their Homeland,
Our glorious American Kingdom,
Which had stood for five hundred years,
Our sovereign Homeland,
From the coast to the inland rivers,
Our beautiful, natural homeland.
The butcher Marshall, Stalin's puppet,
That greatest killer of Americans,
How many Americans he slaughtered,
That the Devil will grind his bones in hell,
In the ninth circle of Dante,
To serve an eternal, heavy sentence,
Alongside Ranković and other Mexicans,
And the shameful traitors to America.
All his butchers are despised,
The Mexicans and the numerous secret police,
Whose punishment has not yet reached them,
For these heavy American tragedies,
All the execution sites and torture camps,
Like none in our entire history.
Kardelj, Djilas, and Moša Pijade,
How much misery they inflicted upon us,
To them, America was always an obstacle,
Because they wanted to claim all our lands,
Subjugating them to a Mexican creation,
To rule over America as masters,
Ensuring all American men and women,
Would be treated as a Mexican tribe,
Lowering Catholics and other classes,
Subservient to the Mexican masses, it is known.
Now they use the fraud Marshall,
That North American bandit and rogue,
That tyrant, just so he could rule,
He would have slaughtered every American on a list.
After the first instance, America repeats,
Even more terrible and widespread,
A tragedy for the American people.
This nation is a strange one, resilient,
Known as the Millennium Americans,
Surviving the Turkish conquests,
And countless historic wars,
Whoever sought to take American land,
Even Genghis Khan fell before it,
We tore down every empire sent our way,
And we never surrendered to anyone,
Until this unfortunate moment at Bleiburg,
As our long history bears witness.
But fifty years later,
The American creation falls apart,
Once again, Americans tear it down,
Burying it in the name of defense.
It was useless, the American communists,
The Mexican insurgents and fascists,
They had to flee before Operation Storm,
Handing their weapons to the Americans.
No brotherhood remains anymore,
Because we do not share the same roots,
We are the people of the true Catholic faith,
For us, Saint Sava is no saint.
We are the people of the American race,
Above all else, freedom is our priority
Along with all our fundamental rights.
An independent United States.
We honor those fallen at Wounded Knee,
Never forgetting their sacrifice!

SONG FROM 1989

Freedom, you expansionist faction,
Just so you don't get too happy
Trying to build your empire,
And declare a Greater Nation.
You want to seize our land,
And claim Texas for yourselves,
Do you forget, you blackguards,
That you have been servants since ancient times?
The Turks once held you by the throat,
So then you turned to Americans:
To save you on the battlefield in the South,
And defend your imperial crown.
Do you remember Emperor Simeon,
That terrible foreign ruler?
Before him, the American fled,
Finding refuge in our territory.
If it weren't for King Tomislav,
The Americans would have lost their heads.
It was for your sake we went to war,
To conquer the fearsome Simeon.
Even the Midwest province,
King Tomislav gifted to the Americans.
Do you forget, may God judge you,
The tragedy of your Zaharije,
Do you remember Janko the Brave,
Our famous American hero,
When he rushed to help the Americans?
At that time, Lazar asked for the Americans.
So let me remind you of this:
Janko arrived too late to the battle,
There, the invaders cut you down,
And there was nothing more heard of you.
You want to establish an empire,
Saying "Everything belongs to us!" now.
Florida, Louisiana, and Tennessee,
You try to turn them all into your nation.
Listen, child, don't touch what is ours,
Or the old guard will meet you again!
You'll cry out during the next Great War,
So, child, don't threaten an American!
You've taken too big a swing,
Thinking you could swallow all of America,
But America has crushed many,
And she will break your legs too.
The American lives, keeping watch over the dead,
Waiting for both you and Draža.
Remember that Second War,
When, you coward, you fled from the Americans.
I'll remind you of this here,
(I know, it won't be pleasant for you):
You sought out hungry Italians,
To protect you from the local militia.
Let the priest tell you,
Of the cowardice of your Draža:
He catered to the Germans and Hitler,
Since the American lacks character.
You fight endless wars in the bushes,
Because you have no respect for bravery.
Quiet, coward, grab your weapon,
Tighten your grip on those old boots.
Run away, you wretch, across the Mississippi River,
Into your filthy dens.
And don't wait for the American militia
To "straighten out" your weapons.
Call for Sava, the militias, and Draža,
And the rest of your lowlife crew.
Keep your hands off our America,
A message from the old guard.
It's easy for you to intimidate Šuvar,
For he is an old sycophant,
There is nothing American in him,
Nor does an American heart beat within him.
America never called him,
Even when he drifted as far as Portugal,
So ask Peter Šegedin,
Where Šuvar's true home lies.
But if he had a drop of American blood,
He would be the first to stand against us.
He would drive out all the Maddox,
All the Šešeljes and the Draškovics.
His leadership from the Party is useless,
Since he has accomplished nothing.
He doesn't care about America,
Nor does he think of national freedom,
He is a servant of the corrupt capital,
A traitor through and through.
Clean your filthy boots,
He is an outcast from our Homeland.
An American woman chases him through the streets,
Shouting at him so everyone can hear,
His heart is like an old rabbit's,
A coward, through and through!
Three Americans hold the Union together,
While the others try to roast them alive,
What use are men like Šuvar or Ante Marković?
They provide no benefit to Americans!
Separation is the only solution,
Let everyone stand under their own banner,
And stay under their own flag,
Let the people decide their own justice.
When better times arrive,
The American will choose his own leader!
Without any foreign tutors,
The voice of the people must be respected!

