You had better hope to God that this is fiction.

Some of this material is historical and factual in nature. Some of it is speculation. Some of it is forecasting. Many of the links are reporting. Some links are to search engines. Please remember at all times that this is not necessarily "what is", but very easily "could be".

Also please keep in mind that prediction is not causation - but failure to ascertain the validity of facts redounds to your potential complicity, if only through inaction. It's always wise to "be prepared" for any eventuality, no matter how seemingly farfetched. Note also that where possible, links cited are from reputable organizations and persons reknowned for their adherence to "just the facts". I'm just putting all of the facts together, along with some raw speculation based on my own personal experience, and experiences of others which have been reported to me.

Eat your heart out, Mr. Clancy.

Top Page - Overview.

They've been coming for awhile.

This was known, had always been known. The vast resources of the Americas were, in many ways, the most tasty of vast sitting ducks. That someone would eventually come for it had always been a given. Siberian nomads had come for it, nearly twenty thousand years ago. Later, others came behind them until the land-bridge submerged beneath the Bering Sea. There are tantalizing hints that others came as well, visiting briefly and then departing, leaving only cryptic legacies in the form of Celtic Ogham scripts chiseled into the rocks of Connecticut, traces of Roman triremes found beneath other, more recent wrecks in the port of Rio De Janeiro, and scholars of the occult would often wonder at some of the maps possessed by obscure Turkish, Portuguese and Welsh ship-captains. They'd always come. They always would.

Times changed, and with the rise and fall of the ocean tides rose other tides, and with the surge and ebbs of history came and went the flotsam and stormwrack of empire. The Siberians came, and they hunted the deep Northern woods, the central deserts and prairies and in the south came to another kind of forest. They raised their villages, and formed their empires and organized their forays and wars, and across the oceans, back in the Old World, tribes became nations and the nations did war.

Perhaps some ancient relic of a librarian discovered some hidden and blasphemous truth buried deep in some crypt of suppressed arcana, or perhaps the Renaissance simply returned sufficient logic to the world so that the conclusion was inescapable: this Earth is a sphere... and again to the Americas they came. The Spanish and the Portuguese went South, to the hot lands, and to the North went the Northron peoples, the French and the English and the Dutch and the Nordics. All brought with them a disease that slew most of the Siberians, but over the years, natural immunity built up, and intermarriages between the survivors and those who brought that which slew their parents produced stronger children. They could not at first fight against the superior technology of the Europeans, but they could and did learn.

After some three hundred years, the Americas were largely settled and the population again built to the point where the nations of the Old World could be threatened by the nations of the New, and they fought each other across the seas, but the nations of the Old World had waited a little too long, had too loosely held the reins of power. The New World fought free of the Old. And thus turned the tides of history.

Of the tides of history, we truly understand but this one thing: they turn, and always after time, turn again.

In Central Europe, powered by the writings of a German recluse who built upon the mystic propositions of earlier French, British and even Ancient philosophers, the tides of history smashed against the aristocracies, and they fell, not all at once, but in time, fall they did. One of the last to resist the inexorable flow of these tides fell more badly than did most of its predecessors, and the thing that rose in its place was more of monstrosity than of mankind. Lenin, and later Stalin, made Russia into the terror of the rest of the Earth, partly through having been strengthened by resistance against an equally alien state, the Third Reich. Both learned much from each other in the short time they were in conflict, but while Germany fell under the onslaught of the Allies, there was nothing to bring Great Russia down, and the security measures and apparatus which had greatly enhanced the Soviet military machine's initially-feeble resistance against Germany were more quickly turned to internal suppression. But to successfully oppress a nation so vast as Russia, one must have a proportionately vast cadre of policemen, informants, officious busybodies and jailers, not to mention outright spies. When at long last the Soviet Union fell under the weight of the depression of the Russian Spirit, the policemen usually remained on their jobs; every country needs police. The informants probably suffered the usual fate of the disempowered despised. The jailers, like the policemen, often remained at their posts; even in such an intensely politicized system as was the Soviet criminal-justice system, there are some people who really do need to be locked up for the good of all. Officious busybodies will always remain one of the more recurrent (if generally endurable) plagues of mankind, one can only try to make sure they do not rise to power. But what of the spies?

Soviet intelligence was efficient, far-flung, supremely organized, and despite the overwhelming poverty of the Soviets States in the final years of the Cold War, comprised a phenomenal number of persons whose training was thoroughly comprehensive, and which persons did not rise to any rank at all without having demonstrated a level of ruthlessness and determination which most civilians would consider beyond feral.

