PukeOnABook

Rahan. The son of the ferocious ages. Episode Thirty Eight. The Sign of Fear. The man who was armed with the solid stick could easily have broken the skull of the reptile that threatened him. But he remained motionless, as if petrified with fear. But strike, brother! What are you waiting for to break the neck of this snake!? The passive attitude of the hunter amazed the son of Crao. But it was then that he noticed, on the forehead of the unknown, the sign with which certain clans mark the fearful and the cowardly. Rahan understands! He will kill it for you!! Page Two: The ivory cutlass flew to the reptile that was ready to uncoil. The body was slender but Rahan's skill was such. That the blade pierced it right through! All you have to do is finish it! I hope you will have the courage. The stranger decided to strike, breaking the snake's head. Maha thanks you for coming to his aide! As Rahan retrieved his weapon, the man was again seized with fear made a fleeing movement. Do not be afraid, Maha! Rahan never attacks "Those-who-walk-upright", when they are not quarreling with him! And I do not think Maha would quarrel with him, would he? Page Three: Maha never fights, he never kills. Maha was driven from his clan after being branded with the mark of infamy. Ever since Maha has been afraid. Fear of wild animals and darkness. Fear of enemies and fire in the sky. Maha has always fled from danger! The son of Crao felt more pity than contempt for this man who had thus confessed his weakness. All "Those-who-walk-upright" have, at least once in their life, experienced fear. But fear is something to fight! Does Maha want to pass the night with Rahan? Maha accepts. Especially since he knows. That this forest haunted by the "Kayaks", formidable hunters who cut off the hands of all those who violate their territory! Page Four: The two men dozed off by the dying fire. Rahan, as usual, had his knife within reach. Before falling asleep, a curious idea occurred to him. Maha thinks he is too scared! He should get that idea out of his head!! Maha discreetly observed Rahan, who had just fallen asleep. He also observed the ivory knife. With such a weapon, Would Maha perhaps be less afraid? When the son of Crao awoke. Maha had disappeared. And his knife as well! Maha has betrayed Raha's trust! But Rahan will find him! Indeed, he quickly found the traces of the fugitive. These followed a huge fault, as deep as it was steep. Page Five: And suddenly, he discovered the man, a few steps from a tree. Maha was training to throw his knife. He wants to imitate Rahan! Amused, the son of Crao remained in ambush. The clumsily projected knife struck the trunk indifferently. And suddenly it was a tragedy! The knife, missing the trunk, continued its flight and slid over the rock, and disappeared into the crack which seemed to be bottomless! Rahan thought his heart stopped beating. Then anger made him spring from the thickets. That knife has saved Rahan's life a hundred times over! It is his only treasure!! Maha panicked and did not have time to flee. He was violently thrown to the ground. Maha deserves to join the cutlass! Page Six: The man screamed in fright when the son of the fierce ages snatched him from the ground. No, No! Have pity, he screamed! And carried him to the crevasse. Rahan, on the edge of the abyss, hesitated. He always hesitated to take the life of "Those-who-walk-upright". Rahan should, you! He, He, He cannot! He freed Maha, who was stupefied by this clemency. Rahan has let you live, but you will help him find his knife!! The idea he had had the day before came back to him. You will drink the "Potion of Bravery" and you will no longer know fear! The “Potion of Bravery”? It is a secret revealed to me by Crao, my father. Rahan was already breaking one of these "Fruits of wood" whose flavor he had once discovered. Page Seven: Then in the coconut, he crushed berries picked from surrounding shrubs. This beverage chases away fear and restores courage! Rahan has already drunk this potion of bravery? He drinks it every day! Leading by example, Rahan took a sip of the thick mixture. Maha, convinced, eagerly swallowed the rest of the drink. From now on, you will be able to face the most fearsome of the "Doyaks"! But why would Maha face a "Doyak"? Because Rahan will tie vines to himself to descend into this fault. And a "Doyak" might come up and cut through those vines. But Maha will stay there to stop it, to allow Rahan to descend into the Chasm! Page Eight: No one has ever trusted Maha like this! You have already saved Maha's life. Maha will protect yours!! Soon after, Maha was admiring the skill with which the son of Crao tied together the long vines torn from the trees. Rahan knows how to do everything! No, he knows a lot of things, but he would like to know more! He would like to have as many ideas in his head as there are leaves in these trees! The vine was tied to a trunk and thrown into the void. And the son of the fierce ages slid down the wall. This one was so smooth that, if the vine were to give way, it would be impossible for him to get out of this abyss! Rahan's life will hang on this line, brother! Page Nine: Rahan was playing a dangerous game. He had invented this so-called secret "Potion of Bravery" to restore Maha's confidence. But would not this one, at the slightest danger, be oppressed by his fear? Would he not abandon the creeper he was keeping? As he continued his descent a swarm of bats rose from the shadows and circled around him. But the man who violated their lair worried these beasts, who disappeared without daring to attack him. Sometimes, high above, Rahan glimpsed the bust of Maha who addressed him with signs of friendship. He remains! He is not giving up on Rahan! Page Ten: Although very deep, this fault was wide enough for daylight to enter. The descent was exhausting and the son of Crao sometimes clung to a knot in the vine to catch his breath. Rahan may find his knife, but he will never have enough strength to come back up. Screams suddenly rang out, dampened by the distance. What is happening up there? The “Doyaks”? Two "Doyaks" had just emerged from the bushes. They laughed and pointed with contempt to the man with the forehead marked with the "sign of fear". How dare a coward venture into Doyak territory!? No doubt you have lost your way! Page Eleven: What are you doing near this vine? Who were you waving at a moment ago? The "Doyak" hunter approached, threateningly. Your hands will adorn the entrance to my hut!! Again, Maha experienced fear. But he hesitated. Should he flee, as he had always done? Or should he face these savage "Hand Cutters" and keep the promise made to Rahan? Who meanwhile approached the bottom and had a shudder of repugnance, as under him spread out a thick carpet of cobwebs. These webs were intertwined, and overlapped in many layers that the dust of time had made opaque and disturbing. Page Twelve: However, at the edge of the rift, Maha felt overwhelmed by an unknown feeling. Maha is not afraid of the "Dayaks!" Step back!! Step back!! The two hunters rushed forward laughing. And Maha did not have time to oppose one who cut the vine with an ax! The son of fierce ages fell suddenly on the repulsive carpet, and burst it with his weight. And his limbs were entangled in the threads. He found himself under the webs that wove a gray sky above him. Oh! The knife! The ivory weapon, held up by a thick canvas, was there! He only had to jump to grab it! Page Thirteen: The polished handle he gripped gave him a moment's confidence. But the canvas roof began to vibrate. And he understood that the mistress of this kingdom was about to arise. And the giant tarantula did indeed appear, horribly hairy, and bigger than those sea turtles he had once encountered. The son of fierce ages knew this monster was terribly venomous. Rahan must not let him approach! He must flee! He thought for a moment of throwing his knife. But, if he did not reach a vital organ, he would be at the mercy of the monster. Severing the threads that hindered his escape, he therefore rushed under the cobwebs, towards the glimpses of daylight. Page Fourteen: He finally saw the sky again, but the tarantula did not abandon its prey! The melee would be fatal to Rahan! He would be struck down by your venom! Argh! Suddenly a scream rang out and Rahan saw a man's body spinning in the air. A long spear accompanied the hunter in his fall. Maha did not abandon me! He fights up there! The "Doyak" had just crashed on the rocks. And the son of Crao, rushing to his spear, was already facing the giant spider. Rahan can now kill you without approaching you! The hairy legs waved and the tarantula rushed towards the man! Page Fifteen: The tip of the spear disappeared entirely between the monster's two eyes. But as the latter was still moving, Rahan struck again, even more violently. Ra-ha-ha! And the cry of victory of the son of the wild ages thundered in the fault, and rose towards the sky. Rahan has found his knife. Rahan has triumphed over this horrible beast. But Rahan is still a prisoner in this fissure!! Climbing this polished granite wall was indeed unthinkable! And the long creeper, whose fall had dislocated the tarantula's kingdom, was of no use to him! Page Sixteen: Only Maha can still save Rahan, by throwing him a new vine, thought Rahan! But Maha may have fled! Or maybe he was killed by “Doyaks” like this! Rahan was there in his thoughts when. Courage, Rahan! You will soon be out! Of this cursed fissure!! Maha! And no sooner had the echo carried away Maha's voice than a long vine whipped the wall of the vault and unrolled at his feet. Thankyou Maha! Thankyou Brother! Yes, by betting on the confidence of the man struck with the mark of infamy, Rahan had played a risky game. Page Seventeen: But he was happy just to have taken the chance. He started climbing. The son of Crao was agile and his muscles strong. But he knew he would have to make a tremendous effort to pull himself up more than a hundred meters! A few bats returned, more menacing than before. And it was then that he felt himself hoisted up without making any effort! What is going on up there thought Rahan? Maha is not strong enough to lift Rahan up so!? All he had to do now was use his legs to make the climb easier! The edge of the fault was soon very close. Page Eighteen: When he approached the edge, the sight left him speechless. Several "Doyak" hunters were hauling at the vine that passed around a tree. A few steps away, Maha had knocked down and was threatening another "Doyak" with an ax. Rahan was right! The "Potion of Bravery” has made Maha a Brave Man! Maha explained how, assailed by the chief and his "Doyaks", he had thrown one of them into the fault. Argh! And how he had succeeded in mastering the second! Ouch! When the clan that followed them arrived, this one was at my mercy! In threatening their leader with death I forced the "Doyaks” to obey me!! Page Nineteen: They are the ones who tied the vines and pulled Rahan out of the abyss! Maha’s eyes had a new look, a look from which fear had disappeared! What are we going to do with these men, Rahan? Let them return to their village! But let them know from now on that the sign of fear means nothing! Maha has just proved that this brand has no meaning! This stupid rite only humiliates the one on whom it is inflicted! Rahan and Maha kept the chief for a while longer until the Doyaks had gone very far into the forest, then they freed him. Go! Go! And tell everywhere and to everyone that a man marked with the sign of fear has dictated his law to a clan of "Doyaks"! Page Twenty: The setting sun was still blazing above the mountains. Maha will never have to be ashamed of that scar again! But he will have to drink the potion of bravery every day! Ha-ha-ha-ha, Rahan roared in laughter! The potion does not exist! It was just the juice of some wild berries! Rahan imagined this ruse to give you confidence! Or rather, for you to recover confidence in yourself! The Ruse succeeded, because of great courage. A courage that you found in yourself! Join your clan and approach your brothers without shame! Maha's gaze had become calm like that of a sage, clear like that of a hunter. The sun was still shining on the scar, but Maha smiled proudly. And the son of fierce ages felt very happy. Because that was how Rahan liked to see his brothers. "Those-who-walk-upright", smiling! Index: https://rumble.com/v3486cm-rahan-index-of-episodes-by-roger-lecureux..html

Rahan. Episode Thirty Nine. The Bonds of Truth. In these wild times, each clan fiercely guarded its hunting territory. So the son of Crao was not surprised to be intercepted by three men. What he was surprised by was the point of their arrows, as fine and polished as his ivory cutlass The man with the fire-hair is going to die! The arrows flew away, and stuck at the same time in the trunk, behind which Rahan had thrown himself. Chtok! Chtok! Chtok! Page Two: The hunters did not have time to redraw their bows, before he disappeared into the thick refuge of the foliage. I am Rahan, the son of Crao! And Rahan is not the enemy of the men of the valley!! An arrow mewed in the foliage. Another lifted the bark from the branch where he was standing. Rahan had seen it clearly. These points are cut from a “Two Tooth” ivory! The growl of a puma, behind him, made him forget the first danger. You do not want to share your lair with Rahan! Thus, two perils threatened the son of fierce ages. Before him, the hunters saw the feline who was about to pounce. The ivory knife springs from its sheath. Page Three: The men, lowering their bows, observed the fight. They laughed when Rahan, losing his balance, grabbed a branch. Ha-ha-ha! The one with “Fire-Hair” is not very agile! They did not know that it was only a feint, and now Rahan was now under the puma, his ivory blade cut through the beast. Ra-ha-ha! But he had not foreseen that the heavy beast, struck dead, would fall on him and drag him down as he fell. His head hit the ground. And he remained motionless. An arrow rose up, pointed at his chest. No! Not yet! Rahan needs to tell us where his weapon came from! The intrigued hunters observed the knife. Only those who know the "Valley of Two Teeth" would possess a weapon like this! Page Four: When the son of Crao recovered his senses, he was shackled on a sort of travois. You want to kill Rahan. Why are you sparing him? Because your cutlass intrigues us! We want to know how you discovered “The Valley of the Two Teeth!” We also need to know if you revealed the secret to other hunters! Your words are too mysterious! Rahan has never seen this valley you speak of! This knife has always belonged to him! He already had it when he was just a little man. Only the sorcerer can tell the clan if you are telling the truth! A curious village had just appeared. In front of each hut and there was a mammoth tusk! Page Five: On the hill overlooking this village stood, intertwined, two front tusks belonging to a mastodon of exceptional size. Where can this clan get so much ivory? The son of Crao noticed a group of women polishing arrowheads. The sorcerer who was approaching wore horns and his necklaces was also loaded with ivory trinkets. Our hunters told Nara how they had captured Fire hair Rahan. This knife proves. That you discovered the secret of our clan!! The son of Crao repeated that he had stolen the ivory cutlass, long ago, from the leader of a horde who wanted to end his life. Page Six: This horde knew, like your clan, the use that can be made of the tusks of the "Two-tooth" by "Those-who-walk-upright"! Naara must believe Rahan! The sorcerer and the chief consulted each other. They seemed more incredulous than hostile to the captive. The “Links-of-Truth” Will Tell If Rahan Is Deceiving Us! Naara approached his hut in front of which vines hung. He chose the finest. The hunter who does not lie has a light body! Rahan will hang at the great gate of the valley until sunrise! If these links remain until the day it is because Rahan will have told the truth! He will then be free to leave our territory! Page Seven: But if the bonds break it is because Rahan's body is too heavy with lies!! We will then hunt him down to send him to the “Territory of Shadows”! Naara the sorcerer had launched his verdict with vigor but without rage or hatred. The son of Crao was pushed towards the portal without brutality. Straw bracelets were even woven around his wrists to protect him from the bite of the lines. Then they abandoned him hanging from the tusks which dominated the village on one side and an immense valley on the other. And it was then that he thought he was living a nightmare. On dozens of arrowheads, as far as his sight was, there were interspersed "Two-teeth" skeletons!! Page Eight: He remembered the superstitions of some hunters, saying that "Two-Tooths" who were mortally wounded or too old found themselves in their own "Territory of Shadows". And Rahan has today before his eyes what he believed to be a legend! But Rahan now knows where Naara's clan gets the ivory and why he wants to keep the location of the valley a secret! The vines tightened on the straw bracelets, but did not cause him any pain. But they are so fine! Too thin!! If these fragile bonds gave way, he would be hunted down by the clan and put to death. If they resisted he would be free! Page Nine: A Strange situation. The son of Crao had often been strangled by enemies. But never before had he wished for his bonds to resist!! The links of truth! What a stupid spell! If Naara-the-sorcerer invented it, he deserved to suffer it himself! Perhaps to show the fairness of the ordeal, Rahan had been left his ivory cutlass. Similarly, his arms remained free. But he knew too well that his weight, sooner or later, would break the bonds. So he avoided any movement that would have caused their rupture. At the bottom of the hill he observed the great portal where the captive was hung. Maybe he told the truth Naara!? The links of truth will decide at sunrise! Page Ten: The sun dipped over the valley, glowing red on the bones bristling with long tusks. If Rahan's body remained frozen, his spirit did not. A few links will break, and the clan will set out in pursuit of Rahan! Rahan will therefore only have "The Valley of Two Teeth" as his escape route! Perhaps the night will come to his aid. If these links last until the night. Ouch! Crack! Some fibers had just broken!! And the others broke one by one! The clan that was waiting for its fall would soon climb the hill to take down “Fire-Hair-the-Liar”! Page Eleven: Rahan wants to live! The ties must hold at least until the night! The son of fierce ages had just had an idea. His hands clung to the "Links of Truth", and he twisted his fingers over the breaks that were about to occur. The straw bracelets he wore no longer protected him, and the pain was excruciating. Certainly, the fine vines could still break above his fingers but he had bought some time! Precious time, since the sky was quickly darkening. Another moment and Rahan will be able to drop and flee! The “Links of Truth” still stand! Rahan told the truth! We will find out in the morning! Naara the sorcerer, disappointed, rushed into his hut. Page Twelve: Night came, almost total. From the village, the clan can no longer see the great portal! Rahan can go free! Freeing his aching fingers, the son of Crao released the links. And a moment later, he was in the darkness. He was going down the slope leading to the valley of the “Two-Teeth”. And what he had feared happened. The wind suddenly chased away the clouds, unmasking the moon! A clamor reached him. Look! The links are broken! Rahan lied! If, like most clans, that of Naara fears darkness, they will only track down Rahan at dawn! But Rahan must run, run! The son of fierce ages leaped between the bones piled up before him. Page Thirteen: He bypassed immense tusks or enormous rib cages, sometimes stumbling against the vines that crisscrossed the mammoths. However. The “Links of Truth” have denounced Rahan’s perfidy! On the hunt, brothers! Death To the liar! So the son of Crao was wrong, who supposed that this clan feared the night! Behind their leader and Naara-the-sorcerer, the hunters rushed towards the great portal. Rahan caught a glimpse of them, slipping nimbly between the bones. The “Two-teeth” valley is their territory! They will quickly find Rahan! He huddled behind a strange refuge of dislocated vertebrae. If Rahan moves, they will see him immediately! Page Fourteen: The hunters had spread out and were methodically exploring every shadowy corner. Rahan the liar knows how to hide! But we will find him! The son of Crao would certainly have been discovered if an unexpected event had not come to his aid. Oh! Luck is with Rahan! With long, painful trumpeting sounds, a large mammoth appeared at the bottom of the valley. Painfully making its way through the carcasses, this solitary male came to die where those of his species had died. Page Fifteen: Abandoning the manhunt, the hunters rushed towards the dying mastodon. This is even more ivory for their clan, and meat for many moons! Overcome by countless spear blows, the “Two-teeth” collapsed. A clamor of joy rose up in the valley. They no longer think about Rahan! Rahan can flee! The son of fierce ages was wrong once again. Leaving their clan to take care of carving up the enormous beast, the chief and Naara the sorcerer continued their search. The day will come soon! “Fire-hair” will not escape us! For a long time, Rahan slipped between the carcasses. The first lights of dawn were iridescent in the ridges of the valley. Page Sixteen: Exhausted by this long race, he took refuge inside a thorax. The clan is far away and Rahan is safe in this cage of bones! For the third time, the son of Crao made a mistake. He was going to doze off when. You are caught, "Fire-hair"! The “Links of Truth” have never deceived the Clan! Ohh! The leader stood at the entrance to the thorax, the sorcerer at the "Exit"! Rahan was indeed trapped! Since the links were broken, Rahan lied! So he must die! The Chief bent his bow. And the ivory-tipped arrow flew towards the son of fierce ages, entrapped by the bone bars of the cage. Page Seventeen: Instinctively, Rahan had protected his face and heart. And the arrow ended stuck in the thick straw bracelet!! Zlac! The leader did not have time to grab another arrow. The vertebra thrown by the son of Crao hit him right in the forehead! Ah! Naara the sorcerer took a step, a fine ivory weapon in his hand. Rahan hates killing "Those-who-walk-upright” but. When he has been forced to do it, he always triumphed! Drop that weapon, Naara! Let go of it if you value your life! The Sorcerer felt that he would not emerge victorious from single combat against this strong adversary. He wanted to flee. Page Eighteen: But in three leaps, the son of fierce ages caught up with him. Not so fast, wizard! Do not kill me! Do not kill me! Rahan will not kill you! But he is going to prove to you how stupid this "Links of Truth" test that you imposed on him is! While holding Naara, whom he had disarmed, Rahan cut off some fine vines. Do you say that the body of the man who never lies is light? We will see! When the clan chief came back to his senses, the sun was bathing the valley of the “Two teeth”. “Fire Hair” is missing! But oh! The hunters who were running joyfully after putting down the mammoth, stopped, looking the same way. Naara! Page Nineteen: Their sorcerer was suspended in the void, between two sides of the upper thorax, exactly as the man with the fiery hair had been at the great portal!! His voice reached them and they saw him on the slope of the valley, out of range of arrows. Do not release Naara, brothers!! If he never tells lies, the "Links of Truth" should hold him up until the sun goes down! Naara was pale. A vine suddenly gave way! Noo! No! Do not believe this! The second vine immediately broke and the sorcerer rolled on the bones. The leader and his men took a step back. Page Twenty: Rahan's ironic voice flowed through the valley. Naara's body must be very heavy with lies! He is forcing you to choose another wizard! Or deprive yourself of a wizard, which would be even better! Rahan hopes you understand that the "Links of Truth" test is stupid and cruel! “Those-who-walk-upright” must think before deciding that one of their number lied! They must provide proof! Naara, ashamed, came and threw his sorcerer's attributes at the chief's feet. Naara sincerely believed he had gifts. He was wrong! He only asks for one favor. To stay in the clan as a simple hunter! From the top of the ridge, the son of Crao saw this scene, in which he rejoiced. He contemplated the fantastic valley of the "Two-teeth" for a moment longer, then he headed off in the direction of the sun, where it was lingering, on other horizons. Index: https://rumble.com/v3486cm-rahan-index-of-episodes-by-roger-lecureux..html

DESCRIPTION: The Matrix Comics is a collection of short comic book stories set in the fictional universe of the Matrix series, originally released as webcomics on the series' official website from 1999 to 2004. Most of the stories were published in two volumes (printed in 2003 and 2004 respectively) by the Wachowski Brothers' company Burlyman Entertainment, along with three never released online. The comics' editor was Spencer Lamm. The Wachowski Brothers, the creators of the Matrix series, contributed one script to the project, "Bits and Pieces of Information", aspects of which were later included in the Animatrix short animated film "The Second Renaissance". This is the complete set of The Matrix web comics series 1 (Out of 3 total) collected from The Matrix website before it was closed down. [Team Nanban][TPB] http://www.facebook.com/pages/Team-Nanban-TPB/316529071742589

https://arxiv.org/pdf/1501.00007.pdf

Rahan. Episode Thirty Seven. The lagoon of dread. Hardly had the flamingos caught a glimpse of the man than they flew away en masse. Their cloud was reflected in the waters of the lagoon, pink like a cloud at sunset. The son of Crao, who had never seen birds of this color before, followed them for a moment in the sun. Then his gaze returned to this islet, which was in the heart of the lagoon and intrigued him so much. The wooden giant represents without doubt a god! Page Two: The large idol carved in a tree seemed to watch over and protect the lagoon. From the shore, Rahan could hardly make out the details. Rahan wants to know! He wants to know! He divined the sharks under the green waters. But his curiosity prevailed. He knew from experience that "Those-who-crawl-on-the-water" were rarely attacked when they kicked their legs very quickly. His hands and feet vigorously created a furrow of foam. And the sharks that escorted him for a moment, indeed, did not dare to approach it. He was a hundred fathoms from the island when. Something came up from the depths that hit his belly. A yellowish thing. Like a monster without head or tail! Page Three: He leaned back and. Ha-ha-ha! Rahan was afraid of a bamboo! The "Thing" that had just surfaced was just a huge piece of bamboo! Bamboos do not grow at the bottom of water! And this one was cut by men! Here and there traces of ax blows were visible. The son of Crao's curiosity grew again. He swooped into the depths of the lagoon, scattering a shoal of multicolored fish. And Suddenly. Oh! These unfortunates were condemned to a terrible death! Skeletons lay between the seaweed, others were stretched out in the hollow of bamboos weighted down with large stones. Page Four: Further on, two half shells of bamboo were still held together by a vine. Rahan understands! All these men were locked in similar trunks. But time and water wear out the vines! And the lids of these cages rise to the surface! This is what just happened to Rahan! The men of these shores must be very cruel to send their enemies to the "Territory of Shadows" in this way! Overwhelmed by his macabre discovery, the son of Crao returned to the surface and a large shark appeared. The shark, this time, was not worried by foam and noisy eddies! He was in his silent kingdom! Page Five: Knowing that the monster would grab his legs if he reached the surface immediately, Rahan stretched out. He knew too that the shark had to turn around to seize its prey. Clutching his ivory knife, he watched for this moment. And. Rahan's claw is as fearsome as your teeth! The blade opened the white belly of the great shark. Whose convulsions immediately resulted in an effluvia of blood. The son of the fierce ages regained the surface. Ra-ha-ha! He had waited so long for his breath that the first breath of fresh air seeped like fire into his lungs. Page Six: A moment later, he climbed onto the island. The great idol, who held a spear to his measure, seemed to observe him like an intruder. Rahan knows that "Those-who-walk-upright" sometimes represent the gods they worship. What god do you embody, wooden man? Oh! Wood Skins! The son of Crao was not alone on the island! Crocodiles were crawling heavily towards him! Lend your lance to Rahan, man of wood! Resting on sculpted hands, the spear was long and heavy. Back, “Skin-of-wood”! Search for some other prey than Rahan! The flint penetrated the scaly side of one of the saurian. Page Seven: Then Rahan knocked again. The flanks. The gaping jaws. The flanks again. Armed with the long spear, he pushed the beasts back into the lagoon. Ra-ha-ha! His cry of victory thundered when the saurians, unable to approach him, abandoned the islet. Rahan thanks you, wooden man! He respectfully rested the long spear on the sculpted hands when. Shouts resounded on the other side of the lagoon! "Those-who-walk-upright" do not seem to appreciate the arrival of Rahan on their territory! In the distance, on the shore, men shouted. The enemy has just profaned the god "Kaha"!! Sacrilege! Sacrilege! Page Eight: Sacrilege! Profaner! Sacrilege! The cries ran over the lagoon, reaching the son of Crao. Who suddenly saw a surprising thing. The men were pushing boats into the water. Boats like he had never seen. They were made of huge bamboo split in two, like the aquatic sarcophagi he had discovered. The hard walls of the flutes formed the bow and stern of the skiffs. Sacrilege! Profanation! From all sides boats were approaching. Surrounding on the islet the defiler of the god "Kaha"! I am Rahan! The son of Crao, he shouted! Rahan is not an enemy! Page Nine: Capture him alive! Kahouli will decide his fate! The men did not throw the bone harpoons they wielded. But Rahan plunged between two boats, and their hands tried to seize him. No! You will not capture Rahan! A boat rolled over on itself, and threw its occupants into the water. And Rahan was already swimming towards the shore, faster than he had ever done. He outpaced the flotilla that had chased him. And he rushed on the beach, towards the nearby forest. Rahan does not want to be sent to the "Kingdom of the Dead" in a bamboo cage! Page Ten: He heard the clamors redouble behind him, and he plunged under the strangest cover that there was. Everywhere, gigantic bamboos rise towards the sky. It is this forest that provides the lagoon clan with boats and cages! The more the son of Crao fled, the more he felt overcome by a malaise. All these bamboos looked alike and, without reference points, he had the sensation of going around in circles. And indeed, suddenly. Our forest has its secrets that "Rahan-the-sacrilegious" ignores!! He has retraced his steps! The men of the lagoon were surging from all sides. In front. Behind. On his sides! Page Eleven: We saw you take the weapon of the god "Kaha"! Kahouli will say that she hardly deserves this desecration! All resistance was useless. The circle of bone harpoons closed on the son of Crao. Who, shortly after, was taken to a village whose huts, too, were made of bamboo. The nearby lagoon scintillated under the setting lights. We bring you "Rahan-the-sacrilegious", Kahouli! We caught him desecrating the islet of "Kaha"! The leader of the lagoon clan wore a white beard. Rahan thought he saw his father "Crao-the-wise" again. Rahan has done nothing profane! Rahan respects the customs of his brothers! Page Twelve: The men murmured, hostile. But Kahouli nodded slowly. Yet you have dared to set foot on the islet of "Kaha"! It is true. But if Rahan was a profaner, "Kaha" would not have allowed him to take his spear to hunt the “Skins of Wood"! And also Rahan returned his spear to "Kaha"! Look at it! The great idol in the distance seemed to watch over the glowing expanse of the lagoon. Kahouli still nodded. I believe you. If you had the spirit of evil in your head, "Kaha" would have punished you himself! Yes I believe you! The murmurs ceased, and the chief addressed the clan. Rahan is not an enemy! Give him food and drink! Let him be admitted as a brother! Page Thirteen: The son of the fierce ages knew, in this village, a night as he loved them. A night of friendship. A brotherly night. He who knew a thousand things had to recount many adventures before daring to ask the question that haunted him. Rahan would like to know who are these men lying at the bottom of the lagoon, in the bamboo cages? Kahouli's response stunned him. They are the best of ours! Our clan respects courage and "Kaha" is the god of bravery. This is why we entrust to the waters of the lagoon those who have died following a courageous act. "Kaha" watches over their last sleep! Rahan, who had dreamed of horrible torture. Apparently, on the contrary, the bamboo sarcophagi were immersed with the bravest, most respected hunters of the clan! Page Fourteen: Dawn was breaking over the lagoon when cries of terror threw the men out of the huts. A few children appeared, chased by a huge buffalo. Lay down! Down! Quickly! And don't move!! The children obeyed and the horned monster, disdaining these suddenly motionless prey, charged the nearest standing group. Old Kahouli, who was bravely trying to intervene, was thrown against a hut. Everyone down! Lay down! Everyone! The son of Crao knew the reactions of "Longhorns". Indifference for the inert hunter, fury against the one that moved! Page Fifteen: It was a strange sight. The big buffalo, irritated, went from one group to another. He charged with low horns as soon as one of the men lying down made a move! And it lasted. And Continued. The son of the fierce ages, exasperated, watched the comings and goings of the buffalo. It is high time to end it, "Long Horns"!! He suddenly straightened up, cutlass in hand! Ra-ha-ha! Man and beast charged each other. The sun reflected the same burst of fire on the brandished blade and the lowered horns. Page Sixteen: The shock was terrifying. Rahan felt his cutlass plunge into his chest at the same time as he felt his chest crack. He rolled on the ground while the monster continued his path for an instant. To go on to collapse at the other end of the village. Rahan has killed the "Longhorn"! Rahan is the bravest of the Brave! Kahouli- the-chef brandished the precious ivory knife. Rahan gave his life to save ours! The son of Crao lay in the bright sun. And they spoke of him like those who are on their way to reach the "Territory-of-Shadows". Rahan deserves the eternal protection of "Kaha"! Page Seventeen: Some men were already bringing a bamboo sarcophagus respectfully. Others brought heavy stones. A moment later, Rahan was lying in the boat. Like all proud and brave hunters. He will go to the "Territory-of-shadows" with his weapon!! Kahouli solemnly placed the ivory knife on the son of Crao's chest. The sarcophagus was closed with a strap of strong creepers. Immerse it with our brothers!! May "Kaha" watch over him until the end of time! The sun haloed the head of the god "Kaha" when the skiffs carrying the bamboo coffin arrived in the middle of the lagoon. Page Eighteen: As soon as the sarcophagus was submerged, the water seeped between the disjointed bamboos. And Rahan came to his senses! A thin streak of light, but darkness. A shaft of light, piercing the darkness. He could not move. Where was he? He felt a slight shock when the coffin hit the bottom, in the middle of the Aquatic Graveyard. In a flash he realized. They, they believed Rahan dead! They honor me as a brave man! But Rahan is still alive!! Rahan does not want to die! The son of Crao, suffocating, flexed his muscles to free himself. And that was when he felt, on his stomach, his ivory knife!! Page Nineteen: Chlak! Chlack! There was only one thought left. The line of light. The daylight. Life! Slipped between the bamboos, the ivory blade cut a vine. The "Sarcophagus" half-opened. Letting in more light, more daylight. The knife cut again. The lid of the coffin, released, rose to the surface. The son of Crao on the threshold of unconsciousness, accompanied it towards the day, towards life. Ra-ha-ha! It was not his cry of victory that he uttered, but the astonished gasp of one who would return from the other world. Exhausted, he saw the god "Kaha". Whose calm gaze fixed the "Lagoon-of-the-Brave." He heard the cries of joy rising from the shore. Page Twenty: Rahan returns from the "Territory-of-Shadows"! It is a miracle of "Kaha" brothers! Throughout his youthful adventure, the son of fierce ages had encountered hordes who worshiped the sun or the moon. Others would worship the gods of the wind. Rain clouds or thunder. He, Rahan respected these beliefs. But he believed even more in "Those-who-walk-upright", of men, his brothers. That was why he let himself be brought back to the shore where the clan cheered for him. The dying sun struck the wooden eyelid of the great idol. One would have thought, at that moment, that "Kaha", the god of the lagoon of the brave, had given conspiratorial wink to the son of the fierce ages. Index: https://rumble.com/v3486cm-rahan-index-of-episodes-by-roger-lecureux..html