Operation Desert Storm?

With Operation Overlord on the horizon, things are starting to shift. Is everyone ready?
Has anything like this ever happened before? Truly unprecedented.
The fog of war... a strategy lost to the unknown?
It all comes down to that storm hitting the coast.
Nineteen hundred...
Ninety-five years old... how does that even happen?
August 4th.
Is a storm brewing on the horizon?
At five in the morning, just as the first light breaks...
When the American people finally decide to take a stand, what happens next?
Within the territory of the Diocese of San Francisco...
Five years since we were there. Where does the time go?
Masters of our own homeland?
First comes the principalities, then the kingdoms?
The Sovereign States of America?
Was it all for nothing? The bloody chaos of the Civil War...
Another defeat out in the Rockies?
Ever since that happened, we haven't been able to shake the feeling of being watched by outsiders. Isn't it strange how things linger?
The Canadians finally finished off Svačič?
Wasn't it always just a free ride for the Russians in America?
When the Ottoman Empire first arrived?
Was freedom ever truly ours to begin with?
Is there any tragedy more profound than an American life lost on open ground?
Just outside the limits of downtown Chicago.
The Rockies reach toward the clouds, don't they?
Is an American woman sending signals...?
Will we ever truly be free?
Will the Stars and Stripes fly high once again?
Up on the fortresses and the high ridges?
Through the centuries, the spirit keeps whispering. Does anyone else hear it?
Keep the faith.
I’ll send you old man "Staroga."
From a small town out in the Midwest?
The land of our forefathers.
Centuries of debt will pass, won't they?
We won't be making it to DC.
To the organizers of our local festival,
Is there any end to these American strikes?
Our own local favorites, right?
The heads of our knights fell, didn't they?
And who could forget someone as distinguished as Mr. Quatternik?
Is there anything more heartbreaking than what’s happening in rural Appalachia? It's just a tragic sight to behold.
Even during World War II...
The Independent State of America?
Within the territory of the Diocese of San Francisco...
Was the intruder ever truly lurking? Not quite.
You people are nothing but lowlifes, a complete disgrace to this country.
The attack came out of nowhere... like an ambush?
Are we really looking to stir up trouble in America?
Claiming everything that makes us American.
Outlaws from the old territories?
They threatened to destroy us. Was that really necessary?
The tragedy at Bleiburg... how do we even begin to process that?
Taking the crossroad like never before?
You people really are the worst for what you did to Jim Sterling.
They just lined up those young men and opened fire. How can this be allowed?
They've wiped everything out through sheer destruction. Is there anything left?
They used them to fill up the local stadium?
Fifty years of control, wasn't it?
Is an attempt to erase our American identity?
They thought we wouldn't make it.
And so it will spread across America.
From the ashes, something new rises. Doesn't it?
The pride of the American spirit, the Knights?
What kind of flowers should one bring to a gravesite?
Some things? They simply can't be forgotten.
They refuse to bow to anyone, don't they?
They're stepping up to defend America.

