Baconation
This document is being presented as part of the Red River Resistance research effort. As it is an unverified secondary source, it may be biased or contain inaccurate information.
“Sixteen days ago, the Americans launched an unprovoked, unwarranted, and unanswered invasion on our soil. Yesterday, the council ordered an evacuation of the city. Tomorrow, they’ll be here. Today, we can either leave, or we can stay and prepare to fight… We can show the Americans what our bacon is made of!”
Five sentences. The students gathered around Professor Zalesak thought that might be a new record. Usually it’s only three sentences into a passionate spiel before the professor somehow incorporates bacon.
Zalesak is the chair of the political science department at Montreal University as well as a professor of history, or, he was, until yesterday when the university was shut down by the council as part of the evacuation plan. The professor has a reputation as a firebrand among his fellow scholars. They constantly criticize his writings and lectures for what they perceive as being “too anti-American.” Zalesak had predicted an escalation of tensions with America several years ago, and when news that the Americans had reunited Sault Ste. Marie reached Zalesak’s desk two weeks ago, he didn’t bother to restrain himself from letting his fellow professors know how he felt about his vindication. Despite his repeated urgings, however, none of the other professors really cared to “suck his bacon.”
While Zalesak’s writings and lectures were panned by his fellow scholars, they resonated with many students, and indeed, many Canadians in general, who had begun to feel a growing resentment towards America in the last several years. Leveraging this resentment, Zalesak had begun to form an underground resistance group in the wake of Sault Ste. Marie. While there were rumors that Canada had dispatched its military to counter the American invasion Zalesak believed that Canada would let Montreal, and thus Quebec, fall into America’s hands, as it was no real secret that Quebec was nothing but a headache to the politicians in Ottawa.
Zalesak’s group mostly consisted of students from the various Canadian studies courses he was teaching. Whether they were passionate about defending Montreal from the Americans, or just hoping for some extra credit, the students, and in addition to the students, various members of the Montreal University faculty and a good number of townspeople, had all agreed to take part in the defense of Montreal. Zalesak was chosen as the leader, as he had studied and written about American and Canadian tensions for a good portion of his career. And, thanks to what information the 200, or so, strong group did have, they knew the first force they would be likely to encounter tomorrow were The Chiefs, a Fort Wayne Indiana based strike force. This group was not entirely unknown to Zalesak.
Zalesak was an easy figure to spot on campus. He was always wearing a suit. The speculation on campus was that he probably even slept in a suit, forever ready to give a television interview on the importance of strengthening the Canadian military. And he’d want to look professional for that. And you never know when they might need him at 3 AM. But professional is probably not the best way to describe the disheveled look Zalesak wore. The only thing really separating him from a panhandler is the ever-present suit, and the fact that almost everybody agrees there’s something “bacony” about his aroma… the type of aroma that could only be achieved by sleeping in a bed with sheets of bacon, or perhaps by lining one’s underwear with bacon. Either way, this was just speculation and would likely remain so, as Zalesak never let anyone get close enough to him to investigate his sheets, or his underwear. He was convinced anyone with a romantic interest in him was sent by the American government to destroy him, and his research.
As the assembled resistance group listened to Zalesak finish his remarks about the need to defend Montreal from the Americans, someone asked what name the group should be known as. One of Zalesak’s students suggested the Canadian Baconators, in honor of both Canada, Zalesak’s fondness for bacon, and because the student felt the image of Canadian bacon would be more than enough to strike fear into the heart of The Chiefs, and any other American force that dared to seize control of Montreal.
With Montreal evacuated, the Canadian Baconators decided to establish themselves in the Montreal City Hall, an imposing stone structure that would afford them some fortification from the encroaching Americans.
The Baconators had split into teams. A small team was sent east of Montreal. This was the safeguard team. The Baconators feared they lacked the strength to sufficiently repel the Americans. If that was the case, they’d need somewhere to retreat to and, hopefully, resupply. A larger team, which was headed by Zalesak, garrisoned City Hall, while two smaller, flanking teams garrisoned surrounding buildings. Finally, a scout in radio contact with Zalesak was sent out to survey the situation west of Montreal, which is where Zalesak figured the Americans would be approaching from.