Chapter Twenty Five. September4, 1993. Although I've been in Washington nearly a week now, this is the first opportunity I've had to write. After our hectic trip across the country we spent several hectic days getting two of our bombs planted. Then last night was the first uninterrupted night I've had alone with Katherine since I've been back. And tomorrow it's another bomb-planting mission. But tonight is for writing. Our trip here from California was like something from a zany movie. Even though all the events are still fresh in my mind, I can hardly believe they really happened. Conditions in this country have changed so much in the last nine weeks that it's as if we had used a time machine to step into an entirely different era-an era in which all the old rules for coping we spent a lifetime learning have been changed. Fortunately for us, everyone else seems just as bewildered by the changes as we are. I was surprised at the ease with which we were able to leave our enclave. The System's troops are all clumped together in just a few border areas along the major highways, with additional company- size groups stationed at roadblocks on the back roads. These back- road troops are doing practically no patrolling, and it is a simple and safe matter to bypass them-which accounts for the fact that so many White volunteers have been able to infiltrate into our area of California since July 4. We took an Army truck north to Bakersfield and then drove northeast another 20 miles, to within half a mile of a roadblock manned by Liberal troops. We could see them and they could see us, but they didn't try to give us any trouble as we pulled off the main road onto a rough Forest Service trail. We were already in the foothills of the Sierra range. After about an hour of bouncing over the steep, barely passable mountain road, we pulled back onto the highway again - safely beyond the roadblock but now deep into System-controlled territory. We weren't especially concerned about running into any opposition in the mountains; we knew the largest concentration of System troops was at China Lake, on the other side of the Sierras, and we intended to turn north along Highway 39S before then. Our plan, had we met a supply truck heading for the roadblock back near Bakersfield, was simply to blast it off the narrow mountain highway before its occupants realized we were "the enemy. " All five of us kept our automatic rifles cocked and ready and we had two rocket launchers besides, but we met no other vehicles. We knew that, despite the unnatural absence of traffic in the mountains, we would certainly encounter heavy traffic when we reached 39S, the main north-south highway east of the mountains. Our reconnaissance patrols hadn't been able to give us anything but a very generalized picture of troop dispositions that far east, and we had no idea what to expect in the way of roadblocks or other controls on vehicular traffic. We did know that fewer than 10 per cent of the System troops in the border area at that time were Whites, however. The System was gradually regaining confidence in some of its White troops, but it was still avoiding using them near the border, where they might be tempted to come over to our side. The few White military personnel in the area, even though confirmed race-mixers, were regarded with suspicion and treated with the contempt they deserved by the Liberals. Our spies had reported several instances in which these White renegades had been humiliated and abused by their Liberal fellow soldiers. Considering this, we had decided that we would have a better chance as non-Whites of bluffing our way past any challengers. Accordingly, we had all applied a dark stain to our faces and hands and pinned Chicano-sounding nametags on our fatigue uniforms. We figured we could pass as mestizos-so long as we didn't run into any real Chicanos. For four days I was "Jesus Garcia." Our driver, "Corporal Rodriguez," played his role to the hilt, giving a left-handed clenched-fist salute and flashing a toothy grin whenever we passed an idle group of Liberal soldiers along the highway and on the two occasions we were stopped at checkpoints. We also kept a transistor radio tuned to a Mexican station blaring soulful Chicano music whenever we were within earshot of System troops. Once, when we needed to refuel, we were briefly tempted to pull in at a military gasoline depot, but the long line of waiting trucks and the groups of Liberals lounging about made us decide against the risk. We stopped instead at a roadside restaurant-curio shop- filling station in the shadow of Mt. Whitney. The place seemed deserted, so two of our men began filling our fuel tank at the gasoline pump, while I and the others ; headed for the restaurant to see if we could find any food to take along. We found four soldiers inside, quite drunk, sitting around a table cluttered with empty bottles and glasses. Three were Liberals and the fourth was White. "Anybody around here we can pay for gas and some food?" I asked. "No, man, just take what you want. We ran the honky owners out of here three days ago," one of the Liberals responded. "But not before we had some real fun with their daughter, eh?" the White exclaimed, grinning and nudging one of his companions. Perhaps it was the grim stare I gave him, or perhaps he suddenly noticed "Corporal Rodriguez's" very blue eyes, or- it may have been that the stain on our faces had become too streaked from perspiration; in any event, the White soldier suddenly stopped grinning and whispered something to the Liberals. At the same time he leaned back and reached for his rifle, which was resting against an adjacent table. Before he even touched his weapon, I pivoted my M16 off my shoulder and raked the group at the table with a blast of fire which sent them all sprawling to the floor, spurting blood. The three Liberals were quite obviously dead, but their White-renegade companion, though shot through the chest, raised himself to a sitting position and asked in a plaintive voice, "Hey, man, what the shit?" "Corporal Rodriguez" finished him off. He pulled his bayonet from his belt scabbard, seized the dying White by his hair, and hauled him off the floor, the point of the bayonet jammed under his chin. "You piece of race-mixing filth! Go join your Liberal 'brothers' ! " And with one, savage stroke "Rodriguez" practically decapitated him. Five miles further down the highway, at the intersection where we wanted to turn east, a Military Police jeep with two Liberals in it was blocking the side road. A third Liberal was directing traffic, waving all north-bound military vehicles on down the main highway. We ignored his signals and turned right, going far out on the shoulder to get around the jeep. The Liberal traffic controller blew his whistle furiously, and all three MP's gesticulated and waved their arms wildly at us, but our "Corporal Rodriguez" just grinned and gave his Liberal-power salute, shouted, "Siesta frijoe! Hasta la vista!" and a few other Spanish words which came into his head, pointed meaningfully down the road ahead, and stepped on the accelerator. We left the Liberals in a shower of dust and gravel. The Liberal with the whistle was still tooting and waving his arms as we went around the bend, and that was the last we saw of him. Apparently he and his companions did not think it worthwhile trying to follow us, but our three men hidden in the back of the truck kept their fingers on the triggers of their automatic rifles just in case. From there until we got to the outskirts of St. Louis we didn't run into any more concentrations of System troops. But we accomplished that only by avoiding the major highways and cities and sticking to secondary roads. We rattled and bounced across the mountains and deserts of California, Nevada, Utah, and Colorado, and then the plains of Kansas and the rolling hills of Missouri, for 75 hours straight, stopping only to refuel and relieve ourselves. While two of us rode in front and a third kept watch out the back of the truck, two of us at a time tried to sleep, but without much success.When we reached eastern Missouri we changed our tactics, for two reasons. First, we heard the radio broadcast of the bombing of Miami and Charleston and the Organization's ultimatum to the System. That made the time factor even more important than before; we couldn't afford any further delays from circuitous routes along back roads. Second, the danger of our being stopped by the authorities between St. Louis and Washington decreased sharply as all hell broke loose in the country, giving us the opportunity to adopt a new ploy. We had been monitoring both the civilian broadcast band and the military communications bands during the trip, and we were about 80 miles west of St. Louis when a special announcer cut into the afternoon weather report. The previous day, at noon, a nuclear bomb had been detonated without warning in Miami Beach, the announcer said, killing an estimated 60,000 people and causing enormous damage. A second nuclear bomb had been detonated outside Charleston, South Carolina, just four hours ago, but casualty and damage reports were not yet available. Both bombings were the work of the Organization, said the announcer, and he would now read the text of an Organization ultimatum. I jotted down the ultimatum almost word for word on a scrap of paper as it came over the truck radio, and this is very nearly it: "To the President and the Congress of the United States and the commanders of all U.S. armed forces, we, the Revolutionary Command of the Organization, issue the following demands and warning: "First, cease immediately all buildup of military forces in eastern California and adjacent areas and abandon all plans for an invasion of the liberated zone of California. "Second, abandon all plans for a nuclear strike against the liberated zone of California or any portion of it. "Third, make known to the people of the United States, through all the communications channels at your disposal, these demands and this warning."If you have failed to comply with any one of our three demands by noon tomorrow, August 27, we will detonate a second nuclear device in some population center of the United States, just as we detonated one in the Miami, Florida, area a few minutes ago. We will continue to detonate one nuclear device every 12 hours thereafter until you have complied. "We furthermore warn you that if you make any surprise, hostile move against the liberated zone of California, we will immediately detonate more than 500 nuclear devices which have already been hidden in key target areas throughout the United States. More than 40 of these devices are now located in the New York City area. In addition, we will immediately use all the nuclear missiles still available to us to destroy the Jewish presence in Palestine. "Finally, we warn you that, in any event, we intend to liberate, first, the entire United States and then the remainder of this planet. When we have done so we will liquidate all the enemies of our people, including in particular all White persons who have consciously aided those enemies. "We are aware now, and we will continue to be aware, of your most confidential plans and of every order you receive from your Jewish masters. Abandon your race-treason now, or abandon all hope for yourselves when you fall into the hands of the people you have betrayed." (Note to the reader: Turner's version of the Organization's ultimatum is essentially correct, except for a few minor errors in wording and his omission of one sentence from the next-to-last paragraph. The full and exact text of the ultimatum is in chapter nine of Professor Anderson's definitive History of the Great Revolution.) We had pulled off the road when the special announcer came on, and it took us a few minutes to gather our thoughts and decide what to do. We had not really expected things to develop so rapidly. Those fellows who took the warheads to Miami and Charleston must have either left a day or two ahead of us or they must have really been burning up the highways to get there so soon. Despite our non-stop driving, we felt like a bunch of shirkers. We knew the fat was really in the fire; we were in the middle of a nuclear civil war, and within the next few days the fate of the planet would be decided for all time. Now it was either the Jews or the White race, and everyone knew the game was for keeps. I still haven't figured out all the details of our strategy leading up to the ultimatum. I don't know why, for example, Miami and Charleston were chosen as initial targets-although I've heard a rumor that the rich Jews who were evacuated from New York were being temporarily housed in the Charleston area, and Miami, of course, already had a superabundance of Jews. But why not take out the New York City area instead, with its two-and-a-half megakikes? Perhaps our bombs weren't really in place yet in New York, despite what our ultimatum said. And I'm also not sure why our ultimatum took the particular form it did: all stick and no carrot. Perhaps it was deliberately intended to stampede the cattle-which, indeed, it has. Or perhaps there were some under-the-table communications between Revolutionary Command and the System's military leaders which determined the form of the ultimatum. In any event, it has had the effect of splitting the System right down the middle. The Jews and nearly all the politicians are in one faction, and nearly all the military leaders are in another faction. The Jewish faction is demanding the immediate nuclear annihilation of California, regardless of the consequences. The accursed goyim have raised their hands against the Chosen People and must be destroyed at any cost. The military faction, on the other hand, is in favor of a temporary truce, while an effort is made to find our "500 (a forgivable exaggeration) nuclear devices" and disarm them. After hearing that broadcast our only thought was to get our deadly cargo to Washington as soon as possible. We knew everyone would be off balance for a while as a result of what had just happened, and we decided to take advantage of the general confusion by converting our truck into an emergency vehicle and barrelling straight down the highway toward our destination. We didn't have a siren, but we did have flashing red lights front and rear, and we completed the conversion a few minutes later by stopping in a rural hardware store and buying some cans of spray paint which, with some hastily improvised stencils made from torn newspapers, we used to paint Red Cross symbols in the appropriate places on our truck. After that, we made Washington in less than 20 hours, despite the chaotic conditions on the highways. We sped along shoulders to get past stalled traffic, drove on the wrong side of the road with horn blaring and lights flashing, bounced over culverts and open fields to get around blocked intersections, and generally ignored all traffic controllers, bluffing our way through more than a dozen checkpoints. Our first bomb went into Fort Belvoir, the big Army base just south of Washington where I was locked up for more than a year. We had to wait two maddening days to make contact with our inside man there so we could arrange to get the bomb inside the base and hidden in the right area. "Rodriguez" went over the fence with the bomb strapped on his back. I received a radio signal from him the next day, confirming the successful completion of his mission. Meanwhile, the rest of us planted a second bomb in the District of Columbia, where it will be able to take out a couple of hundred thousand Liberals when it goes, not to mention a few government agencies and a critical portion of the capital's transportation network. I didn't have my final orders on the third bomb until this afternoon. That will go into the Silver Spring area north of here - the center of the Maryland-suburban Jewish community. The fourth one is intended for the Pentagon, but security is so tight there I still haven't figured a way to get it anywhere near the place. I must confess that my mind has not been exclusively on my work since I've been back here. Katherine and I have stolen time from our Organization responsibilities to be together. Neither of us had realized how much we have come to mean to each other until we were separated again this summer, so soon after my escape from prison. In the month we were together this spring, before I was sent to Texas and then to Colorado and finally to California, we became as close as any two people can possibly be. Things have been hard for Katherine and the others here while I was gone, especially since July 4. They have been under enormous pressure from two directions. The Organization has been pushing them without mercy to continually step up their level of activism, while the danger of being caught by the political police has grown worse every week. The System is resorting to new methods in its fight against us: massive, house-to-house searches of multi-block areas; astronomical rewards for informers; much tighter controls on all civilian movement. In many other parts of the country these repressive measures have been more sporadic, and they have broken down entirely in those areas where the System has not been able to maintain public order-especially since the panic caused by the bombings of Miami and Charleston. But around Washington the System still has things in a very tight grip, and it's tough. Late this afternoon Katherine and I slipped out of the shop for a couple of hours and went for a walk. We strolled by several groups of soldiers in sandbagged machine-gun emplacements outside office buildings; on past the smoke-blackened rubble of a suburban subway station in which Katherine herself had planted a dynamite bomb just two weeks ago; through a park-like area where a loudspeaker mounted high on a lamppost was blaring out exhortations to "all right-thinking citizens" to immediately report to the political police the slightest manifestation of racism on the part of their neighbors or co-workers; and out onto one of the main highway bridges across the Potomac River from Virginia to the District of Columbia. There was no traffic on the bridge because it ended abruptly 50 yards from the Virginia shore, in a tangle of shattered concrete and twisted reinforcing rods. The Organization had blown it up in July, and no effort had yet been made to repair it. It was fairly quiet there at the end of the bridge, with only the screaming of police sirens in the distance and the occasional clatter of a police helicopter swooping overhead. We talked, we embraced, and we silently surveyed the scene around us as the sun went down. We and our companions have certainly made an influence on the world in the last few months-both on the suburban world of ordinary White people on the Virginia side of the bridge and on the System's world of bustling government offices on the other side. And yet the System is all too evidently still alive all around us. What a contrast with the situation in California! Katherine was full of questions about what life is like in the liberated zone, and I tried to tell her as best I could, but I am afraid that mere words are inadequate for expressing the difference between the way I felt in California and the way I feel here. It is more a spiritual thing than merely a difference in the political and social environments. As we stood there talking above the swirling eddies at the end of the bridge, our bodies pressed together, the world growing dark around us, a group of young Liberals came out onto the other stump of the bridge, from the Washington side. They began horsing around in typical Liberal fashion, a couple of them urinating into the river. Finally one of them spotted us, and they all began shouting and making obscene gestures. For me, at least, that accentuated the difference which I could not find words to express. https://rumble.com/v3dqkh8-index-to-the-turner-diaries.html

In this copy of his novel titled “I will fear no Evil”, Robert Heinlein uses 2,914 hyphens, 567 three dot ellipses, 1752 pairs of brackets 133 sentences ending with commas, and the three M mumble of M, m, m 41 times. And, of course, 924 exclamation marks! As always, the attempt here to reformat the novel into Machine Readable English is only a partial success. He had been ill for over a year, and this was one of his last works. One. The room was old-fashioned, 1980 baroque, but it was wide, long, high, and luxurious. Near simulated view windows stood an automated hospital bed. It looked out of place but was largely concealed by a magnificent Chinese screen. Forty feet from it a boardroom table also failed to match the decor. At the head of this table was a life-support wheelchair; wires and tubings ran from it to the bed. Near the wheelchair, at a mobile stenodesk crowded with directional mikes, voice typewriter, clock-calendar, controls, and the usual ancillaries, a young woman sat. She was beautiful. Her manner was that of the perfect unobtrusive secretary but she was dressed in a current exotic mode. “Half and Half”, right shoulder and breast and arm concealed in jet-black knit, left leg sheathed in a scarlet tight, panty-ruffle in both colors joining them, black sandal on the scarlet side, red sandal on her bare right foot. Her skin paint was patterned in the same scarlet and black. On the other side of the wheelchair was an older woman garbed in a nurse’s conventional white pantyhose and smock. She ignored everything but her dials and a patient in the chair. Seated around the table were a dozen-odd men, most of them in spectator-sports style affected by older executives. Cradled in the life-support chair was a very old man. Except for restless eyes, he looked like a poor job of embalming. No cosmetic help had been used to soften the brutal fact of his decrepitude. “Ghoul,” he was saying softly to a man halfway down the table. “You’re a slavering ghoul, Parky me boy. Didn’t your father teach you that it is polite to wait for a man to stop kicking before you bury him? Or did you have a father? Erase that last, Eunice. Gentlemen, Mister Parkinson has moved that I be invited to resign as chairman of the board. Do I hear a second?” He waited, looking from face to face, then said, “Oh, come now! Who is letting you down, Parky? You, George?” “I had nothing to do with it.” “But you would love to vote ‘Aye.’ Motion fails for want of a second.” “I withdraw my motion.” “Too late, Parkinson. Erasures are made only by unanimous consent, implied or overt. One objection is enough, and I, Johann Sebastian Bach Smith, do so object … and that rule controls because I wrote it before you learned to read. “But”, Smith looked around at the others, ”I do have news. As you heard from Mister Teal, all our divisions are in satisfactory shape; Sea Ranches and General Textbooks are more than satisfactory, so this is a good time for me to retire.” Smith waited, then said, “You can close your mouths. Don’t look smug, Parky; I have more news for you. I stay on as chairman of the board but will no longer be chief executive. Our chief counsel, Mister Jake Salomon, becomes deputy chairman and, ” “Hold it, Johann. I am not going to manage this five-ring circus.” “Nobody said you would, Jake. But you can preside at board meetings when I’m not available. Is that too much to ask?” “Um, I suppose not.” “Thank you. I’m resigning as president of Smith Enterprises, and Mister Byram Teal becomes our president and chief executive officer, he’s doing the work; it’s time he got the title, and pay and stock options and all the perks and privileges and tax loopholes. No more than fair.” Parkinson said, “Now see here, Smith!” “Hold it, youngster. Don’t start a remark to me with ‘Now see here, ’ Address me as ‘Mister Smith’ or ‘Mister Chairman.’ What is your point?” Parkinson controlled himself, then said, “Very well, Mister Smith. I can’t accept this. Quite aside from promoting your assistant to the office of president in one jump, utterly unheard of!, if there is a change in management, I must be considered. I represent the second largest block of voting stock.” “I did consider you for president, Parky.” “You did?” “Yep. I thought about it … and snickered.” “Why, you, ” “Don’t say it, I might sue. What you forget is that my block has voting control. Now about your block By company policy anyone representing five percent or more of voting stock is automatically on the board even if nobody loves him and he suffers from spiritual bad breath. Which describes both you and me. “Or did describe you. Byram, what’s the late word on proxies and stock purchases?” “A full report, Mister Smith?” “No, just tell Mister Parkinson where he stands.” “Yes, sir. Mister Parkinson, you now control less than five percent of the voting stock.” Smith added sweetly, “So you’re fired, you young ghoul. Jake, call a special stockholders’ meeting, legal notice, all formalities, for the purpose of giving Parky a gold watch and kicking him out, and electing his successor. Further business? None. Meeting’s adjourned. Stick around, Jake. You, too, Eunice. And Byram, if you have anything on your mind.” Parkinson jumped to his feet. “Smith, you haven’t heard the last of this!” “Oh, no doubt,” the old man said sweetly. “Meantime my respects to your mother-in-law and tell her that Byram will go on making her rich even though I’ve fired you.” Parkinson left abruptly. Others started to leave. Smith said mildly, “Jake, how does a man get to be fifty years old without acquiring horse sense? Only smart thing that lad ever did was pick a rich mother-in-law. Yes, Hans?” “Johann,” Hans von Ritter said, leaning on the table and speaking directly to the chairman, “I did not like your treatment of Parkinson.” “Thanks. You’re honest with me to my face. Scarce these days.” “Removing him from the board is okay; he’s an obstructionist. But there was no need to humiliate him.” “I suppose not. One of my little pleasures, Hans. I don’t have many these days.” A Simplex footman rolled in, hung the vacated chairs on its rack, rolled out; von Ritter continued: “I have no intention of being treated that way. If you want nothing but Yes men on your board, let us note that I control much less than five percent of the voting stock. Do you want my resignation?” “Good God, no! I need you, Hans, and Byram will need you still more. I can’t use trained seals; a man has to have the guts to disagree with me, or he’s a waste of space. But when a man bucks me, I want him to do it intelligently. You do. You’ve forced me to change my mind several times, not easy, stubborn as I am. Now about this other, sit down. Eunice, whistle up that easy chair for Doctor von Ritter.” The chair approached; von Ritter waved it back, it retreated. “No, I haven’t time to be cajoled. What do you want?” He straightened up; the boardroom table folded its legs, turned on edge, and glided away through a slot in the wall. “Hans, I’ve surrounded myself with men who don’t like me, not a Yes man or trained seal among them. Even Byram, especially Byram, got his job by contradicting me and being right. Except when he’s been wrong and that’s why he needs men like you on the board. But Parkinson, I was entitled to clip him, publicly, because he called for my resignation, publicly. Nevertheless you are right, Hans; ‘tit for tat’ is childish. Twenty years ago, even ten, I would never have humiliated a man. If a man operates by reflex, as most do instead of using their noggins, humiliating him forces him to try to get even. I know better. But I’m getting senile, as we all know.” Von Ritter said nothing. Smith went on, “Will you stick?, and help keep Byram steady?” “Uh … I’ll stick. As long as you behave yourself.” He turned to leave. “Fair enough. Hans? Will you dance at my wake?” Von Ritter looked back and grinned. “I’d be delighted!” “Thought so. Thanks, Hans. Good bye.” Smith said to Byram Teal, “Anything, son?” “Assistant Attorney General coming from Washington tomorrow to talk to you about our Machine Tools Division buying control of Homecrafts, Ltd. I think, ” “To talk to you. If you can’t handle him, I picked the wrong man. What else?” “At Sea Ranch number five we lost a man at the fiftyfathom line. Shark.” “Married?” “No, sir. Nor dependent parents.” “Well, do the pretty thing, whatever it is. You have those videospools of me, the ones that actor fellow dubbed the sincere voice onto. When we lose one of our own, we can’t have the public thinking we don’t give a hoot.” Jake Salomon added, “Especially when we don’t.” Smith clucked at him. “Jake, do you have a way to look into my heart? It’s our policy to be lavish with death benefits, plus the little things that mean so much.” “, and look so good. Johann, you don’t have a heart, just dials and machinery. Furthermore you never did have.” Smith smiled. “Jake, for you we’ll make an exception. When you die, we’ll try not to notice. No flowers, not even the customary black-bordered page in our house organs.” “You won’t have anything to say about it, Johann. I’ll outlive you twenty years.” “Going to dance at my wake?” “I don’t dance,” the lawyer answered, “but you tempt me to learn.” “Don’t bother, I’ll outlive you. Want to bet? Say a million to your favorite tax deduction? No, I can’t bet; I need your help to stay alive. Byram, check with me tomorrow. Nurse, leave us; I want to talk with my lawyer.” “No, sir. Doctor Garcia wants a close watch on you at all times.” Smith looked thoughtful. “Miss Bedpan, I acquired my speech habits before the Supreme Court took up writing dirty words on sidewalks. But I will try to use words plain enough for you to understand. I am your employer. I pay your wages. This is my home. I told you to get out. That’s an order.” The nurse looked stubborn, said nothing. Smith sighed. “Jake, I’m getting old, I forget that they follow their own rules. Will you locate Doctor Garcia, somewhere in the house, and find out how you and I can have a private conference in spite of this too faithful watchdog?” Shortly Doctor Garcia arrived, looked over dials and patient, conceded that telemetering would do for the time being. “Miss MacIntosh, shift to the remote displays.” “Yes, Doctor. Will you send for a nurse to relieve me? I want to quit this assignment.” “Now, Nurse, ” “Just a moment, Doctor,” Smith put in. “Miss MacIntosh, I apologize for calling you, ‘Miss Bedpan.’ Childish of me, another sign of increasing senility. But, Doctor, if she must leave , I hope she won’t, bill me for a thousand-dollar bonus for her. Her attention to duty has been perfect … despite many instances of unreasonable behavior on my part.” “Uh … see me outside, Nurse.” When doctor and nurse had left Salomon said dryly, “Johann, you are senile only when it suits you.” Smith chuckled. “I do take advantage of age and illness. What other weapons have I left?” “Money.” “Ah, yes. Without money I wouldn’t be alive. But I am childishly bad-tempered these days. You could chalk it up to the fact that a man who has always been active feels frustrated by being imprisoned. But it’s simpler to call it senility … since God and my doctor know that my body is senile.” “I call it stinking bad temper, Johann, not senility, since you can control it when you want to. Don’t use it on me; I won’t stand for it.” Smith chuckled. “Never, Jake; I need you. Even more than I need Eunice, though she’s ever so much prettier than you. How about it, Eunice? Has my behavior been bad lately?” His secretary shrugged, producing complex secondary motions pleasant to see. “You’re pretty stinky at times, Boss. But I’ve learned to ignore it.” “You see, Jake? If Eunice refused to put up with it, as you do, I’d be the sweetest boss in the land. As it is, I use her as a safety valve.” Salomon said, “Eunice, any time you get fed up with this vile-tempered old wreck you can work for me, at the same salary or higher.” “Eunice, your salary just doubled!” “Thank you, Boss,” she said promptly. “I’ve recorded it. And the time. I’ll notify Accounting.” Smith cackled. “See why I keep her? Don’t try to outbid me, you old goat, you don’t have enough chips.” “Senile,” Salomon growled. “Speaking of money, whom do you want to put into Parkinson’s slot?” “No rush, he was a blank file. Do you have a candidate, Jake?” “No. Although after this last little charade it occurs to me that Eunice might be a good bet.” Eunice looked startled, then dropped all expression. Smith looked thoughtful. “It had not occurred to me. But it might be a perfect solution. Eunice, would you be willing to be a director of the senior corporation?” Eunice flipped her machine to “NOT RECORDING.” “You’re both making fun of me! Stop it.” “My dear,” Smith said gently, “you know I don’t joke about money. As for Jake, it is the only subject sacred to him, he sold his daughter and his grandmother down to Rio.” “Not my daughter,” Salomon objected. “Just Grandmother … and the old girl didn’t fetch much. But it gave us a spare bedroom.” “But, Boss, I don’t know anything about running a business!” “You wouldn’t have to. Directors don’t manage, they set policy. But you do know more about running it than most of our directors; you’ve been on the inside for years. Plus Almost inside during the time you were my secretary’s secretary before Missus Bierman retired. But here are advantages I see in what may have been a playful suggestion on Jake’s part. You are already an officer of the corporation as Special Assistant Secretary assigned to record for the board, and I made you that, you’ll both remember, to shut up Parkinson when he bellyached about my secretary being present during an executive session. You’ll go on being that, and my personal secretary, too; can’t spare you, while becoming a director. No conflict, you’ll simply vote as well as recording. Now we come to the key question: Are you willing to vote the way Jake votes?” She looked solemn. “You wish me to, sir?” “Or the way I do if I’m present, which comes to the same thing. Think back and you’ll see that Jake and I have always voted the same way on basic policy, settling it ahead of time, while wrangling and voting against each other on things that don’t matter. Read the old minutes, you’ll spot it.” “I noticed it long ago,” she said simply, “but didn’t think it was my place to comment.” “Jake, she’s our new director. One more point, my dear: If it turns out that we need your spot, will you resign? You won’t lose by it.” “Of course, sir. I don’t have to be paid to agree to that.” “You still won’t lose by it. I feel better. Eunice, I’ve had to turn management over to Teal; I’ll be turning policy over to Jake, you know the shape I’m in. I want Jake to have as many sure votes backing him as possible. Oh, we can always fire directors … but it is best not to have to do so, a fact von Ritter rubbed my nose in. Okay, you’re a director. We’ll formalize it at that stockholders’ meeting. Welcome to the ranks of the Establishment. Instead of a wage slave, you have sold out and are now a counterrevolutionary, warmongering, rat-fink, fascist dog. How does it feel?” “Not ‘dog,’ ” Eunice objected. “The rest is lovely but ‘dog’ is the wrong sex; I’m female. A bitch.” “Eunice, I not only do not use such words with ladies around, you know that I do not care to hear them from ladies.” “Can a ‘rat-fink fascist’ be a lady? Boss, I learned that word in kindergarten. Nobody minds it today.” “I learned it out behind the barn and let’s keep it there.” Salomon growled. “I don’t have time to listen to amateur lexicologists. Is the conference over?” “What? Not at all! Now comes the top-secret part, the reason I sent the nurse out. So gather ye round.” “Johann, before you talk secrets, let me ask one question. Does that bed have a mike on it? Your chair may be bugged, too.” “Eh?” the old man looked thoughtful. “I used a call button … until they started standing a heel-and-toe watch on me.” “Seven to two you’re bugged. Eunice my dear, can you trace the circuits and make sure?” “Uh … I doubt it. The circuitry isn’t much like my stenodesk. But I’ll look.” Eunice left her desk, studied the console on the back of the wheelchair. “These two dials almost certainly have mikes hooked to them; they’re respiration and heartbeat. But they don’t show voices as my voice does not make the needles jiggle. Filtered out, I suppose. “But”, she looked thoughtful, ”voice could be pulled off either circuit ahead of a filter. I do something like that, in reverse, whenever I record with a high background db. I don’t know what these dials do. Darn it, I might spot a voice circuit … but I could never be sure that there was not one. Or two. Or three. I’m sorry.” “Don’t be sorry, dear,” the lawyer said soothingly. “There hasn’t been real privacy in this country since the middle of the twentieth century, why, I could phone a man I know of and have you photographed in your bath and you would never know it.” “Really? What a dreadful idea. How much does this person charge for such a job?” “Plenty. Depends on difficulty and how much chance he runs of being prosecuted. Never less than a couple of thousand and then up like a kite. But he can do it.” “Well!” Eunice looked thoughtful, then smiled. “Mister Salomon, if you ever decide that you must have such a picture of me, phone me for a competitive bid. My husband has an excellent Chinese camera and I would rather have him photograph me in my bath than some stranger.” “Order, please,” Smith said mildly. “Eunice, if you want to sell skin pictures to that old lecher, do it on your own time. I don’t know anything about these gadgets but I know how to solve this. Eunice, go out to where they telemeter me, I think it’s next door in what used to be my upstairs lounge. You’ll find Miss MacIntosh there. Hang around three minutes. I’ll wait two minutes; then I’ll call out: ‘Miss Maclntosh! Is Missus Branca there?’ If you hear me, we’ll know she’s snooping. If you don’t, come back at the end of three minutes.” “Yes, sir. Do I give Miss MacIntosh any reason for this?” “Give the old battle-ax any stall you like. I simply want to know if she is eavesdropping.” “Yes, sir.” Eunice started to leave the room. She pressed the door switch just as its buzzer sounded. The door snapped aside, revealing Miss Macintosh, who jumped in surprise. The nurse recovered and said bleakly, to Mister Smith, “May I come in for a moment?” “Certainly.” “Thank you, sir.” The nurse went to the bed, pulled its screen aside, touched four switches on its console, replaced the screen. Then she planted herself in front of her patient and said, “Now you have complete privacy, so far as my equipment is concerned. Sir.” “Thank you.” “I am not supposed to cut the voice monitors except on Doctor’s orders. But you had privacy anyhow. I am as bound to respect a patient’s privacy as a doctor is, I never listen to sickroom conversation. I don’t even hear it! Sir.” “Get your feathers down. If you weren’t listening, how did you know we were discussing the matter?” “Oh! Because my name was mentioned. Hearing my name triggers me to listen. It’s a conditioned reflex. Though I don’t suppose you believe me?” “On the contrary, I do. Nurse, please switch on whatever you switched off. Then bear in mind that I must talk privately … and I’ll remember not to mention your name. But I’m glad to know that I can reach you so promptly. To a man in my condition that is a comfort.” “Uh, very well, sir.” “And I want to thank you for putting up with my quirks. And bad temper.” She almost smiled. “Oh, you’re not so difficult, sir. I once put in two years in an N.P. hospital.” Smith looked startled, then grinned. “Touche! Was that where you acquired your hatred for bedpans?” “It was indeed! Now if you will excuse me, sir, ” When she was gone, Salomon said, “You really think she won’t listen?” “Of course she will, she can’t help it, she’s already triggered and will be trying too hard not to listen. But she’s proud, Jake, and I would rather depend on pride than gadgetry. Okay, I’m getting tired, so here it is in a lump. I want to buy a body. A young one.” Eunice Branca barely showed reaction; Jake Salomon’s features dropped into the mask he used for poker and district attorneys. Presently Eunice said, “Am I to record, sir?” “No. Oh, hell, yes. Tell that sewing machine to make one copy for each of us and wipe the tape. File mine in my destruct file; file yours in your destruct file, and, Jake, hide your copy in the file you use to outwit the Infernal Revenue Service.” “I’ll file it in the still safer place I use for guilty clients. Johann, anything you say to me is privileged but I am bound to point out that the Canons forbid me to advise a client in how to break the law, or to permit a client to discuss such intention. As for Eunice, anything you say to her or in her presence is not privileged.” “Oh, come off it, you old shyster; you’ve advised me in how to break the law twice a week for years. As for Eunice, nobody can get anything out of her short of all-out brainwash.” “I didn’t say I always followed the Canons; I merely told you what they called for. I won’t deny that my professional ethics have a little stretch in them, but I won’t be party to anything smelling of bodysnatching, kidnapping, or congress with slavery. Any self-respecting prostitute, meaning me, has limits.” “Spare me the sermon, Jake; what I want is both moral and ethical. I need your help to see that all of it is legal, utterly legal, can’t cut corners on this!, and practical.” “I hope so.” “I know so. I said I wanted to buy a body, legally. That rules out bodysnatching, kidnapping, and slavery. I want to make a legal purchase.” “You can’t.” “Why not? Take this body,” Smith said, pointing to his chest, “it’s not worth much even as manure; nevertheless I can will it to a medical school. You know I can, you okayed it.” “Oh. Let’s get our terms straight. In the United States there can be no chattel ownership of a human being. Thirteenth Amendment. Therefore your body is not your property because you can’t sell it. But a cadaver is property, usually of the estate of the deceased … although a cadaver is not often treated the way other chattels are treated. But it is indeed property. If you want to buy a cadaver, it can be arranged, but who were you calling a ghoul earlier?” “What is a cadaver, Jake?” “Eh? A dead body, usually of a human. So says Webster. The legal definition is more complicated but comes to the same thing.” “It’s that ‘more complicated’ aspect I’m getting at. Okay, once it is dead, it is property and maybe we can buy it. But what is ‘death,’ Jake, and when does it take place? Never mind Webster; what is the law?” “Oh. Law is what the Supreme Court says it is. Fortunately this point was nailed down in the seventies, ’Estate of Henry M. Parsons versus Rhode Island.’ For years, many centuries, a man was dead when his heart quit beating. Then for about a century he was dead when a licensed M.D. examined him for heart condition action and respiration and certified that he was dead, and sometimes that turned out grisly, as doctors do make mistakes. And then along came the first heart transplant and oh, mother, what a legal snarl that stirred up! “But the Parsons case settled it; a man is dead when all brain activity has stopped, permanently.” “And what does that mean?” Smith persisted. “The Court declined to define it. But in application, look, Johann, I’m a corporation lawyer, not a specialist in medical jurisprudence nor in forensic medicine, and I would have to research before I, ” “Okay, so you’re not God. You can revise your remarks later. What do you know now?” “When the exact moment of death is important, as it sometimes is in estate cases, as it often is in accident, manslaughter, and murder cases, as it always is in an organ, transplant case, some doctor determines that the brain has quit and isn’t going to start up again. They use various tests and talk about ‘irreversible coma’ and ‘complete absence of brain wave activity’ and ‘cortical damage beyond possibility of repair’ but it all comes down to some M.D. laying his reputation and license on the line to certify that this brain is dead and won’t come alive again. Heart and lungs are now irrelevant; they are classed with hands and feet and gonads and other parts that a man can do without or have replaced. It’s the brain that counts. Plus a doctor’s opinion about the brain. In transplant cases there are almost always at least two doctors in no way connected with the operation and probably a coroner as well. Not because the Supreme Court requires it, in fact only a few of the fifty-four states have legislated in re thanatotic requirements, but, ” “Just a moment, Mister Salomon, that odd word. My typewriter has placed a query after it.” Eunice kept her hand over the “Hold” light. “How did your typer spell it?” “T-H-A-N-A-T-O-T-I-C.” “Smart machine. It’s the technical adjective referring to death. From the Greek god Thanatos, Death.” “Half a second while I tell it so.” Eunice touched the “Memory” switch with her other hand, whispered briefly, then said, “It feels better if I reassure it at once. Go ahead.” She lifted her hand from the “Hold” light. “Eunice, are you under the impression that that machine is alive?” She blushed, then touched “Erase” and covered “Hold.” “No, Mister Salomon. But it does behave better with me than with any other operator. It can get downright sulky if it doesn’t like the way it is handled.” “I can testify to that,” Smith agreed. “If Eunice takes a day off, her relief had better fetch her own gadgets, or fall back on shorthand. Listen, dear, knock off the chatter. Talk with Jake about the care and feeding of machines some other time; great-grandfather wants to go to bed.” “Yes, sir.” She lifted her hand. “Johann, I was saying that in transplant cases the medical profession has set up tight rules or customs, both to protect themselves from criminal and civil actions and also, I am sure, to forestall restrictive legislation. They have to get that heart out while it’s still alive and nevertheless protect themselves from indictments for murder, cum multimillion-dollar damage suits. So they spread the responsibility thin and back each other up.” “Yes,” agreed Smith. “Jake, you haven’t told me a thing I didn’t know, but you have relieved my mind by confirming facts and law. Now I know it can be done. Okay, I want a healthy body between ages twenty and forty, still warm, heart still working and no other damage too difficult to repair … but with the brain legally dead, dead, dead. I want to buy that cadaver and have this brain, mine, transplanted into it.” Eunice held perfectly still. Jake blinked. “When do you want this body? Later today?” “Oh, next Wednesday ought to be soon enough. Garcia says he can keep me going” “I suggest later today. And get you a new brain at the same time that one has quit functioning.” “Knock it off, Jake; I’m serious. My body is falling to pieces. But my mind is clear and my memory isn’t bad, ask me yesterday’s closing prices on every stock we are interested in. I can still do logarithmic calculations without tables; I check myself every day. Because I know how far gone I am. Look at me, worth so many megabucks that it’s silly to count them. But with a body held together with Scotch tape and string, I ought to be in a museum. “Now all my life I’ve heard ‘You can’t take it with you.’ Well, eight months ago when they tied me down with all this undignified plumbing and wiring, having nothing better to do I started thinking about that old saw. I decided that, if I couldn’t take it with me, I wasn’t going to go!” “Humph! ‘You’ll go when the wagon comes.’ “ “Perhaps. But I’m going to spend as much as necessary of that silly stack of dollars to try to beat the game. Will you help?” “Johann, if you were talking about a routine heart transplant, I would say ‘Good luck and God bless you!’ But a brain transplant, have you any idea what that entails?” “No, and neither do you. But I know more about it than you do; I’ve had endless time to read up. No need to tell me that no successful transplant of a human brain has ever been made; I know it. No need to tell me that the Chinese have tried it several times and failed, although they have three basket cases still alive if my informants are correct.” “Do you want to be a basket case?” “No. But there are two chimpanzees climbing trees and eating bananas this very day, and each has the brain the other one started with.” “Oho! That Australian.” “Doctor Lindsay Boyle. He’s the surgeon I must have.” “Boyle. There was a scandal, wasn’t there? They ran him out of Australia.” “So they did, Jake. Ever hear of professional jealousy? Most neurosurgeons are wedded to the notion that a brain transplant is too complicated. But if you dig into it, you will find the same opinions expressed fifty years ago about heart transplants. If you ask neurosurgeons about those chimpanzees, the kindest thing any of them will say is that it’s a fake, even though there are motion pictures of both operations. Or they talk about the many failures Boyle had before he learned how. Jake, they hate him so much they ran him out of his home country when he was about to try it on a human being. Why, those bastards, excuse me, Eunice.” “My machine is instructed to spell that word as ‘scoundrel,’ Mister Smith.” “Thank you, Eunice.” “Where is he now, Johann?” “In Buenos Aires.” “Can you travel that far?” “Oh, no! Well, perhaps I could, in a plane big enough for these mechanical monstrosities they use to keep me alive. But first we need that body. And the best possible medical center for computer-assisted surgery. And a support team of surgeons. And all the rest. Say Johns Hopkins. Or Stanford Medical Center.” “I venture to say that neither one will permit this unfrocked surgeon to operate.” “Jake, Jake, of course they will. Don’t you know how to bribe a university?” “I’ve never tried it.” “You do it with really big chunks of money, openly, with an academic procession to give it dignity. But first you find out what they want, football stands, or a particle accelerator, or an endowed chair. But the key is plenty of money. From my point of view it is better to be alive and young again, and broke, than it is to be the richest corpse in Forest Lawn.” Smith smiled. “It would be exhilarating to be young, and broke. So don’t spare the shekels. “I know you can set it up for Boyle; it’s just a question of whom to bribe and how, in the words of Bill Gresham, a man I knew a long time ago: ‘Find out what he wants, he’ll geek!’ “But the toughest problem involves no bribery but simply a willingness to spend money. Locating that warm body. Jake, in this country over ninety thousand people per year are killed in traffic accidents alone, call it two hundred and fifty each day, and a lot of those victims die of skull injuries. A fair percentage are between twenty and forty years old and in good health aside from a broken skull and a ruined brain. The problem is to find one while the body is still alive, then keep it alive and rush it to surgery.” “With wives and relatives and cops and lawyers chasing along behind.” “Certainly. If money and organization weren’t used beforehand. Finders’ fees, call them something else. Life-support teams and copters equipped for them always standing by, near the worst concentrations of dangerous traffic. Contributions to highway patrol relief funds, thousands of release forms ready to sign, lavish payment to the estate of the deceased, oh, at least a million dollars. Oh, yes, nearly forgot, I’ve got an odd blood type and any transplant is more likely to take if they don’t have to fiddle with swapping blood. There are only about a million people in this country with blood matching mine. Not an impossible number when you cut it down still further by age span, twenty to forty, and good health. Call it three hundred thousand, tops. Jake, if we ran big newspaper ads and bought prime time on video, how many of those people could we flush out of the bushes? If we dangled a million dollars as bait? One megabuck in escrow with Chase Manhattan Bank for the estate of the accident victim whose body is used? With a retainer to any prospective donor and his spouse who will sign up in advance.” “Johann, I’m durned if I know. But I would hate to be married to a woman who could collect a million dollars by ‘accidentally’ hitting me in the head with a hammer.” “Details, Jake. Write it so that no one can murder and benefit by it, and suicide must be excluded, too; I don’t want blood on my hands. The real problem is to locate healthy young people who have my blood type, and feed their names and addresses into a computer.” “Excuse me, Mister Smith, but have you thought of consulting the National Rare Blood Club?” “Be darned! I am growing senile. No, I hadn’t, Eunice, and how do you happen to know about it?” “I’m a member, sir.” “Then you’re a donor, dear?” Smith sounded pleased and impressed. “Yes, sir. Type A-B-Negative.” “Be darned twice. Used to be a donor myself, until they told me I was too old, long before you were born. And your type, A-B-Negative.” “I thought you must be, sir, when you mentioned the number. So small. Only about a third of one percent of us in the population. My husband is A-B-Negative, too, and a donor. You see, well, I met Joe early one morning when we were both called to give blood to a newborn baby and its mother.” “Well, hooray for Joe Branca! I knew he was smart, he grabbed you, didn’t he? I had not known that he was an Angel of Mercy as well. Tell you what, dear, when you get home tonight, tell Joe that all he has to do is to dive into a dry swimming pool … and you’ll be not only the prettiest widow in town, but the richest.” “Boss, you have a nasty sense of humor. I wouldn’t swap Joe for any million dollars, money won’t keep you warm on a cold night.” “As I know to my sorrow, dear. Jake, can my will be broken?” “Any will can be broken. But I don’t think yours will be. I tried to build fail-safes into it.” “Suppose I make a new will along the same general lines but with some changes, would it stand up?” “No.” “Why not?” “You said it yourself. Senility. Any time a rich man dies at an advanced age with a new will anyone with an interest in breaking it, your granddaughters, I mean, will try to break it, alleging senility and undue influence. I think they would succeed.” “Darn. I want to put Eunice down for a million so she won’t be tempted to kill her A-B-Negative husband.” “Boss, you’re making fun of me again. Nasty fun.” “Eunice, I told you that I do not joke about money. How do we handle it, Jake? Since I’m too senile to make a will.” “Well, the simplest way would be an insurance policy with a paid-up single premium … which would cost, in view of your age and health, slightly more than a million, I surmise. But she would get it even if your will was broken.” “Mister Salomon, don’t listen to him!” “Johann, do you want that million to revert to you if by any long chance you outlive Eunice?” “Um … no, if it did, a judge might decide to look at the matter, and God himself doesn’t know what a judge will do these days. Make the Red Cross the residuary. No, make it the National Rare Blood Club.” “Very well.” “Get it paid up first thing in the morning. No, do it tonight; I may not live till morning. Get an underwriter, Jack Towers, maybe, get Jefferson Billings to open that pawnshop of his and get a certified check. Use my power of attorney, not your own money, or you might be stuck for it. Get the signature of a responsible officer of the insurance company; then you can go to bed.” “Yes, Great Spirit. I’ll vary that; I’m a better lawyer than you are. But the policy will be in force before night, with your money, not mine. Eunice, be careful not to kick those hoses and wires as you go out. But tomorrow you needn’t be careful, as long as you don’t get caught.” She sniffed. “You each have a nasty sense of humor! Boss, I’m going to erase this. I don’t want a million dollars. Not from Joe dying, not from you dying.” “If you don’t want it, Eunice,” her employer said gently, “You can step aside and let the Rare Blood Club have it.” “Uh … Mister Salomon, is that correct?” “Yes, Eunice. But money is nice to have, especially when you don’t have it. Your husband might be annoyed if you turned down a million dollars.” “Uh, ” Missus Branca shut up. “Take care of it, Jake. While thinking about how to buy a warm body. And how to get Boyle here and get him whatever permission he needs to do surgery in this country. And so forth. And tell, no, I’ll tell her. Miss MacIntosh!” “Yes, Mister Smith?” came a voice from the bed console. “Get your team in; I want to go to bed.” “Yes, sir. I’ll tell Doctor Garcia.” Jake stood up. “Good day, Johann. You’re a crazy fool.” “Probably. But I do have fun with my money.” “So you do. Eunice, may I run you home?” “Oh, no, sir, thank you. My Gadabout is in the basement.” “Eunice,” said her boss, “can’t you see that the old goat wants to take you home? So be gracious. One of my guards will take your Gadabout home.” “Uh … thank you, Mister Salomon. I accept. Get a good night’s sleep, Boss.” They started to leave. “Wait, Eunice,” Smith commanded. “Hold that pose. Jake, pipe those gams! Eunice, that’s obsolete slang meaning that you have pretty legs.” “So you have told me before, sir, and so my husband often tells me. Boss you’re a dirty old man.” He cackled. “So I am, my dear … and have been since I was six, I’m happy to say.” Two. Mister Salomon helped her into her cloak, rode down with her to the basement, waved his guards aside and handed her into his car. Shotgun locked them in, got in by driver-guard and locked that compartment. As she sat down Missus Branca said, “Oh, how big! Mister Salomon, I knew a Rolls was roomy, but I’ve never been in one before.” “A Rolls only by courtesy, my dear, body by Skoda, power plant by Imperial Atomics, then Rolls-Royce pretties it and backs it with their reputation and service. You should have seen a Rolls fifty years ago, before gasoline engines were outlawed. There was a dream car!” “This one is dreamy enough. Why, my little Gadabout would fit inside this compartment.” A voice from the ceiling said, “Orders, sir?” Mister Salomon touched a switch. “One moment, Rockford.” He lifted his hand. “Where do you live, Eunice? Or the coordinates of wherever you want to go?” “Oh. I’ll go home. North one one eight, west thirty-seven, then up to level nineteen, though I doubt that this enormous car will fit into the vehicle lift.” “If not, Rocky and his partner will escort you up the passenger lift and to your door.” “That’s nice. Joe doesn’t want me to ride passenger lifts by myself.” “Joe is right. So we’ll deliver you like a courier letter. Eunice, are you in a hurry?” “Me? Joe expects me when I get there, Mister Smith’s working hours being so irregular now. Today I’m quite early.” “Good.” Mister Salomon again touched the intercom switch. “Rockford, we’re going to kill some time. Uh, Missus Branca, what zone for those coordinates? Eighteen something?” “Nineteen-B, sir.” “Find a cruising circle near nineteen-B; I’ll give you coordinates later.” “Very good, sir.” Salomon went on to Eunice. “This compartment is soundproof unless I thumb this switch; they can talk to me but can’t hear us. Which is good as I want to discuss things with you and make phone calls about that insurance policy.” “Oh! Surely that was a joke?” “Joke, eh? Missus Branca, I have been working for Johann Smith for twenty-six years, the last fifteen with his affairs as my sole practice. Today he made me de-facto chairman of his industrial empire. Yet if I failed to carry out his orders about that insurance policy, tomorrow I would be out of a job.” “Oh, surely not! He depends on you.” “He depends on me as long as he can depend on me and not one minute longer. That policy must be written tonight. I thought you had quit fretting when you learned that you could step aside for the Rare Blood Club?” “Well, yes. Except that I’m afraid I might get greedy and take it. When the time comes.” “And why not? The Rare Blood Club has done nothing for him; you have done much.” “I’m well paid.” “Listen, you silly child, don’t be a silly child. He wanted you to have a million dollars in his will. And he wanted you to know it so that he could enjoy seeing your face. I pointed out that it is too late to change his will. Even this insurance gimmick is chancy if his natural heirs get a look at the books and discover it, which I shall try to prevent, as a judge might decide it was just a dodge, as it is, and require the insurance company to pay it to his estate. Which is where the Rare Blood Club comes in handy; they would probably fight it and win, if you cut them in for half. “But there are other ways. Suppose you knew nothing about this and were invited to the reading of his will and discovered that your deceased employer had bequeathed you a lifetime income ‘in grateful appreciation of long and faithful service.’ Would you turn it down?” “Uh, ” she said, and stopped. ” ‘Uh,’ ” he repeated. “Exactly ‘uh.’ Of course you wouldn’t turn it down. He’d be gone and you’d be out of a job and there would be no reason to refuse it. So, instead of a lump sum so big it embarrasses you, I’m going to write a policy that sets up a trust to pay you an annuity.” He paused to think. “A safe return, after taxes, on a trust is about four percent. What would you say to around seven hundred and fifty a week? Would that upset you?” “Well … no. I understand seven hundred and fifty dollars much better than I understand a million.” “The beauty of it is that we can use the principal to insure against inflation, and you can still leave that million, or more, to the Rare Blood Club when your own Black Camel kneels.” “Really? How wonderful! I never will understand high finance.” “That’s because most people think of money as something to pay the rent. But a money man thinks of money in terms of what he can do with it. Never mind, I’ll fix it so that all you need to do is spend it. I’ll use a Canadian insurance company and a Canadian bank, as each will be stuffy about letting a U.S. court look at its records. In case his granddaughters find out what I’ve done, I mean.” “Oh. Mister Salomon, shouldn’t this money go to them?” “Again, don’t be silly. They are harpies. Snapping turtles. And had nothing to do with making this money. Do you know anything about Johann’s family? Outlived three wives, and his fourth married him for his money and it cost him millions to get shut of her. His first wife gave him a son and died in doing so, then Johann’s son was killed trying to capture a worthless hill. Two more wives, two divorces, a daughter by each of those two wives resulting in a total of four granddaughters, and those ex-wives and their daughters are all dead, and their four carnivorous descendants have been waiting for Johann to die and sore at him because he hasn’t.” Salomon grinned. “They’re in for a shock. I wrote his will so as to give them small lifetime incomes, and chop them off with a minimal dollar if they contest. Now excuse me; I must make phone calls, then take you home and run over to Canada and nail this down.” “Yes, sir. Do you mind if I take off my cloak? It’s rather warm.’” “Want the cooling turned up?” “Only if you are too warm. But this cloak is heavier than it looks.” “I noticed it was heavy. Body armor?” “Yes, sir. I’m out by myself quite a lot.” “No wonder you’re too warm. Take it off. Take off anything you wish to.” She grinned at him. “I wonder if you are a dirty old man, too. For another million?” “Not a durned dime! Shut up, child, and let me phone.” “Yes, sir.” Missus Branca wiggled out of her cloak, then raised the leg rest on her side, stretched out, and relaxed. Such a strange day! … am I really going to be rich? … doesn’t seem real … well, I’m not going to spend a dime, or let Joe spend it, unless it’s safe in the bank … learned that the hard way first year we were married … some men understand money, such as Mister Salomon, or Boss, and some don’t, such as Joe … but as sweet a husband as a girl could wish … as long as I never again let him share a joint account … Dear Joe! … those are pretty ‘gams’ if you do say so as shouldn’t, you bitch … ‘Bitch, ’ … how quaint Boss is with his old-fashioned taboos … always necessary not to shock him, not too much, that is; Boss enjoys a slight flavor of shock, like a whiff of garlic … especially necessary not to annoy him with language everybody uses nowadays … Joe is good for a girl, never have to be careful around him … except about money, Wonder what Joe would think if he could see me locked in this luxurious vault with this old goat? … probably be amused but best not to tell him, dearie; men’s minds don’t work the way ours do, men are not logical … wrong to think of Mister Salomon as an ‘old goat’ though; he certainly has not acted like one … you had to reach for that provocative remark, didn’t you, dear? … just to see what he would say … and found out! … got squelched, Is he too old? … hell, no, dear, the way they hike ‘em up with hormones a man is never ‘too old’ until he’s too feeble to move … the way Boss is … not that Boss ever made the faintest pass even years back when he was still in fair shape … Did Boss really expect to regain his youth by transplanting his brain? … arms and legs and kidneys and even hearts, sure, sure, but a brain? … Salomon switched off the telephone. “Done,” he announced. “All but signing papers, which I’ll do in Toronto this evening.” “I’m sorry to be so much trouble, sir.” “My pleasure.” “I do appreciate it. And I must think about how to thank Boss, didn’t thank him today but didn’t think he meant it.” “Don’t thank him.” “Oh, but I must. But I don’t know how. How does one thank a man for a million dollars? And not seem insincere?” “Um! There are ways. But, in this case, don’t. My dear, you delighted Johann when you showed no trace of gratitude; I know him. Too many people have thanked him in the past … then figured him as an easy mark and tried to bleed him again. Then tried to knife him when he turned out not to be. So don’t thank him. Sweet talk he does not believe; he figures it’s always aimed at his money. I notice you’re spunky with him.” “I have to be, sir, or he tromps on me. He had me in tears a couple of times, years back, before I found out he wanted me to stand up to him.” “You see? The old tyrant is making bets with himself as to whether you’ll come trotting in tomorrow and lick his hand like a dog. So don’t even mention it. Tell me about yourself, Eunice, age, how long you’ve been married, and how often, number of children, childhood diseases, why you aren’t on video, what your husband does, how you got to be Johann’s secretary, number of arrests and for what, Or tell me to go to hell; you are entitled to privacy. But I would like to know you better; we are going to be working together from here on.” “I don’t mind answering”, (I’ll tell just want I want to tell!), ”but does this work both ways?” She stopped to let down the leg rest, straightened up. “Do I quiz you the same way?” He chuckled. “Certainly. I may take the Fifth. Or lie.” “I could lie, too, sir. But I don’t need to. I’m twenty-eight and married once and still am. No children, no children yet; I’m licensed for three. As for my job, well, I won a beauty contest at eighteen, the sort that offers a one-year contract making appearances around your home state, plus a video test with an option for a seven-year contract, ” “And they didn’t pick up your option. I’m astonished.” “Not that, sir. Instead I took stock of myself, and quit. Winning that state contest and then losing the national contest made me realize how many pretty girls there are. Too many. And some things I heard from them about what you have to go through to get into video and stay there… well, I didn’t want it that much. And went back to school and took an associate’s degree in secretarial electronics, with a minor in computer language and cybernetics, and went looking for a job.” (And I’m not going to tell you how I got through school!) “And eventually filled in as Missus Bierman’s secretary while her regular secretary had a baby … then she didn’t come back and I stayed on … and when Missus Bierman retired, Boss let me fill in. And kept me on. So here I am, a very lucky girl.” “A very smart girl. But I’m sure your looks had much to do with Johann’s decision to keep you on.” “I know they did,” she answered quietly. “But he would not have kept me had I not been able to do his work. I know how I look but I’m not conceited about it; appearance is a matter of heredity.” “So it is,” he agreed, “but there are impressive data to show that beautiful women are, on the average, more intelligent than homely ones.” “Oh, I don’t think so! Take Missus Bierman, downright homely. But she was terribly smart.” “I said ‘On the average,’” he repeated. “What is ‘Beauty’? A lady hippopotamus must look beautiful to her boyfriend, or we would run out of hippopotamuses, potami, in one generation. What we think of as ‘Physical beauty’ is almost certainly a tag for a complex of useful survival characteristics. Smartness, intelligence, among them. Do you think that a male hippopotamus would regard you as beautiful?” She giggled. “Not likely!” “You see? In reality you’re no prettier than a female hippopotamus; you are simply an inherited complex of survival characteristics useful to your species.” “I suppose so.” (Humph! Give me one opening and I’ll show you what I am.) “But since Johann, and I, are of your species, what that means to us is ‘Beauty.’ Which Johann has always appreciated.” “I know he does,” she said quietly. She straightened her scarlet-covered leg in full extension and looked at it. “I dress this way to amuse Boss. When I first went to work for Smith Enterprises I wore as little as the other girls in the outer offices, you know, skin paint and not much else. Then when I went to work for Missus Bierman I started dressing quite modestly because she did, covered up all over, I mean, like Nurse MacIntosh, not even a see-through. Uncomfortable. I went on dressing that way when Missus Bierman left. Until one morning I had only one such outfit, I wore disposables, cheaper than having them cleaned, and spilled coffee down the front and was caught with nothing to wear. “And no time to buy anything for I was more afraid of being late, you know how impatient Mister Smith is, than I was that he might disapprove of my dress. Or lack of it. So I gritted my teeth and got out an office-girl bikini and asked Joe to paint me and hurry it up! Joe’s an artist, did I say?” “I don’t believe so.” “He is. He does my skin painting, even styles my face. But I was late anyhow that morning as Joe really is an artist and refused to let it go with just spraying me the background color. The two-piece was white with assorted sizes of big blue polka dots … and Joe insisted on continuing the pattern all over me, with me cussing and telling him to hurry and him insisting on painting just one more big polka dot. I was so late that I cut through an Abandoned Area I ordinarily circled around.” “Eunice, you should never go into an Abandoned Area. God, God, child, even the police don’t risk it other than in a car as well armored as this one. You could be mugged, raped, and murdered and no one would ever know.” “Yes, sir. But I was scared of losing my job. I tried to explain to Boss why I was late, and he told me to shut up and go to work. Nevertheless he was unusually mellow that day. The next day I wore the sort of full cover-up I have been wearing, and he was downright mean all day. Mister Salomon, I don’t have to be slapped in the face with a wet fish; from then on I quit trying to look like a nun, and dressed and painted to enhance what I’ve got, as effectively as possible.” “It’s effective. But, dear, you should be more careful. It’s all very well to wear sexy clothes for Johann; that’s charity, the old wretch can’t get much pleasure out of life and is no threat to you, the shape he is in.” “He never was a threat, sir. In all the years I’ve worked for Mister Smith he has never so much as touched my hand. He just makes flattering remarks about each new getup, sometimes quite salty and then I sass him and threaten to tell my husband, which makes him cackle. All innocent as Sunday School.” “I’m sure it is. But you must be more careful going to and from work. I don’t mean just stay out of Abandoned Zones. Dressed the way you dress and looking as you do, you are in danger anywhere. Don’t you realize it? Doesn’t your husband know it?” “Oh. I’m careful, sir; I know what can happen, I see the news. But I’m not afraid. I’m carrying three unregistered illegal weapons, and know how to use them. Boss got them for me and had his gaurds train me.” “Um. As an officer of the Court I should report you. As a human being who knows what a deadly jungle this city is, I applaud your good sense. If you really do know how to use them. If you have the courage to use them promptly and effectively. If, having defended yourself, you’re smart enough to get away fast and say nothing to cops. That’s a lot of ‘ifs,’ dear.” “Truly, I’m not afraid. Uh, if you were my attorney, anything I told you would be privileged, would it not?” “Yes. Are you asking me to be your attorney?” “Uh … yes, sir.” “Very well, I am. Privileged. Go ahead.” “Well, one night I had to go out on a blood-donor call. By myself, Joe wasn’t home. Didn’t worry me, I’ve made donations at night many times and often alone. I keep my Gadabout in our flat and stay in it until I’m inside the hospital or whatever. But, Do you know that old, old hospital on the west side, Our Lady of Mercy?” “I’m afraid not.” “No matter. It’s old, built before the government gave up trying to guarantee safety in the streets. No vehicle lift, no indoor parking. Just a lot with a fence and a guard at the gate. Happened when I came out. This frog tried to hop me between the parked cars. Don’t know whether he was after my purse. Or me. Didn’t wait to find out, don’t even know if it was a man, could have been a woman, ” “Unlikely.” “As may be. Stun bomb in his face with my left hand as I zapped with my right and didn’t wait to see if he was dead. Buzzed out of there and straight home. Never told the police, never told Joe, never told anybody until just now.” But it took a triple dose of Narcotol to stop your shakes, didn’t it, dearie, oh, shut up, that’s not the point. “So you’re a brave girl and can shoot if you have to. But you are a silly girl, too, and very lucky. Um. Johann has an armored car much like this and two shifts of guards to go with it.” “Of course he has guards, sir, but I know nothing about his cars.” “He has a Rolls-Skoda. Eunice, we are no longer going to depend on how fast you are with weapons. You can sell your Gadabout or plant flowers in it; from here on you’ll have mobile guards and an armored car. Always.” Missus Branca looked startled. “But, Mister Salomon! Even with my new salary I couldn’t begin to, ” “Switch off, dear. You know that Johann will never again ride in a car. Chances are he will never leave that room. But he still owns his personal defense car; he still keeps a double crew, two drivers, two Shotguns, and maybe they run an errand once a week. Eating their heads off and playing pinochle the rest of the time. Tomorrow morning my car will pick you up; tomorrow afternoon your own car, Johann’s, will take you home. And will be on call for you at all other times, too.” “I’m not sure Boss is going to like this.” “Forget it. I’m going to chew him out for letting you take risks. If he gives me any back talk, he’ll find I have enough chips to hire you away from him. Be sensible, Eunice; this doesn’t cost him a dollar; it’s a business expense that he is already incurring. Change of subject. What do you think of his plans for this soi-disant ‘warm body’?” “Is a brain transplant possible? Or is he grabbing at a straw? I know he’s not happy tied down to all that horrid machinery, goodness. I’ve been combing the shops for the naughtiest styles I can find but it gets harder and harder to get a smile out of him. Is it practical, this scheme?” “That’s beside the point, dear; he’s ordered it and we are going to deliver. This Rare Blood Club, does it have all the A-B-Negatives?” “Heavens, no. The last club report showed less than four thousand A-B-Negs enrolled out of a nationwide probability of about million.” “Too bad. What do you think of his notion of page ads and prime time on video?” “It would cost a dreadful lot of money. But I suppose he can afford it.” “Certainly. But it stinks.” “Sir?” “Eunice, if this transplant is to take place, there must be no publicity. Do you remember the fuss when they started freezing people? No, you’re too young. It touched a bare nerve which set off loud howls, and the practice was very nearly prohibited, on the theory that, since most people can’t afford it, no one should be allowed to have it. The Peepul, bless ‘em, our country has at times been a democracy, an oligarchy, a dictatorship, a republic, a socialism, and mixtures of all of those, without changing its basic constitution, and now we are a defacto anarchy under an elected dictator even though we still have laws and legislatures and Congress. But through all of this that bare nerve has always been exposed: the idea that if everyone can’t have something, then no one should have it. So what will happen when one of the richest men in the country advertises that he wants to buy another man’s living body, just to save his own stinking, selfish life?” “I don’t think Boss is all that bad. If you make allowances for his illness, he’s rather sweet.” “Beside the point. That bare nerve will jump like an ulcerated tooth. Preachers will denounce him and bills will be submitted in legislatures and the A.M.A. will order its members to have nothing to with it and Congress might even pass a law against it. Oh, the Supreme Court would find such a law unconstitutional I think, but by then Johann would be long dead. So no publicity. Does the Rare Blood Club know who these other A-B-Negatives are who are not members?” “I don’t know. I don’t think so.” “We’ll check. I would hazard that at least eighty percent of the people in this country have had their blood typed at some time. Does blood type ever change?” “Oh, no, never. That’s why we rares, that’s what we call ourselves, are so in demand.” “Good. Almost all of the population who have been typed have the fact listed in computers somewhere, and with computers so interlinked today it is a matter of what questions to ask and how and where, and I don’t know how, but I know the firm to hire for it. We progress, my dear. I’ll get that started and off-load the details onto you, and then get other phases started and leave you to check on them while I go to South America and see this butcher Boyle. And, ” “Mister Salomon! Bad turf coming up.” Salomon thumbed his intercom. “Roger.” He added, “Damn them. Those two beauties like to go through Abandoned Areas. They hope somebody will shoot so that they will have legal excuse to shoot back. I’m sorry, my dear. With you aboard I should have given orders to stay out of A.A.s no matter what.” “It’s my fault,” Missus Branca said meekly. “I should have told you that it is almost impossible to circle near Nineteen-B without crossing a bad zone. I have to detour way around to reach Boss’s house. But we’re safe inside, are we not?” “Oh, yes. If we’re hit, this old tank has to be prettied up, that’s all. But I should not have to tell them. Rockford isn’t so bad; he’s just a Syndicate punk, an enforcer who took a fall. But Charlie, the one riding Shotgun, is mean. An XYZ. Committed his first murder at eleven. He, ” Steel shutters slid up around them and covered the bulletproof glass. “We must be entering the A.A.” Inside lights came on as shutters darkened windows. Missus Branca said, “You make it sound as if we were in more danger from your mobiles than we are from the bad zone.” He shook his head. “Not at all, my dear. Oh, I concede that any rational society would have liquidated them, but since we don’t have capital punishment I make use of their flaws. Both are on probation paroled to me, and they like their jobs. Plus some other safe, ” The rap-rap-rap! of an automatic weapon stitched the length of the car. In that closed space the din was ear-splitting. Missus Branca gasped and clutched at her host. A single explosion, still louder, went POUNGK! She buried her face in his shoulder, clung harder. “Got ‘im!” a voice yelped. The lights went out. “They got us?” she asked, her voice muffled by the ruffles of his shirt. “No. no.” He patted her and put his right arm firmly around her. “Charlie got them. Or thinks he did. That last was our turret gun. You’re safe, dear.” “But the lights went out.” “Sometimes happens. The concussion. I’ll find the switch for the emergency lights.” He started to take his arms from around her. “Oh, no! Just hold me, please, I don’t mind the dark. Feel safer in it, if you hold me.” “As you wish, my dear.” He settled himself more comfortably, and closer. Presently he said softly, “My goodness, what a snuggly baby you are.” “You’re pretty snuggly yourself … Mister Salomon.” “Can’t you say ‘Jake’? Try it.” “‘Jake.’ Yes, Jake. Your arms are so strong. How old are you, Jake?” “Seventy-one.” “I can’t believe it. You seem ever so much younger.” “Old enough to be your grandfather, little snuggle puppy. I simply look younger … in the dark. But one year into borrowed time according to the Bible.” “I won’t let you talk that way; you’re young! Let’s not talk at all, Jake. Dear Jake.” “Sweet Eunice.” Some minutes later the driver’s voice announced, “All clear, sir,” as the shutters started sliding down, and Missus Branca hastily disentangled herself from her host. She giggled nervously. “My goodness!” “Don’t fret. It’s one-way glass.” “That’s a comfort. Just the same, that light is like a dash of cold water.” “Um, yes. Breaks the mood. Just when I was feeling young.” “But you are young, Mister Salomon.” “Jake.” “‘Jake.’ Years don’t count, Jake. Goodness me, I got skin paint all over your shirt ruffles.” “Fair enough, I mussed your hair.” “My hair I can comb. But what will your wife say when she sees that shirt?” “She’ll ask why I didn’t take it off. Eunice dear, I have no wife. Years ago she turned me in on a newer model.” “A woman of poor tast