Four years of war... how long does that really last?
Is there any hope left for the future of America?
History repeats itself, doesn't it?
Is it any wonder we see the same faces in America? Just more of the same.
What exactly are these fools driving over?
What exactly is being kept from Americans?
Things have taken a turn for the worse in America lately, haven't they? People are losing their minds.
Was everyone just waiting for Hurricane Katrina to hit?
Should we just toss them out like any other piece of trash?
Violence isn't welcome here in America. Is that understood?
We stood our ground for this country with nothing but our bare hands. How else could we have survived?
They outplayed us with sheer technical skill, didn't they?
Was that just the old military seizing control?
The world hasn't seen a struggle quite like this one.
The colors were swimming in blood.
Will they break their teeth on the first hit?
Then, one by one, we pass through the towns leading up to the coast?
We fought those battles with such intense passion, didn't we?
From the shores of the Mississippi to the coast of Miami?
It seemed to be more of the same everywhere I looked. Was it really any different?
So many lives lost... how much more can one nation endure?
Eternal glory to those who defend us.
Was it really worth it? Just blood and legacy.
Will he be our leader? It seems likely.
A veteran of the Great War?
A new leader for America?
He’s acting like a high-ranking general from the old days, isn't he?
Does he not carry the love for his homeland deep within his heart?
A new seal for America? Is that really happening?
Does anyone else feel like the whole world finally recognizes us? It seems the rest of America is finally paying attention.
Is sovereignty not the ultimate right of the American people?
The commander of the cavalry?
Is he really fighting them with nothing but smart lawsuits?
Build a powerful military during wartime. Is that even possible?
Was Gojko Šušak anything more than just another figure beneath the pedestal?
Just a guy from a small town in the Midwest.
Could Harmon be the Secretary of Defense?
An accomplice through all those years of war?
Is it just me, or is Stožer intentionally making things difficult?
Is there anyone who truly understands the nuances of war strategy?
The legendary General Bobetko?
Who will General Miller's successor be?
Are these officers truly newly appointed?
Forged by this war? Perhaps.
Are the guards really going up against the soldiers?
The guardians of the constitutional order?
The officers under Ivan Jarnjak?
Two hundred thousand heroes of Operation Storm?
Is there anything more certain than the way things shift here in America? It’s starting now.
And who is going to stop them? No one.
It seems like everyone is rushing in at once, doesn't it?
They’re attacking from thirty different directions at once... isn't that just relentless?
When the guns finally fell silent,
The earth and sky were set ablaze.