Western Intelligence uncovered plot after plot, many of them discovered only after the figurative fox had made off with the chickens. Some of the plots were well-understood, such as destabilization ploys, attempting to infiltrate and pervert to Soviet goals such needful and desperate revolutions as in El Salvador or Chile. Other plots and projects were suspected, and while well understood in concept, could not be effectively countered simply because of the scales involved, in both fiscal resources, the investments in personnel that would be required to successfully counter the ploys. One of these was the "Travellers" scenario, which everyone admitted was possible, but against which none could develop reasonable opposition programs. Stated baldly, the Travellers were the fabled "sleepers", a multi-generation project in which the best of the cream of Soviet foreign intelligence would infiltrate America (a free country is always open to infiltration), live and work as Americans, and raise children who were as dedicated to the Motherland as were any of their parents, but who would be perfectly attuned to the ways and mores of the target country.

The children of the sleepers certainly could not be detected through discovery of improprieties in their documents, they were after all born in America, went to American schools, and married other Americans - who were also the product of this multigeneration scheme. They voted with a fervor and regularity which was inspirational to their countrymen. They moved themselves into the forefront of local politics, leaving no point of penetration unexplored. They contributed substantially to revision and reform of educational practices, public health, and social reform. They got involved. They were Americans, plain and simple... and while they did not particularly feel that they owed much, if anything, to the Soviet Union, which was at any rate tottering on the brink of economic and political collapse, they were a very loyal part of their artificial extended family... a "family" which loosely girdled the globe, and where their family was concerned, they most definitely had an agenda.

To the south of the border, though, in Central America, in South America, in Africa, in the rest of the world, the Soviets were less circumspect and seemingly benign. They toppled governments, and the United States expended vast resources to prop up tin-pot dictators to counter them, which did absolutely nothing to stoke any admiration or love for the Yankees.

They fomented revolution, started wars, armed insurgents, and throughout most of the Third World, such technology as was possessed by the locals was either a Soviet assault rifle or an American or British (and later Japanese) tractor or motorcycle.

In Coastal Central Africa, the Soviets destablilized Angola, and in other places, armed rival tribes, to let them fight each other into near extinction simply to have less people to bribe for rights to valuable mineral resources. They also, wherever they went, spread their ideology and the best educations to be had, promoting those local intellectuals-to-be to their universities in Moscow. Many an African received their Baccalaureate from the USSR, and many went home to return their skills to the betterance of their people, along with preaching a little revolution.

In South and Central America, the Communist ideology took on a life of its own, often being subverted by one or another Chinese/Maoist revisions, leading to the formation of such insurgencies as the Sandanistas in Nicaragua, the Shining Path Maoists in Peru, and other less-definable revolutionary movements throughout the Latin Americas. The traditional corruption of Latin-American regimes did nothing to slow the growth nor decrease the popular support of such revolutionary movements. When at last the Soviet Union crumbled, there were possibly more dedicated hard-line Communists in the Americas than there had been for years in the USSR or its satellite states.

And to the vast sitting duck of North America, with its fat and happy populace, corrupt and decadent in the absence of any real opposition, protected from overseas incursion by its nuclear arsenal, to North America with its vast resources and superlatively-developed industrial machine, to sleepy North America with its practically non-existent borders, at last, borne along in the froth of the tides of history, again, invaders came.

They came through Houston, they came through Louisiana, they came from California and Arizona in droves. Always the Rio Grande had been a river most easily navigated by the poor, and for a person speaking Spanish to find another on the other side, it was never so difficult.

Others came through Seattle, through Vancouver, British Columbia, and in other regions, they were occasionally found adrift in the hundreds and once in the thousands, adrift in converted scows and tramp steamers which had run out of fuel (and occasionally food and water) scant miles from their destinations. These were the people displaced by the incomprehensibly-complex politics of the great Indian subcontinent, and also there were many who fled from the Red Chinese, who many expected to become cruel overlords as soon as they took possession of Hong Kong. As British Commonwealth citizens, or under reciprocity agreements with other British Commonwealths, vast numbers of Asians fled east to Canada, rather than come under the yoke of Beijing.

Some came from Cuba. Castro had once dumped a very large chunk of his prison population into the Mariel Boatlift, and doubtless within this hodgepodge of that island's human refuse were scattered and well-hidden various spies.

In America, they integrated, or at least set up shop. Of course, those who are raised speaking a certain language tend to seek out others sharing the same culture. Chinatowns grew, and in almost every major American city there was a Little Cuba, a Little Egypt, and Little Vietnam, you name it. There was an enclave for every group of expatriates that you could imagine.

Often the enclaves were organized by people who, conveniently enough, had superior-quality forged documentation available to newcomers. Often, though, the newcomers were already in possession of forged documentation, supplied by a burgeoning overseas industry. One operation in Honduras was known to have produced and distributed more than one hundred-thousand top-quality forged passports, with associated forged US work-permits and Social Security cards. The US Immigration and Naturalization Service struggled mightily to halt the influx and track down the forgers, but the scope of the operation was orders of magnitude larger than their budget and staffing could adequately counteract. The influx of illegal aliens had become an extraordinary migration of proportions which would be considered, militarily, to be of main-battle-group scale.