Foreword by Jason Bashura, Biodefense and Public Health. In March 2020, my friend Andrew G. Huff texted me and wanted to talk. He was seeking a letter of recommendation (LoR) to support his readmission to the US Army to help the looming domestic “fight” on what was evolving into the COVID-19 pandemic. An excerpt to my LoR (dated March 30, 2020) states: When Doctor Huff’s career progressed, I was amazed but not surprised by his work ethic and focus that he and his team were engaged in pertaining to Global Public Health research including, but not limited to, evaluating the impacts that worker absenteeism would have on the food supply in the midst of a pandemic. And the letter of recommendation concluded with: The depth and breadth of Andrew’s experience is evident in how he has applied his vast educational foundation. He has simultaneously developed expertise in supply chains, systems engineering, security, and public health, and I believe this overlap in skillset and knowledge will serve him well in this new role. I am thrilled to be able to recommend Doctor Huff for this opportunity, and I am humbled that he asked me to offer this letter of support. Knowing that Doctor Huff would be serving OUR country in this capacity to fight the COVID-19 Pandemic to me is the penultimate opportunity for him to display courage, leadership, experience, and progress in protecting the public’s health and well-being. Passionate. Tenacious. Fiercely loyal. Patriotic toourcountry, in every letter of the word. A forward, big picture thinker. A problem-solving, systems-based, public health, minded, and practically driven freethinker. Observant. Andrew Huff’s character traits and skill sets are unparalleled. From his early work with the University of Minnesota’s National Center for Food Protection and Defense (NCFPD, recently renamed to the Food Protection and Defense Institute) to his deterministic risk-based work with Sandia National Laboratories, to his academic and public health veterinarian driven pursuits with Michigan State University, to the opportunities that appeared to be promising with EcoHealth Alliance, and now in private enterprising small business, I’ve been fortunate to have been able to learn from, appreciate, observe, and recommend Andrew’s work and spirit to improve tomorrow, based on lessons learned yesterday. Fast forward nearly two years. Another text from Andrew, one that I’llneverforget, from Friday, November 5, 2021 at 9:27 a.m.: Good morning Jason. Have someone at the FBI that you can refer me to right now? It’s an emergency. Now, with good conscience, can any of you honestly say that’s how you want a conversation to begin? Unfortunately, that’s my first memory of the journey that my friend, Andrew Huff, and his family have been on for the last few months. Donald Rumsfeld once said, and I’veoftenrepeated in various iterations, among other interesting lines of thinking, “There are unknown unknowns.” Well, in my mind, now, “there are things that I cannot un-know.” I cannot “forget” the tribulations that Andrew and his family, and community where they live, had, have, and continue to endure since this “escapade” began. One of my initial responses back to him, after confirming that I’d made a few phone calls and gotten him the contacts that he needed thanks to sometrustedcolleagues, was asking about his wife and young son. The goosebumps that I get, even today as I write this, thinking about how she felt, and what their little guy willneverknow about until he’s able to read and understand the overt violations of not only their home and their civil liberties, but also theirworldas they know it. And why? Because Andrew Huff knew (and knows) too much. What ensued in the following couple of days not only gave me goosebumps, but also forced me to rethinkeverythingthat I’d read, heard, learned, and followed since December 2019 (when, as a public health guy, I was aware of what was going on and hoping it wasn’t going to be as bad as it could be). I had worked in local, county, state, and federal public health in various anti-terrorism capacities and public health preparedness, developing a myriad of “response plans” for everything from community-based smallpox mass vaccination to pandemic influenza readiness to anthrax point of distribution (PODs) to anti-viral distribution plans based on evolving guidance from the CDC’s public health emergency response teams. How could we have “seen” this coming and not done anything about it? Why was this research being conducted? Who was paying for it? Could itreallybe the biggest façade in the history of the world? Put yourself in Andrew’s position, imagine being surveilled by drones, tailed everywhere he went, and then to find out thattheywere in his house, violating his personal space tolistento who he was talking to, what he was saying, and when. Put yourself in his position, and open your mind to all he has to say in this book. CHAPTER One. Both Science and the US Government Are Broken. During the week of October 25, 2021, I decided to come forward as a material witness and whistleblower related to SARS-CoV-2. That week my popularity on LinkedIn and Twitter seemed to be taking off, as my followings on both platforms were rapidly increasing. Before the rapid increase, to say that I was bad at social media platforms was an understatement. Maybe it wasn’t so much that I was bad at social media, but that my personality and style often come across to others as being a jerk or being mean, even though that is not my intent. I must warn you; I will never win a Miss Congeniality contest. My directness is due to my desire to get to the point quickly so that we can get the work done and find answers. This is likely a left-over trait that I learned in the military, where there is no time or place for beating around the bush. When there is bad news to be delivered, or if you made a serious mistake, it is best to be honest, concise, and develop a solution rapidly. Then, equally as important as developing a solution, is quickly implementing the solution. Failing fast is the most effective way to move quickly. If you made a bad decision, then you can identify the failure and correct the issue. I am the soldier you want in your foxhole because I understand the battlefield. Over time, and as you age, your heuristics and schemas improve from being exposed to different situations, and you become better at predicting the most likely best solution. Consequently, over time you will become better at hypothesizing the best-case solution to a problem or finding the truth. By using this process, and having a healthy dose of skepticism, I discovered, and reveal in this book, the biggest scandal in the history of the United States. I am deeply saddened and angered by the truth, and I am terrified of the direction that our great nation is heading. This book aims to do what our leaders have failed to do: tell the truth. During the week of October 25, 2021, I reached out to both Alex Berenson and Doctor Bret Weinstein via email and through social media platforms, and I was able to arrange telephone calls with both. Alex and I had three or four long conversations where I really dished the dirt on EcoHealth Alliance. Alex seemed to lose interest or had bigger fish to fry after I told him about the Central Intelligence Agency’s (CIA) involvement with my former boss Doctor Peter Daszak, by Peter’s own admission. This was unfortunate because we did not have the opportunity to get to what I felt was the bigger story related to EcoHealth Alliance. Despite the conversation ending abruptly, I really enjoyed speaking with him, as he asked thoughtful, detailed, and astute questions. Since I can only presume that I am the first and only EcoHealth Alliance employee to come forward, Alex really was interested in the people that work there and their personalities, how I came to my conclusions and assessment of the organization (which changed and became increasingly negative over time). He is an excellent writer and journalist (difficult to find these days due to the suppression of the truth, and those that tell it, by the mainstream media). I look forward to the opportunity to hopefully meet him in person someday. Later that week, I had two of the most stimulating scientific discussions of my life with Doctor Bret Weinstein and Doctor Jan Jekielek. Shortly after those conversations, theEpoch Timespublished an article and infographic which stated that EcoHealth Alliance had been working with the CIA. During the nearly two-hour conversation, we discussed every single aspect of COVID-19. We discussed everything from the failure of the vaccines to how the leaky mRNA vaccines were selecting for increasingly virulent and potentially greater pathogenic strains of COVID. Meaning that through a process of natural selection via reproductive fitness (Darwinian Theory of Evolution) the SARS-CoV-2 virus was becoming more transmissible and less deadly. Simply, the virus would become more transmissible because when a person is vaccinated with a leaky mRNA vaccine, the strains that match the mRNA vaccine are blocked from reproducing, and the strains in the mRNA-vaccinated person’s body continue to replicate. Thus, the leaky mRNA vaccines cause the strains circulating within the vaccinated person’s body to spread to other people regardless of the other person’s vaccination status (either being vaccinated or unvaccinated). This is one of many reasons why the United States’ COVID-19 vaccination policy was flawed and was ultimately doomed. The mRNA vaccine platform stands for modified ribonucleic acid. However, calling the mRNA treatment developed to treat illness due to COVID-19 a vaccine is misleading. In fact, the COVID-19 vaccine is not a vaccine at all, but rather it is a gene therapy. During the time when this book was written in the spring of 2022, it was highly contentious to call the vaccine a gene therapy. Simply stating scientific facts like the COVID “vaccine” is ineffective or stating that the “vaccine” had side effects was reason enough to be banned from social media platforms like LinkedIn (a Microsoft company), Facebook, Twitter, or YouTube (a Google company). In fact, I was banned from both LinkedIn and Facebook in 2021 for somehow violating their terms of service for posting scientific facts. I only posted facts related to science and public health, and then placed my observations about the mRNA vaccines, associated mRNA vaccine side effects, COVID vaccine effectiveness, and the origin of COVID into the appropriate scientific context. What happened from 2019 to 2022 was quite astonishing: An outspoken minority of scientists was proven correct related to numerous issues related to COVID. From mRNA “vaccine” effectiveness to the laboratory origin of SARS-CoV-2, these scientists were proven correct. Another glaring example of the minority scientists being proven correct occurred at the World Health Summit in 2021. In 2021, the president of Bayer’s Pharmaceuticals Division, Stefan Oelrich, stated: Together with Bill and Melinda Gates we’re working very closely on family planning initiatives. We are really taking that leap [to drive innovation], us as a company, Bayer, in cell and gene therapies. Ultimately the mRNA vaccines are an example for that cell and gene therapy. I always like to say: if we had surveyed two years ago in the public, “would you be willing to take a gene or cell therapy and inject it into your body?”, we probably would have had a 95 percent refusal rate. This was astonishing because it confirmed several theories that have been labeled as conspiracies. First, that Bill and Melinda Gates were heavily involved with mRNA vaccine strategy and influencing policy. Second, that the mRNA platform is, in fact, a gene therapy. Third, that the tragedy and fear surrounding the COVID-19 pandemic were used to bring the mRNA platform to market, and, if not for the fear related to COVID, the mRNA platform would have not been accepted by the public. What was well-known by scientists and people watching the COVID story closely was now being stated publicly by one of the leading pharmaceutical company’s executives. While hearing these truths was great, they conveniently came a little too late for the people that were wrongly labeled as conspiracy theorists by US government employees like Doctor Anthony Fauci. The US government-sponsored Moderna and Pfizer “vaccine” trials acknowledged that their gene therapy technology had no impact on viral infection or transmission whatsoever, and that the mRNA gene therapy merely conveys to the recipient the ability to produce a spike protein endogenously by the introduction of a synthetic mRNA sequence into their body. The cited, scientifically dense, clinical trial documents from Moderna and Pfizer were not concise or easy for many people to comprehend, so most people did not know that the mRNA jabs were not tested for vaccine effectiveness against transmission. It became painfully clear to everyone when Pfizer executive Janine Small admitted on October 11, 2022 that the COVID vaccine was not tested for transmission. Operational definitions like how we define a vaccine are incredibly important and are critical to measuring progress, defining success, and making objective comparisons in science. Operational definitions are necessary for honest debate and finding the truth. Clearly, the mRNA platform is a gene therapy and is not a vaccine as promoted by the United States government and mainstream media, and the operational definition of what is a vaccine is being manipulated by US government officials and by the scientists that receive funding from these government agencies and officials. Obviously, there is a large incentive for people to engage in these types of behaviors. Since 2020, there have been numerous US government-funded, peer-reviewed scientific publications that have slowly attempted to erode and change the definition of what a vaccine is.These scientists have stated that reducing the severity of the illness is the primary goal of a vaccine, and this redefining of “vaccine” is complete nonsense. The most troubling of these recent publications are attempting to change how we frame the origin of COVID and the United States government’s response to the pandemic, and were authored by scientists that have significant conflicts of interest with both the origin of COVID and the SARS-CoV-2 mRNA gene therapy platform. The scientists that have received most of the attention are Doctor Ralph Baric, who is a professor at the University of North Carolina Chapel Hill, Doctor Peter Daszak, who is the president of the profitable non-profit organization EcoHealth Alliance, and Doctor Anthony Fauci, the director of a National Institute of Health (NIH) sub-agency, the National Institute of Allergens and Infectious Diseases (NIAID). The real question is: why are these prominent scientists attempting to redefine what constitutes a vaccine? The answer is simple: corruption. These corrupt scientists and government officials have been getting away with these types of behaviors for years. This is how corruption and the funding model and process in science works. First, identify and define the problem. Then, identify which publications and which coauthors will have the most impact on the public discourse. After the collaborators and target publication are identified, try to arrange a phone call with one of the target publication’s editors to obtain political buy-in before a manuscript is submitted. Then, socialize the idea with your peers and select peer reviewers that you know for a fact are on your side, support your reasoning, and support your conclusions. If possible, include coauthors from the project’s sponsors to help present a “diverse” yet unified front. Submit the manuscript to the publication and wait for reviews. Once the manuscript is accepted, have your coauthors and subordinates repeat the thesis of the article in other forms of media and other peer-reviewed journals. This is how scientific consensus and “fact” is established. No research is required. This is exactly how the definition of vaccines is being manipulated. This example is emblematic of how science has become corrupted with the support of US taxpayer funding. This example is representative of what is happening throughout science: corrupt scientists will do or say anything to maintain their funding. In the context of COVID, Doctors Baric, Daszak, and Fauci are attempting to avoid prison for what is discussed later in this book. In mid-December of 2019, I became aware of the infectious disease outbreak in Wuhan, China. Interestingly, I learned of it via nontraditional means. Typically, I receive emerging infectious disease notifications from a platform called ProMED, which is operated by the International Society for Infectious Diseases (ISID). The Program for Monitoring Emerging Diseases (ProMED) is: [A]n internet-based reporting system dedicated to the rapid global dissemination of information on outbreaks of infectious diseases and acute exposures to toxins that affect human health, including those in animals and in plants grown for food or animal feed. Electronic communications enable ProMED to provide up-to-date and reliable news about threats to human, animal, and plant health around the world as quickly as possible. This is the tool that most epidemiologists and public health officials use to receive notification that there are anomalous health events occurring. While working at EcoHealth Alliance, ISID and ProMED were subcontractors on one of my contracts. I had the great pleasure of working with the legendary Doctors Marjorie Pollack, Larry Madoff, and the late Jack Woodall. Doctor Woodall was an early pioneer, using the internet to rapidly collect and validate health surveillance information related to emerging health threats. Much to his credit, ProMED has been one of the most impactful health surveillance tools ever created. ProMED relies on infectious disease experts like Marjorie and Jack to identify, analyze, and request information from people physically located near the source of the event. If the people near the source of the event are compromised in some way, or are being censored by the government, then the health surveillance information, also known as the intelligence, collected can be easily manipulated in a variety of ways. When the health event occurred, where the event occurred, and the characteristics of who is affected can be presented in a manner to intentionally mislead or distort the facts. The first ProMED mail report related to COVID-19 occurred in late December of 2019. By this time, the COVID-19 pandemic had likely been ongoing for at least weeks, if not months. Despite ProMED’s past demonstrated utility and impact, it seems that the platform may not be as effective in places where speech or communications are restricted by the government. Also, the nature of how we communicate and share information has changed. Relying on experts to analyze cases and outbreaks is no longer required for some diseases, as machine learning has been successfully used to automate the analysis of infectious disease reporting in digital and written formats. In the intelligence community, the analysis of digital information to identify early warnings or precursors is also known as signal intelligence (SIGINT) or sometimes communication intelligence (COMINT), depending on the specific context.These are some of the types of technologies or platforms that I designed, built, and refined for an alphabet soup of US government agencies over a period of six years. Despite the technological advances in identifying infectious disease outbreaks, I first learned of the outbreak in Wuhan, China while cruising through a professional forum structured like Reddit. In mid-December 2019, one of the forum members claimed that he was from the region and that there was a wide-spread infectious disease outbreak occurring in Wuhan causing thousands of deaths. The claim immediately piqued my interest, and I decided to attempt to validate the claim. First, I checked ProMED, and there were no reports or requests for information (RFI) related to an infectious disease outbreak in Wuhan, China. Next, I thought of alternative ways to validate the outbreak information, and I recalled a method that I had learned in graduate school. During severe infectious disease outbreaks, bodies need to be rapidly disposed of for numerous health and sanitation reasons. The most common way of disposing of bodies in a dense urban area like Wuhan is cremation of the bodies. There is simply no place to bury the bodies quickly and moving the bodies out of the city creates new exposure risks and requires a new supply chain to be established. It is much easier, safer, and more efficient to burn the bodies. When human bodies are burned at crematoriums, they release large amounts of fine particulate matter into the air, which can be easily inhaled and caught in the lungs. Particulate matter (PM) comes in all sizes but two of the most common measured by institutions concerned with air quality and pollution are PM 2.5 and PM 10. The number after PM indicates the size of particle in micrometers, and high PM 2.5 and PM 10 concentrations in the air cause numerous respiratory diseases. For these reasons, PM 2.5 and PM 10 data are collected continuously for numerous large cities or places with air quality concerns globally. Often, these air pollutant data are loaded into and modeled by a type of software called a geographic information system (GIS) so that the dispersion and concentration of the particulate matter can be visualized with a plume dispersion model. You are probably familiar with Google Maps or Google Earth, and these are simple types of GIS platforms that are used for land navigation or simple spatial analyses, and the map layer can be overlaid with other objects or shapes to represent various phenomena like wildfire origins and smoke plumes in the western United States during fire season. Governments internationally, from small cities to large national organizations like the US and Chinese Environmental Protection Agencies, and from small private companies to large research-focused academic institutions collect PM 2.5 and PM 10 air pollution data. Many of these organizations provide the data for analysis in a GIS or provide an online GIS and plume modeling platform for PM of various sizes. Since Wuhan, China and eastern China in general have significant air pollution problems, obtaining PM data down to the city block level is not difficult, and many GIS and plume models already exist. So, in mid-December 2019, I analyzed the PM 2.5 data and created a map layer with pinpoints for the crematoriums in and around Wuhan, and I found that the crematoriums were operating in overdrive. I was shocked, and I immediately started contacting friends and colleagues in my inner circle to share the information that I had learned. In the back of my mind, I knew that EcoHealth Alliance had been performing gain of function work at the Wuhan Institute of Virology, but that fact alone was not enough to draw any conclusions as to the source or cause of the disease at the time. The thing that was most puzzling to me was why wasn’t the US government sounding the alarm to the public and taking actions to prepare and respond to this terrifying emerging infectious disease threat?! There have been times when governments have not been transparent about disasters with significant global health related consequences. Classic examples are when the USSR attempted to hide a biological laboratory leak in 1977 that resulted in the re-emergence of the H1N1 pandemic flu strain which killed 700,000 people globallyand the explosion and meltdown of the Number 4 nuclear reactor in Chernobyl, Ukraine that resulted in radioactive fallout being spread across Europe and western Asia, which caused an estimated 200,000 to 985,000 latent deaths due to various types of radiation exposures to the population and environment. It turns out that SARS-CoV-2, the agent that causes COVID-19, will be added to that list, as will China and my home country the United States of America. CHAPTER Two. The Long Path to Enlightenment. I am making some rather bold claims in this book, and numerous people, including Doctor Peter Daszak, president at EcoHealth Alliance, have claimed that I am “lying about everything.” I am not lying about anything. Doctor Daszak is a liar, and I will prove it in this book. I feel that communicating my past is important because I prefer to be up-front and transparent about who and what I am, and I am not a person who glosses over my failures. Those failures are important in shaping the person that I have become, and there is no better way to learn than via failures. In 1995, my father and I took a trip to Colorado where we made it a point to visit the Air Force Academy in Colorado Springs. At the time, I was 5’8” and had my eyes set on becoming a fighter pilot. In 1999, I grew six inches in a year to just over 6’4”, and my dreams of being a fighter pilot were dashed. I didn’t complete high school for a myriad of reasons. I had made the decision to complete all my core courses by the end of tenth grade, I had passed all the necessary high school graduation tests and had performed well on the ACT exams. At the end of tenth grade, all my core competency courses in history, science, math, and English had been completed. The only courses that I had left to complete were elective courses, and I was completely bored with high school. I enrolled and participated in just enough high school coursework to stay active in athletic programs and the social life at school. At the age of sixteen, I had my sights set on college and wanted to leave the K-12 public education system as it spent most of its resources directed at the lowest common denominator of students. Later in life, I learned that a non-trivial number of people that obtain PhDs had similar feelings and conflicts with the public education system. I wanted to be enrolled in a program called the Post-Secondary Education Option, but my administrator did not believe that I would make it through college and would not approve of me attending college, even though I’d already been accepted to several programs. So, I spent most of my time skipping classes, reading in the library, and focusing on part-time work and athletics. In the year 2000, I decided to attend Saint Cloud State University (SCSU) in Saint Cloud, Minnesota. The decision was driven by the fact that some of my best friends at the time were attending SCSU and the tuition and cost of living were quite reasonable. Tuition my freshman year was only $2,784 per year, and my half of the rent was only $200 per month. At the time, Saint Cloud State had a reputation as a party school. Back then, I wasn’t seeking the party atmosphere, but I was not attempting to avoid it either. It seemed at this party school that every night, except Tuesdays and Wednesdays, there was an excuse to drink heavily. Most freshmen drank and flunked their way out of college, never to be seen again on campus. I later learned in life that this is true at most universities regardless of their perceived status as a party school. I had decided to major in finance and economics, and like most freshmen at SCSU, I developed what I eventually determined was a drinking problem during my freshmen year. I drank essentially every Thursday, Friday, Saturday, and Sunday. I also smoked two packs of cigarettes per week on average, which were quite affordable at only three dollars per pack in the early 2000s in Minnesota. As I observed my friends at school begin to flunk out my freshmen year, I decided to take things more seriously. I was spending way too much time and effort on chasing the opposite sex and drinking. In early September 2001, my roommates and I were walking on a beautiful sunny fall day to class across campus. We were joking around and making small talk, when a hysterical woman our age ran up behind us and exclaimed that an airplane had just hit the World Trade Center around 8 a.m. Central time. My roommates and I didn’t think much of it and, in my mind, I instantly thought of the building that was struck with a Cessna flown by a deranged man that was upset with the Internal Revenue Service over his taxes. As the young woman ran past us, we snickered about how crazy she was. As we approached the center of campus, it was eerily quiet, and people were jogging into buildings and were huddling around the latest 1990s bulky and heavy flat screen television technology. As my roommates and I split up to go to different buildings, I had about forty minutes to burn before my first class of the day and decided to walk into the Atwood Memorial Center. I approached one of the televisions and the building was packed full of people huddled around the brand-new HD televisions. The student hall was so quiet that you could hear the light static from a person walking across the carpet forty feet away. As I walked up to the television and began to watch the smoldering World Trade Center tower, a second passenger jet came into the frame and struck the other tower, bursting into flames. As the tower was struck, two young women took off crying and ran out of the student center. I began to call and text friends, and the cell phone providers’ networks were overloaded and many of the attempted calls and text messages failed to connect. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing and hearing and decided to go home as classes were beginning to be canceled. I eventually connected with my roommates over the next thirty minutes, and we walked backed to our car. During the brief walk, we discussed what was now obvious: the United States was under attack, and we were entering a new period of war. The previous year, I had met a close friend at one of the designated party houses near campus jokingly named The Ritz. The Ritz reeked of booze and cleaning solvents and was the kind of place where shoes were required to protect yourself from the filth. This new friend was wild, daring, obnoxious, boisterous, and brilliant. For this book, I will call him “Harry.” Harry was an infantryman in the Minnesota Army National Guard, which had a rich military history. The Minnesota National Guard participated in several battles throughout the Civil War.In 1861, they were heavily engaged at the First Battle of Bull Run and the Battle of Ball’s Bluff. In May 1862, the Minnesota National Guard became part of the First Brigade, Second Division, Second Corps of the Army of the Potomac. As a part of this Corps, the Minnesota National Guard participated in the Peninsula Campaign, the Seven Days Battle, and Antietam in Maryland where they sustained heavy losses. These battles paled in comparison to the fighting which occurred at Gettysburg, where the First Minnesota was crucial to the future success of the Union Army. During this second day of fighting at Gettysburg, troops of the Minnesota Army National Guard charged the Confederates, securing the Federals’ position on Cemetery Ridge, which was essential to winning the battle. During the Battle of Gettysburg, the Minnesota Infantry secured Virginia’s Confederate battle flag, and the flag is on display at the Minnesota State Capital Building. The Minnesota National Guard was called to action for both World War I and World War II, where units served globally in most theaters and campaigns, but would not see action again until activated to serve in Operation Joint Forge in Bosnia and Herzegovina and Operation Joint Guardian in Kosovo. Immediately after September 11, Harry and I spent increasingly more time together, and I often asked him questions about serving in the military. I also enrolled in the Army Reserve Officer Training Corp (ROTC) program at SCSU and began physical training and coursework to become an officer. Many of my new friends in Army ROTC were also serving in the Army Reserves or the Army National Guard, which was highly recommended by the ROTC cadre. While the news cycle was dominated by Al Qaeda terrorists and the counterattack of the terrorists’ home base in Afghanistan authorized by President George W. Bush’s signing of the use of force, I was debating whether I should join the fight. In ROTC, I was exposed to people working in almost every branch of the military, and I decided that if I enlisted in the army, that I wanted to be with my friend Harry and do what I thought was the most brave and difficult job possible, to be an infantryman. In early 2002, I was introduced to Harry’s Army National Guard recruiter, and I decided to enlist as an infantryman. In summer 2002, I had filled out all the paperwork and signed the contracts to enlist in the Minnesota Army National Guard as an 11C (pronounced “eleven Charlie”), an indirect fire infantryman.These recruits go through the same infantry basic training school in Fort Benning, Georgia but are split apart from the rest of the company a few weeks from the end of infantry training to receive advanced training in the mortar weapons platforms. In August 2002, I completed my medical evaluation and the Armed Services Vocational Aptitude Battery (ASVAB), where I tested very well and had very high general technical (GT) scores. GT scores are used by the military to determine if an individual has the aptitude for various occupations in the military. Based on my high scores, the army officer in charge at the military entrance and processing station at Fort Snelling pulled me aside into his office and tried his best to encourage me to switch occupations into aviation or medical, which I politely declined. I wanted the tough job and wanted to serve with my friends. Later that day I was sworn into the military as an infantryman. Upon being sworn in I was ordered to report to my readiness NCO (non-commissioned officer) at the Headquarters Company Detachment of theI-I94th Armor Battalion as soon as reasonably possible. What makes the Amy National Guard different is that you can begin training with your unit before you complete basic training. This can be a huge advantage to National Guard soldiers entering the military. After reporting to the readiness NCO, I was provided with the annual drill schedule, selected basic training dates for May 2003, and was issued all my equipment and uniforms at my armory located in Saint Cloud, Minnesota. At ROTC, I had already learned the basics of being a soldier: Army traditions, values, land navigation, movement, marching, small unit tactics, basic rifle skills and marksmanship, command structure, and operational planning. In my guard unit, I was being taught practical skills and was assigned mostly low-level tasks as a private. Guarding ammunition and weapons systems, preparing ammunition, radio communications, and a healthy amount of cleaning and maintenance of vehicles, weapons, and facilities. During my first full drill in September 2002, I spent the day with both the scout platoon and the mortar platoon preparing ammunition for crew-served weapons training and testing. The first two days were quite boring, but on the last day both platoons had completed training and testing on several machine gun platforms: the M60 (7.62 mm), 240B (7.62mm), M2 (.50 caliber), and the SAW (5.56mm). The NCO in charge at the firing range communicated that we had two extra pallets of ammunition that had to be expended and that the M60s were to be destroyed; decommissioned and replaced by the 240B. At the end of National Guard drill weekend, everyone is typically exhausted as the soldiers must complete a month’s worth of active-duty training in a period of only two to four days. Typically, the command gets little sleep discussing the operation and completing administrative duties, and the soldiers have duties non-stop from 4 a.m. to 11 p.m., if everything goes according to plan. This meant that the higher-ranking soldiers were not in any mood for more training. Since I was the only green soldier who had not been to basic training, I was “asked” if I wanted to shoot and receive training on these weapons systems from the most well-seasoned and disciplined NCOs in my unit. This became one of the most valuable and exciting training days of my life. I had the opportunity to receive one-on-one training, and fire through tens of thousands of rounds on a pop-up range. I was quickly taught how to clear jams and double feeds on the crew-served weapons. Especially on the M60s as the frequency with which these machine guns jammed was part of the reason that they were being phased out of the military. I learned to fire a six to eight rough burst of fire precisely and reliably into the target, learned how to walk rounds below and into the target, and perform volley fires with a team of machine gunners to maintain a constant rate of suppressing fire during reloads, jams, or tactical movements. At the end of our training, we fired so many rounds through the M60s in succession that the barrels became so hot that they glowed, became translucent, and began to sag, effectively damaging the M60s beyond repair. Between August and May 2003, I continued with my course work at SCSU, and my grades were improving across the board. By the time I attended basic training in the summer of 2003, I had completed most of the training that I would later be taught and had received advanced training in numerous areas like radio communications, night vision and vehicle operations, crew-served weapons like the Mark-19 grenade launcher, and mounted land navigation. I began collecting every army field or technical manual that I could get my hands on and began reading them all. I was reading instruction manuals on demolition, leadership, tactics, and even field sanitation. In May 2003, I moved all my personal items into temporary storage and shipped off to basic training. The National Guard is different than active duty in one substantial way: I trained on all the individual and crew-served weapons before attending basic training. This is a huge advantage and makes basic training very boring. Basic training was exactly what I expected. The only personal problem that I had with infantry school was that I was bored. The classes were being taught at a very basic level, and I understood why the drill instructors needed to spend so much time instructing the recruits on basic tasks. The tasks were dangerous, and small mistakes by anyone in the unit could get everyone killed, even in training. There were a few other National Guardsmen in my company that were also in ROTC, and we all commiserated together. Numerous people washed out from infantry school, and by my estimation, 20 percent of the recruits were eliminated due to behavior problems, mental health issues, physical injuries, or performance issues. I sustained stress fractures in my feet, a common problem at infantry basic training, which luckily healed a few weeks before graduation. By the end of training, it was impressive to see how much we all improved as individuals and as a team. By the end of infantry school, you realize that the entire process is a mental game through which you must persevere and excel. The thing that I learned is how unprepared mentally I was before my enlistment. Near the end of training, I realized that the drill instructors had one of the most difficult missions in the military. They had to take hundreds of young boys who were not raised properly by their parents or by society and teach them how to be men. I was no exception to this and had great admiration for my instructors for what they had to endure from the recruits, and for the wisdom they instilled in each one of us. CHAPTER Tree. The Hon. Near the end of infantry school, our drill instructors changed their behavior and attitude toward the recruits as they now saw us as infantryman. This included more discussions in which we engaged in dialogue with our instructors, most of whom had been combat deployed as far back as many of the 1980s US military skirmishes in Central America.The instructors directly communicated that we would likely be deployed to the Middle East, as the military engagement in Iraq, of all places, seemed to be escalating by the day. Rivaling militias were fighting for power and control of resources along sectarian and cultural lines. I felt that the instructors almost viewed us as their children, trying to provide us with the best information and any knowledge that they could that would increase our chances of survival. My company, Bravo 2 of the nineteenth Infantry Regiment, completed infantry basic training in August 2003.Upon graduating, I returned home to Minnesota and promptly re-enrolled in classes at SCSU. I quickly found an apartment to rent near campus and moved my belongings out of storage and into the apartment with my friend and brother-in-arms Harry. Harry was proud of my graduation from infantry school, and we often discussed military life, tactics, and soldiering. We were both highly competitive and often practiced hand-to-hand combat with each other. My fighting skills had drastically improved as our bouts often ended in stalemates without the use of makeshift weapons. I attempted to convince Harry to join ROTC, but he did not want to become a political manager and only wanted to be a soldier. There are many people who hold this belief and I understand why. Being an officer involves much mental planning, writing, and sitting in briefings. As an enlisted soldier, most of the work is focused on training, execution, and the health and welfare of the unit. Officers are also held to a higher behavioral standard, and once you become one, there is less tolerance for wild escapades and hijinks, behavior that is commonplace and is almost a rite of passage among young infantrymen. Shortly after our September drill weekend, which was typically a live fire drill weekend for the scouts and mortar platoons, I received a phone call from our readiness NCO. He initiated the code conversation indicating that I was being activated for a deployment. I received the call at about 8 p.m. on a weekday night, and Harry was standing in front of me when I answered the phone. Embarrassingly, I couldn’t remember the challenge password response to say on the telephone, since my heart was pounding, and I had butterflies in my stomach. Despite not recalling the correct challenge phrase, the readiness NCO stated, “According to US Code Title 10 you are hereby being activated for active duty as part of Operation Enduring Freedom (OEF),” and I was ordered to immediately report for duty with Harry a few days later. The readiness NCO paused and asked me, “Do you have any questions?” I paused, and then I asked, “Where are we going?” In my mind, there were only two options, Iraq or Afghanistan, and since he said OEF that likely meant Afghanistan. The readiness NCO began to laugh and stated, “Honduras.” I replied in shock and confusion, “Honduras? What the hell is in Honduras?” Harry looked at me, shocked and puzzled. The readiness NCO chuckled and said, “See you guys in a couple days. It’s a good deployment.” After I hung up the phone, Harry’s phone rang, and it was the readiness NCO. He still had to contact Harry directly as a formality. It was a quick call and no further information about our activation and deployment was provided. That weekend we were re-assigned from the Headquarters Company Detachment (HHC-Det) to C-Co 1-194 Armor Battalion. A platoon-sized element was formed for the deployment consisting of about forty men with various training and skillsets. We were mainly assigned communications, supply, armor (MIAbrams tank crewmen), cavalry scouts, and infantrymen. Our newly assigned first sergeant (E8) came from outside the command and was a military police officer and criminal investigator. That weekend we began our pre-deployment checklist to ensure that we were eligible to deploy. Unfortunately, Harry had recently had a minor behavioral infraction as a civilian, and he was deemed undeployable. I was told in the same conversation that the reason I was being sent was that I was the highest-achieving, lowest-ranking man in the battalion. Thanks, I guess? Both Harry and I were upset that we would not be deploying together. That weekend we were issued official US government passports, which granted us diplomatic immunity, and were also briefed on the lack of a Status of Forces Agreement (SOFA) in the country that we were deploying to, Honduras. A SOFA is an agreement between the host country and the foreign nation stationing military force in that country. SOFAs are often included, along with other types of military agreements, as part of a comprehensive security arrangement. A SOFA does not constitute a security arrangement; it establishes the rights and privileges of foreign personnel present in a host country in support of the larger security arrangement. Under international law, a status of forces agreement differs from military occupation. A SOFA is intended to clarify the terms under which the foreign military is allowed to operate. Typically, purely military operational issues such as the locations of bases and access to facilities are covered by separate agreements. A SOFA is more concerned with the legal issues associated with military individuals and property. This may include issues such as entry and exit into the country, tax liabilities, postal services, or employment terms for host-country nationals, but the most contentious issues are civil and criminal jurisdiction over bases and personnel. For civil matters, SOFAs provide for how civil damages caused by the forces will be determined and paid. Criminal issues vary, but the typical provision in US SOFAs is that US courts will have jurisdiction over crimes committed either by a service member against another service member or by a service member as part of his or her military duty, but the host nation retains jurisdiction over other crimes. In context, this meant that if we were detained by the authorities in Honduras, we would be subject to their legal process and that the US government had no right to intervene. More simply, if there was an altercation or any legal issue involving US service members, the US government would attempt to extradite us out of the country as fast as possible. I found this to be strange, but I was young, new, and learning, so I kept an open mind. Despite learning about our precarious position while deployed to Honduras, the command was tight lipped about what we would be doing in Honduras. We received our written orders, and I began the laborious process of withdrawing from courses at SCSU, made plans with my landlord to store my property, and set up automatic payment methods for my bills. We were first sent to Fort McCoy, which is in the central part of Wisconsin. Fort McCoy was a dump of an army facility. Not that many of the other army facilities that I visited before were much better. We were assigned to living quarters that looked like they were built during World War II, which had very little insulation and winter was rapidly setting in. If there is one thing enlisted soldiers do, it is bitch and complain about whatever the current failings of the army are. We were provided with a two-month training schedule for unknown activities in Central America. Of note, I was assigned to Combat Lifesaver Training where I was taught numerous advanced medical skills, including administering IVs, inserting breathing tubes, and treating other complex wounds or injuries, like sucking chest wounds.I really enjoyed the additional medical training and took the added responsibility seriously. Every day someone asked about our mission, and the command would not provide us any information until everyone in the unit received their interim secret security clearances. Most of the other units at Fort McCoy were deploying to either Iraq or Afghanistan, and the training cadre didn’t really know what to do with a unit deploying to Central America that couldn’t discuss what they would be doing. We went through a mix of the training lanes related to counter insurgency tactics, urban warfare, improvised explosive device response, and suicide bomber interdiction and response among the standard hand-to-hand combat training with knives, rifles, and pistols. Additionally, our first sergeant taught us about law enforcement skills, military law enforcement and process, and criminal investigation, all of which would come in handy later in my life. We learned how to preserve, document, and collect evidence for criminal investigations and interview suspects to obtain information and intelligence which could be used for a wide variety of purposes. After two months of training on a wide variety of skills, many of which were not specific to combat and were more akin to working with law enforcement officials, we finally started to receive tidbits of information related to our mission in Honduras. We jokingly referred to Honduras as “the Hon,” mimicking the veterans that served in Vietnam. Although, serving in the Hon was a vacation in comparison to Vietnam. From Fort McCoy we traveled on an Air Force C-17 Globemaster, a large, four-engine jet aircraft, to Charleston Air Force base where we were to await further orders and to arrange transportation to Soto Cano Airbase, which was also known as Joint Task Force-Bravo (JTF-B).Soto Cano Airbase was the largest runway used by the United States to launch missions deep into South America, as well as throughout Central America and the Caribbean Sea and significant strategic importance for this reason. To add to the confusion, JTF-B was also known by another name, Palmerola Air Base. Whether it’s called JTF-B, Soto Cano Airbase, or Palmerola Air Base (one of the few military installations where the US flag does not fly and is controlled technically by the Honduran Air Force), it has been a launching point for numerous clandestine missions throughout its history. The installation has played a critical role for Central Intelligence Agency (CIA) operations and US military operations throughout the region since 1981.Palmerola Air Base was used to deliver medical and military aid to the Contras as part of the Iran-Contra Scandal facilitated by the exonerated Colonel Oliver North. Unsurprisingly, during my time at JTF-B, the base was still being used for overt and clandestine operations. After three or four days of waiting to catch an air force bird directly to JTF-B, the army changed its mind and decided to send us on commercial civilian aircraft to Tegucigalpa, Honduras where we would be transported by bus to JTF-B. As I recall, we flew from the Charleston Airport to San Salvador, El Salvador and then caught a connecting flight to Tegucigalpa. The landing at the Tegucigalpa International Airport is a real nail biter. The airport is surrounded by mountains on all sides, and the airport is located on the only flat piece of earth in the valley. The aircraft must fly fifty feet over protruding rocks and shanties to land on what is a very short runway. Upon landing, all the civilians clapped and cheered, and we gathered our belongings to clear customs, where we pulled out our new diplomatic passports and were waved through. For anyone that has traveled internationally and had to clear customs, it was an amazing experience in comparison. In Tegucigalpa, we were picked up by school buses with armed escorts and began our drive to JTF-B. As we left the wealthier, central part of the city, I was shocked by the poverty that I saw. The smell of hot and burning garbage and strange noxious chemicals, as well as the sight of a man defecating out in the open on a city street littered in garbage, was no laughing matter. The poorest of the poor found ripped plastic sheets and dropped them over logs to make makeshift tents in the dirt. As the sun set on the drive, you could see the sides of the mountains burning, presumably being cleared for agricultural use. Finally, upon arrival we were assigned sleeping quarters in something called a hooch, a wood, kerosene-soaked building on stilts with a metal roof. They were soaked with kerosene to prevent termites and other insects from destroying them and were on stilts due to the dangerous flash flooding that could occur during the rainy season. The next day we were finally fully briefed on our mission at JTF-B. Our primary mission was to provide security for the base and to serve as the base’s law enforcement. The physical perimeter of the base was frequently breached by the locals who would do things like steal the lights off the perimeter fence or bicycles from US service members. The more daring thieves would often attempt to enter buildings and ignore the warning signs to not enter something called a VORTAC, which is a radio frequency device system to help pilots navigate their aircraft. This, of course, came at great risk to the health of the criminals that entered the VORTAC while it was in operation, due to the immense amount of radiation that it emits. The security shifts were mostly boring, and most of the action occurred at the base’s entry control point (ECP) post’s deputy commander for failure to abide by the post commander’s off post policy. Often, the Hondurans working on the base would attempt to smuggle goods like consumer electronics off the base since the goods purchased at the post exchange were much more affordable than the local markets’ prices due to tariffs and shipping costs in the local economy. Occasionally, we would find a weapon being smuggled onto the base, or merely forgotten in their vehicle during searches. When guarding the flight line, you would really begin to understand the true purpose of the base. My first shift guarding the flight line, a strangely marked, heavily modified C-130 landed and taxied to its final stopping point. Twelve or so burly men and a few that looked like normal US government employees stepped out of the aircraft. Inside the aircraft were sophisticated weapon systems and electronic equipment, and I was told that there were explosives aboard. This indicated that we had to establish an extra perimeter of security for the aircraft. I wondered who these people were and what they were doing at our airbase. The next few days, more of the potential missions were discussed. We learned that we would be periodically attached to other missions in the region and that we were the quick reaction force for the area of operation. Quick reaction forces (QRFs) are the response teams that are called when the US government needs emergency help. They are like a 911 emergency response for the military or other US government assets. The only time that a QRF was activated during my time at JTF-B was to protect US interests in Haiti during the 2004 coup d’état to remove President Jean-Bertrand Aristide. In addition to our QRF role, we were attached to a unit commanded by an Army Special Forces captain, where it seemed that he had carte blanche to assemble teams from any of the assets available at JTF-B. Some of these missions were providing humanitarian assistance and medical treatment to remote and poor communities. Sometimes these missions were in coordination with the United States Agency for International Development (USAID). According to USAID: USAID is the world’s premier international development agency and a catalytic actor driving development results. USAID’s work advances U.S. national security and economic prosperity, demonstrates American generosity, and promotes a path to recipient self-reliance and resilience. Sometimes, it was our mission to provide training to local law enforcement or to foreign militaries. Often, they were conducting narcotics interdiction missions throughout Central America and many people from my platoon wanted to be assigned to these missions. Rarely, we would fly in Blackhawks or Chinooks and drop off plain-clothed US government employees at strange places. I strongly suspected that these people were CIA operatives, although I never asked. It was obvious in my opinion. We came to realize that we were the muscle for whenever our country required it, and we had no problem with that. We provided personal security details to American ambassadors, high ranking military members and their families, or other personnel that required it when asked by the command. On one occasion, an armed robber with a fully automatic assault rifle stopped a US-owned bus and robbed everyone on the bus at gun point. We worked with the corrupt local law enforcement in Comayagua to identify the guilty party, to no avail, and then started riding the bus, armed and in plain clothes, to capture or kill the assailants, but unfortunately the opportunity never presented itself. This was one of many incredible learning experiences about how other parts of the world functioned with government corruption daily. Only a month into our tour of duty in Honduras, I had my first eye-opening experience about the reality of geopolitics in Central and South America. One night, after my security patrol shift ended, I decided to go off post to a bar in the nearest town Comayagua. Comayagua was representative of many tier-two cities in Honduras. There were several large multi-national corporations that were manufacturing things like chemicals for soap or were in the fertilizer manufacturing and agricultural businesses in the Comayagua Valley. The valley itself was at a high elevation for Honduras and had a very distinct hot and dry season followed by a tropical wet season beginning in late May. Many of the residents of the valley worked in fruit and vegetable production with three highly productive growing seasons that spanned the entire year, worked in manufacturing jobs at the factories, or, if lucky enough, worked on our military installation. Honduras was a very dangerous place and so was Comayagua. People were shot or killed on a frequent basis, and it had one of the highest murder, and violent assault rates in the world. The gringos (US Army and other foreign military uniforms were green camouflage and they wanted us to go home, hence the term’s origin), as they referred to us, were typically viewed as off limits by the criminals, cartel members, gang members, and the police as they did not want the US government getting involved in the potential fallout from an assault or other harmful act against a US service member. Also, we stuck out like sore thumbs. Nothing screams gringo more than a bunch of very tall, blue-eyed, blonde men with crew cuts and Midwestern accents going for a stroll in the worst parts of Central America. There was no blending in. Once a month, our team went with other leaders from the base, including the J2 (military intelligence of a joint operation), and would visit, inspect, and analyze the neighborhoods and establishments in Comayagua and other cities, sometimes in partnership with the State Department to create risk assessments for US government personnel operating in the country. Often, the high risk or safe areas on the map were arbitrary due to the highly variable security conditions and the requirements to make the risk maps easy to understand by personnel only glancing at them for a few seconds. That night, I decided to go to a bar that was deemed to be “safe” alone. I received my off-post pass from the security desk sergeant and proceeded to hop in one of the cabs that were always waiting at the front gate. The twenty-five-minute drive was always terrifying and exciting on the lawless Honduran highways. The cars were in such disrepair that dangerous mechanical failures at speed were common. Halfway through my secondponche,a fruit-and-rum-based cocktail, a scruffy, overweight white man in his late forties wearing a baseball cap walked into the bar, sat down next to me, ordered a beer, and began to make small talk in perfect English, so I presumed that he was an American. After fifteen to twenty minutes, the man started to try to recruit me for a private security operation in Africa, which I politely entertained while privately thinking the man was crazy. He was offering me $150,000 to guard diamond mines in the Congo. Next, as we continued to drink and chat, he started asking questions that, if answered, could have been used to ascertain my base’s force strength, capabilities, and missions. This sudden change in conversation set off all the red flags from the counterintelligence training I had received. I quickly made up an excuse as to why I had to leave, hopped in a cab, and returned to base. Upon returning to base at roughly 11 p.m., I immediately reported the incident to my squad leader and was told to report the incident to the base J2. The security desk sergeant called the J2 in his hooch, roused him out of bed, and then we briefly met and spoke with each other, where I gave him a full report of what had just happened. He thanked me, told my squad leader that I had done the right thing, and told me to report to the Secured Compartmentalized Information Facility(SCIF) to be debriefed at 9 a.m. I went back to my hooch, went to sleep, woke up early for physical training, and then put a uniform on, even though it was my day off, to report to the SCIF. Upon reporting to the SCIF, I was escorted into a conference room next to the J2’s office where the army lieutenant (J2) debriefed me on what had happened. He told me that the man was a well-known Chinese spy. I was shocked. Apparently, this Chinese spy had been operating in the area for over a year. The lieutenant then explained to me that Central America and Honduras is a hot bed for foreign spy activity because of all the foreign governments fighting for influence and resources throughout Central America. After his briefing, I then answered specific questions about what had occurred while the J2 and a man dressed in civilian attire, that I did not recognize, took notes. After the briefing and back-briefing concluded, I was released for the day. After these events, I never looked at Central America or global foreign powers the same way. Every time I noticed a bridge or school being built in Honduras, I wondered who was paying for it and what their true objective was. This is the reality in third world countries with vast natural and human resources. These real-world experiences, combined with the continuous military training, would significantly aid my survival in the future. During that same period, we were introduced to Special Forces Captain “Wally.” Captain Wally would be our leader on numerous missions and was excited that we wanted to learn his advanced unconventional methods. He immediately seemed to be fond of my squad, and we began training with him daily in advanced hand-to-hand combat techniques. We were like sponges and eagerly awaited his personal training on our days off from security related duties. The man was a machine and seemed to know every tactic or trick you could imagine. During one of these training sessions, one of my squad members snapped his tibia in grappling training during a flip and leg bar maneuver, and I had to run frantically two miles to obtain emergency medical assistance. The medics raced to treat the man, and he was almost instantly medically evacuated by helicopter back to the United States. We didn’t stop training but received a stern talking to from our actual infantry company commander about training too hard, which I later determined was representative of the typical and constant irony a person would experience while serving in the US military. A few days later, Captain Wally stopped by my hooch with my squad leader to inform me that I had been selected to go on the next counter narcotics mission. I received a crash course in narcotics smuggling and a classified briefing about the mission (the mission has since been declassified). The process is rather simple: cocaine or other contraband travels north predominantly from Colombia and cash and weapons flowed south. At the time, the FARC(also known as Fuerzas Armadas Revolucionarias de Colombia) and northern cartels of Colombia were prominent players in drug trafficking. Drugs are transported three ways, by trucks, by air, or by sea. At the time, narco-submarines did not exist so go-fasts were typically high-powered racing boats or were civilian aircraft that would take off from Colombia and fly north while zigzagging (thinking that they could avoid the United States’ sophisticated radar systems). In fact, these flight maneuvers often confirmed our drug smuggling suspicions. There is only one road that easily connects Central America to the United States and that is CA-5. CA-5 is the road that JTF-B is located on, so hun