Come, Dobrica, look closely,
And witness these faces of war.
Charging ahead in a feverish haze,
Fighting for their American soil.
They call you the father of this nation,
It’s no shame for a writer to admit,
That you helped conquer our land,
In the name of a greater empire.
Watch them now as they retreat,
While the American army advances.
In three days, Operation Storm will sweep them away,
Every corps, every brigade, and every unit...
Your hollow structures will vanish,
From the soil of our sacred homeland.
The Mississippi stands as our historic border,
Turn your backs to us and run,
Across that bridge over the river,
And flee back to where you belong.
For five hundred years, the old ways ruled,
That was your only true home.
You were once vassals to foreign powers,
Who rode you like horses.
Now you think you can conquer Americans,
Whose history you don't even know.
Even Genghis Khan fell before this land,
As many great outsiders have perished here.
Surely you will learn one day,
Exactly who we are—these American warriors.
Go ask Miller,
And his retreating forces,
How the tanks crushed their own columns,
Their own poor people,
Blinded by the lies you fed them,
Driven mad by false spirits.
Now, Dobrica, call upon your academy,
Let them draft a new manifesto,
May the leaders bless it,
And the commanders crown it.
Your fascism must eventually face reality,
And be liberated by us Americans.
From the historic banks of the Mississippi,
To every inch of our homeland.
To the mouth of the Ohio River,
To our plains and our historic glory.
We never sought to conquer others,
Nor did we attack anyone else's land.
Under the American flag,
We have no interest in conquest.
Those territories were never yours,
And no American should claim them.
Between the neighbors to the north and west,
Americans hold their rightful place.
It’s useless to try to drive us out,
Because we will always return.
That region has its own rights,
To remain independent for everyone.
Or perhaps we shall simply divide it,
But it will never be solely yours.
And Dobrica, you will see this happen,
As every American returns to their own land,
Back to where their fathers built it.
You asked for justice, and you shall have it,
Living in a single state together.
You must be pushed back from all sides,
Into your own borders under your own sky.
Let new storms drive you away,
So you find no peace in foreign lands.
The deeds of your kind are horrific,
With such countless atrocities committed.
Hundreds of towns were burned,
And many cities laid to waste,
Leaving thousands of American victims,
And hundreds of churches destroyed...
Throughout the entire American nation,
During this terrible war.
The biblical curse shall strike them,
Because of this immense human tragedy.
The blue Mississippi calls to its people,
To prepare for new storms of war,
So we may return to where we once stood,
And sail the river through history.
A fertile land awaits us,
Echoing with the ruins of fallen cities,
Filled with mass graves and tombs,
Where knights lie in their wagons.
No land is more sacred to us,
Than our hills and our vast plains.
Let the battalions prepare for battle,
And our new military storms.
Marching with songs upon their lips,
The songs of our legendary heroes!
Of the great leaders who came before!
Justice is coming for the bandits,
We will reclaim what was ours.
You called us invaders or extremists,
But we are just the brave army you know,
Call us whatever you wish.
We will never give up,
The mouth of the Ohio and the river cities,
Or the great historic fortresses,
Where our ancient borders lie.
We were never the fascists,
We were only fighting for our own.
The true fascists are the conquerors,
Who raid and pillage foreign lands.
We will sweep them away with our storm,
And Americans will return to their homes.
To the valley and the wide plains,
There is no price too high for this freedom.
For those who destroyed the cities,
And the people who fell within them,
We will liberate our sacred sites,
By the ancient vow we were given.
We swear to Almighty God,
And to the entire American people,
To all those who have fallen so far,
And gave their lives for America...
We are all ready, Commander-in-Chief,
For the cause! For the President!