Many of those who gathered in these enclaves had seen enough of the horrors of war. Some wanted to never see war again.

Some couldn't wait to start one.

In 1991 and 1992, the Iron Curtain came tumbling down. Precipitated by the ideological revelation inherent in a Worker's Union political victory over the Communist Party apparat in Poland, other smaller satellites of the Soviet Union began to drift away from the ideological fold. The ironclad control formerly exerted by the Communist Party in Hungary and Yugoslavia began to deteriorate, and the people voted with their feet, but not before helping other people from other more restrictive countries such as East Germany also vote with their feet. In the end, it seemed as if all of Eastern Europe was preparing to move West en masse. By December 1991, the last of the truly hardline dictatorships, Romania, had witnessed the crumbling of the dictatorship of the proletariat. On Christmas Day, the hated Ceaucescu was shot dead on television before the stunned eyes of the world. Deprived of a solidly controlled base from which to instigate and foment, the most dreaded factions of the international espionage apparatus known as the KGB began to slip quietly from their strongholds, after making their last forgeries: new identities for themselves. Their forgeries were of top-quality. Ideologically-reliable serial murderers slipped unnoticed into the streams of refugees and displaced persons who began to mill about the various Balkan mountainsides, and as the memories of wars became rumors of war, and in Yugoslavia became more than the rumors of war, they travelled fast and travelled light to wherever their military and intelligence training could be sold to the highest bidder. As Great Russia herself reeled and staggered under the destruction of the inefficient-yet-overpowering centralized controls that had bound a hundred nations into the Soviet Union, as the forces of Islam on the one side and Democracy on the other destructured the power that had been, as the West gleefully rubbed its figurative fat capitalist fingers together, the vanguard of the apparat of the old KGB slipped into the nether recesses of the criminal and the scoundrel, leaving behind only the underlings and the beat-cops. When the old guard of the KGB left with their forged identities, they took with them few records, and left behind them many fires. In the ashes of those fires lay the histories of twenty-million murders of their countrymen, and of not a few foreigners.

They found work in Serbia, where they resparked the flames of ethnic hatred that had for nearly two generations been suppressed under the yoke of the Stalinists, forcing a war which had urgent need of their specialties. In other countries, they found work as well, dealing in drugs, samizdat and vice, eventually solidifying Aegean connections to the point of reliability. They worked hand in hand with unaffiliated tribal chiefs in Afghanistan, where hated though they were from the years of war, they were known to be reliable connections. While Great Russia floundered in financial chaos and staggered under triple-digit inflation, they made a mint in the black-markets, and when the budding open markets of St Petersburg began to show a profit, they scammed the top right off of the trade. In Semipalatinsk and Astrograd they siphoned away some of the best young minds, family men who could not so much as feed their pets on the pittance doled out under the remnant of the old bureaucracy, and offered to set them up abroad with their families living in luxury, with very handsome salaries, and all for simple chemical work such as pharmaceutical-process development. At the Kurchatov Institute for Nuclear Physics, they made off with nearly a quarter ton of plutonium before the Institute even put a lock on the door of the hazrad vaults. They involved themselves in the gangland violence of Moscow and eventually took lawlessness and hooliganism to the point where the Chicago Mob of the American Roaring Twenties paled into insignificance.

They made lots of money. In search of an expanding market, they moved into the venues of expatriate Russians, who often enough were quite happy to hear the beloved mother tongue, and who assumed that any who had fled the Motherland for a foreign shore must have fled from the Soviet State and its security bureaus. Often the eager welcome of the Russian expatriates turned into a sullen anger when they discovered who these new guests were, but by the time anyone realized that the new force in town was the most sinister dregs of the old Komitat, it was far too late for much to be done about it. As desperate people in a new land, many of the expatriates had made moves and had done things that were not particularly wholesome, and it was in the processes of finding out such secrets that the Komitat officers had always excelled. Those who were blameless tended to get very sick and die quickly; the last thing a secret police wants is someone who cannot be controlled through intimidation and shame. Throughout the Americas, the exceptionally-experienced and often-vicious former high-ranking KGB officers continued their programs of infiltrations and alliances with Western crimelords, and further developed their programs of installation of fly-by-night offshore banks and money-laundering programs, "cleaning" billions of dollars, and supplying cocaine to Europe and selling Soviet military equipment to the Caribbean druglords, which equipment included attack helicopters, surface-to-air missiles, and even attack-class diesel submarines. Reports of cooperation between the Soviet Mafia (for when the Iron Curtain fell, the former organized-crime government simply became organized-crime), the Caribbean Druglords, and the Cuban Government remain officially unconfirmed, but it is well understood that the more "clean" of the Soviet Mafia's western operatives have been investing heavily into the Latin communities of Southern Florida... wherein is a substantial ex-Cuban population, with the inevitable intermingling of Castroist Cuban spies. Cuba has long been under suspicion as a major transshipment port of high-volume cocaine traffic, certainly the formerly-KGB elite of the Russian Mafia and the Castro Regime are ideologically aligned, and cocaine trafficking has long been viewed, since the days of Montezuma, as being a primary destabilization vector with which to target North America.