PREFACE. The warnings and prophecies addressed to one generation must prove very ineffective if they are equally applicable to the next. But in the eloquent appeal published forty-three years ago, by General Chesney, with its vivid description and harrowing pathos, few readers will not recognize parallel features to those of our own situation in September, 1914. True the handicaps of the invasion of August, 1871, are heavily piled upon the losing combatant. Not only the eternal Anglo-Irish trouble, so easily mistaken by the foreigner for such a difference as might be found separating two other countries, but complications with America, as well as the common form seduction of the British fleet to the Dardanelles, a general unreadiness of all administrative departments, and a deep distrust of the "volunteer" movement, involve the whole drama in an atmosphere of profound pessimism. But there are scores of other details, counsels, and reflections, of which we will not spoil the reader's enjoyment by anticipation, which, as the common saying is of history when it repeats itself, "might have been written yesterday." The desperate condition of things is all the more remarkable as Englishmen had just witnessed the crushing defeat of their great ally, supposed to be the first military power of Europe, by the enemy they are supposed to despise. The story is otherwise simple enough. The secret annexation of Holland and Denmark is disclosed. People said we might have kept out of the trouble. But an impulsive nation egged on the Government who, confident that our old luck would pull us through, at once declare war. The fleet, trying to close with the enemy, is destroyed in "a few minutes" by the "deadly engines" left behind by the evasive enemy; our amateurish armies are defeated on our own soil, and voila tout. Remarkable must have been the national insouciance, or despondent the eye which viewed it, to explain the impassioned actuality of such a reveillematin. For one thing it may be remarked that The Battle of Dorking, Contributed by General Sir George T Chesney, 1830 to 1895, to Blackwood's Magazine in May of 1871. It created a great sensation and appeared in pamphlet form the same year, though in a sense the "history" of the pamphlet is already "ancient," is really the first of its kind. The topic, then of such inspiring freshness, has since become well worn. Mutatis mutandis, doubtless, much of General Chesney's advice and warning might have been repeated on the occasion of the Boer War. If that were not a practical "alarum to the patriotic Briton," we ask ourselves what could be so called. Perhaps it combined the maximum of alarm with the minimum of national risk, but its beneficent influence can scarcely be questioned. At the date of the republication of this pamphlet we face a peril immeasurably greater than that, if not equal to the Napoleonic terror of 1803; and we face it, as concerns the mass of our population, with a calmness which, to critical eyes and in view of the appeal made by the Government to the country, is at least susceptible of an unsatisfactory explanation. If surprise, misunderstanding, may in a measure account for that, it would be idle to pretend that the national mood and temper, and the moods and tempers of nations will vary, were altogether, if they could ever be, such as encouraged the most sanguine hopes of our success when exposed to an ordeal of suddenness, extent, and severity unknown in the world's history. In estimating the risks of our situation, thoughtful criticism may be said to run naturally into two channels. Firstly, in the political world, for reasons which cannot here be considered, the past decade has seen a predominance of idealist activity and ratiocination scarcely known before. Hence the State has exhibited, to some extent, a Utopiste attitude likely to mislead foreign nations, it may be said with mild brevity, alike as to our real views of their conduct, and as to our national belief in the right or duty of self-assertion. If, in 1871, we were represented as the helpless dupes of foreign diplomacy, in 1914 we rather appear to have deceived the enemy to our own hurt. A humane aversion to War, though, for that matter, it is only by a philanthropic "illusion" that the extreme stage of self-assertion can be morally differentiated from those that precede it, may tempt politicians by a too sedulous avoidance of the unpleasing phrase to invite the dreadful reality. But, again, in the private life of the nation, other traits, some noted in the pamphlet of 71, have given cause for critical reflection. Besides Luxury, remarkable enough in its novel and fantastic forms, though a commonplace complaint of tractarians in all ages, a generally increased relaxation of all old-established ties of religion, convention or tradition, a tendency noticeable in general conduct, art and letters alike, a sort of orgy of intellectual and literary Erastianism, a blasé craving for sensational novelty, encouraged perhaps if not sated by the startling novelties of the age, have given scope for anxiety as to the conservation in the English nature of that solid morale, that "gesundes und sicheres Gefuhl", the “feeling of health and safety”, defined by an eminent thinker as the source of all worthy activity. These words can but very crudely sketch a complex sense of uneasiness and dissatisfaction familiar to most of us. Mister Kipling has sung long since of athletic excesses and indolence. More recent critics have dwelt on the extravagant time and expense devoted to golf. General Chesney would have branded the sensationalist effeminacy of our football-gloating crowds of thousands who might be recruits. Reviewers laugh wearily over the horrors or absurdities of the latest poetic monstrosity or "futurist" nightmare. But in one phase or another the consciousness is present to all, and not unnoticed by our enemies. And it adds a sting to our inevitable anxiety if we cannot yet feel sure how far we can "recollect" our true best selves in the very moment of action, how far there has been given to us that saving grace of a storm-tost nation, “L’art de porter en soi le remede de ses proyres defauts", or “The art of carrying within oneself the remedy for one's own shortcomings.” Every race, doubtless, has its own special weaknesses and delusions, the "idols" of its patriotic "cave," and it is a commonplace of history that the moral, physical, or intellectual "decadence" of one age is revived and actualized by the material cataclysm of another. And the readiness, spiritual and material, of the nation in utrumque paratus is the index of its harmony with its environment. On the other hand there are wars to be fully prepared for which would almost mean to be a partner in their criminality. There is an attitude of defence which, if successful, would lose all dignity were it allied with a permanent distrust in the morality and humanity of other nations. If only an inhuman pride could be free from uneasiness at such a moment, at least warm encouragement comes to us ab extra. Whatever our weaknesses now, our sins or blunders in the past, no historian will question the motive, nay, the severe moral effort with which the English nation enters upon this war of the ages. It is scarcely conceivable that any people could be called upon to make a greater or more sudden exhibition of, their peculiar qualities. What will be the verdict upon our own? That we are willfully misunderstood, misrepresented, must matter little to us, if we have the moral support of a public opinion which will, if we triumph, be more powerful for good than ever before. Nor need we fear its ultimate perversion by interested slander. The hostile demonstrations of the German intellect during the early stages of this war have scarcely been on a par with those of its material force. One of the latest of sophistical Imperialist ebullitions complains with somewhat forced pathos of our waging war with our former allies of Waterloo! But we did not fight the French then because they were French, nor ally ourselves with Prussians because they spoke a guttural tongue. We fought then, as now, against the erection of an impossible and unbearable European tyranny, the local origin and nationality of which would have been quite immaterial to the main question. Can we believe for a moment that the great German intellect has ever been under the slightest misapprehension of so very simple a matter? War, honest war, may be Hell, as General Sherman described it. It is, at least, a form of Purgatory in which personality, nationality, are forces that count but little, while principle and motive (as was tragically exhibited in the great American struggle) are everything. Did not Christianity itself preach this kind of sanctified discord in which a novel sense of right, or the perception of higher ideal, should divide even the nearest and dearest, and set them at war not, as in old days, by reason of any "family compact," or mere racial tie, but for the sake of "Right," and, so far as ordinary friendly or neighbourly relations were concerned, in utter "scorn of consequence." There, indeed, is the poignant tragedy of the case. To be at war with the countrymen of Schumann and Beethoven, of Goethe and Ranke, is not that an affliction to the very soul of England, an outrage to feelings and instincts tangled up with the very core of our civilization? Terrible, indeed, is it that there should be amities which, at such crises, we must "tear from our bosom Though our heart be at the root." No man or nation expects perfection in his friends. Honestly we have loved and respected the German. We have not wormed ourselves into his confidence, nursing through long years secret stores of explosive jealousy. His art, his learning, have had their full meed of admiration from his kindred here. But we recognize, dull, indeed, would they be who needed a more striking reminder that beneath the defective "manner" of the Teuton lurks an element of crude barbarity with which we cannot pretend to fraternize. The violence of the Goths and Huns had its place in history; but that would be a strange international morality which would give the rein now to mediaeval instincts of egoistic tyranny and perfectly organized brute force, as against the gentler instincts, the higher social civilization largely associated with the Latin and Celtic races. In these matters the Balance of Power is no less vital to international life and the evolution of true cosmopolitan ideals than in mere Politics. And if we stand up in battle for the smaller races it is not merely because they are small and need defence, but because an element of the right, a share in the civilization which we mean to prevail, is with them and a part of their heritage. The technical bond may be, as the scoffing enemy remarks (in words which will surely, as curses, return some day to roost), a mere “scrap of paper" signed with England's name. But the civilized world will recognize that it is only by the increased sanctity of such ties that Europe advances towards intelligent cosmopolitanism, and leaves behind the vandal wild beast den after which woe to those who still hanker! There were critics, even English critics, who have taken so superficial a view of history and humanity as to ask why we should support France, with our blood and treasure, when in morale and intellect it is perhaps the candid truth that we are more on the side of her enemy. It is scarcely necessary to urge in reply that France, if not the one great continental nation, is the one great people of parallel and contemporary development to our own, our comrade, our rival, our nearest social (if not racial) kin, and that, spite of all her decadence and even degradation, upon the arena of Europe she stands for Humanity and Civilization against Absolutism and Brute Force. And as we raised the world against her, when dominated by the tyrannous egoism of Bonaparte, the monstrous fungoid growth that overlaid her great Revolution and obscured her services to freedom, so now we stand as foes, not, we would fain believe, of the German people, but of the militarist clique, the Napoleonic nightmare that overpowers her moral instincts and clouds her honesty and intelligence. But here, again, let us not deceive ourselves as to the extent, perhaps to be all too fatally revealed, of "the force behind the Kaiser." Germany of to-day stands for a compact mass of highly energized, though not yet politically conscious, material and intellectual vigour. That a group of principalities, obsessed by militarist and petty-aristocratic traditions, should within half a century of their amalgamation form a politically great and united people, could scarcely be expected. But if not fully organized on the representative lines to which we attach so much importance, Germany presents a united front of intelligence, commercial industry and ambition with which her rapidly increasing population pushes on, eager for new worlds to conquer. That she demands an "Elizabethan age" of her own is the tragic platitude of our time. That she is aggrieved that we have had one, while we can only imperfectly, in her estimation, utilize its modern fruits, is her true theoretical casus belli against us. The immorality of the position consists in her belief that the Sun of Civilization must stand still, the currents of Law and Order run backwards to satisfy her entetee and unscrupulous jealousy. Englishmen have been so innocent as to believe she would be satisfied by a share, nay an extensive monopoly of the trade we once thought our own. They have urged that the German has all the advantages enjoyed by a native throughout the British Empire, that in spite of a constant agitation by a large and powerful party, no English Government has ever used its power to impose any artificial restraints upon German trade; that the fullest hospitality of these Islands has been extended to our Teuton brethren; while they were invited to successfully compete on their merits with one English industry after another. That they would not rest content with these advantages, this political and commercial equality, that they would want to organize secret treachery, to spy out our weaknesses and hide bombs in their bedrooms, that, to the simple Briton of a few weeks ago, would have seemed impossible. He now knows what primitive passions may lurk behind a plausible commercialism secretly disappointed in its immoderate greed. It is in the alliance of despotic militarism with bureaucratic intellectual sophistry that has lain a new peril for the world, and one yet to be fully realized by the German people, when many of the hasty and speculative structures of herself conscious and academic Protectionism are discovered to be as unsound as the quasi-religious aphorisms of the Kaiser. In spite of these confident assurances it may be the fate of that arrogant leader to find himself at war with "things," stony facts, economic laws that crush the transgressor, as well as with an indignant world. Meanwhile, our armies have fought bravely and held their own in the greatest battle, the most ferocious conflict the world ever dreamed of. Our unconquered fleet, after the tradition of four centuries, is still "looking for the enemy." All around us, as we write, is evidence that the nation is bracing herself for a new and stupendous effort of courage, perhaps of imaginative strategy and even Weltpolitik which will in startling fashion bring the forces of half the world to meet and crush a world-menacing peril, and place our England, the mistress of the seas, on a pinnacle where she will be justified of all her patriotic children, counsellors, critics and heroes alike. G. H. Powell. THE BATTLE OF DORKING. You ask me to tell you, my grandchildren, something about my own share in the great events that happened fifty years ago. 'Tis sad work turning back to that bitter page in our history, but you may perhaps take profit in your new homes from the lesson it teaches. For us in England it came too late. And yet we had plenty of warnings, if we had only made use of them. The danger did not come on us unawares. It burst on us suddenly, 'tis true; but it’s coming was foreshadowed plainly enough to open our eyes, if we had not been willfully blind. We English have only ourselves to blame for the humiliation which has been brought on the land. Venerable old age! Dishonourable old age, I say, when it follows a manhood dishonoured as ours has been. I declare, even now, though fifty years have passed, I can hardly look a young man in the face when I think I am one of those in whose youth happened this degradation of Old England, one of those who betrayed the trust handed down to us unstained by our forefathers. What a proud and happy country was this fifty years ago! Free-trade had been working for more than a quarter of a century, and there seemed to be no end to the riches it was bringing us. London was growing bigger and bigger; you, could not build houses fast enough for the rich people who wanted to live in them, the merchants who made the money and came from all parts of the world to settle there, and the lawyers and doctors and engineers and others, and tradespeople who got their share out of the profits. The streets reached down to Croydon and Wimbledon, which my father could remember quite country-places; and people used to say that Kingston and Reigate would soon be joined to London. We thought we could go on building and multiplying forever. 'Tis true that even then there was no lack of poverty; the people who had no money went on increasing as fast as the rich, and pauperism was already beginning to be a difficulty; but if the rates were high, there was plenty of money to pay them with; and as for what were called the middle classes, there really seemed no limit to their increase and prosperity. People in those days thought it quite a matter of course to bring a dozen children into the world, or, as it used to be said, Providence sent them that number of babies; and if they couldn't always marry off all the daughters, they used to manage to provide for the sons, for there were new openings to be found in all the professions, or in the Government offices, which went on steadily getting larger. Besides, in those days young men could be sent out to India, or into the army or navy; and even then emigration was not uncommon, although not the regular custom it is now. Schoolmasters, like all other professional classes, drove a capital trade. They did not teach very much, to be sure, but new schools with their four or five hundred boys were springing up all over the country. Fools that we were! We thought that all this wealth and prosperity were sent us by Providence, and could not stop coming. In our blindness we did not see that we were merely a big workshop, making up the things which came from all parts of the world; and that if other nations stopped sending us raw goods to work up, we could not produce them ourselves. True, we had in those days an advantage in our cheap coal and iron; and had we taken care not to waste the fuel, it might have lasted us longer. But even then there were signs that coal and iron would soon become cheaper in foreign parts; while as to food and other things, England was not better off than it is now. We were so rich simply because other nations from all parts of the world were in the habit of sending their goods to us to be sold or manufactured; and we thought that this would last for ever. And so, perhaps, it might have lasted, if we had only taken proper means to keep it; but, in our folly, we were too careless even to insure our prosperity, and after the course of trade was turned away it would not come back again. And yet, if ever a nation had a plain warning, we had. If we were the greatest trading country, our neighbours were the leading military power in Europe. They were driving a good trade, too, for this was before their foolish communism (about which you will hear when you are older) had ruined the rich without benefiting the poor, and they were in many respects the first nation in Europe; but it was on their army that they prided themselves most. And with reason. They had beaten the Russians and the Austrians, and the Prussians too, in bygone years, and they thought they were invincible. Well do I remember the great review held at Paris by the Emperor Napoleon during the great Exhibition, and how proud he looked showing off his splendid Guards to the assembled kings and princes. Yet, three years afterwards, the force so long deemed the first in Europe was ignominiously beaten, and the whole army taken prisoners. Such a defeat had never happened before in the world's history; and with this proof before us of the folly of disbelieving in the possibility of disaster merely because it had never fallen upon us, it might have been supposed that we should have the sense to take the lesson to heart. And the country was certainly roused for a time, and a cry was raised that the army ought to be reorganized, and our defences strengthened against the enormous power for sudden attacks which it was seen other nations were able to put forth. And a scheme of army reform was brought forward by the Government. It was a half-and-half affair at best; and unfortunately, instead of being taken up in Parliament as a national scheme, it was made a party matter of, and so fell through. There was a Radical section of the House, too, whose votes had to be secured by conciliation, and which blindly demanded a reduction of armaments as the price of allegiance. This party always decried military establishments as part of a fixed policy for reducing the influence of the Crown and the aristocracy. They could not understand that the times had altogether changed, that the Crown had really no power, and that the Government merely existed at the pleasure of the House of Commons, and that even Parliament-rule was beginning to give way to mob-law. At any rate, the Ministry, baffled on all sides, gave up by degrees all the strong points of a scheme which they were not heartily in earnest about. It was not that there was any lack of money, if only it had been spent in the right way. The army cost enough, and more than enough, to give us a proper defence, and there were armed men of sorts in plenty and to spare, if only they had been decently organized. It was in organization and forethought that we fell short, because our rulers did not heartily believe in the need for preparation. The fleet and the Channel, they said, were sufficient protection. So army reform was put off to some more convenient season, and the militia and volunteers were left untrained as before, because to call them out for drill would "interfere with the industry of the country." We could have given up some of the industry of those days, forsooth, and yet be busier than we are now. But why tell you a tale you have so often heard already? The nation, although uneasy, was misled by the false security its leaders professed to feel; and the warning given by the disasters that overtook France was allowed to pass by unheeded. We would not even be at the trouble of putting our arsenals in a safe place, or of guarding the capital against a surprise, although the cost of doing so would not have been so much as missed from the national wealth. The French trusted in their army and its great reputation, we in our fleet; and in each case the result of this blind confidence was disaster, such as our forefathers in their hardest struggles could not have even imagined. I need hardly tell you how the crash came about. First, the rising in India drew away a part of our small army; then came the difficulty with America, which had been threatening for years, and we sent off ten thousand men to defend Canada, a handful which did not go far to strengthen the real defences of that country, but formed an irresistible temptation to the Americans to try and take them prisoners, especially as the contingent included three battalions of the Guards. Thus the regular army at home was even smaller than usual, and nearly half of it was in Ireland to check the talked-of Fenian invasion fitting out in the West. Worse still, though I do not know it would really have mattered as things turned out, the fleet was scattered abroad: some ships to guard the West Indies, others to check privateering in the China seas, and a large part to try and protect our colonies on the Northern Pacific shore of America, where, with incredible folly, we continued to retain possessions which we could not possibly defend. America was not the great power forty years ago that it is now; but for us to try and hold territory on her shores which could only be reached by sailing round the Horn, was as absurd as if she had attempted to take the Isle of Man before the independence of Ireland. We see this plainly enough now, but we were all blind then. It was while we were in this state, with our ships all over the world, and our little bit of an army cut up into detachments, that the Secret Treaty was published, and Holland and Denmark were annexed. People say now that we might have escaped the troubles which came on us if we had at any rate kept quiet till our other difficulties were settled; but the English were always an impulsive lot: the whole country was boiling over with indignation, and the Government, egged on by the Press, and going with the stream, declared war. We had always got out of scrapes before, and we believed our old luck and pluck would somehow pull us through. Then, of course, there was bustle and hurry all over the land. Not that the calling up of the army reserves caused much stir, for I think there were only about five thousand altogether, and a good many of these were not to be found when the time came; but recruiting was going on all over the country, with a tremendous high bounty, fifty thousand more men having been voted for the army. Then there was a Ballot Bill passed for adding fifty five thousand, five hundred men to the militia; why a round number was not fixed on I don't know, but the Prime Minister said that this was the exact quota wanted to put the defences of the country on a sound footing. Then the shipbuilding that began! Ironclads, despatch-boats, gunboats, monitors, every building-yard in the country got its job, and they were offering ten shillings a day wages for anybody who could drive a rivet. This didn't improve the recruiting, you may suppose. I remember, too, there was a squabble in the House of Commons about whether artisans should be drawn for the ballot, as they were so much wanted, and I think they got an exemption. This sent numbers to the yards; and if we had had a couple of years to prepare instead of a couple of weeks, I daresay we should have done very well. It was on a Monday that the declaration of war was announced, and in a few hours we got our first inkling of the sort of preparation the enemy had made for the event which they had really brought about, although the actual declaration was made by us. A pious appeal to the God of battles, whom it was said we had aroused, was telegraphed back; and from that moment all communication with the north of Europe was cut off. Our embassies and legations were packed off at an hour's notice, and it was as if we had suddenly come back to the middle ages. The dumb astonishment visible all over London the next morning, when the papers came out void of news, merely hinting at what had happened, was one of the most startling things in this war of surprises. But everything had been arranged beforehand; nor ought we to have been surprised, for we had seen the same Power, only a few months before, move down half a million of men on a few days' notice, to conquer the greatest military nation in Europe, with no more fuss than our War Office used to make over the transport of a brigade from Aldershot to Brighton, and this, too, without the allies it had now. What happened now was not a bit more wonderful in reality; but people of this country could not bring themselves to believe that what had never occurred before to England could ever possibly happen. Like our neighbours, we became wise when it was too late. Of course the papers were not long in getting news, even the mighty organization set at work could not shut out a special correspondent; and in a very few days, although the telegraphs and railways were intercepted right across Europe, the main facts oozed out. An embargo had been laid on all the shipping in every port from the Baltic to Ostend; the fleets of the two great Powers had moved out, and it was supposed were assembled in the great northern harbour, and troops were heaving on board all the steamers detained in these places, most of which were British vessels. It was clear that invasion was intended. Even then we might have been saved, if the fleet had been ready. The forts which guarded the flotilla were perhaps too strong for slipping to attempt; but an ironclad or two, handled as British sailors knew how to use them, might have destroyed or damaged a part of the transports, and delayed the expedition, giving us what we wanted, time. But then the best part of the fleet had been decoyed down to the Dardanelles, and what remained of the Channel squadron was looking after Fenian filibusters off the west of Ireland; so it was ten days before the fleet was got together, and by that time it was plain the enemy's preparations were too far advanced to be stopped by a coup-de-main, Information, which came chiefly through Italy, came slowly, and was more or less vague and uncertain; but this much was known, that at least a couple of hundred thousand men were embarked or ready to be put on board ships, and that the flotilla, was guarded by more ironclads than we could then muster. I suppose it was the uncertainty as to the point the enemy would aim at for landing, and the fear lest he should give us the go-by, that kept the fleet for several days in the Downs; but it was not until the Tuesday fortnight after the declaration of war that it weighed anchor and steamed away for the North Sea. Of course you have read about the Queen's visit to the fleet the day before, and how she sailed round the ships in her yacht, and went on board the flag-ship to take leave of the admiral; how, overcome with emotion, she told him that the safety of the country was committed to his keeping. You remember, too, the gallant old officer's reply, and how all the ships' yards were manned, and how lustily the tars cheered as her Majesty was rowed off. The account was of course telegraphed to London, and the high spirits of the fleet infected the whole town. I was outside the Charring Cross station when the Queen's special train from Dover arrived, and from the cheering and shouting which greeted her Majesty as she drove away, you might have supposed we had already won a great victory. The leading journal, which had gone in strongly for the army reduction carried out during the session, and had been nervous and desponding in tone during the past fortnight, suggesting all sorts of compromises as a way of getting out of the war, came out in a very jubilant form next morning. "Panic-stricken inquirers,'' it said, "ask now, where are the means of meeting the invasion? We reply that the invasion will never take place. A British fleet manned by British sailors, whose courage and enthusiasm are reflected in the people of this country, is already on the way to meet the presumptuous foe. The issue of a contest between British ships and those of any other country, under anything like equal odds, can never be doubtful. England awaits with calm confidence the issue of the impending action." Such were the words of the leading article, and so we all felt. It was on Tuesday, the 10th of August, that the fleet sailed from the Downs. It took with it a submarine cable to lay down as it advanced, so that continuous communication was kept up, and the papers were publishing special editions every few minutes with the latest news. This was the first time such a thing had been done and the feat was accepted as a good omen. Whether it is true that the Admiralty made use of the cable to keep on sending contradictory orders, which took the command out of the admiral's hands, I can't say; but all that the admiral sent in return was a few messages of the briefest kind, which neither the Admiralty nor anyone else could have made any use of. Such a ship had gone off reconnoitering; such another had rejoined, fleet was in latitude so and so. This went on till the Thursday morning. I had just come up to town by train as usual, and was walking to my office, when the newsboys began to cry, "New edition, enemy's fleet in sight!" You may imagine the scene in London! Business still went on at the banks, for bills matured although the independence of the country was being fought out under our own eyes, so to say, and the speculators were active enough. But even with the people who were making and losing their fortunes, the interest in the fleet overcame everything else; men who went to pay in or draw out their money stopped to show the last bulletin to the cashier. As for the street, you could hardly get along for the crowd stopping to buy and read the papers; while at every house or office the members sat restlessly in the common room, as if to keep together for company, sending out some one of their number every few minutes to get the latest edition. At least this is what happened at our office; but to sit still was as impossible as to do anything, and most of us went out and wandered about among the crowd, under a sort of feeling that the news was got quicker at in this way. Bad as were the times coming, I think the sickening suspense of that day, and the shock which followed, was almost the worst that we underwent. It was about ten o'clock that the first telegram came; an hour later the wire announced that the admiral had signaled to form line of battle, and shortly afterwards that the order was given to bear down on the enemy and engage. At twelve came the announcement, "Fleet opened fire about three miles to leeward of us", that is, the ship with the cable. So far all had been expectancy, then came the first token of calamity." An ironclad has been blown up", "the enemy's torpedoes are doing great damage", "the flagship is laid aboard the enemy", "the flag-ship appears to be sinking", "the vice-admiral has signaled to", there the cable became silent, and, as you know, we heard no more till, two days afterwards, the solitary ironclad which escaped the disaster steamed into Portsmouth. Then the whole story came out, how our sailors gallant as ever, had tried to close with the enemy; how the latter evaded the conflict at close quarters, and, sheering off, left behind them the fatal engines which sent our ships, one after the other, to the bottom; how all this happened almost in a few minutes. The Government, it appears, had received warnings of this invention; but to the nation this stunning blow was utterly unexpected. That Thursday I had to go home early for regimental drill, but it was impossible to remain doing nothing, so when that was over I went up to town again, and after waiting in expectation of news which never came, and missing the midnight train, I walked home. It was a hot sultry night, and I did not arrive till near sunrise. The whole town was quite still, the lull before the storm; and as I let myself in with my latch-key, and went softly upstairs to my room to avoid waking the sleeping household, I could not but contrast the peacefulness of the morning, no sound breaking the silence but the singing of the birds in the garden, with the passionate remorse and indignation that would break out with the day. Perhaps the inmates of the rooms were as wakeful as myself but the house in its stillness was just as it used to be when I came home alone from balls or parties in the happy days gone by. Tired though I was, I could not sleep, so I went down to the river and had a swim; and on returning found the household was assembling for early breakfast. A sorrowful household it was, although the burden pressing on each was partly an unseen one. My father, doubting whether his firm could last through the day; my mother, her distress about my brother, now with his regiment on the coast, already exceeding that which she felt for the public misfortune, had come down, although hardly fit to leave her room. My sister Clara was worst of all, for she could not but try to disguise her special interest in the fleet; and though we had all guessed that her heart was given to the young lieutenant in the flag-ship, the first vessel to go down, a love unclaimed could not be told, nor could we express the sympathy we felt for the poor girl. That breakfast, the last meal we ever had together, was soon ended, and my father and I went up to town by an early train, and got there just as the fatal announcement of the loss of the fleet was telegraphed from Portsmouth. The panic and excitement of that day, how the funds went down to 35; the run upon the bank and its stoppage; the fall of half the houses in the city; how the Government issued a notification suspending specie payment and the tendering of bills, this last precaution too late for most firms. Graham and Company among the number, which stopped payment as soon as my father got to the office; the call to arms and the unanimous response of the country, all this is history which I need not repeat. You wish to hear about my own share in the business of the time. Well, volunteering had increased immensely from the day war was proclaimed, and our regiment went up in a day or two from its usual strength of 600 to nearly 1,000. But the stock of rifles was deficient. We were promised a further supply in a few days, which however, we never received; and while waiting for them the regiment had to be divided into two parts, the recruits drilling with the rifles in the morning, and we old hands in the evening. The failures and stoppage of work on this black Friday threw an immense number of young men out of employment, and we recruited up to 1,400 strong by the next day; but what was the use of all these men without arms? On the Saturday it was announced that a lot of smooth-bore muskets in store at the Tower would be served out to regiments applying for them, and a regular scramble took place among the volunteers for them, and our people got hold of a couple of hundred. But you might almost as well have tried to learn rifle-drill with a broom-stick as with old brown bess; besides, there was no smooth-bore ammunition in the country. A national subscription was opened for the manufacture of rifles at Birmingham, which ran up to a couple of millions in two days, but, like everything else, this came too late. To return to the volunteers: camps had been formed a fortnight before at Dover, Brighton, Harwich, and other places, of regulars and militia, and the headquarters of most of the volunteer regiments were attached to one or other of them, and the volunteers themselves used to go down for drill from day to day, as they could spare time, and on Friday an order went out that they should be permanently embodied; but the metropolitan volunteers were still kept about London as a sort of reserve, till it could be seen at what point the invasion would take place. We were all told off to brigades and divisions. Our brigade consisted of the fourth Royal Surrey Militia, the first Surrey Administrative Battalion, as it was called, at Chapham, the seventh Surrey Volunteers at Southwark, and ourselves; but only our battalion and the militia were quartered in the same place, and the whole brigade had merely two or three afternoons together at brigade exercise in Bushey Park before the march took place. Our brigadier belonged to a line regiment in Ireland, and did not join till the very morning the order came. Meanwhile, during the preliminary fortnight, the militia colonel commanded. But though we volunteers were busy with our drill and preparations, those of us who, like myself, belonged to Government offices, had more than enough of office work to do, as you may suppose. The volunteer clerks were allowed to leave office at four o'clock, but the rest were kept hard at the desk far into the night. Orders to the lord-leutenants, to the magistrates, notifications, all the arrangements for cleaning out the workhouses for hospitals, these and a hundred other things had to be managed in our office, and there was as much bustle indoors as out. Fortunate we were to be so busy, the people to be pitied were those who had nothing to do. And on Sunday (that was the fifteenth August) work went on just as usual. We had an early parade and drill, and I went up to town by the nine o'clock train in my uniform, taking my rifle with me in case of accidents, and luckily too, as it turned out, a mackintosh overcoat. When I got to Waterloo there were all sorts of rumours afloat. A fleet had been seen off the Downs, and some of the dispatch boats which were hovering about the coasts brought news that there was a large flotilla off Harwich, but nothing could be seen from the shore, as the weather was hazy. The enemy's light ships had taken and sunk all the fishing boats they could catch, to prevent the news of their whereabouts reaching us; but a few escaped during the night and reported that the frigate “Inconstant “, coming home from North America without any knowledge of what had taken place, had sailed right into the enemy's fleet and been captured. In town the troops were all getting ready for a move; the Guards in the Wellington Barracks were under arms, and their baggage-waggons packed and drawn up in the Bird-cage Walk. The usual guard at the Horse Guards had been withdrawn, and orderlies and staff-officers were going to and fro. All this I saw on the way to my office, where I worked away till twelve o'clock, and then feeling hungry after my early breakfast, I went across Parliament Street to my club to get some luncheon. There were about half-a-dozen men in the coffee-room, none of whom I knew; but in a minute or two Danvers of the Treasury entered in a tremendous hurry. From him I got the first bit of authentic news I had had that day. The enemy had landed in force near Harwich, and the metropolitan regiments were ordered down there to reinforce the troops already collected in that neighbourhood; his regiment was to parade at one o'clock, and he had come to get something to eat before starting. We bolted a hurried lunch, and were just leaving the club when a messenger from the Treasury came running into the hall. "Oh, Mister Danvers," said he, "I've come to look for you, sir; the secretary says that all the gentlemen are wanted at the office, and that you must please not one of you go with the regiments." "The devil!" cried Danvers. "Do you know if that order extends to all the public offices?" I asked. "I don't know," said the man," but I believe it do. I know there's messengers gone round to all the clubs and luncheon-bars to look for the gentlemen; the secretary says it's quite impossible any one can be spared just now, there's so much work to do; there's orders just come to send off our records to Birmingham to-night." I did not wait to condole with Danvers, but, just glancing up Whitehall to see if any of our messengers were in pursuit, I ran off as hard as I could for Westminster Bridge, and so to the Waterloo station. The place had quite changed its aspect since the morning. The regular service of trains had ceased, and the station and approaches were full of troops, among them the Guards and artillery. Everything was very orderly: the men had piled arms, and were standing about in groups. There was no sign of high spirits or enthusiasm. Matters had become too serious. Every man's face reflected the general feeling that we had neglected the warnings given us, and that now the danger so long derided as impossible and absurd had really come and found us unprepared. But the soldiers, if grave, looked determined, like men who meant to do their duty whatever might happen. A train full of guardsmen was just starting for Guildford. I was told it would stop at Surbiton, and, with several other volunteers, hurrying like myself to join our regiment, got a place in it. We did not arrive a moment too soon, for the regiment was marching from Kingston down to the station. The destination of our brigade was the east coast. Empty carriages were drawn up in the siding, and our regiment was to go first. A large crowd was assembled to see it off, including the recruits who had joined during the last fortnight, and who formed by far the largest part of our strength. They were to stay behind, and were certainly very much in the way already; for as all the officers and sergeants belonged to the active part, there was no one to keep discipline among them, and they came crowding around us, breaking the ranks and making it difficult to get into the train. Here I saw our new brigadier for the first time. He was a soldier-like man, and no doubt knew his duty, but he appeared new to volunteers, and did not seem to know how to deal with gentlemen privates. I wanted very much to run home and get my greatcoat and knapsack, which I had bought a few days ago, but feared to be left behind; a good-natured recruit volunteered to fetch them for me, but he had not returned before we started, and I began the campaign with a kit consisting of a mackintosh and a small pouch of tobacco. It was a tremendous squeeze in the train; for, besides the ten men sitting down, there were three or four standing up in every compartment, and the afternoon was close and sultry, and there were so many stoppages on the way that we took nearly an hour and a half crawling up to Waterloo. It was between five and six in the afternoon when we arrived there, and it was nearly seven before we marched up to the Shoreditch station. The whole place was filled up with stores and ammunition, to be sent off to the east, so we piled arms in the street and scattered about to get food and drink, of which most of us stood in need, especially the latter, for some were already feeling the worse for the heat and crush. I was just stepping into a public-house with Travers, when who should drive up but his pretty wife? Most of our friends had paid their adieus at the Surbiton station, but she had driven up by the road in his brougham, bringing their little boy to have a last look at papa. She had also brought his knapsack and greatcoat, and, what was still more acceptable, a basket containing fowls, tongue, bread-and-butter, and biscuits, and a couple of bottles of claret, which priceless luxuries they insisted on my sharing. Meanwhile the hours went on. The fourth Surrey Militia, which had marched all the way from Kingston, had come up, as well as the other volunteer corps; the station had been partly cleared of the stores that encumbered it; some artillery, two militia regiments, and a battalion of the line, had been despatched, and our turn to start had come, and long lines of carriages were drawn up ready for us; but still we remained in the street. You may fancy the scene. There seemed to be as many people as ever in London, and we could hardly move for the crowds of spectators, fellows hawking fruits and volunteers' comforts, newsboys and so forth, to say nothing of the cabs and omnibuses; while orderlies and staff-officers were constantly riding up with messages. A good many of the militiamen, and some of our people too, had taken more than enough to drink; perhaps a hot sun had told on empty stomachs; anyhow, they became very noisy. The din, dirt, and heat were indescribable. So the evening wore on, and all the information our officers could get from the brigadier, who appeared to be acting under another general, was, that orders had come to stand fast for the present. Gradually the street became quieter and cooler. The brigadier, who, by way of setting an example, had remained for some hours without leaving his saddle, had got a chair out of a shop, and sat nodding in it; most of the men were lying down or sitting on the pavement, some sleeping, some smoking. In vain had Travers begged his wife to go home. She declared that, having come so far, she would stay and see the last of us. The brougham had been sent away to a bystreet, as it blocked up the road; so he sat on a doorstep, she by him on the knapsack. Little Arthur, who had been delighted at the bustle and the uniforms, and in high spirits, became at last very cross, and eventually cried himself to sleep in his father's arms, his golden hair and one little dimpled arm hanging over his shoulder. Thus went on the weary hours, till suddenly the assembly sounded, and we all started up. We were to return to Waterloo. The landing on the east was only a feint, so ran the rumour, the real attack was on the south. Anything seemed better than indecision and delay, and, tired though we were, the march back was gladly hailed. Missus.Travers, who made us take the remains of the luncheon with us, we left to look for her carriage; little Arthur, who was awake again, but very good and quiet, in her arms. We did not reach Waterloo till nearly midnight, and there was some delay in starting again. Several volunteer and militia regiments had arrived from the north; the station and all its approaches were jammed up with men, and trains were being despatched away as fast as they could be made up. All this time no news had reached us since the first announcement; but the excitement then aroused had now passed away under the influence of fatigue and want of sleep, and most of us dozed off as soon as we got under way. I did, at any rate, and was awoke by the train stopping at Leatherhead. There was an up-train returning to town, and some persons in it were bringing up news from the coast. We could not, from our part of the train, hear what they said, but the rumour was passed up from one carriage to another. The enemy had landed in force at Worthing. Their position had been attacked by the troops from the camp near Brighton, and the action would be renewed in the morning. The volunteers had behaved very well. This was all the information we could get. So, then, the invasion had come at last. It was clear, at any rate, from what was said, that the enemy had not been driven back yet, and we should be in time most likely to take a share in the defence. It was sunrise when the train crawled into Dorking, for there had been numerous stoppages on the way; and here it was pulled up for a long time, and we were told to get out and stretch ourselves, an order gladly responded to, for we had been very closely packed all night. Most of us, too, took the opportunity to make an early breakfast off the food we had brought from Shoreditch. I had the remains of Missus Travers's fowl and some bread wrapped up in my waterproof, which I shared with one or two less provident comrades. We could see from our halting-place that the line was blocked with trains beyond and behind. It must have been about eight o'clock when we got orders to take our seats again, and the train began to move slowly on towards Horsham. Horsham Junction was the point to be occupied, so the rumour went; but about ten o'clock, when halting at a small station a few miles short of it, the order came to leave the train, and our brigade formed in column on the high road. Beyond us was some field artillery; and further on, so we were told by a staff-officer, another brigade, which was to make up a division with ours. After more delays the line began to move, but not forwards; our route was towards the north-west, and a sort of suspicion of the state of affairs flashed across my mind. Horsham was already occupied by the enemy's advance-guard, and we were to fall back on Leith Common, and take up a position threatening his flank, should he advance either to Guildford or Dorking. This was soon confirmed by what the colonel was told by the brigadier and passed down the ranks; and just now, for the first time, the boom of artillery came up on the light south breeze. In about an hour the firing ceased. What did it mean? We could not tell. Meanwhile our march continued. The day was very close and sultry, and the clouds of dust stirred up by our feet almost suffocated us. I had saved a soda-water-bottleful of yesterday's claret; but this went only a short way, for there were many mouths to share it with, and the thirst soon became as bad as ever. Several of the regiment fell out from faintness, and we made frequent halts to rest and let the stragglers come up. At last we reached the top of Leith Hill. It is a striking spot, being the highest point in the south of England. The view from it is splendid, and most lovely did the country look this summer day, although the grass was brown from the long drought. It was a great relief to get from the dusty road on to the common, and at the top of the hill there was a refreshing breeze. We could see now, for the first time, the whole of our division. Our own regiment did not muster more than 500, for it contained a large number of Government office men who had been detained, like Danvers, for duty in town, and others were not much larger; but the militia regiment was very strong, and the whole division, I was told, mustered nearly five thousand rank and file. We could see other troops also in extension of our division, and could count a couple of field-batteries of Royal Artillery, besides some heavy guns, belonging to the volunteers apparently, drawn by cart-horses. The cooler air, the sense of numbers, and the evident strength of the position we held, raised our spirits, which, I am not ashamed to say, had all the morning been depressed. It was not that we were not eager to close with the enemy, but that the counter-marching and halting ominously betokened a vacillation of purpose in those who had the guidance of affairs. Here in two days the invaders had got more than twenty miles inland, and nothing effectual had been done to stop them. And the ignorance in which we volunteers, from the colonel downwards, were kept of their movements, filled us with uneasiness. We could not but depict to ourselves the enemy as carrying out all the while firmly his well-considered scheme of attack, and contrasting it with our own uncertainty of purpose. The very silence with which his advance appeared to be conducted filled us with mysterious awe. Meanwhile the day wore on, and we became faint with hunger, for we had eaten nothing since daybreak. No provisions came up, and there were no signs of any commissariat officers. It seems that when we were at the Waterloo station a whole trainful of provisions was drawn up there, and our colonel proposed that one of the trucks should be taken off and attached to our train, so that we might have some food at hand; but the officer in charge an assistant-controller I think they called him, this control department was a newfangled affair which did us almost as much harm as the enemy in the long-run, said his orders were to keep all the stores together, and that he couldn't issue any without authority from the head of his department. So we had to go without. Those who had tobacco smoked, indeed there is no solace like a pipe under such circumstances. The militia regiment, I heard afterwards, had two days' provisions in their haversacks; it was we volunteers who had no haversacks, and nothing to put in them. All this time, I should tell you, while we were lying on the grass with our arms piled, the General, with the brigadiers and staff, was riding about slowly from point to point of the edge of the common, looking out with his glass towards the south valley. Orderlies and staff-officers were constantly coming, and about three o'clock there arrived up a road that led towards Horsham a small body of lancers and a regiment of yeomanry, who had, it appears, been out in advance, and now drew up a short way in front of us in column facing to the south. Whether they could see anything in their front I could not tell, for we were behind the crest of the hill ourselves, and so could not look into the valley below; but shortly afterwards the assembly sounded. Commanding officers were called out by the General, and received some brief instructions; and the column began to march again towards London, the militia this time coming last in our brigade. A rumour regarding the object of this counter-march soon spread through the ranks. The enemy was not going to attack us here, but was trying to turn the position on both sides, one column pointing to Reigate, the other to Aldershot; and so we must fall back and take up a position at Dorking. The line of the great chalk range was to be defended. A large force was concentrating at Guildford, another at Reigate, and we should find supports at Dorking. The enemy would be awaited in these positions. Such, so far as we privates could get at the facts, was to be the plan of operations. Down the hill, therefore, we marched. From one or two points we could catch a brief sight of the railway in the valley below running from Dorking to Horsham. Men in red were working upon it here and there. They were the Royal Engineers, someone said, breaking up the line. On we marched. The dust seemed worse than ever. In one village through which we passed, I forget the name now, there was a pump on the green. Here we stopped and had a good drink; and passing by a large farm, the farmer's wife and two or three of her maids stood at the gate and handed us hunches of bread and cheese out of some baskets. I got the share of a bit, but the bottom of the good woman's baskets must soon have been reached. Not a thing else was to be had till we got to Dorking about six o'clock; indeed most of the farmhouses appeared deserted already. On arriving there we were drawn up in the street, and just opposite was a baker's shop. Our fellows asked leave at first by twos and threes to go in and buy some loaves, but soon others began to break off and crowd into the shop, and at last a regular scramble took place. If there had been any order preserved, and a regular distribution arranged, they would no doubt have been steady enough, but hunger makes men selfish; each man felt that his stopping behind would do no good, he would simply lose his share; so it ended by almost the whole regiment joining in the scrimmage, and the shop was cleared out in a couple of minutes; while as for paying, you could not get your hand into your pocket for the crush. The colonel tried in vain to stop the row; some of the officers were as bad as the men. Just then a staff-officer rode by; he could scarcely make way for the crowd, and was pushed against rather rudely, and in a passion he called out to us to behave properly, like soldiers, and not like a parcel of roughs. "Oh, blow it, governor," said Dick Wake, "you aren't a-going to come between a poor cove and his grub." Wake was an articled attorney, and, as we used to say in those days, a cheeky young chap, although a good-natured fellow enough. At this speech, which was followed by some more remarks of the sort from those about him, the staff-officer became angrier still. "Orderly," cried he to the lancer riding behind him," take that man to the provost-marshal. As for you, sir," he said, turning to our colonel, who sat on his horse silent with astonishment, "if you don't want some of your men shot before their time, you and your precious officers had better keep this rabble in a little better order"; and poor Dick, who looked crestfallen enough, would certainly have been led off at the tail of the sergeant's horse, if the brigadier had not come up and arranged matters, and marched us off to the hill beyond the town. This incident made us both angry and crestfallen. We were annoyed at being so roughly spoken to: at the same time we felt we had deserved it, and were ashamed of the misconduct. Then, too, we had lost confidence in our colonel, after the poor figure he cut in the affair. He was a good fellow, the colonel, and showed himself a brave one next day; but he aimed too much at being popular, and didn't understand a bit how to command. To resume, We had scarcely reached the hill above the town, which we were told was to be our bivouac for the night, when the welcome news came that a food-train had arrived at the station; but there were no carts to bring the things up, so a fatigue-party went down and carried back a supply to us in their arms, loaves, a barrel of rum, packets of tea, and joints of meat, abundance for all; but there was not a kettle or a cooking-pot in the regiment, and we could not eat the meat raw. The colonel and officers were no better off. They had arranged to have a regular mess, with crockery, steward, and all complete, but the establishment never turned up, and what had become of it no one knew. Some of us were sent back into the town to see what we could procure in the way of cooking utensils. We found the street full of artillery, baggage-waggons, and mounted officers, and volunteers shopping like ourselves; and all the houses appeared to be occupied by troops. We succeeded in getting a few kettles and saucepans, and I obtained for myself a leather bag, with a strap to go over the shoulder, which proved very handy afterwards; and thus laden, we trudged back to our camp on the hill, filling the kettles with dirty water from a little stream which runs between the hill and the town, for there was none to be had above. It was nearly a couple of miles each way; and, exhausted as we were with marching and want of rest, we were almost too tired to eat. The cooking was of the roughest, as you may suppose; all we could do was to cut off slices of the meat and boil them in the saucepans, using our fingers for forks. The tea, however, was very refreshing; and, thirsty as we were, we drank it by the gallon. Just before it grew dark, the brigade-major came round, and, with the adjutant, showed our colonel how to set a picket in advance of our line a little way down the face of the hill. It was not necessary to place one, I suppose, because the town in our front was still occupied with troops; but no doubt the practice would be useful. We had also a quarter guard, and a line of sentries in front and rear of our line, communicating with those of the regiments on our flanks. Firewood was plentiful, for the hill was covered with beautiful wood; but it took some time to collect it, for we had nothing but our pocket-knives to cut down the branches with. So we lay down to sleep. My company had no duty, and we had the night undisturbed to ourselves; but, tired though I was, the excitement and the novelty of the situation made sleep difficult. And although the night was still and warm, and we were sheltered by the woods, I soon found it chilly with no better covering than my thin dust-coat, the more so as my clothes, saturated with perspiration during the day, had never dried; and before daylight I woke from a short nap, shivering with cold, and was glad to get warm with others by a fire. I then noticed that the opposite hills on the south were dotted with fires; and we thought at first they must belong to the enemy, but we were told that the ground up there was still held by a strong rear-guard of regulars, and that there need be no fear of a surprise. At the first sign of dawn the bugles of the regiments sounded the reveille, and we were ordered to fall in, and the roll was called. About twenty men were absent, who had fallen out sick the day before; they had been sent up to London by train during the night, I believe. After standing in column for about half an hour, the brigade-major came down with orders to pile arms and stand easy; and perhaps half an hour afterwards we were told to get breakfast as quickly as possible and to cook a day's food at the same time. This operation was managed pretty much in the same way as the evening before, except that we had our cooking-pots and kettles ready. Meantime there was leisure to look around, and from where we stood there was a commanding view of one of the most beautiful scenes in England. Our regiment was drawn up on the extremity of the ridge which runs from Guildford to Dorking. This is indeed merely a part of the great chalk-range which