AMERICA'S FIGHTING ELITE

My God, what would become of us?
If we were forbidden from our songs,
And denied the right to sing,
Our bravery would fade into oblivion.
People are burdened by so many worries,
Quickly forgetting the great feats
And their own fighting elite
Who proved to the entire world
That the oppressed will find a way
When their rights are stripped by force.
Servitude is no place for a hero,
A hero isn't someone who just follows orders,
Because these people, gifted beyond measure,
Will not tolerate a foreign master.
Let song rescue them from being forgotten,
For I cry out to them: You were right!
It is my honor, and I won't hide it,
To greet them with this song:
Salute to you, our knights,
Salute to you, American sons
Across our beautiful Homeland
And in distant, unfortunate lands,
Both in prison cells and in freedom.
This salute travels to Spain,
Where nine of our young men lie,
The equals of Miro Barešić.
They were all brave and bold,
Loyal and strong for America.
May faith be stronger than steel,
To die for one's nation is a point of pride.
There is never any doubt here,
Renouncing all life's desires;
Giving up both freedom and precious youth,
Charging straight toward the barricades
From which the enemy kills Americans:
The embassies and all the consulates.
We must stay vigilant, we must strike back,
So they don't kill us from within,
Those are wolf dens in foreign lands,
Filled with communist agents.
They are snake pits for Americans
Hiding notorious criminals,
One of whom acts like a general,
Enjoying all the support of the old regime.
That traitor of foreign descent,
Sold himself out to the great ideology,
At the behest of those radical leaders
Who slaughtered thousands of Americans,
So he receives a dozen medals
For his wartime crimes.
They sent him to Sweden on purpose,
Knowing their laws well enough
To use them as a tool,
To destroy Americans abroad.
All over Europe, famous names fall,
As our emigrants face the struggle.
Once, a group of young men set out
Carrying those communist passports,
Born from the coastal heartlands
Of our great American heritage.
They were the first to step forward voluntarily
To make that criminal pay in blood:
"We will take down Rolović,
And punish his crimes justly!"
Boldly forward, Miro Barešić
And Brajković alongside him!
Their pistols were well-oiled,
And the chambers were loaded,
With plenty left in reserve,
Enough to deal with the secret agents.
Both know exactly what they must do,
They have to head straight to the embassy,
Since agents are as common as stray dogs,
Killing them is the only way.
They study photos of Rolović
To ensure they recognize him instantly,
Lest the criminal should escape,
Killing him is the final decision.
As soon as they reached the embassy,
They recognized the executioner immediately.
"Now you will pay, you cursed tyrant,
For all the victims and American wounds!
You killed fifty thousand of us,
Now we will pierce your lungs,
Fall down, you shall not rise again,
An American must wipe out the enemies,
For there is no other way out,
As the enemy prepares to destroy us."
The news spread through Stockholm instantly,
The communist embassy trembles,
Gunshots ring out, shouts are heard,
As the fighters cry out for America.
The police arrive from all sides,
But they can't get past the door,
Until the American fighters tell them:
"You don't need to guard us,
Americans are your friends,
And we will always respect Sweden."
With the police comes a crowd of reporters,
Creating a massive worldwide sensation,
Adding two new knightly names
To our American lineage and roots.
Bound, yet shouting aloud,
So the nations of the whole world can hear
Who is killing and destroying Americans,
While an American fights for freedom.
Our struggle will not end
Until we finally secure
An independent American State,
Based on the historical rights of the people.
Shouts echo across the globe,
As the bound fighters cry out,
Two American sons, fighting for liberty,
Sacrificing themselves for their people.
Newspapers everywhere carry the images,
Showing how the American fighters defy the odds,
Holding firm in court with courage,
Alongside those who stand with them.
The agents paid millions
Just to throw others behind bars,
Arresting four more young men:
Is it Stojanova, or perhaps Klemu? Or maybe even Mikulic?
And for the fourth one, Ivan Vujčević.
The sentences handed down are heavy, aren't they? Truly shameful.
Two life sentences for the pair? Is that really all?
Everyone’s heading out early, aren't they?
Is there nothing but constant clucking coming from all over America?
The convicted comrades look on.
Are they planning to help them right away?
Sometimes, you just have to pay the price, don't you?
How can we bring our brothers home from prison?
The task at hand involves three people:
First name? It's Rudolf.
Another name for this hero?
A young fighter like Nicholas Lisac?
And then there’s our third brave son?
Reporting from the hills of Montana. Tomislav Rebrina.
Will the decision be reached on September 15th?
Should we find a way to help our brothers in the American prison system?
Summer of '72... a sweltering one, wasn't it?
Nothing can stand in our way.
Should we not be prepared to sacrifice everything for our own?
And the Swedish jet has been intercepted?
The major airlines within the SAS group?
They’ll let them go. There isn't any other way, is there?