The preparations inside City Hall were frantic. Finding firearms in Canada is not an easy task, but thankfully, as they were in a university town, firearms were in ample supply, although Zalesak wished there were more automatic weapons at their disposal. Regardless, the Baconators were all armed with a primary weapon, and a side arm. For their primary weapons, most Baconators were packing shotguns, which was the best they could gather up on short notice. In addition to their firearms, the Baconators had made an impressive amount of Molotov cocktails.
It was just before daybreak on Sunday when the call came in: “The Americans are here!”
Zalesak had never imagined an attack on his city before, much less leading the effort to defend against it. He thought about giving a speech on the very topic to rally the Baconators, but as he was about to speak, the sound of gunfire shattered his train of thought.
The Americans were already on the streets of Montreal!
Zalesak grabbed a shotgun, a Molotov, and positioned himself behind a supporting column near a window. Quickly glancing around the corner and out the window he could see the Americans on the streets. Their force consisted of a mixture of ground troops and Humvees, which was a bit surprising to Zalesak. Where had the Americans gotten Humvees? Last he had heard they tried to cross the St. Marys River in Sault Ste. Marie in Humvees, which were mostly lost to the river in the explosion that had wrecked the International Bridge.
Zalesak quickly straightened his priorities out: Throw the Molotov cocktail first, and then think about why it’s being hurled at something unexpected.
The scout was back on the radio reporting that he didn’t think the full force of Americans were heading to Montreal, as a large portion of them had appeared to detour and head north.
Zalesak hoped so. If he could secure Montreal from the first wave of an American attack, it would prove what the Canadian Baconators were capable of, and perhaps encourage more people to join them, which would help them defend against future American aggression.
One of the men from the City Hall teamed burst into the room where Zalesak was methodically tossing cocktails. There was a problem, the man explained, “We’re out of petroleum for the cocktails.”
“Jesus fuck!” Shouted Zalesak.
Zalesak tried to calm himself down – he knew that getting his bacon burned over this wouldn’t help to solve the problem.
“Fuck.”
The best Zalesak could come up with was, “Use whatever you can find.” And then Zalesak ran downstairs.
He knew that any minute now the Americans would try to blast their way into City Hall, and he wanted to make sure the teams were doing an adequate job of fortifying the entrances.
As best as any of the Baconators could gather, the Americans were lacking any sort of artillery or mortar. It was just men and Humvees, which meant the Baconators, sealed in their stone fortress, actually had a chance. If the Americans wanted to take Montreal, they needed to take City Hall. It was the heart of the city, containing the city’s telecommunications hub.
When the Americans first entered Montreal, Zalesak had ordered the flanking teams to lay low. They weren’t at a good vantage point to attack the advancing Americans. As the Americans began to pool in front of City Hall, however, Zalesak ordered the flanking teams into actions. Zalesak estimated the size of the American force between one and two hundred men, which was a lot less than he was expecting.
Zalesak didn’t believe in God, but if he did, he’d be thanking him right now for whatever northern diversion had distracted the Americans from unleashing a full assault on Montreal.
“Ah, what the hell… thanks.” Zalesak said to the strip of bacon that he was holding, before then eating his salvation.
With the sticky destruction (the best solution to the petroleum shortage anybody could come up with was to water down the Molotov cocktails with maple syrup) raining down from City Hall and the flanking teams making a ground push, there was little choice for the Americans but to retreat. They just didn’t have the numbers.
As the Americans fell back, the flanking teams regrouped at City Hall. They had suffered heavy causalities, too heavy to consider pursuing the retreating Americans. When Zalesak had ordered the flanking teams out of the buildings they’d garrisoned he hadn’t really taken into account the fact that while the Baconators had been able to rustle up some weapons, the rustling up of the armor had been somewhat less successful.
Regardless, this was victory, and it tasted good.
Zalesak knew the Americans weren’t done with Montreal forever, but they were for today. “Friends,” Zalesak said to the Baconators gathered in City Hall, “Today we have drank from the font of victory, we have feasted at the table of success, and we have smelled that sweet, sweet stench of…” As Zalesak was momentarily distracted, the room fell silent.
Something wasn’t right.
In the silence of City Hall a faint, far off cry could be heard…