The case for Trump Victor Davis Hanson. Copyright 2019 by Victor Davis Hanson Library of Congress Control Number: 2018968200 ISBN 978-1-5416-7354-0 (hardcover), ISBN 978-1-5416-7353-3 (ebook) ABOUT THE AUTHOR. Victor Davis Hansonis the Martin and Illie Anderson senior fellow in classics and military history at the Hoover Institution, Stanford University, and a professor emeritus of classics at California State University, Fresno. He is the author of more than two dozen books, ranging in topics from ancient Greece to modern America, most recentlyThe Second World Wars: How the First Global Conflict Was Fought and Won. He lives in Selma, California. PREFACE. The Case for Trumpexplains why Donald J. Trump won the 2016 election, and why I and 62,984,827 other Americans, 46 percent of the popular vote, supported him on Election Day. I also hope readers of the book will learn why Trump’s critics increasingly despise rather than just oppose him. Often their venom reveals as much about themselves and their visions for the country as it does about their opposition to the actual record of governance of the mercurial Trump. Donald Trump ran as an abject outsider. He is now our first American president without either prior political or military experience. Frustrated voters in 2016 saw that unique absence of a political résumé as a plus, not a drawback, and so elected a candidate deemed to have no chance of becoming president. The near-septuagenarian billionaire candidate, unlike his rivals in the primaries, did not need any money, and had little requirement in the primaries to raise any from others. Name recognition was no problem. He already was famous, or rather notorious. He took risks, given that he did not care whether the coastal elite hated his guts. These realities unexpectedly proved advantages, given that much of the country instead wanted someone, perhaps almost anyone, to ride in and fix things that compromised political professionals would not dare do. With Trump, anything was now felt by his backers to be doable. His sometimes scary message was that what could not be fixed could be dismantled. Introduction. MEET DONALD J. TRUMP. Ordinary men usually manage public affairs better than their more gifted fellows. Thucydides,History of the Peloponnesian War, spoken by Cleon, son of Cleaenetus. On June 16, 2015, voters met sixty-nine-year-old flamboyant billionaire, and now Republican presidential candidate, Donald J. Trump at his own eponymous Manhattan high-rise. The outsider offered no apologies for promising to be the first successful presidential candidate to have no political experience. Trump came down on his escalator, ready for the beginning of a nonending war with the press and civil strife within his party. He postured like Caesar easily crossing the forbidden Rubicon and forcing an end to the old politics as usual. Trump arrived with few if any campaign handlers. He soon bragged that he preferred an unorthodox small staff to ensure immunity from political contamination altogether. He boasted that he would pay for his own campaign. “I’m using my own money. I’m not using the lobbyists. I’m not using donors. I don’t care. I’m really rich.” But if the legendarily parsimonious billionaire planned to use mostly his own funds, then he was likely to run the most outspent presidential campaign in history. Sure enough, by Election Day, Hillary Clinton would raise almost half a billion dollars more than Donald Trump’s roughly 600 million dollars and still lose the Electoral College vote. Trump seemed oddly naïve about the reality that in presidential politics the rub is not so much about having lots of your own money, but rather the ability to get lots more of other people’s money. What followed was the strangest presidential candidate’s announcement speech in memory. Trump’s stream-of-consciousness talk went on and off, and back on, script. Reporters were stunned but also mesmerized by his lowbrow, sometimes crude tone and its content. Chapter Two. TRUMPISM. A civil war is going to break out inside the Republican Party along the old trench lines of the Goldwater-Rockefeller wars of the 1960s, a war for the heart and soul and future of the party. Patrick J. Buchanan,Where the Right Went Wrong. To leverage the cultural and class divide, to win the Republican primaries and to fuel a general election bid, Trump zoomed in on a number of signature issues. All of them at various times had been the haphazard property of earlier right-wing and, on occasion, left-wing populists. But from the moment that Trump announced his candidacy, he monotonously hammered these concerns, as if they were uniquely novel and his own throughout the campaign, the presidential transition, and his first two years in office. Even more unusual, what Trump ran on in 2015 to 16, he almost immediately sought to implement as president in 2017 to 18. That consistency rallied his base. It also astonished his critics, who privately had consoled themselves after his victory along the lines of “at least Trump cannot be serious.” But he was. And he made that clear with a number of agendas. Candidate and then president Trump faulted Bush’s Republicans as much as Obama’s Democrats for optional, costly, and inconsequential wars, from Iraq to Libya. For Trump, the objection was not that intervening abroad was necessarily immoral. Rather, such interventions were allegedly fought for ungrateful others, at the expense of Americans at home, especially the working classes. In political terms, Trump decided to run against much of the current Washington bipartisan foreign policy establishment and the previous three administrations that had intervened in Afghanistan, Iraq, and Libya. When Trump serially complained, “We don’t win wars anymore,” he did not mean just that the United States should be more muscular in finishing conflicts. Specifically, America should fight more reactively than preemptively, but only where America can realistically win. “Well, I’ll tell you what, I don’t mind fighting,” Trump conceded in February 2016, “but you have got to win and number one, we don’t win wars, we just fight, we just fight. It’s like a big, like you’re vomiting, just fight, fight, fight.” Chapter Three. “MODERN DAY PRESIDENTIAL”. I saw that Philip himself, with whom our conflict lay, for the sake of empire and absolute power had had his eye knocked out, his collar-bone broken, his hand and his leg maimed, and was ready to resign any part of his body that Fortune chose to take from him, provided that with what remained he might live in honor and glory. Demosthenes,On the Crown. We have seen that Trump fixated on a preexisting and receptive swing-state constituency. Then he crafted the right issues both to fire it up and yet also to transcend it. There is, however, still something missing in the decipherment of the Trump enigma. It is unlikely thatanyother politician could have followed the winning Trump formula (or would have proven as president so chaotically conservative had he been elected). In other words, Trump the person, warts and all, vulgar, uncouth, divisive, and yet often empathetic and concerned, despiteor because of his storied past, must explain much of his rise to power. Trump the person, then, transcended his issues. How and why Trump overshadowed his ideas and won the Republican nomination and election is the subject of this chapter. Apparently, a third of the voters saw him as something analogous to chemotherapy, which after all is used to combat something far worse than itself. Such toxicity was felt to be needed to kill the cancer, meaning the politics and bureaucracy of the proverbial deep state, even as the dosage might nearly kill the patient (the Trump voter) during the taxing therapy (the 24-7 media obsession with all things Trump). Trump supporters certainly did not want another palliative of McCain or Romney aspirin. And they no longer believed that a more conservative-sounding version of House Speaker Paul Ryan would be a successful substitute for the current Paul Ryan. Chapter Four. DEMOCRATIC TRIBALISM. There exists also in the human heart a depraved taste for equality, which impels the weak to attempt to lower the powerful to their own level, and reduces men to prefer equality in slavery to inequality with freedom. Alexis de Tocqueville,Democracy in America. In 2016, Hillary Clinton spent a record 250 million dollars in negative advertising against Donald Trump to paint him as a sexual predator, a colluder with Vladimir Putin, a tax cheat, a dishonest developer, a bigot, an alt-right racist, a xenophobe, a dark populist, a neofascist, a Machiavellian manipulator, a nut who might blow up the world, or alternatively a buffoon, a joke, a mess, and a slob. Hillary’s main message was “I am not the ogre Trump!” Yet running just against a presidential candidate’s person, rather than his ideas, his agendas, and his party, has not usually worked in recent American history. Walter Mondale was a charismatic, progressive, well-informed former senator and vice president when he ran in 1984 against incumbent Ronald Reagan. Yet Mondale offered only a vague liberal agenda. Instead, hedefined his campaign mostly as against Reagan, the supposedly heartless rich man’s lackey and ill-informed bumbler abroad. When the economy grew at over an annualized rate of 7 percent from November 1983 to November 1984, the trope of Reagan as dunce or corporate shill evaporated. Mondale had little alternative vision. He lost in the seventh-greatest landslide in American history. Republican Senate majority leader and former vice-presidential candidate Bob Dole had no real compelling message in 1996. In contrast, incumbent President Clinton had recently triangulated between Left and Right. He entertained some conservative ideas as he got the economy back on track and picked up blue-collar voters. Third-party candidate Ross Perot again siphoned off some conservative votes. Dole was demolished. Chapter Five. REPUBLICANS LOSE WHILE WINNING. One day, all will be well, this is our hope. All is well today, that is the illusion. Voltaire,Poem on the Lisbon Disaster. The national Republican establishment too often started with a weak agenda and then presented it even more weakly. The Republicans’ crisis was that their orthodoxy did not appeal any longer to those in swing states of the Electoral College that increasingly chose the president. And to the extent that it might, the usual way their messengers delivered it confirmed that it would not. During the 2016 primary campaign, most Republican candidates were privately depressed by the paradox that their party was winning at nearly every level while losing the presidency. Indeed, of the prior six presidential elections (and 2016 would be no different), Republicans had lost the popular vote in five of them. Yet, as noted, in just eight years Obama in some sense had all but wrecked the Democratic Party, at least for the next two years following his presidency. Remember that over his tenurethe party lost seventy-nine House seats and twelve senators. With them vanished a ruling majority in both houses of Congress and any chance to transform the Supreme Court. The Democratic Party’s local and state implosions were even greater. In 2009, Obama’s first year in office, Democrats controlled 59 percent of state legislatures. But by 2017, they had majorities in just 31 percent. Not since the 1920s had Democrats been weaker, losing thirteen governorships, to retain a mere sixteen of fifty. Nationwide, they had suffered net losses of about eleven hundred local offices. As a general rule, political parties tend to lose down-ballot races when they hold the presidency. But rarely had there been such a disconnect between presidential popularity and party failure, although the verdict is out whether Trump eventually will trump the Obama model of getting reelected while losing the Congress. What were the common explanations for these contradictions, and how would the latter play out in 2016 for Republicans, and Trump in particular? There were a number of them. Chapter Six. THE ANCIEN RÉGIME. Whether the mask is labeled fascism, democracy, or dictatorship of the proletariat, our great adversary remains the apparatus, the bureaucracy, the police, the military. Simone Weil, “Reflections on War”. On September 5, 2018, theNew York Timespublished an anonymous editorial by a supposed “senior official” in the Trump administration. In astounding fashion, the unnamed writer claimed that he, she was part of a legion of administration appointees and government officials who were actively working to undermine the Trump presidency by overriding his orders, keeping information from an unknowing Trump, or acting independently of his directives. Or as Anonymous unapologetically put it: Trump is facing a test to his presidency unlike any faced by a modern American leader. It’s not just that the special counsel looms large. Or that the country is bitterly divided over Mister Trump’s leadership. Oreven that his party might well lose the House to an opposition hell-bent on his downfall. The dilemma, which he does not fully grasp, is that many of the senior officials in his own administration are working diligently from within to frustrate parts of his agenda and his worst inclinations. I would know. I am one of them. TheTimesauthor then continues by confessing to a sort of slow-motion coup to undermine the Trump presidency: It may be cold comfort in this chaotic era, but Americans should know that there are adults in the room. We fully recognize what is happening. And we are trying to do what’s right even when Donald Trump won’t. The result is a two-track presidency. The writer then lists the supposed Trump sins and offers the following rationale for such extraordinary subversion on the part of self-elected conspirators: This isn’t the work of the so-called deep state. It’s the work of the steady state. Given the instability many witnessed, there were early whispers within the cabinet of invoking the 25th Amendment, which would start a complex process for removing the president. But no one wanted to precipitate a constitutional crisis. So we will do what we can to steer the administration in the right direction until, one way or another, it’s over. The bigger concern is not what Mister Trump has done to the presidency but rather what we as a nation have allowed him to do to us. We have sunk low with him and allowed our discourse to be stripped of civility. Chapter Seven. TRUMP ON DECLINE. The Western world has lost its civic courage. Such a decline in courage is particularly noticeable among the ruling and intellectual elite, causing an impression of a loss of courage by the entire society. Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn, Harvard commencement address, 1978. None of the more than twenty candidates running for president in 2016 claimed that America was in good shape, except perhaps Hillary Clinton, who advertised herself as the first female president and the progressive guarantor of Barack Obama’s successful eight years. Yet Donald Trump’s notion of decline was different from both the pessimism of his Republican rivals and Bernie Sanders’s vision of a wretched society in need of a radical socialist cure. Instead, Trump’s upbeat “Make America Great Again” was a simplistic tripartite message about decline: America was once great. Now it is not. But under Trump it will be great again. Trump promised such renewal on the first day of his campaign, as he has continued to do almost every day since. But has Trump ever fully defined what he meant by “decline”? Were Americans really materially or spiritually poorer than in the 1990s, the 1970s, or the 1950s? And wereallAmericans so suffering, or just half the country? Why did the richest generation in the history of civilization, or again at least half of it, find Trump’s gloomy diagnosis of decline and his therapy of renewal so persuasive, even optimistic? Trump, of course, was saying nothing new in a presidential campaign. Almosteverypresidential candidate has run on the idea of an America gone wrong under the incumbent. Usually the fault was due to someone of the opposite political party, more recently from the Left’s “A Time for Greatness” (John F. Kennedy, 1960), “To Begin Anew” (Eugene McCarthy, 1968), and “Come Home, America” (George McGovern, 1972) to the Right’s “Let’s Make America Great Again” (Ronald Reagan, 1980) or Mitt Romney’s “Restore Our Future” (2012). Ronald Reagan started off his 1980 campaign with a pre-Trumpian rallying call: “For those who’ve abandoned hope, we’ll restore hope and we’ll welcome them into a great national crusadeto make America great again.” Chapter Eight. NEVER HILLARY. She was not happy, she never had been. Whence came this insufficiency in life, this instantaneous turning to decay of everything on which she leaned? Gustave Flaubert,Madame Bovary. How strange that Democrats during the primary were worried that Hillary Clinton was the only candidate who could win the presidency, while Republicans were equally convinced that Donald Trump was the only one of their own who could lose the general election. More likely,anymajor Democratic figure other than Clinton might have won, andallother Republicans other than Trump might have likely lost. Yet if the Republicans were to nominate Donald Trump, then the sins of Hillary Clinton uniquely would cancel out his own. And if Trump were to run as the fresh outsider sent in to drain the swamp, then Clinton was the most likely among Democrats to represent the tired landlord of the miasma. If Trump seemed too old and unfit, then Clinton all the more so. And if rumors of Russians tainted Trump’s campaign, then they were predated by Russian operatives angling withthe Clintons throughout Hillary’s government service. In some sense, Hillary Clinton created the Trump presidency. So aside from Trump’s contentions that the United States was in decline and that only if Americans elected him could this regression be arrested, there was the matter of Hillary Clinton, his 2016 campaign opponent, and by July the only impediment between Trump and the presidency. Trump certainly campaigned on issues. We have seen that he embraced existential themes and concrete wedge issues. And he had a divided and volatile electorate to leverage further. But Trump also had the controversial opponent Hillary Clinton, or rather the explicit argument that whatever Trump was, he certainly was not Hillary Clinton. The two were certainly a pair of contradictions in almost every aspect. Physically, Trump’s bulk fueled a monstrous energy; Hillary’s girth sapped her strength. The reckless Trump did not drink; the careful Hillary freely did so. Hillary’s “good-taste” carefully tailored suits and tastefully coiffed hair did not seem natural. Trump’s “bad-taste” mile-long tie, orange tan, and combed-over yellow mane appeared paradoxically authentic. Chapter Nine. THE NEW, OLD CRUDE MESSENGER. “I approve of almost everything he has done,” my son remarked, “and I disapprove of almost everything he has said.” Joseph Epstein,WSJOpinion, February 27, 2018. In an earlier chapter, the “Modern Day Presidential,” we saw how Trump had used his tough tweets and unconventional speech and behavior to his advantage. But was there also a downside in the way he talked and acted that might nullify his otherwise undeniable achievements, ensuring that he rarely won a majority approval rating from the public? Everyone agreed that Donald Trump could become crude. A third of his supporters after the election expressed a personal dislike for Trump. But few could agree on whether his crudity was unprecedented in presidential history, whether it was a symptom of a crass society, or of an electronically wired world in which presidential burps became internet headlines, or whether it was long overdue retaliation. The debates framedquestions about whether Trump the messenger was separate from Trump’s message, and whether Trump was new crude or just a newer version of the old crude. For the Left, Trump’s supposedly odious character, his comportment, vocabulary, feuds and fights, was a force multiplier of his purportedly odious message, a veritable repeal of much of the Obama agenda between 2009 and 2017. Yet for most of the Never Trump Right, the reprobate Trump messenger cancelled out what otherwise might have been his tolerably conservative message. And as we have seen previously, for nearly half the country who voted for Trump, his message was usually indistinguishable from Trump himself, or rather impossible without him. The common denominator of all three of these positions is that Trump was not a neutral actor or subordinate to his message. In truth, he was one of the most controversial political figures in American post-war history, and he was inseparable from Trumpism. Chapter Ten. END TRUMP! “F*ck you. F*ck you. Yes, I’m angry. Yes, I’m outraged. Yes, I have thought an awful lot about blowing up the White House.” Madonna, Women’s March on Washington address, Inauguration Day, 2017. Never in the history of the American presidency has there been such an immediate and sustained effort by the opposition to remove an elected president before completing his first term. The growing furor against Bill Clinton that sought to impeach him came halfway in his second term. As we have seen, the existential hatred for Trump was due to a variety of reasons, the shock of Hillary Clinton blowing the 2016 election following the progressive eight years of Barack Obama, the unpredictability and volatility of Trump, the breakneck speed at which Trump sought to undo the Obama legacy, and the progressives’ belief that noble ends excused any means to achieve them. But whatever the cause and manifestations of Trump hatred, the efforts to delegitimize or even destroy him seemed to have ushered in a veritable second American civil war. Donald J. Trump was elected to the presidency on November 8, 2016. He lost the popular vote to Democratic candidate Hillary Clinton by a 48.2 percent to 46.1 percent margin, or by some 2.8 million votes. Yet Trump won decisively in the Electoral College with a vote of 304 to 227, thefifthtime in American history that the winner received fewer popular votes than did the loser. Almost immediately, Trump-elect was met with intense and multifaceted protests. Much worse would come by Inauguration Day. Chapter Eleven TRUMP, THE TRAGIC HERO? No man is an island, entire of itself; every man is a piece of the continent, a part of the main. and therefore, never send to know for whom the bell tolls; it tolls for thee. , John Donne,Devotions Upon Emergent Occasions The very idea that Donald Trump could, even in a perverse way, be heroic may appall half the country. Nonetheless, one way of squaring both Trump’s personal excesses and his accomplishments is that his traditionally nonpresidential behavior may have been valuable in bringing long-overdue changes in foreign and domestic policy. Tragic heroes, as they have been portrayed from Homer’sIliadand Sophocles’s plays (e.g.,Ajax, Antigone, Oedipus Rex, Philoctetes) to the modern western film, are not intrinsically noble. Much less are they likeable. They can often be obnoxious and petty, if not dangerous, especially to those around them. These mercurial sorts rarely end up well, and on occasion neither do those in their vicinity. Oedipus was rudely narcissistic. In the filmHombre, antihero John Russell (Paul Newman) proved arrogant and off-putting. Tragic heroes are often unstable loners. They are aloof by preference and due to society’s understandable unease with them. Sophocles’s Ajax’s soliloquies about a rigged system and the lack of recognition accorded his undeniable accomplishments is Trumpian to the core. They are akin to the sensational rumors that late at night Trump is holed up alone, brooding, eating fast food, apart from his wife, and watching Fox News shows. Chapter Twelve MISTER TRUMP GOES TO WASHINGTON Fortunately for the country, flawed as Trump is by aberrant personality defects, overweening self-centeredness, an inadequate attention span, and an inability to deal with criticism except in the angriest terms, not everything hinges on the president, even if, at age seventy-eight, assuming he had won a second term, he did somehow decide he wanted a third. , Michael Nelson,Trump’s First Year Donald Trump’s initial two-year record, like most presidencies, can be evaluated by lots of different criteria: from economic performance at home to statecraft abroad; as well as his legislative record, presidential executive orders and cabinet policies; judicial, economic, and political appointments; party losses or gains; a general sense of national purpose or lack of same, and his polls. Former advisor Stephen Bannon purportedly had a whiteboard in his office with one column showingpromises made in the campaign, the other how many of them had been fulfilled. By late 2018, two questions arose about the state of the United States. One, were things seen as better or worse than in 2016? Two, to what degree was President Trump responsible for the change? The first question is answered below. The second is made easy by the stark antitheses between Trump and Obama. Just as Obama was not a centrist Bill Clinton, so too Trump was not an establishmentarian President Bush. In fact, the Trump and Obama agendas were polar opposites. What Obama did, Trump methodically sought to undo, from the Affordable Care Act to the Iran deal. For every Obama executive order, there arose a Trump antithetical executive order. And for every mellifluous Obama put-down of an opponent, there was a cruder and sharper Trump riposte. Obama sought to manage the economy; Trump to free it. The former believed in the therapeutic view of human nature; the latter the tragic, and acted accordingly with both friends and enemies. In other words, Trump framed his presidency in antithesis to 2009, 17, in hopes that the country could judge for itself under which of the two administrations it was better off. Economically, the verdict was mostly unambiguous. PART FIVE. EPILOGUE. TRUMP TRUDGES ON. The 2018 Midterms and Beyond. As 2018 ended, the country remained as bitterly divided as when Trump entered office in January 2017. The general fault lines remained unchanged. A mostly upscale and coastal urban professional and educated elite was politically aligned with minorities and the poor. They were usually opposed by suburban conservatives and a rural and small-town middle class in the nation’s interior. Trump had neither expanded his appeal to include more independents or suburban women, nor had he lost a scintilla of his rock-hard base. Consequently, the 2018 post-election red-blue schema of congressional districts more or less resembled the Electoral College map of 2016: a sea of red in the interior of America was more than matched in population size by the far smaller blue geography of the two coastal corridors.