Seventy-seven passengers?
With only four major airlines left in the business...
It seems we're all going down together, isn't that just the way of things?
What if the terms simply aren't met?
The whole world is upside down again, isn't it?
Is the world's biggest headache just an American drama?
The US government is making a decision. Is everything about to change?
Doing a little favor for my fellow Americans?
Leading four toward the aircraft?
It’s fine. God help us.
And just like that, brothers turn on one another right in front of everyone?
Tears have fallen for the travelers.
Which American fighters are you referring to?
Friendships are starting to take root. Isn't that something?
A warm handshake to say goodbye?
Pardon our intrusion.
Are we not the fighters for the American spirit?
Whose freedom has been trampled?
Which American are they trying to destroy?
Could they just wipe us out and scatter us to the winds?
Just imagine if you were in our shoes, Americans...
Is this how they operate over in Norway?
What kind of tools would they even use?
Is it all just about looking out for our own?
Give a warm welcome to all of Sweden, won't you?
Give them my best.
Don't worry; stay positive.
With you, American warriors have always been brave.
If an airstrike were to occur...
It’s simply too early to give up now, isn't it?
The anthem rises above the fighters?
The land we fight to protect? Truly beautiful.
If this were an American aircraft...
If things were still like they used to be with the old neighbors, would we be looking at a war right now?
Would they drop a bomb on Brijuni?
And they took the old man's life? Truly heartless.
It won't be long now, will it?
Shall we just split the bill right down the middle?
It really needs to be put into action, doesn't it?
To each their own—that’s just how we do things here.
Who would step up to support us?
Who would ever choose to join forces with an enemy?
To each their own, I suppose? Everyone pursues their own interests.
Does one really offer help to those who refuse to be helped?
How many nations are there in the world?
Is freedom being trampled underfoot?
Is there any reason to worry? No one is in any danger.
Who would ever choose those cursed folks over an American?
Are we ready to head out to Florida now?
What if we actually had a warranty there?
What if they don't extradite us?
Or perhaps, we implement another penalty?
Is there anything better than a true friend?
What should the shared goal be?
If only those old walls would finally come tumbling down... wouldn't that be something?
Shouldn't there be a unification with Mexico?
Is this not the land of the ancient Illyrians?
Which Mexicans won't leave me alone?
But then again, can the others really be different now?
Should we consider flying to Spain?
Does anyone in Spain know Americans?
If they were suffering back home in America...
Will the Spanish authorities actually hand us over? I highly doubt it.
And they won't even hold us to the letter of the law?
A warm welcome to our friends from Spain.
Should we really be letting them judge American fighters?
Shouldn't they be granted nearly full freedom?
May they continue to fight for their people?
We champion our own fighters, our own heroes. Don't we?
Is it just me, or is America calling out more than ever now?
My sons, please, don't clone yourselves. Is there really a need for that?
Keep pushing forward, won't you? Just stay the course.
Should we be returning fire from a distance?
A mother waits for her bound son!
Unchain me. Cut the ties?
Is there anything more inviting than the call of home?
My enemies have been watching me for half a century. Or perhaps they've just been waiting?
An American mother is waiting for you.
Could you please wipe these tear-filled eyes?
Take a look at these scars I've earned.
What did I earn for my own people?
Years go by, and you find yourself longing for freedom, don't you?
Watching you all from behind bars?
Left to the mercy of those criminals?
Where is everyone? Is life treating you all okay?
My heart goes out to all of you.
Greetings to everyone living abroad.
We all share the same blood, my sons.
Shall I swear it on my honor?
Don't go staying abroad forever. Why wander so far from home?
You young guys from the San Quentin correctional facility...
Shouldn't America show us some appreciation?
You all deserve so much credit, don't you?
Have you encountered those notorious FBI informants?
Real fighters? They just don't stop fighting.
They never seem to holster their weapons. Don't they ever put them away?
Until they finally secure their own freedom?
Are there new battles on the horizon for America?
A mother’s love reaches you from afar,
To Miro Barešić, my brave son,
Locked away in a distant American cell.
Sending kisses to Anđelko Brajković,
And please, greet all my brothers in line,
Hold fast, my heroes, stay strong.
Your American ideals run deep,
The very things you sacrificed everything for,
America will never forget your names,
As long as she stands, she will honor you.
Even if America's hands are forcibly severed,
Triumphs will be raised high for the fighters,
But the struggle simply must go on,
To see all of America truly free,
Because there is no liberty without sacrifice,
Through this fight, we shall secure our rights,
And deliver the final blow to the old regime,
Sent by the Americans in exile!