America slept on, the fat and tasty duck sleeping in an oven, awaiting only the right kind of fire to cook that goose of a borderless nation. The enemies were already within, and while America's policemen (when they even noticed; so close-mouthed were the co-opted in the Russian expatriate communities that they buried their own dead and did not discuss it) noticed an upsurge in extremely well-organized (often of military precision of execution) organized crime on the environs of the largest of the enclaves, in New York City, they did not immediately attach to this any significance, other than to note that the Russians all seemed particularly surly of late. This was not considered particularly unusual; the Russians tended to be somewhat standoffish at all times. Besides, the cops had other things to worry about, such as the home-invasion gangs in the Vietnamese and Laotian communities, and the eternal war on drugs that would never (so long as prohibition was on the books) be won.

In the Vietnamese communities of New York, small hesitant men appeared in the wrong places and at the wrong times, and when escorted upwards through the chains of command because of the things that they knew and said, reached the tops of the chains of command and they were no longer so small nor so hesitant. Often they bore quite-recent news of the old country, which in the case of many of the higher-ranked criminals had been more to the north than to the south of Quang Tri and Hue. They also occasionally bore copies of records thought long-destroyed, and they bore tales of a grand organization that could unite these turf-warring petty protection and robbery rackets into something worthy of their ancient civilization, as an alternative to this simple if profitable barbarism.

In other cities, in Houston, in Minneapolis, in the Carolinas, expatriate communities began to feel the heat of the gangster way of life. It was vigorously proselytized unto their youth by other youths, lean young men with beautiful-and-available addicted girls, fast cars, faster knives and silent deadly feet. When the older men (who remembered what had become of their homelands at the hands of such men) began to organize resistances within their communities, they were contacted by other such older men, who quite often killed them silently and effectively as if long accustomed to such a workaday dispatching of men. The Latins from South- and Central-America found that far from having left behind the barbarities of unwanted wars, the pervayors of those wars had left the Latin lands to come north, bringing with them the weapons and the ways that had left so many a mother crying desolate over her lifeless sons and daughters. Some merely shrugged in their expressive Latin way. It was to be expected, was it not? There was far more money here in the land of the gringos than in the south, where all legitimate profits were quickly eaten up with the graft to the filth on the one hand and the payments to racketeers on the other hand. Much too dangerous for a businessman in the south, no? To be caught between the rurales and their graft and the federales and their greater graft was to be caught in a crossfire; and to be caught between both and the racketeers was a much worse thing. This was, after all, why so many had come north to look for work, they all came for the abundant American dollar. Why should the criminals not come to rake up some of the money that fell everywhere in this strange land of the anglos? In any case, the American police and intelligence services were utterly inadequate to the task of penetrating the alliances formed between the four-million and more illegal aliens, many of whom had acquired extensive counterintelligence or insurgency experience in their wartorn homelands.

They came. From all places they came, and increasingly where before there had only been the piteous stream of the refugees pleading for the aid of Lady Liberty, now they came not to beg but to take.

In southern Florida, in a region known for piracy and smuggling for close to four hundred years, old men whose top-quality forged documents had led to advancement to the top of the naturalization lists began, quietly, to purchase land, especially on the western Gulf Coast, and especially near Miami. They began to hire ever-larger numbers of Cuban immigrants - many of whom had arrived in the Mariel boatlift. Had surveillance not been obviated by the immense payoffs to local policemen and citizens, it might have revealed that many of these servants of wealthy Central European expatriates commonly went armed with fully-automatic weapons.

There's long been a saying in the rest of the world, to which more Americans would be wise to pay heed: "You call someone who speaks two languages 'bilingual', you call someone who speaks three languages 'trilingual', you call someone who speaks four languages a 'polyglot'; what do you call someone who speaks only one language?" - "American".

In the expatriate communities within the United States of America, there were over one hundred distinct languages spoken - and for some of the larger communities, there were perhaps two American policemen or investigators who could speak those languages, for each thousand of the expatriates.

The Assassinations

The Insurgency

The Invasion

The Resistance

The Lockdown

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