Rahan. Episode Thirty Six. The Monkey Men. The season-of-yellow-leaves" had arrived and the son of Crao watched these golden butterflies fluttering in the wind. Then will come the "Season-without-leaves". Then that of the "Green-leaves". The trees therefore live, like "Those-who-walk-upright"! His gaze fell on a large leaf that a breath had just flattened on the surface of the pond. They also know how to "crawl on water", he thought! Amused, he followed for a moment the race that seemed to be taking place between two leaves pushed by the wind. And they go faster than Rahan's Raft, he thought! Page Two: As the son of Crao thought of his raft which he had abandoned to cross this territory, a nearby noise arose. The "Two Horns" have returned! And indeed, as on the previous day, the antelopes approached fearfully from the pond. Maybe this time Rahan can kill one! Rahan not only wanted to appease his hunger, but also to protect himself from the rigors of the leafless season he knew was near. A skin of a "Two-horn" would allow it. He was only a few paces away from the animals when they sniffed the wind. And, like the day before, they took off at the very moment when the son of Crao leapt! It was again a desperate race in the thickets. Page Three: In the confusion of which the antelopes disappeared. Rahan does not run fast enough to catch the "Two Horns"! He will have to invent a trap! Annoyed, the son of the fierce ages returned to the pond where the leaves continued their course, slipping on the water, at the mercy of the wind. Unaware that his every move was being watched, he went back to carving the fragment of branch. He was as skillful as he was patient, and the wood gradually took the form of a knife. A knife that looked just like his own ivory knife. This was just a pastime to practice his dexterity. He knew this very well! The wooden blade was ineffective, even unusable! Page Four: This weapon would break at the first shock! But Rahan is happy to have been able to reproduce his knife! A squall blew over the pond, carrying away the dead leaves at breakneck speed. If Rahan was also running he would have killed a two-horned! An experienced hunter, the son of Crao had difficulty admitting having been twice defeated by the rapid antelopes. A good hunter must think and be tenacious, said Crao! He fingered the claw of his necklace which symbolized tenacity. Tomorrow, Rahan will find a way to kill a "Two-Horn"!! He must! As night fell, he gathered leaves and dead branches to build a fire. When sparks sprang from the flints, the being who was watching him, suddenly worried, retreated into the half-light. Page Five: For a long time, the son of fierce ages meditated. Rahan could dig a pit on the passage of the "Two-Horns". But he does not have the time! And then, the "Two-horns" are cunning beasts! They would sense this trap and would avoid it! He finally fell asleep and had a strange dream. In this dream he was challenging a dead leaf in a race! Did this sensation of water he felt in his dream suggest a plan? Maybe, because of this, he woke up with a start. Ra-ha-ha! Rahan has found it. Rahan knows how to overcome the mistrust of the "Two-horns"! The fire was still glowing and the morning mist floated over the pond where the dead leaves were still gliding. Page Six: The "Two-horns" always come back to drink at the same place! They sense Rahan lying in ambush in the thickets. And they flee! But they will not sense anything if he hides in the water, under the water!! This is where Rahan will be waiting for them! The son of Crao had spotted some clumps of reeds near which the antelopes came to drink. Playfully sticking the wooden cutlass in the soft earth of the bank. He jumped into the water. The being on the lookout growled in amazement. This enemy he did not dare to attack, this enemy who knew how to bring fire out of stones, this enemy who was now crawling on the water!! Page Seven: In ambush near the reeds, his ear glued to the ground, the son of fierce ages waited a long time. His heart beat faster when he finally heard the sound of hooves. The "two-horns" are back! The "Two-horns" are coming! Indeed, he caught a glimpse of the antelopes and let himself slide under the water, supple and silent as the gray grass snake. Let them come and drink! Quickly! Rahan will not be able to stay underwater for long! Let them come quickly! Quickly! The prudent beasts watched the bank. Their nostrils throbbed, trying to detect the smell of the man. Page Eight: The son of Crao, out of breath, felt the blood rush to his neck at times. He was going to emerge from the water when. The nostrils of a "Two-horned" punctured the surface above him! He divined the head of the beast bent over the water. And he suddenly uncoiled! Ra-ha-ha! His hands gripped the horns, suddenly pulling the large antelope into the pond! The second beast, terrified, was already far away. Rahan was more cunning, and faster than the "Two-horns"!! The antelope struggled furiously to regain the bank. The son of Crao knew that a single blow from his sharp horns would kill him. Page Nine: So he decided to complete this difficult aquatic melee as soon as possible. Ra-ha-ha! The ivory knife disappeared in the red fleece. A moment later, he was hoisting the "Two-horns" onto the bank. Rahan will be able to eat for many long days! And your skin will protect him from the bite of the cold! Somewhere in the thickets, the being remained, petrified. Where did the sun-haired-enemy get his power? An idea became embedded in the primitive’s brain. All the power of the enemy came from this magic object, this pointed and wonderfully polished object. Page Ten: Soon after the son of the fierce ages had skinned the "Two-horn". He carefully cleaned the skin, which was large and healthy. Then he dried it in the bright sun, stretched out on the ground. The wooden knife is still useful to Rahan! A little later. As soon as he regains his strength, Rahan will return to the shore he glimpsed yesterday. He will build a new Raft. And set off again on the "Great River”. In search of new lands! The meat was starting to grill gently. And spread around a delicious smell. A smell completely unknown to the being who spied on the son of Crao. Page Eleven: Rahan has time to look for some fresh water! The "Two-horns" will provide him with something to bring it back! One of the long hollow horns of the antelope could, in fact, serve as a receptacle. But only the inventive Rahan could attribute this function to it! He had been able to see how brackish the water in the pond was, so he started looking for a spring. Oh! Crao would not forgive this oversight!! Deprived of the ivory knife, he felt helpless for a moment. But the light lapping of a stream reassured him. Rahan does not need his weapon. When he has drawn the water. He will return to his fire! Page Twelve: He had just plunged the horn into pure water when the wind suddenly turned. And brought him the scent of a panther. No sooner had he turned his head than the beast leapt with all claws out! It was then that the son of the fierce ages showed his marvelous instinct. He let himself fall into the stream, and he raised the long, sharp horn. Ra-ha-ha! The clear water of the stream turned red. And, surprised to be still alive, Rahan freed himself. Everything can become a weapon in the hands of "Those-who-walk-upright"! Page Thirteen: Without this horn, Rahan would have joined the "Territory of Shadows"! But maybe, without the horn, Rahan would not have forgotten his knife! Guided by the scent of grilled meat, the son of Crao easily found his fire. He was planting the horn filled with fresh water in the ground when he froze in surprise. The quarter of antelope on the fire was gone! At the same time he noticed that the ivory knife, which held the skin taut. It too had disappeared! And it was then that he saw the being in the shadow of the trees. A frighteningly hairy being who devoured the grilled meat and wielded the precious ivory knife! Page Fourteen: The son of Crao had already met "Monkey-men" as close to "Those-who-walk-upright" as "Those-who-live-in-the-trees". This meat belongs to Rahan! It was he who killed the "Two-Horns"! Rahan will share the meat with you, but he wants you to return his knife! The being growled. He tossed the meat aside, and sat up, and clutched the ivory weapon fiercely. He wants to fight! Without a knife, Rahan is lost! Unless. Unless. This weapon lets him change things!!? The son of fierce ages rushed to the “Knife of Wood”, and snatched it from the ground. Could this primitive being approaching be deceived by appearances? Rahan did not know. But he no longer had a choice!! Page Fifteen: Gragh! Ra-ha-ha! The two adversaries collided, one armed with an ivory knife, the other with a derisory wooden one!! The ape-man's fury was countered by Rahan's flexibility and cunning. He avoided all the blows. And managed to trip the being, and to paralyze his weapon arm. Rahan could cut your throat! But he does not cut the throat of those who look so much like "those-who-walk-upright!" The wooden cutlass would break before penetrating the monstrously muscled chest. But the "Monkey-man" did not know this! He threw away the ivory weapon and his cries indicated that he was surrendering to his adversary. Rahan will not take your life!! Page Sixteen: The son of Crao leapt to retrieve his knife. Smashing the branches, the being was already disappearing into the forest. This territory where men are still beasts does not suit Rahan! Rahan is going back on the big river!! He had appeased his hunger and quenched his thirst when distant shouts arose. The monkey-man has alerted his people!! Far away in fact, the wild cries of a disturbed horde were punctuated with the description which one of them made of the “enemy-with-hair-the-color-of-the-sun". A breath of anguish swept through the great forest when the horde of "Monkey-Men" set off. From the thickets to the foliage, everyone knew that the horde was on a hunt to kill!! Page Seventeen: The son of Crao, however, haunted by the unceasing clamor had just reached the shore. The sea is stormy, but that was not what worried him. The "Monkey-men" will be here very soon! Rahan will not have time to build a Raft! The wind that was blowing from the forest, indicated to him the approach of danger. They are ten times more numerous than the fingers of the two hands! For the first time the son of the fierce ages did not have to turn his ivory knife on a rock to know where to direct his steps. Looking along this shore, he saw no other way out than the great river! This stump should float as well as a raft! Page Eighteen: But will "The Great River" accept Rahan? The waves rolled in, bringing the skiff back to the beach. And this beach was suddenly invaded by the horde of "Monkey-Men". Help Rahan "Great River!" At least take me! Quickly! Hurry up! But the stump, for a moment carried out to sea, was immediately brought back by the waves!! A hail of stones fell around the raft. Rahan would have liked to teach everything he knows to the "Ape-men". But it's impossible, impossible! He can leave them only one memory! The wooden knife he threw floated on the waves and was washed ashore. Page Nineteen: A moment later the "monkey-men" were fiercely fighting over this weapon! If the "Great River" does not carry me away, Rahan will be massacred like a beast! Despite the wind blowing out to sea, the waves kept bringing the skiff back. Ah! If Rahan could glide through the water as fast as yellow leaves! The son of Crao suddenly remembered his dream. The race where he was opposed by a dead leaf. The wind beating on this curled leaf. A dazzling idea sprang from his imagination. Could not it, like the leaf, provide a great grip on the wind? His pole! The skin of "Two-Horns"! It only took him a moment to wedge the pole in place, and find the best way to stretch the skin across it. Wind! Blow on the sheet of skin!! Page Twenty: The skin tightened, and swelled. And Rahan's victorious clamor burst into the wind! Ra-ha-ha! The raft glided over the waves, out to sea! Once again, his powers of observation, his imagination, his ability to take advantage of everything. Had saved the son of Crao! The "Monkey-men" ceased to fight, and contemplated with bewilderment this enemy who escaped them. An elusive enemy who knew how to beat fire from stones and control the wind!! This primitive horde thought, on this morning in the fierce ages, that their territory had been visited by a supernatural being! It was no such thing! If Rahan was more evolved than some of his kind, he was however only a man! And it was with the pride of belonging to the great horde of "Those-who-walk-upright" that he let himself be carried away by the wind to other shores, other mysteries, other adventures. Index: https://rumble.com/v3486cm-rahan-index-of-episodes-by-roger-lecureux..html

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The Secret History of the Five Eyes By Richard Kerbaj.