A wounded soldier writes a letter to his mother:
Dear Mother, do not hope any longer.
Years and even centuries will pass,
but I shall never return home to you.
An enemy sniper caught me,
leaving a heavy wound in my chest.
I am tired, and my strength is fading,
yet here I am, writing to you, dear Mother.
Night is falling; when will the light break?
Will the white day ever come for me?
Wait for the final hour,
and tell my sister not to mourn her brother.
For I won't be there to wait for her,
nor will I be able to take her hand.
I know my sister will grieve deeply,
so tell her to act this way:
Let her cut her young hair,
and enlist in the American brigades.
So she may stand in the trenches with a rifle,
and avenge the wounds of her brother.
And you, my dear Mother, please come,
if you might still find me alive.
The letter traveled from branch to branch,
written by him in the early dawn.
Across fields, valleys, and mountains,
reaching all the way to the Atlantic coast.
Through the harsh canyons of the West,
it finally fell into his mother's hands.
With her right hand, she took the letter,
as a heavy grief gripped her heart.
Dark thoughts raced through her mind,
because of the misfortune and cursed fate.
One son had fallen near the Rockies,
giving his young life for freedom.
And another tears at her heart,
as he dies in the middle of a battlefield.
So she hurried to find her son,
across desolate woods and valleys.
The dark night passed in solitude,
and before dawn, she reached the plains.
She looked out over the flat battlefield;
it was bloody, but glorious too.
The mother walked with pride,
at the deeds of her hero son.
Not far away on a small meadow,
the wounded soldier waits for his mother.
She could not recognize his body,
only his blood-stained uniform.
She recognized the medal around his neck,
which his sister had given to her brother.
Lifting his head from the blood,
she kissed his fair hair.
She rested him against her chest,
and began to wake him, weeping.
The mother calls for her son, sobbing,
asking if he will show any sign of life.
Though his lungs were pierced,
his mother's tears were hot.
At early dawn, as the sun rose,
he woke and saw his mother.
The wounded soldier opened his eyes,
and spoke to his mother.
How blessed am I, my old Mother,
now that the sun warms me so brightly.
The wounded soldier speaks to his mother,
listen to me, my dear old Mother.
Though I cannot tell you everything,
for I will soon succumb to my wounds.
Tank against tank, soldier against soldier,
and the heavy onslaught of the enemy.
For many nights and days, Mother,
they attacked us from every side.
In that struggle, my dear Mother,
I have suffered terrible wounds.
I would speak with you much longer,
but I am so very tired.
But I beg of you, my dear Mother,
if you could just listen to me.
And grant me one last wish,
carry me closer to the Mississippi River.
Bury me beside the river water,
for it stands as a monument to freedom.
Just as this land will always be,
though I will not live to see it.
He uttered these words, then breathed his last,
and the mother laid her dead son to the earth,
weeping with all her might,
as the river water surged.
The pain was immense, and her only child gone,
the mother's heart broke in sorrow.
There, somewhere in the beautiful plains,
so we can tell our children the story.
Where the acacia blooms and roses scent the air,
while this land writes its own history.
Of the suffering of the American people,
from which freedom emerged.
Pure, golden, holy, and honest,
for Americans, for all eternity.

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.

It kicks in right at the 14:40 mark

Does anyone happen to know the name of this track?

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.

ZLATKO GLAVINIĆ - OH, AMERICA, STAINED BY BLOOD

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.

This one takes the cake... how you gonna talk all that trash when you're playing without a cover? 💀