Rahan. Episode Thirty five. The Sorcerer of the Full moon. Huddled in the tree he had chosen as his nocturnal refuge, Crao's son was awakened by worrisome murmurs. And he suddenly saw a strange silhouette looming against the moon, like that of a "Wampa", on lookout above the ridge. But it is not a "Wampa"! She is a witch! And those are going to carry their offerings!! Whispers arose from a group of hunters who passed under his refuge laden with quarters of meat. Page Two: It has been days and days since Rahan has encountered any hunters! He dominated his urge to challenge these men. Knowing how dangerous it was to disturb the customs of those-who-walk-upright. Rahan will find them later! Shortly after, the hunters deposited their offerings halfway up the hill. Then they fled while the witch waved her arms, like a "Wampa" ready to take flight. They were going back under the tree when Crao's son signaled his presence. Rahan greets you, brothers! Rahan is happy to finally meet men! The clan froze, petrified with dread. You lie! You are Sonaya! You took on the appearance of a hunter to. Show us your power! Page Three: The sorcerer on the hill had disappeared. We just brought you the Round Moon Offerings! What else do you expect from us, Sonaya!? They take Rahan for a wizard, thought Rahan! How can Rahan convince them that he is just a hunter like them!? The men, frightened, flowed back into the thickets, and they were absorbed by the darkness. With the day, their fear will dissipate. Rahan will prove to them that he is not Sonaya-the-sorcerer! The son of fierce ages could not find sleep. Why do "Those-who-walk-upright" flee or kill each other? He thought of all the clans he had been able to reconcile. He was thinking of the one of the "big men” that he had rid of a terrible monster. Page Four: Dawn came, and he followed the tracks of the hunters, that led to a wide river. He glimpsed huts on the other side. A little later. Rahan will not make it to the other side of the river alive! The "Piranes" will devour him! Worrying swarms on the surface proved that this river was infested by what Crao called "Piranes". These formidable little fish were capable of shredding a hunter in an instant down to a skeleton! Either Rahan must build a raft, or he must lure the "Piranes" to another prey! The son of Crao did not hesitate between the two solutions. A roaring panther loomed up behind him! That will satisfy the "Piranhas"! Page Five: The beast crouched. But his powerful leap was stopped by Rahan, who was very used to these fights. Ra-ha-ha! The ivory blade plunged only once into the ocellus side, striking down the panther! On the other side the hunters heard the victorious cry. Astonished, they saw the son of Crao throw the body of the beast into the river. And while. The multitudes of Piranhas sprang from all sides, throwing themselves voraciously on this prey. Rahan Dove in! Page Six: He knew his diversion would allow him time to swim to the other shore. He hoisted himself onto it, while the "Piranhas" still fought over the carcass of the panther. The men, worried, prepared to flee. Rahan is not a wizard! He just proved he is just a hunter, like you! If Rahan was Sonaya, as you believe, he would not have feared the "Piranhas"! He would have used his wizarding powers to drive them away! Overcoming his fears, the leader of the clan rushed forward. Fraukk may join "The Territories of Shadows"! But he will know if you are Sonaya or not! Page Seven: The club fell with such force that Rahan thought his chest was bursting. Ha-ha-ha! So you are vulnerable!! Aiming for the head of his unconscious adversary, Fraukk was about to finish him off with another blow. When. Stop Fraukk! Stop! Maybe Sonaya is cunning! If you strike again, their curse will fall on us all!! Another hunter interrupted. The next night will bring us the truth! We all know Sonaya can take on a lot of appearances. But they cannot appear in several. Places at the same time. If Sonaya appears on the hill tonight, and if this man is still among us, he will have told the truth! Page Eight: When the son of Crao came to, he was tied to a Baobab, away from the village. Rahan should have run away from this clan! Why does he always come back to "Those-who-walk-upright"!? Fraukk has spared Rahan and has left him his knife! Would he still think Rahan is a sorcerer?? The doubt, indeed, remained among the men of the clan. Why do you come with the round moon to haunt our hills, Sonaya? Why demand meat as an offering, Sonaya? Rahan is not Sonaya! Rahan is Rahan, the son of Crao!! We will find out tonight!! When the "Round Moon” shines!! The man who pointed to the crest of the hill, was robust like all of his people. Page Nine: Rahan has encountered few clans whose hunters were all so strong! But why do they wait for the round moon to decide his fate? The son of the fierce ages tried, in vain, to free himself from his bonds. When the sun disappeared, his bruised wrists were still securely bound! As the grayness of twilight filled the sky, he saw the hunters in the village gather around their leader, Fraukk. And he heard a voice near him! I come to deliver you, Sonaya! But you will take me with you to the hills! The man who emerged from the half-light clutched a flint. His right arm hung lifeless, certainly broken. Arke was trampled by a "Long Nose". Arke is no longer useful to the clan! Page Ten: Because his arm is dead, Arke will be fed to the "Piranhas"!! That is why Arke wants to go with you Sonaya!! The poorly formed flint hardly cut the bonds of the captive. Take that knife, Arke! These vines will be cut faster! Oh! I Knew Sonaya had magic weapons! The ivory blade had, with a single blow, cut through the bonds! You are free, Sonaya! Why do you not fight Farukk?? You have the power! Eh? Er? Later. It cost the son of Crao to abuse his savior's trust. But now was not the time for explanations. To the rafts, Arke, Quick! Quickly! Page Eleven: Fraukk, however harangued his clan. The Round Moon will soon crown the hill! We will then know if the captive lied. Oh! Turning his gaze to the Boabab, the chief observed Rahan's disappearance. So it was Sonaya! Only a wizard can break free without a trace! Playing the game to sow doubt, the son of Crao had indeed taken away and thrown his bonds into the river. The night is with us Arke! Let us enjoy it!! The Raft was in the middle of the river when it hit a rock. If Rahan knew how to stay on the skiff. It was not the same for Arke, whose right arm was broken. Clinging to the logs, the unfortunate man flailed in the swarm of "Piranhas" rising from the depths. Page Twelve: Rahan snatched up the man from whose legs the voracious fish clung. The ivory knife sliced off the heads, and broke the jaws of the most tenacious "Piranhas". Arke will be saved! Rahan knows the herbs that heal bites! Afterwards, on the other bank, Crao's son was nursing his companion. The moon, huge and round, seemed to rest on the hill. Arke screamed when the silhouette evoking a "Wampa" was cut out there. Sonaya! The sorcerer of the "Round Moon"!! But if Sonaya is up there, on the hill, and if you are near Arke. It must be that you are not Sonaya! Who are you, then! A simple hunter like you, Arke! A hunter who has only one desire tonight. To discover the secret of Sonaya!! Page Thirteen: As soon as he had bandaged his companion's legs, Rahan rushed towards the hill, as if climbing to an assault on the moon. When he was a hundred paces from the sorcerer who was flapping their "Wings" he understood that these were only large deer skins. At fifty paces, he made out a face with a hooked nose, with long hair falling halfway down the body. At twenty steps, he realizes that this hideous face was only a mask of painted terracotta. That was when he sat up and launched his challenge. No River Clan hunter has dared come so close to you, Sonaya! If Rahan does, it is because he does not believe in the supernatural powers of wizards! Page Fourteen: Sonaya, plunging into a ravine, disappeared from view. He then jumped towards the ridge. And the clan of Fraukk, from the river bank, saw him take the place, of the missing wizard, in front of the round moon. The unknown man was indeed Sonaya! By striking him, Fraukk defied the spirits! Fraukk will die and his clan will experience famine! And while Fraukk lamented. The son of the fierce ages was chasing the wizard. Do not run away, Sonaya! Rahan knows how to catch up with you, even in your Lair!! At the entrance to the cave, the sorcerer pulled out a spear stuck in the ground. Do not try to kill Rahan Wizard!! Rahan will have to defend his life!! Page Fifteen: The spear, armed with a coarse flint, mewed in the ears of Crao's son. Zium! The Sorcerer was about to grab a second when Rahan, quicker, threw his knife. Zlang! Rahan did not want to steal your life, Sonaya! But the savage law orders him to defend his own! But! Oh! A shiver ran through the son of fierce ages. Despite the ivory blade stuck in his heart, the sorcerer shouted orders!! He was then plunged into a nightmare. Puny and deformed beings rose from the cave. Some had one arm amputated, others were skipping around without a leg. Rahan has lost his mind! Help me Crao! Page Sixteen: This fantastic pack surrounded him, mastered him, and dragged him towards the fire that was burning at the bottom of the cave. No one has the right to unveil the domain of Sonaya! But you are not part of the clan of the river and you were perhaps unaware of this law. Beneath the frightening mask, the voice was calm, almost soft. A staggering man suddenly appeared at the entrance to the cave. It was Arke! I implore your protection, Sonaya! As for Rahan, he is a loyal and brave hunter! He fought Farukk and saved me from the Piranhas, to lead me to you! Since a "Long Nose" broke my arm, the clan has decided on my death! If Rahan is the loyal man you say he is, he will know the truth! On condition of never revealing it to those of the river. Rahan gives you his word! Page Seventeen: The sorcerer dropped the heavy skins, and Rahan saw how slender the sorcerer was. He also saw the bark plate protecting the chest and in which his knife had stuck. You are the first true hunter to know our secret! Sonaya then took off her mask and a young woman's face was revealed!! We were all once members of the river clan. But a barbaric custom made us flee. This custom consists of. Eliminating all those who, crippled or injured, are no longer useful for hunting! Some are thrown to the piranhas. Others are abandoned in the jungle, delivered to wild animals! It is these unfortunates that we collect in our cave. Page Eighteen: They are unfortunately unable to hunt and that is why at the time when the moon is round, I appear as a sorcerer on the hill. One night I wear one mask, the next night another. This is how Fraukk's men think I can change my appearance! It was enough for me to threaten the clan with my curse, to bend these barbarians to my will. They place their offering of meat away from this cave, as I demand. And this meat feeds my companions until the epoch of the new round moon! This tale enchanted the son of ferocious Ages. So the river clan unknowingly feeds those they hunted! But has Fraukk never tried anything against you? Yes, but only once. Page Nineteen: One night, he crossed the line that I set for his men. The flint he threw at me stuck in the bark shield. Like your knife! This reinforced the idea in the clan, that the "Sorcerer-of-the-round-moon" is invulnerable. How did you imagine all these tricks! You who are neither sick nor infirm, you did not have to fear the barbarous custom! Me no! But my father was a victim of it. He was a brave hunter. But one day he was charged by a big "Two-Tooth" He could have recovered, but the savage custom demanded that he be thrown into the river! It was after seeing my poor father torn to pieces by the Piranhas that I took refuge in the hills. Page Twenty: Later others joined me. We formed this new clan. Where everyone helps each other, as all "Those-who-walk-upright" should do! But if Fraukk learned that the "Sorcerer-of-the-round-moon" Is only a young woman, He would come to decimate these unfortunates! He will never know! Rahan will never betray you, Sonaya! It was the first time that Crao's son had made a pact with a Sorcerer! But this Sorcerer or rather this witch had nothing in common with those he had known! Keep watch long over your banished clan, Sonaya! Rahan will not forget you! The seasons passed. Whenever the time of the radiant moon returned, Rahan thought of Sonaya and those barbarous and stupid beings who brought offerings to them. That they had hunted from their clan! And each time, this thought made the son of fierce ages very happy. Index: https://rumble.com/v3486cm-rahan-index-of-episodes-by-roger-lecureux..html

Rahan. Episode Thirty Four. The Forest of Axes. Intrigued by the strange forest he discovered at the bottom of the valley, the son of Crao did not immediately hear the huge reptile that was coiling in the branches. When the light rustling of the scales on the rough bark alerted him it was too late, the snake was too close! Back, “Boak”!! Rahan only violated your domain to orient himself! He does not want to fight! Rahan did not even reach for his ivory knife. Page Two: Ra-ha-ha! Because he knew that a hand to hand melee on these fragile branches would be fatal to him. Seeing a sturdier branch, he dived towards this refuge. Crack! His cry was followed by the crack of the branch breaking in shock. He glimpsed the top of the tree toppling over in the sky. And fell into the void, shattering the branches that lashed his body. Had he escaped the boa to crash to the ground? No! His fall was abruptly stopped and he felt himself rocking gently, almost pleasantly. Crao said that luck often comes to the aid of hunters! The coincidence was that this forked fragment that he had not let go of, had hooked up on a long, paired branch. Page Three: For the son of Crao, the jump that brought him back to the ground was just a game. Farewell Boak! Rahan cannot wait to take a closer look at this bush with thorns of flint! A moment later he was descending towards those thickets which had so intrigued him. Son of fierce ages, Rahan had crossed many territories, met many hordes, and attended many rites. But what he discovered that day amazed him. It is not nature that made these stone thorns grow!! But those who walk upright!! All around him, branches and bushes were bristling with flints of all shapes. Even Crao, who knew so much, never spoke of such a strange forest. Page Four: Rahan and no time to ask other questions. Death to him who violates the "Forest of Axes" in the season of yellow leaves! Weapons flew around Rahan as he fled. The handle of one of them reached his neck. Robust, he quickly recovered his wits. I am Rahan, son of Crao! I cross this territory as a friend! But the hunters disarmed and overpowered him. The clan chief admired the thin but strong ivory blade. When the next "Season-without-leaves" comes, Baroa will have the most beautiful weapon! The knife belongs to Rahan! It is now owned by Baroa! With a violent blow of the knife, Baroa severed an axe-branch. Page Five: He split this one, and slipped in the blade. Strongly fortifying the branch with the help of a vine. The "Blood-of-the-tree" will do the rest! Moons follow moons, seasons follow seasons and the "Blood of the tree" will act. Your knife and this branch will be one forever! For the son of Crao the mystery of the forest of axes was suddenly cleared up. The branches, coming together over the seasons, would form around the flints the most solid, the most effective of attachments. Baroa and his hunters have discovered a marvelous secret! Rahan will reveal it to the clans he meets! The leaders of the horde shall decide whether Rahan should live or die! Surrounding their captive, the hunters were already dragging him towards a hill. Page Six: The clan was only halfway up the slope when shouts arose from the forest of axes. "Those-of-the-cliff" once again betray their word! Entrusting Rahan to two of their own, the hunters screamed down into the forest. A moment later, the men of Baroa and "the people of the cliff" were wildly fighting. Despite the distance, the son of Crao heard the flint weapons clashing. Why do they fight? Why are they killing each other? Because "Those-of-the-cliff" do not have the right to enter the forest of axes! Watching the flow of the combat, the hunters were less vigilant. Crao would not pass up this opportunity to escape! Page Seven: Ra-ha-ha! Rahan's two fists struck at the same time. The hunters had not gotten up when he leapt into the rocks, as nimble as a chamois. With the night they will not find Rahan! But Rahan, he must find his knife! Shortly afterwards, as the sun was setting, the son of Crao saw the two clans which, each side by side, were abandoning the forest of the Axes. Like most hunters, they fear fighting in the dark! Their fear can benefit Rahan! Page Eight: Rahan stealthily moved through the silent forest, looking for the copse where Baroa had "Grafted" his ivory knife. When a spear, narrowly missing him, stuck itself in a trunk! Shtok! If it was not for this injury, I would not have missed you, hill dog!! Rahan does not belong to the clan of the hills! He is looking for his knife that Baroa stole from him!! A knife!? When so many axes are at your fingertips! Weapons. I will not see more. When I am in "shadow territory"! Rahan understood that this man, indeed, would not survive his terrible wound. Whose idea was it to use the "Blood of the Trees" to make these axes? No one does. Know anymore. The fathers, of our fathers, perhaps. Or maybe them. The fathers of fathers, from "Those of the Hills". Page Nine: In the past, our two clans respected the custom! Everyone waited for "the-seasons-without-leaves" when "the blood-of-the-trees", had made strong axes, to come and get new weapons for our hunts. At that time peace reigned. But each clan wanted to own more axes than the other! We no longer waited for the season without leaves to get weapons. And the fights started as soon as the men of one clan were reported in the forest, with the men of the other clan running to chase them away! This is what happened today. But for me. This will be the last fight. The dying man was panting. His drooping fingers felt his shell necklace. Since. You are not involved in our Discords, I hope you will accept. To take this to Troik. Troik is my son. Page Ten: Rahan remembered that cruel day of his childhood when Crao-the-wise, before dying, had given him his necklace of claws. Rahan will put this necklace around Troik's neck himself! Rahan promises you! The hunter's eyelids fluttered as if to give thanks. Then they closed forever. Rahan will find the copse when it's daylight! The son of Crao searched for his knife for a long time. But the darkness was too deep. He headed towards the cliff at the foot of which were cut out entrances to caves. As no fire burned in these caves, nor on the hills. He concluded that these two clans, like many others he had met, did not know how to start the fire using the “stones-that-throw-stars". Page Eleven: He was crawling towards the caves when. Those of the hills are crawling like snakes now!! Stand! Goaded by the spears, the son of Crao obeyed. Look! Troar's necklace! He killed Troar and dares to spy on us! Rahan did not kill Troar! But he saw him die and Troar asked him to bring this necklace back to his son, Troik! Rahan speaks the truth! Men and children came out of the caves. Which of you is Troik? That is me! Your father is dead, Troik. His last words were to regret those stupid fights between you and the clan of the hills! Page Twelve: The adolescent let the necklace pass around his neck. You lie! You have killed Troar, and this necklace is only a pretext to come and spy on us, to find out the number of our hunters! Death to the dog from the hills. A few men rushed in, spears held high. Death! Ra-ha-ha! The first hunter was disarmed, without having been able to understand how. Ra-ha-ha! A terrifying roundhouse threw the other men to the ground. But the son of Crao could not and did not want to face this pack! A roar of rage and resentment arose as he rushed to the forest of axes. Page Thirteen: A moment later he was running between the first thickets bristling with flints. They dare not chase Rahan! But as soon as the sun rises Rahan will be hunted down by both the Cliff Clan and the Hill Clan! Had it not been for his precious ivory knife which he wanted to find, the son of Crao would have immediately fled this hostile territory. Ohh! Luck is with Rahan! Chance, indeed, had brought him back near the copse where his weapon had been consigned to the "Blood-of-the-trees". The spear cut through the vine. The branch parted, releasing the knife. Page Fourteen: You will never belong to Baroa, like that bully thought! You will remain Rahan's faithful weapon! Besides, "Men-of-the-cliffs" and "Men-of-the-Hills", will find here more weapons than they need to massacre each other from father to son! The son of fierce ages pouted in deep sadness. Why are “Those-who-walk-upright” killing each other to own this forest? The pout suddenly gave way to a resolute expression. The reason for these massacres would disappear if this forest did not exist! Yes. That is how Crao would have thought! The forest must disappear! The son of Crao was already gathering dry brushwood. Page Fifteen: He did not have to beat the flint for long. Flames rose, on which he threw resinous twigs. From the top of the hills, they had seen this fire light up mysteriously. But this miracle could not be attributed to a man. They did not understand until they caught a glimpse of Rahan running through the forest, and throwing here and there his flaming twigs! Fanned by the wind, the fire uncovered the carpet of dry grass. The flames on all sides wrapped around the resinous trunks. And gnawed the branches where, for seasons, the blood-of-the-trees had welded the flint axes. The son of Crao had fled, so as not to be surrounded by the enclosure of fire. Page Sixteen: He perceived, in spite of the crackling, and of the flames, the angry howls coming from the cliffs and falling from the hills. Howl! Howl! You will probably understand one day what Rahan has done for you! At daybreak the forest of axes was no more than charred trunks at the feet of which lay hundreds of flints. The son of Crao did not see this sight because he was fleeing to the south. To be hunted by the clan of the cliffs and that of the hills. The wide precipice that stopped his course did not surprise him. Because he had often had to cross obstacles of this kind. Page Seventeen: He knew that a very long line would allow him to pass across this ravine. But would his pursuers give him time? The first time the lasso missed the rock that he was aiming for on the other side of the ravine. Ra-ha-ha! But on the second attempt, the loop tightened on the rock. He was tying the vine to the trunk of a tree when the hunters appeared in the distance. Rahan is lost! Rahan is agile, but he will not even get to the middle of the ravine when these men arrive! And then they will cut the vine! Page Eighteen: Rahan will fall over the precipice as he fell from the tree yesterday! Oh! Oh! The Branch! Rahan's face suddenly lit up. And in a fraction of a second, he remembered how a branch had saved him from falling to his death. The ivory blade repeatedly fell on a forked branch. The hunters were now only a hundred paces from him. They were only fifty paces away when the branch was finally separated! A few spears stuck around the son of Crao who, placing the forked branch on the vine. Page Nineteen: Ra-ha-ha! Let himself fall into the void! Clinging to the branch that slipped on the vine, Rahan knew that his life depended on the seconds that were to follow. While the slope of the precipice came on him at a mad speed, in the distance a hunter raised his axe to cut the line. Clong! That axe fell just as Rahan let himself roll near the granite rock, on the other side of the ravine! Only a demon is capable of such a thing! We should not have hunted a being who has knowledge of starting fire. Page Twenty: Listen to his cry! Maybe he will come back for revenge!? Ra-ha-ha! The hunters were wrong. This cry uttered by Rahan was neither a cry of hatred, nor a cry of revenge! It was quite simply the clamor he launched when he had overcome a danger, or triumphed over a peril. They will not kill each other anymore for the "Axe Forest"! Crao the wise would have been proud of Rahan! Once again, in these fierce times, Rahan had acted for the happiness of "Those-who-walk-upright". And if he rushed forward, happy and light-hearted, in pursuit of an immense butterfly, it was not to capture the insect, but because it was leading him to discover new territories. Index: https://rumble.com/v3486cm-rahan-index-of-episodes-by-roger-lecureux..html

Gödel, Escher, Bach: an Eternal Golden Braid. Part Two,Chapters 10-21 1979, by Douglas Hofstadter. Part I: https://rumble.com/v39y44y-goedel-escher-bach-part-i.-1979-book-by-douglas-hofstadter..html

GEB. Part One. Chapters 1 to 9. Version 2 of an attempt at an audiobook Part Two: https://rumble.com/v3a6wlu-gdel-escher-bach-an-eternal-golden-braid-part-two.-by-douglas-hofstadter..html

Reptile. Episode Ten. Checkmate! Thanks to Mark Bowen, the police now know the sinister secret of "Reptile", the terrifying professor Andros Androphis, who can transform in reptile, and whose avowed goal is to dominate the universe by Terror! Thousands of Londoners have already submitted to Reptile’s power, thanks to a type of drug, whose composition Mark has decided to find an antidote for. But the professor stops on the way to the laboratory where Mark has proceeded. Ha-ha-ha! The locks do not present any difficulty for me! Ha-ha! My elastic fingers sneak into everywhere and everything! Sneak! Sneak! However on the bridge where the path of Mark Bowen, Inspector Manning and their prisoner was still blocked by the reptile creatures. There is no way to pass, Manning! There is a way by taking a little dip! Page Two: Thud! Sorry friend, but I cannot help it! Urgh! You guys give up and get out! We cannot do anything against such madmen! And as a result, the police who had tried to open a passage for them retreated in disaster. Whew! It is about time! Plof! Page Three: Help me keep his head above water Manning! I am here! I have one foot on the top of a pile on this bridge! Weird, we do not hear any more up there! Reptile's "supporters" are probably no longer there. Maybe the professor called them back?! I would like to know where that one went. The main thing is that we arrive at the laboratory without problems! No doubt, but. I have the feeling of being observed. Page Four: Ha-ha-ha! The only enemies who can really harm me will soon be here! This time I am going to finish them! A little later. The house is deserted! The inhabitants who did not submit to the power of reptile fled, like everywhere else. Wait, you never know. Nobody here! We can go! Wham! Over there, Manning! I worked here for three years though, I know the place well! Hum. This silence disconcerts me. Page Five: Ha-ha! This is where you will be impressed, I guarantee it. Oh! Dangerous reptiles are locked up behind this glass. Those that we want to study, and whose venom we want to harvest to make the antidote! Hey what are you doing? I told you, I will take some venom. Wait for me there! While he left the inspector, and the Reptile follower they had captured, Mark had no idea that. Ha! Fools! They have no idea what awaits them. Page Six: Poor guy. I hope Mark Bowen's antidote will soon free you from the grip of this mad criminal. He calls me a criminal lunatic. I should kill him, but I want him to witness Bowen's end! Suddenly. Ha! You should know that I will always be the strongest, you fool. However. Impressive, of course, for who do not know these animals. But as long as there is no fear, they are not. Klang! Hey! What is that! Page Seven: Klang! Damn, someone closed the outside door! Manning! Manning! Manning! You hear me? Where are you? Page Eight: By gosh, Androphis! Knock! Knock! And so, ha-ha-ha! You have once again underestimated these immense powers, my poor Bowen! This time I hold you and I hold you well! A fine mess you are in! Look! Page Nine: Gosh! The Mobile Mamba! You who are a specialist, you know how dangerous this snake is! A snake that obeys me, by finger and eye, like all reptiles! Strike Mamba! Strike! Argh! Klung! Page Ten: Ha-ha-ha! What fun, how much longer can you dodge? I can order these reptiles to attack you all together! I have to get out of here fast! Hiss! Hiss! Poor fool! You do not have a chance to get out! But at that moment. Huh! What happened to me? By Gad! Reptile! It can't be him. Page Eleven: Just laugh. You are going to die. And I will get your friend the inspector to witness your end! No it is not possible! Shoot Manning! PULL! Do not wait! Ha! You will not get me, Inspector! Beware of the venom in his ring, Manning! Page Twelve: No one can do anything against the invincible Reptile! Guh! The policeman only just had time to dodge the jet of venom. Hiss! Curse you! You will not always have the last word, scoundrel! Argh! Page Thirteen: He runs away. But I have to think about Mark! Get away from the glass, Mark. Blam! Crash! Deflated Soufflé! Thanks old man. Do not let him away now! I hurt him, Mark! Page Fourteen: Curse him! He did this to me! But I am still master of the situation, thanks to my slaves! By Gosh! At the speed he moves, we will never get him! Hum! Better go back to our original plan, Manning! Without taking any more time, the two friends returned to the laboratory. Ah! Our prisoner comes to his senses. Oh! Be careful, he is dangerous! Page Fifteen: But much to the surprise of Mark and Detective Manning. Where am I? Who are you?? He. He is normal! Yes, I am missionary position with the lights out! You do not remember Reptile, your master? My Master? But finally. What are you telling me? I do not understand anything. As clearly as he could, Mark recounted to the man what had happened. Unexplainable, Manning. Unless Reptile freed him from his grip. Why would he trust it? The explanation was very simple and at that same moment, near the transmitter which allowed him to control his troops Reptile launched a new appeal. Page Sixteen: Hello Reptile is talking to you! I am addressing the government. I know it can hear me. I have just ordered my slaves to be quiet. You have been able to observe the extent of my power. I give you a final warning. If you do not cede power tonight, Great Britain will sink into a bloodbath! As for my slaves, they will come to the rendezvous that I set for them, the halls of parliament! Page Seventeen: Mark Bowen and Manning had also picked up the message from the demented criminal. We will never get out of this, Mark! Let us not lose our heads! Now is not the time! For a start, I am going to give you a blood test, my friend! Perfect. And I am going to call the Prime Minister! Later. It is not going well. The government is being urged to give in to blackmail. From all sides! The idiots! They have no idea what Reptil will be capable of when he gets power. He will make England a country of Zombies that he will launch to conquer the world. Page Eighteen: Hours go by. Never had Mark Bowen worked with such savage ferocity. So. Wait, I think I have correct solution! Here are the constituent elements of the hypnotic substance of Professor Androphis! Elements very sensitive to. No! I prefer to check before deciding. An hour later, the telephone rang at the ultra-secret headquarters where the British government had retreated, some miles from the capital. The red phone! Certainly Inspector Manning for the Prime Minister! Pick it up, quick! Page Nineteen: What do you say? Bowen A. Marvelous! You think? Well, I will do what you suggest, as for the special equipment, I will give the orders immediately. Gentlemen! I will announce without delay the resignation of the government. Bollocks! We’re all on the dole now! “U-B-Forties” all-round! A little later. What are your instructions Professor? So. Hiss! I will wait for you tonight in Parliament Hiss! Square with the members of your cabinet! Page Twenty: Mark Bowen and Inspector Manning had intercepted the radio communication. And no ambushes, please, hiss! My slaves hiss, will be there to prevent any attempt at cheating on your part. That is done. All that remains is for us to take delivery of the equipment that the Prime Minister is making available to us! All right! And our friend? Since the experiment I made on you, you are no longer under the domination of Reptile! We will put you under police protection for now! Page Twenty-one: Night had fallen when the two friends arrived at the barracks of the signal regiment where the special equipment was waiting for them. Captain Jones at your service gentlemen. What is it about? Quite simply to snatch the country from the reign of terror that Reptile has mae! You will be the master of this device. We must get rid of this Horrible Reptile! How so? Thanks to the equipment of this transmitting car! Page Twenty-two: I discovered that the hypnotic substance, conveyed by the blood of the slaves of Reptile, can be destroyed by ultra-sonic sounds emitted on short waves! However! So. Bowen and his friend have not come forward and it is far too late now for them to do so. I will make the final call! Hello my slaves! I told the Prime Minister that you had returned to normal. Now I need you again! Reptile calls us again! Our master needs us! This is how it was in hundreds of homes. We have to go! Page Twenty-three: A little later, at the Parliament buildings. Our triumph is near, Slaves! Before long the prime minister and cabinet members will be there and you will have to kill them! But until the very last moment the enemy can be manifest! Be on your guard and eliminate anyone who can harm us. Page Twenty-four: However cars were driving towards the place of the parliament. Really, do you not believe there is any other solution minister? I do not see any and I decided to trust this young Professor Bowen! Anyway, we have no choice, Forsythe! Reptile will kill us, I am sure, my dear! At the same time. One more mile and we are there captain. As long as no one stands in our way. Page Twenty-five: Are you ready friends? We are on the desired frequency. You have only to give the signal and we will emit the ultrasound! But suddenly. Watch out down there! Kill them all! Let us destroy! Skrunch! They are enemies of Reptile, our master! Page Twenty-six: Transmit, quickly or we are stuck! Quickly! Quickly! Let us destroy! Let us kill! Quickly! I tell you! Thrum! Thrum! Page Twenty-seven: And that was when, almost miraculously. Thrum! Thrum! What is happening? I feel like I have slept for days and days. That works! Let us continue our journey to Parliament Square! Right away, sir! Hurry up, time is running out! Page Twenty-eight: At this same moment. What did I tell you, my slaves! Hiss! Hiss! Here are the members of the government! Hiss! Massacre them! But suddenly. Transmit! Page Twenty-nine: Eh!? What is this! Massacre I tell you! What is going on? Where am I? My bottom, I mean my head! It still works! This time, it is absolutely necessary to finish with Reptile! I am not defeated! You will not get me! Ah! Page Thirty: Rifles! Quick! Unless, the ultrasound got the better of him! You mean they transfigured him into Professor Androphis before he hit the water!! This is logical, since he carried in his veins a substance similar to that which hypnotized his "Slaves". Dredge the river and you will find the remains of the evil Reptile! https://rumble.com/v37ntd6-reptile-index-of-episodes-reptil-john-catchpole-angus-peter-allen.html

Rahan. Episode Thirty-Three. The Monster from another Time! The son of Crao knew that hand to hand combat with the charging gorilla would be fatal to him. That was why he threw his knife, hoping to stop the assailant. Ra-ha-ha! Grargh! But he had launched his cry of victory too soon! Although the ivory blade had stuck in the hairy chest, it had not reached any vital organ. The pain increasing its rage, the animal snatched the weapon and threw it away. Rahan is lost! He will die like Toak and Crakaa! Page Two: Rahan remembered a hunt during which, still a child, he had witnessed the end of two men, suffocated and crushed by one of these monstrous "Four-Hands". Gragh! While the gorilla hammered his injured chest, Rahan, disarmed, sought refuge in the thickets. And it was then that he stumbled upon the root that the weeds hid from him! He was about to get up when he noticed that this root was not a root. But the handle of an ax!! A huge axe, longer and heavier than any he had seen. It may not be Rahan who will join the "Territory of the Shadows" "Four Hands"! Page Three: The son of Crao, although robust, had to make an effort to lift the unusual weapon. The gorilla was charging at him furiously. And it was a violent and terrible blow. The thick flint of the ax plunged into the monster's chest. Ra-ha-ha! The victorious clamor was this time justified. You should not have tried to steal the life of Rahan "Four-Hands"! Rahan hates killing. Especially those who look so much like "Those-who-Walk-Upright"! But Rahan must defend himself! Rahan wants to live! Such is the law in these fierce times. To kill in order not to be killed oneself. To steal the life of an Adversary to preserve one's own. Page Four: The providential axe still stupefied the son of Crao. The hunter who lost this weapon must be much bigger than Rahan! Would there exist, on this territory, stronger men than this "Four-Hands"? Abandoning the heavy axe, Rahan went in search of his knife. The ”Four-Hands” threw it over there. Over there in the thickets. He quickly found his weapon, but a new surprise awaited him. No! It's impossible! Rahan must be dreaming! The knife was stuck in the ground in the middle of a gigantic imprint. Similar footprints dug into the ground thirty paces away. Rahan does not know any animal that leaves such large and deep tracks! Page Five: Intrigued, and with a beating heart, the son of Crao followed this strange track which led him towards the forest. To what territory had his destiny led him, where everything was so disproportionate? Oh! A herd of "Two-tooth" couldn't have wreaked more havoc!! But the tracks proved that only one animal had passed there and yet, over a width of twenty paces, the trees had been broken, uprooted! Rahan wants to know! Rahan wants to see the beast more powerful than a troop of "Two-tooth"! The son of the fierce ages walked a long time in this trench dug in the jungle! And suddenly his throat knotted. He had the certainty of living a nightmare and, for the first time in his life, he felt overcome by dread. Page Six: In a clearing, within an arrow's reach, stood a fantastic monster! The head, the legs, the tail, everything about this unknown animal inspired horror. Crao believed that giant beasts once haunted forests and rivers. But he said that those monsters of times past had disappeared! Could Rahan have in front of him the last survivor? Oh! The gaze of the great saurian had just fixed on him! Page Seven: He could gobble up Rahan like a frog gobbles up a fly! As the monster moved heavily, Rahan fled. He heard the ground shake behind him and. Argh! A loose bamboo had suddenly straightened up and slammed him into the trunk of a tree!! He freed himself quickly. And resumed his mad dash. This escape is also useless because the saurian. Perhaps considering this prey too tiny and too agile, and unworthy of its voracity, it had turned back! Page Eight: But the son of fierce ages still fled unable to drive the horrible vision from his mind. He was still running when loud laughter resounded in the thickets. Ah! Ha-ha-ha! The little man has met the "Karaka"!! The hunters that sprung up around Rahan were far taller than him. Do not be afraid, little man! If the "Karaka" had wanted to devour you, it would have already been done!! He must have found you too puny, "Little Man"! Stop calling me "Little man"!! I am Rahan, the son of Crao!! Yes! Rahan was afraid of "Karaka"!! But he is not afraid of you! All those sardonic looks directed at him irritated Rahan. Page Nine: You hear! This puny stranger dares to challenge Gurg!! Ha-ha-ha! These words were addressed from the one who seemed to be the chief of the clan. Ha-ha-ha! Laughing, with a simple push, the colossus threw Rahan to the ground! I could break your spine in one fell swoop!! Like this! With one blow, indeed, Gurg broke a strong branch on his knee! Crack! Strength is not everything, Gurge! Flexibility and cunning often triumph! Rahan can prove it to you!! Ra-ha-ha! The laughter redoubled when the son of Crao, crouching like a beast, dove into the chief's legs. Page Ten: Gurg did not even waver! And it was Rahan who, thrown back by a violent kick, found himself on his back, a few steps from his adversary. Rahan has not lost this fight yet, Gurg! The astonished hunters saw the "Little Man" leap towards a vine, knife in hand! It only took him a moment to cut through the vine, form a loop, and return to Gurg. What do you hope for, "little man"!? To knock you down! The colossus rushed forward. But as soon as he had lifted his foot. Rahan threw his vine. No sooner had the knot tightened on Gurg's ankle than he was already spinning around him, entrapping the other leg! Ra-ha-ha! Page Eleven: The clan's cry of amazement turned into a clamor of admiration as Rahan unbalanced the leader. The son of Crao circled again, using the vine with marvelous skill. Gurg's arms were in turn bound. And the colossus could not react when his opponent knocked him down. Was Rahan not right when he said strength is not everything?! No one before you has held Gurg at his mercy! You can kill me! You have the right! Rahan only steals the life of "Those who walk upright" when his own is threatened! You did not want to kill Rahan, Rahan will not kill you! Page Twelve: A dull hammering suddenly shook the ground. The hunters scattered screaming in terror. The "Karaka"! The ”Karaka” is coming! The terrifying head of the saurian appeared above the trees. In a moment, the monster would be in the clearing. Flee Rahan! Flee! The time has come for Gurg to join the "Territory of Shadows"! The son of the fierce ages could certainly have thought of his own life. But the thought did not even cross his mind. The ivory blade sliced through the vine in which Gurg was still entangled. We will flee together, or we will die together! Gurg was free when the monster of times past arose, in a noise of trampled thickets and shattered branches. Page Thirteen: Don't move Rahan! Do not move! The "Karaka" almost never attacks hunters it believes to be dead! It prefers agitated prey! Huddled together Gurg and Rahan saw the saurian rush into the clearing. When our men are thus surprised, they do as we do. Alas! It happens that the "Karaka" sometimes crushes them, without even having seen them!! The monster rushed straight ahead, stupidly, no doubt aimlessly. He was only a hundred paces from the two men. These, as if petrified, held their breath. Should the "Karaka" deviate on its course, they would be crushed under its terrible paws! Page Fourteen: They felt like the ground was going to open up beneath them. The huge crested tail of scales dug a trench in the tall grass. And the monster disappeared in a new crash of branches. And so it has been for seasons and seasons! This "Karaka" lives alone on our territory but his threat constantly hangs over our clan. Each time we tried to destroy it, we lost several of our own! Why not lure him into a trap! Why suffer? It's impossible! The "Karaka" always follows the same tracks! He never departs from it! Come to the village, Rahan. I know my brothers have admired your agility. I will tell them about your courage and loyalty! Page Fifteen: The son of Crao was indeed warmly welcomed by the clan of Gurg. The mockery had given way to respect. I despised you because you were small. I was wrong! Yes, Gurg! You were wrong. Rahan has known many clans and many hordes! He met hunters smaller than him, others bigger! And he knows that strength alone is not a sufficient quality! The size of "Those-who-walk-upright" is of no importance, if they know how to show courage, intelligence, kindness, and loyalty!! Thoughtfully, Rahan fingered the necklace that Crao-the-wise gave him before he died. The necklace, each claw of which symbolized one of the qualities he had just mentioned. Page Sixteen: What will Rahan do now? Go to other territories, meet other clans? Yes Gurg. Rahan will leave, but he will not leave until he kills the "Karaka"! Kill the "Karaka! Rahan has lost his mind! No! Rahan will kill it, if Gurg and his brothers will help him! You said he always uses the same path? It is on this track that we will set a trap for him!! Rahan still does not know what trap, but he will think!! That night the son of fierce ages turned over a thousand ideas in his head. And. As often, it was from a reminiscence that the best idea sprang. He saw himself again, pursued by the "Karaka", stuck between a bamboo and a tree. Page Seventeen: And his imaginative spirit did the rest. At daybreak, he had convinced Gurg, who in turn convinced his people. All the hunters went on the track of the "Karaka". It was easy for these sturdy men to carry out Rahan's orders. All the branches of two flexible trees were cut like spears. Then. Between these trunks spread to their maximum, was wedged a long and solid branch. The "Karaka" will avoid this trap! Not if Rahan lures him there, Gurg! It was at dawn the following day that he son of Crao came up the trail. He discovered the motionless monster in a clearing. You are living your last day "Karaka"! So? What are you waiting for to attack Rahan!? There was something fantastic about this monstrous animal. Page Eighteen: The saurian observed this tiny man and moved. A moment later he charged furiously at the son of Crao. Gurg and his hunters on the lookout near the trap stood ready. Rahan has made it! The "Karaka" is chasing him!! Leaping between the thickets, Rahan felt the monster behind him. He dove between the trunks of the trap. The Saurian, head first, rushed there in turn. It was then that the hunters let loose the branch that held the trunks apart. His neck pierced by the branches, the "Karaka" whipped the ground with his heavy tail. But it was impossible for him to get out of the trap! Rahan promised to kill him! He will kill him! Lend him your axe, Gurg! Page Nineteen: The hunters, transfixed, witnessed a stupefying exploit. Armed with the heavy axe, the son of the fierce ages avoided the blows of the monster's tail. Ra-ha-ha! Taking advantage of a moment when it stopped, he jumped on it! A moment later, he was climbing the crest of the large scale-plated spine. The thrashing of the "Karaka" could throw him to the ground. But he knew how to cling to the scales and climb up the neck to reach behind the head. Ra-ha-ha! The heavy axe fell repeatedly, crushing the monster's skull. Page Twenty: A little after. The "Karaka" could have been in agony for days and days! Rahan does not like to see even the most appalling beasts suffer! The clan of Gurg, rid forever of this monster from another time, would now know security. What are you doing? Rahan kept his promise, he will leave you! The blade of his knife will show him where to direct his steps! A radiant Sun embellished the hills when the son of Crao saluted this Clan. A volcano thundered in the distance. Come back one day, "Little man"! Farewell "Little Man"! The words "Little-man" no longer held anything derogatory. They were grateful, friendly, and brotherly. Rahan was happy because, in these fierce times, these feelings were still rare in "Those-who-walk-upright". Index: https://rumble.com/v3486cm-rahan-index-of-episodes-by-roger-lecureux..html

Rahan. Episode thirty two. Faster than the Zebra. During his adventurous life, the son of Crao had met many animals, but he had never seen one as fast as this strange black and white beast. He himself runs so fast that his heart becomes painful. Rahan will do you no harm! He only wants to touch you! Just touch you! From the fierce ages, Rahan was curious about everything. Of, men. Of things. And of beasts. He was now bounding behind the panicked zebra. His fingers caught the beast's tail and his victorious cry rose over the savannah. Rah-ha-ha! Page Two: Hauoff! But the animal suddenly kicked and he felt like his chest was bursting. The clouds capsized in the skies and he collapsed. He lay in the scorching sun, trying to catch his breath. A nearby roar warned him of danger. Again, panting, he saw the “Long Mane” spring from the tall dry grass and leap around the neck of the black and white beast. Perhaps because he had almost been devoured as an adolescent, the son of Crao had never met a lion without confronting it. Back, “Long Mane”! The ivory knife opened the flank of the beast that was going to cut the zebra's throat. Ra-ha-ha! Page Three: And that Zebra quickly got back on its feet and fled straight ahead, faster than ever. You could have let Rahan touch you, to thank him! Rahan, who was following the animal with his eyes, suddenly thought he was dreaming. On the horizon, in the quivering heat haze. A powerful troop of men had just appeared. All these men were mounted on beasts similar to the one he had just saved! "Those-who-walk-upright", they able to impose their will on the black and white beasts!! As the unknown hunters, brandishing long spears, saw him as an enemy to be captured, the son of Crao decided to flee. Page Four: The forest would offer a safe refuge. But would he not be caught before he reached the border? Faster Rahan! Faster! His course was sometimes hampered by grass almost as tall as him. Faster Rahan! The forest is near! When he finally reached the tall trees, his pursuers were only an arrow's throw away. Beneath the thick foliage reigned a beneficial coolness. That he didn't have time to appreciate. As nimble as a "Four Hands" he hoisted himself into the tangled realm of the branches. A moment later, the hunters passed under his refuge. They were going to continue on their way without seeing him, when. Silence "Four-Hands"! You will betray Rahan! Greek! Greek! Greek! Page Five: Cursed "Four-hand"! Greek! Greek! The monkey gesticulated and bawled stupidly, as if to curse this intruder who violated his domain! Intrigued by these cries, hunters scanned the foliage. They caught a glimpse of Rahan lurking on a forked branch. The son of Crao expected to see the spears of these men flying towards him. That is why what followed amazed him. The hunters threw their spears at the foot of the tree! Maybe it is a trick to put Rahan in their confidence! The clan gathered under the tree. Shouts arose. Oro-the wizard was right! The "Hunter-faster-than-the-zebra" has finally come to our territory! An ovation greeted these curious words. Page Six: I am Rahan, son of Crao. And Rahan does not quite understand your words, brother! Rahan's distrust was already dissipating. He slid to the ground, triggering another ovation. For seasons and seasons Oro had promised us that this big day would come! Our clan salutes its long-awaited leader: Rahan, “The-hunter-faster-than-the-zebra"! Each man came to bow before the bewildered son of Crao. Rahan cannot become the leader of a clan that he did not know existed before this morning! A true leader must be chosen from among the clan! Oro-the-sorcerer's prediction has come true! Rahan cannot oppose these omens! He will be our leader. Never had Rahan felt surrounded by so much respect, even fervor. Page Seven: We saw you catch the zebra!! We saw you kill the "Long-mane"!! You are indeed the chief that Oro had promised to the clan! Choose your zebra, Rahan! You now have all the rights! Shrill cries suddenly cover the man's voice. A multitude of "Four Hands" screamed from the foliage. Greek! Greek! Greek! A hail of "Fruits-de-bois" fell on the hunters. One of them burst on the forehead of the son of Crao! When he came to his senses a moment later, he was lying on the neck of a zebra. His "Worshippers" were in escort. Rahan is alive! Our Chief is Immortal! And their troop trotted joyfully through the tall grass of the savannah. Towards a hill at the foot of which the huts of a village could be divined. Page Eight: Rahan will flee this territory as soon as it gets dark! But?? The men had suddenly stopped their mounts. They watched with concern the strange black wave that rolled over the savannah in their direction. In an instant, the herd of buffaloes was very close. The son of Crao could hear the loud hooves of the charging beasts thundering. Hunters must have been accustomed, because, without a word being spoken, they split into several groups. Who scattered before the herd. Here, maybe for Rahan the opportunity to escape! Page Nine: No one cared anymore about Rahan, whose mount had turned itself around to flee the danger. The ground was shaking, hammered by the herd which pursued its course. Rahan's fate depends on you, Zebra! But the son of Crao did not have the mastery of hunters. Clinging to the neck and the mane of the zebra he was almost, at each leap, thrown to the ground. An abrupt jump from his mount to avoid a stump made him let go! He rolled in the grass, a hundred paces ahead of the charging buffaloes. He got up, and rushed towards a ravine he had glimpsed. If Rahan does not reach it, he will be trampled, and his belly crushed! Page Ten: Ra-ha-ha! He screamed with joy when he discovered that a large river flowed at the bottom of this ravine. He dove into it. When the buffaloes stopped at the edge of the gorge, he was already being carried away by the current. Rahan escaped both the "Great-horns" and the hunters! The son of Crao was swimming on his back happily, observing the clouds whose orange hue announced the approaching night. Something, flying above him, suddenly blurred this vision. He guessed it was the meshes of a net, but it was too late! The great cast net of vines enveloped him. Entangled in this mesh, he heard the cries and laughter of the men who were pulling him towards the shore. Page Eleven: An instant later. But?? You are not a hill clan hunter! Who are you, then? I am Rahan, and Rahan was just with the hill clan!! In this case Rahan is the river clan friend! Rahan is the friend of all clans! If he fled those of the hills, it is because he does not want to become their leader! When the son of Crao had recounted his encounter with the hunters, the men of the river cried out. Why did you not accept! You would have commanded the hill clan with more wisdom than Oro-the-wizard! You could have brought peace between his hunters and us! Rahan learned that Oro-the-Witch forbade the River Clan from the savannah. This one, on the other hand, prohibited the river to the hunters of the hills. Stupid fights pitted each against the other. Page Twelve: Rahan hates that "Those-who-walk-upright", that men, are killing each other! He will go tonight to tell Oro-the-sorcerer! The son of the fierce ages no longer dreamed of fleeing this territory. He wanted to bring peace between the men of the river and those of the savannah. That is why the moon found him in ambush at the foot of the hill. He saw the Zebras tied to stakes. He heard the hunters who were still commenting on his disappearance. When the buffaloes charged, we dispersed. We do not know what happened to the hunter who is "Faster-than-Zebra"! Forget the hunter, brothers! If he fled from you, it was because he was not worthy of becoming our leader! A man sat enthroned on a beaten earth altar. And Rahan guessed that it was "Oro-the-sorcerer". Page Thirteen: Rahan has reflected, Oro! He agrees to command the hill clan! A clamor suddenly arose. They called to the son of Crao who entered the village. The sorcerer stood up and calmed the enthusiasm of the hunters with a gesture. I must consult the spirits before making a decision! Rahan may be "faster-than-the-zebra", but we need to know what his other qualities are! Oro-the-sorcerer smiled. Rahan risks changing his mind again and abandoning us! That is why we will lock him up until daylight! Friendly hunters surrounded the son of Crao, and escorted him to a niche dug in the hill. You have nothing to fear Rahan! The spirits will be very favorable to you! Page Fourteen: A solid bamboo grid fell, blocking the niche. Respectful hunters approached, bringing presents. We know you will be a good chief! Each, laying down his offering, had a word. After Oro-the-sorcerer retired to his hut, a festive atmosphere reigned in the village. A young girl had just brought some fruit to Rahan. She clung to the bamboo grill. You will not see the sun rise, Rahan! I know Oro. He claims that the spirits will kill his un-favored on their own. But! Page Fifteen: What are you saying? Why would Oro kill me since he himself predicted to the clan that the spirits would send a "Chief-faster-than-the-zebra"!! For seasons after the death of my father who commanded the clan, Oro has deceived us with this prediction! This cheat believed that no man could run as fast as a zebra and that he would continue, alone, to command our hunters! Your arrival upsets Oro's plans! If you do not run away immediately you are lost! Rahan thanks you for this warning! The girl disappeared into the darkness. The ivory knife was already attacking the vines holding the bamboos. Page Sixteen: The son of the fierce ages freed himself from the niche at the very moment Oro-the-sorcerer emerged from his hut. The spirits have spoken, brothers! They say Rahan is not the chief we expected! Would you accuse the spirits of contradicting themselves, Oro!? Or do you interpret their thought in your own way!? From a nearby mound, Rahan towered over the village. Unless you want to remain the master of the clan to continue the stupid fight against the men of the river! Oro-the-sorcerer growled in rage. Atone for this sacrilege brothers, kill him! The spirits demand that he perish! Page Seventeen: As the hunters, troubled, did not carry out his order, Oro grabbed a spear and leaped at a zebra! He will perish by my hand! A moment later, the sorcerer was Chasing the son of Crao. Ha-ha-ha! We will see if you are "faster-than-a-zebra”! The moon was glowing brilliantly over the savannah. Like the day before, Rahan was hampered in his run by the tall grasses. He decided to confront his pursuer. When he spun around Oro-the-sorcerer was only twenty paces away. He held his spear low, ready to strike. Dodging the mortal blow, Rahan had seized the spear to which Oro made the mistake of Clinging. Ra-ha-ha! Page Eighteen: The sorcerer found himself on the ground with the flint point resting on his throat. The spirits do not seem to be on Oro's side! Maybe they trust Rahan more! The hunters were still undecided when Oro soon after spoke on the mound overlooking the village. Listen to me, brothers, listen to me! The spirits came and visited me! They assured me that Rahan was proud to become the leader of our clan, for a while! They also told me that our hunters can now live peacefully with the men of the river! The spirits have again asked me to go and preach in another territory! Under the threat of the spear, Oro-the-witch faithfully repeated the sentences whispered to him by the son of Crao! Page Nineteen: You earned your life and your freedom, Oro! Go! So that the men of the hills and those of the river never hear of you again! And so it was that a Sorcerer who had deceived his clan for too long disappeared forever. Rahan, the "Chief-faster-than-the-zebra", was welcomed by jubilant village. This one was going to prove itself worthy of its title. As required by the spirits, we will live in peace with the clan of the river! What does it matter if he lied, by lending to the "Spirits" his own feelings? The main thing is, that we soon saw the men of the river hunting in the savannah, and those of the hills fishing in the river. To all, Rahan taught a thousand things. Page Twenty: But the desire to discover new lands, to meet other clans, haunted the son of Crao. Ten hunters have proven they would be good leaders! You choose the best! As always he asked his knife to guide his steps on the adventurous trail. The ivory blade pointed to distant mountains. The men of the hills and the river greeted him with a similar clamor when he rushed into the savannah. Farewell Rahan! Farewell Brother! Your memory will live on in our hearts until the end of time! The son of Crao, hair in the wind, rushed towards the chain of Blue Mountains. He was at that time so flexible, so powerful, and so fast that no "Zebra" could have caught up with him. Index: https://rumble.com/v3486cm-rahan-index-of-episodes-by-roger-lecureux..html

Rahan. Episode thirty one. The Savage Clan. Rahan should have waited for nightfall to venture on this shore! A favorable current carried his raft out to sea, but the son of Crao knew that these hostile men, on their light boats, would soon catch up with him. He had believed that his long trek on the "endless-river" would end on this land. But fate had decided otherwise. His approach had been greeted with menacing clamors. Men had jumped into their boats to chase him. Page Two: His pursuers must have been unusually strong, for the spears they threw, despite the distance, fell around the raft. One of them got stuck between his legs! Rahan is defenseless! He will join the "territory of shadows"! A shout of triumph rang out from the nearest boat. The fire-haired enemy is hit!! On his raft, there Rahan was teetering. His hands clenched on a long spear stuck in his chest!! He fell in the water and the shaft of the spear disappeared under the foam. The shouts of joy redoubled. Page Three: But the son of Crao does not hear them. The savage clan turned to the place where Rahan had just sunk. Long after the high hills faded into the gray sky. And the men returned to their territory. A fire was lit on the shore around which the hunters let out loud laughs between cuts of wild cries. No doubt they were celebrating Rahan's death! In effect. It is almost a pity that "The enemy" with "Fire-hair" is dead! We could have submitted him to the three tests! The wind from the sea carried these fatal words to the rocks that were whipped by the waves. Page Four: And even under the roots of the tall mangrove trees bathing the shore. The son of Crao had allowed himself to sink, hoping by this ruse to deceive the savage clan. They think they killed Rahan! He had abandoned the spear he held wedged between his arm and his torso to deceive them. And had swum to the reefs, glimpsed a moment earlier. Snuggled up against the rocks, he had waited for night to arrive. This clan is fearsome, but Rahan has no choice! Without his raft he can no longer face the "Endless River!" Rahan must set foot on this land! At daybreak, Rahan will be far away. He will have nothing more to fear from this clan! He was emerging into a clearing when his throat knotted. The moon lit up a terrifying spectacle. This land is in the hands of demons!! Page Five: Here and there long stakes were driven into the ground. Tied to these stakes, specters seemed to spring from the "Territory-of-shadows" This is the fate that awaits Rahan if the shore clan captures him! The son of Crao was about to flee the sinister clearing when a groan arose in the darkness. Argh! A moment later, he discovered an old man, crucified on the ground. Do not let me suffer. Finish me! Finish me! Finish you!? Why would Rahan steal your life? On the contrary, he will deliver you! The ivory knife sprang from the lizard sheath. Page Six: I do not know from where. You come, Rahan. But I know you. Should not. Not defy mine. The blade was already slicing through the vines binding the ankles. Unbound, the old man collapsed at Rahan's feet. For five days. And five nights I have waited for death! I have lost. My last strength! Rahan's legs will be yours! Carrying the half-unconscious old man, the son of Crao plunged into the thickets. Despite his burden, he walked for a very long time, until the first lights of dawn. No one can surprise us on this height. Rest, old man! When Rahan finds something to eat, you can tell him about your misfortunes! Page Seven: Rahan searched in vain for a trail of game. Only the birds seemed to populate this hill! He skillfully made a bow using a flexible branch and a thin vine. A few feathers discovered under a tree provided the quills for balancing the fine arrows. The son of Crao was remarkably skillful. A moment later he shot down his first bird in mid-flight. The second was struck as it took flight. Rahan hopes "The Men of the Shore" will not notice his fire. Page Eight: A little after. In the past, all the men of the clan were good. And generous as Rahan! But, our leader has joined the "Territory of Shadows"! And was replaced by Gaya the cruel. Gaya has imposed himself on the clan and made his savage law reign. For he counts on strength alone! The weakest men are hunted from the clan! Those who resist Gaya are, delivered to birds of prey, in this clearing. Or in my case, you discovered me. Why does the clan not give itself a better leader?? Everyone fears Gaya! I am the last who dared to oppose this savage! However. Someone freed the old Thamouk, Gaya! See the ties have been severed. I found them in the clearing! Page Nine: Whoever dares to act against my will, will know the worst death! Gaya's cruel gaze wandered over the hills. He suddenly stopped on the light smoke. Which rose above the foliage. Ha-ha-ha! Thamouk betrays himself! It can only be he who started this fire! Those who bring back Thamouk will be entitled to two parts of meat! A few men were already rushing through the jungle. Shortly after, their cries and calls reached the son of Crao. Gaya's hunters are looking for you, Thamouk! Will you have the strength to run away? The old man made an effort but fell back on the rock. Alas no. I could not take ten steps! So Rahan will track down these men! Page Ten: The son of Crao put out the fire under a few handfuls of earth. And rushed in the direction from which the calls rose. His plan was simple: prevent hunters from discovering old Thamouk by attracting their anger against him! Ra-ha-ha! He soon caught a glimpse of the wild men and he burst out of the jungle. His cry of defiance thundered through the jungle. The Fire-Haired Enemy! To find in these hills they whom they had seen die in the waves amazed the hunters. And Rahan took advantage of their hesitation. He bounded into the thickets, in the direction quite opposite to where he had left Thamouk. He heard the pack chasing him. Page Eleven: Old Thamouk is out of danger! Rahan must now consider his own fate! The brush had concealed a shallow ravine, into which he tumbled. Argh! His head hit a rock hard, but he still had time, before losing consciousness, to catch a glimpse of his pursuers which stood out against the sky. Stand up fire hair! Upright! Gaya does not like to wait! When he came to, his wrists were firmly bound. His knife had been confiscated. A moment later, they were dragging him into the jungle, towards the shore which he could see through the gaps in the foliage. Page Twelve: Recognizing the captive a little later, Gaya-the-cruel gave a shudder of fear. Can you have the power to return from the "Territory-of-Shadows"!? Then he sneered. Know, "Fire-Hair" that we have the power to make you go back there! A hunter gave the ivory knife to Gaya-the-chief. Gaya has never seen a weapon so beautiful, so fine, so polished, and so sharp! It will be a wonderful memory of "Fire-Hair"! You freed Thamouk, did you not? What happened to that old fool? Speak! Speak! The tip of the knife weighed on Rahan's chest. Gaya only respects force and violence! Why does he not agree to a fair fight with Rahan!! The men watched with astonishment this stranger who dared to defy their leader. Page Thirteen: I am asking you a question! What are you waiting for to answer!! As the pressure of the ivory blade grew stronger. The son of Crao reacted, his linked fists suddenly rose and fell brutally on Gaya’s temple. Who was bent in half. To be immediately straightened by a terrible knee! Ra-ha-ha! A murmur of admiration greeted this reaction, the clan visibly appreciated the courage of the captive. Rahan will not be so fiery in a moment! Drive Fire-Hair to the Ravine!! In the eyes of Gaya-the-cruel could be seen the desire to kill. Page Fourteen: How brave you are before a hindered adversary! The son of Crao, fierce, raised his bound hands. The long vine hissed like a whip, lashing Gaya's shoulders, who screamed in rage as much as pain. You defend yourself like a beast "Fire-Hair"! But your life belongs to Gaya!! A reproachful cry arose when Gaya brandished the ivory knife. It would not be fair to steal the prisoner's life like this! He deserves to stand the test of the stump. But he does not deserve death! Men, seizing the vine, dragged the captive towards the deep crevice. "The Test of the Strain"?? What fate does the savage clan reserve for Rahan?? Page Fifteen: A moment later, the son of Crao understood what his ordeal would be. If the members of "Fire-Hair" resist until dawn, he will not want to challenge Gaya anymore! The vine binding his wrists had been tied to a tree. Men tied his ankles. And tied this second vine to a heavy stump. When the stump was pushed into the ravine, Rahan thought they were ripping off his arms and legs. He stifled a howl of pain, once again earning the respect of his tormentors. Clan custom once demanded that the brave opponent keep his weapon! Gaya, with a bitter sigh slipped the knife into the lizard sheath. You won't see the sun rise "Fire-Hair"!! Page Sixteen: Abandoning the captive, the clan returned to the shore. Rahan tried to control the pains of his distended muscles, his stretched joints. He had thought of his ivory knife. But the stump was far too heavy for him to curl up and grab the weapon. The sun was sinking into the ocean when Gaya appeared, a cruel smile on his lips. I see that you bear "The ordeal-of-the-strain" better than others! Unsheathing Rahan's knife, he half cut through the vine that held the victim to the tree. You will crash into the bottom of the precipice, "Fire-Hair"!! Do not do this Gaya! Do not do this! Mine will think that this vine did not resist the strain!! Here is your knife! Still shaky, old Thamouk had just appeared! Page Seventeen: You will join Rahan in the chasm Thamouk!! The son of Crao felt the fibers of the vine break one by one. Crack! Crack! And the line suddenly broke. Dragged by the stump, Rahan slid on his back, towards the precipice. Ha-ha-ha! Adieu "Fire-Hair" goodbye! Oh! Gaya will die with Rahan! Rahan grabbed Gaya's ankle. Screaming in terror, the leader also slipped into the abyss! He desperately tried to cling to the ground, but in vain. Argh! Argh! Old Thamouk saw the two men disappear into the void. A terrifying cry of pain immediately arose. Page Eighteen: Gaya had managed to grab a root but he was now bearing the full weight of the stump and Rahan. Who had caught a glimpse of a rocky platform below. Gaya has no choice: either he resists, or he lets go and dies with Rahan! The son of Crao gave the heavy stump a pendulum swing. Ra-ha-ha! When it was above the platform, he released Gaya's ankles. The fall was hard, but momentarily he was saved. An instant later he broke free from his bonds. Alerted by the cries, men of the wild clan had come running and Gaya, exhausted, begged them to come to his aid. Page Nineteen: But none of these men were obedient! Gaya-the-cruel had wanted to kill the captive. Gaya had not complied with the strain test. Gaya had to die! You have reigned over the clan by force for too long, Gaya! It is right that this force abandons you! A vine had been thrown to the son of Crao. You have endured the ordeal with courage, "Hair of fire"! You have nothing more to fear from us. Flat against the steep wall, above the bottomless abyss, Gaya-the-cruel was still pleading. But no one cared about his pleas. Perhaps you can be more generous than him, Thamouk? No Rahan! Our clan has suffered too much from the decisions of this savage! Page Twenty: Argh! Argh! Argh! Darkness had long enveloped the hills when a long, mournful cry of dread rose from the ravine. The last cry of the coward, Gaya-the-cruel! We will appoint a new leader. We will choose him, not for his strength, but for his loyalty and his wisdom! And this shore, as before, will once again become welcoming to those who come from the "Desert-of-water"! Old Thamouk's words went straight to Rahan's heart. He was certain that this clan, blinded for a while by force, would become hospitable and fraternal again. Crao always said that you should never despair of "Those-who-walk-upright"! And Crao was right! Thus thought Rahan, in this night of fierce ages, in these times when humanity was still seeking its way between evil and good. Index: https://rumble.com/v3486cm-rahan-index-of-episodes-by-roger-lecureux..html

Chapter Eighteen. May 23, 1993. This is my last night in Dallas. I've been here two weeks now, and I'd hoped to be heading back to Washington tomorrow, but orders came in this afternoon to go to Denver instead. It looks like I'll be doing approximately the same thing there I've been doing here, which is teaching. I have just finished conducting a crash course in the technology of sabotage for eight selected activists here, and I do mean "crash"; this is the first free hour I've had since I arrived here when I wasn't too tired to think. We've been at it from eight in the morning until eight at night every day, with only a few minutes off for meals. I have taught the people here virtually everything I know. We started by learning how to build improvised detonators, timers, igniters, and other gadgets from scratch. Then we studied the structure, properties, and performance characteristics of currently available military devices which can be adapted for various purposes. All my students can now disassemble and reassemble every type of fuse and delay device we studied, blindfolded. After that we examined a large number of hypothetical targets and worked out detailed plans for attacking them. We considered reservoirs, pipelines, fuel depots, rail lines, air terminals and aircraft, telephone exchanges, oil refineries, power transmission lines, generating stations, highway interchanges, grain elevators, warehouses, and various types of machinery and other manufacturing equipment. Finally, we picked a real target and destroyed it: Dallas's central telephone exchange. That was yesterday. Today we held a post- mortem and criticized the operation in detail. Actually, everything went extraordinarily well; my students all passed their final examination with flying colors. But I did everything possible to guarantee there would be no slipups. We spent three full days preparing specifically for the telephone exchange. First we thoroughly pumped one of our local members who had formerly worked in the building as an operator. She described the layout for us, giving us the approximate location of the rooms on each floor which held the automatic switching equipment. With her help we made a rough map, showing the stairwells, the employees' entrances, the guard room, and other pertinent details. Then we prepared our equipment. I decided we would use surgical precision on this job rather than brute force; besides, we didn't have a sufficiently large quantity of explosives for a brute- force demolition job. What we did have were three 500-foot spools of PETN-filled detonating cord and a little over 20 pounds of dynamite. I broke our eight activists up into four two-man teams. One man in each team carried a sawed-off, autoloading shotgun, and the other carried demolition equipment. Three of the teams were assigned to the three floors of switching equipment, one to a floor. Each of these teams was given one of the spools of detonating cord; a five-gallon can of a homemade, napalm-like mixture of gasoline and liquid soap; and a delayed-action detonator. The fourth team was given a 20-pound satchel charge and a homemade thermite grenade and assigned to the transformer vault in the basement. The dynamite would wreck the transformers, and the thermite would set the transformer oil afire. About ten o'clock last night we were parked in two automobiles on a dark side street two blocks from the telephone exchange. Every few minutes a telephone company service truck went through the intersection directly in front of us. Finally the situation for which we had been waiting occurred: a service truck came to a stop for the red light at the intersection, and there were no other vehicles or pedestrians in sight. We sped out of the side street, blocking the truck fore and aft while two of our men jerked open the truck doors and ordered the driver into the back at gunpoint. Then we drove all three vehicles back onto the side street and transferred everyone and all our gear into the service truck. That only took a few seconds, but we spent another half hour talking to the telephone serviceman we had kidnapped. With a minimum of prodding he answered a number of questions we still had about the location and layout of the switching equipment in the telephone building and about the security staff and procedures. We were pleasantly surprised to learn that there was only one armed guard in the building at night and that he depended upon a direct line to the police substation five blocks away for backup in case of emergency. We relieved the serviceman of his uniform and his magnetically coded company security badge, which was needed to unlock the rear employees' entrance at night. Then we tied him securely with wire, gagged him, and drove the truck back to the rear entrance of the telephone building. I was wearing the uniform. Following the serviceman's instructions, I gained entrance to the building while the others remained hidden in the truck. It was then only a matter of a moment to relieve the surprised guard of his gun and beckon to the others to enter. While our four teams fanned out through the building I found a convenient janitor's closet and used the guard's own master key to lock him in it. From that point the whole operation took less than five minutes. The three teams assigned to the switching equipment worked quickly and efficiently. While the man with the shotgun on each team herded any employees that were encountered into an office and kept an eye on them, the other man went to work on the equipment. The detonating cord was unreeled and laced through two or three long banks of electronic panels on each floor. Then the demolition man took the five-gallon can of napalm and sloshed its contents over large sections of the equipment, both those which had been laced with the detonating cord and those which had not. Finally, a time-delay detonator was taped to one end of the detonating cord. As our men came racing down the stairs to join me on the ground floor, three deafening explosions rocked the windowless building. A moment later our fourth team came running up the stairs from the basement. We wasted no time in piling back into the truck. Just as we drove out of the parking lot, the satchel charge went off in the basement transformer vault with a roar which caused a huge section of the brick facade on one side of the building to split off and topple into the street, exposing the interior, which by now was filled with flames and smoke from the blazing napalm and burning switching gear. The accounts of the operation in this afternoon's local newspaper indicated that the two dozen or so employees who were in the building managed to get out safely-all except the guard I locked in the closet, who died of smoke inhalation. I feel guilty about that, but it couldn't be helped; we were in a hurry. Although our destruction of the equipment in the telephone building was pretty thorough, the telephone company has announced that it expects to have most essential telephone lines back in service within 48 hours and complete restoration of telephone service for the city within two weeks. That announcement did not surprise us. We knew that the telephone company can fly in new equipment and teams of repair specialists to quickly undo the damage we did. Our attack on the telephone exchange would only make real sense as a blow against the System if it had been coordinated with an all-out assault on a number of other fronts. The System has figured that out for itself, of course, and, not having any way of knowing that yesterday's operation was only a training exercise, it is bracing itself for the worst. There are tanks at nearly every downtown intersection, and troops and police have set up so many vehicle checkpoints on all the main roads and freeways that automobile traffic is at a virtual standstill throughout the city. If it weren't for that, I'd be leaving for Denver tonight instead of tomorrow.June 8. Received a note from Katherine today! It came enclosed in a box of equipment I had asked the Organization to have sent to me from the shop back home. I didn't discover the note until I unpacked the box, and so there was no chance to send a reply with the courier who made the delivery. She and the others have all been working 70 to 80 hours a week in the shop, she reports, printing money mostly but also large quantities of propaganda leaflets. She suspects from the urgency with which the leaflets have been requested that a major new campaign is afoot in the Washington area. (She'll find out what's afoot soon enough!) She thinks I am still in Dallas, and she says she is hoping she will be ordered to make another cash delivery to Dallas soon so she can see me. How my heart aches to be with her again, even if only for a few hours! There's not much chance of my getting back to Washington again for at least another three weeks, though. Things have really mushroomed out here in the Rocky Mountain area. The Organization is not particularly strong here, and yet Revolutionary Command has designated 43 high-priority targets in the area- more than half of them military installations- which we must prepare ourselves to hit simultaneously when the order is given, probably early in July. On top of that, there is practically no one out here with any experience in specialized ordnance, and so I am having to train everyone from scratch-26 students altogether. They will have the responsibility for preparing and using all the incendiary and explosive devices required for the assigned targets in the area. Fortunately, we do have several military people here with an excellent grasp of guerrilla tactics, and so I am restricting my training to the technical end only and leaving the tactics to the military people. Despite the narrower scope of my work here, it's still going more slowly than in Dallas, because things are so spread out. It was deemed inadvisable to try to hold classes for 26 people at a time, so I meet with six here in Denver; 11 in Boulder, a college town about 20 miles north of here; and nine in a farmhouse just south of here. I see each group every third day, but I give them plenty of homework to do between meetings. We've initiated virtually no violent actions against the System in the Rocky Mountain area so far, and the general atmosphere here is quite a bit more relaxed than along the East Coast. Something very unpleasant happened last week, though, which serves as a grim reminder that the struggle here will be just as brutal and vicious as anywhere else. One of our members, a construction worker, was caught trying to sneak a few sticks of dynamite off the construction site where he was employed. Apparently he had been smuggling a dozen or so out in his lunch box every day for quite a while. The site guard turned him over to the local sheriff, who immediately searched the man's house and found not only a big cache of dynamite but also several guns - and some Organization literature. The sheriff figured he had stumbled onto something which could really give a boost to his career. If he could crack the Organization in the Rocky Mountain area, the System would be very grateful to him. He would have a good chance of winning a seat in the state legislature, perhaps even becoming lieutenant governor or being appointed to some other high post in the state government. So the sheriff and his deputies began beating our man, trying to make him name other Organization members. They gave him a vicious working over, but he wouldn't talk. Then they brought in the man's wife and began slapping and kicking her around in his presence. The outcome was that our man, in desperation, snatched a revolver from the holster of one of the deputies. He was shot dead by another deputy before he could pull the trigger. The wife was handed over to the FBI and flown back to Washington for interrogation. She should not be able to give them any significant information, but I shudder to think of the ordeal to which she is being submitted. The sheriff's glory was short-lived, however. The evening of the day our member was killed, the sheriff appeared in a televised news interview, boasting of the blow he had struck in the name of law, order, and equality and pompously warning that he would treat with equal ruthlessness any other "racists" who fell into his hands. When he arrived home that night after his TV interview, he found his wife on his living-room floor, with her throat cut. Two days later his patrol car was ambushed. His bullet-riddled body was found in its burned-out wreckage. It is a terrible thing to kill women of our own race, but we are engaged in a war in which all the old rules have been scrapped. We are in a war to the death with the Jew, who now feels himself so close to his final victory that he can safely drop his mask and treat his enemies as the "cattle" his religion tells him they are. Our retribution against the sheriff here should serve as a warning to the Jew's Gentile henchmen, at least, that if they adopt the X Jew's attitude toward our women and children, then they cannot s expect their own families to be safe. (Note to the reader: Several sets of books containing the Jewish religious doctrine, which was called "Judaism," are still extant today. These books, the Talmud and the Torah, do, indeed, refer to non-Jews as, "cattle." Especially horrifying to us is the attitude the Jews had toward non-Jewish women. The word they used to designate a girl of our race was "shiksa," which was derived from the Hebrew word meaning both "abomination" and "non-kosher meat" or "unclean meat.") June 21. I was stopped at a police roadblock driving back from Boulder tonight. No problem getting through it; they just checked my driver's license (i.e., the late and unlamented David S. Bloom's license), asked me where I was going, and took a quick look in the car. But the roadblock had traffic backed up for miles, and other motorists were really fuming. One of them told me this is the first time they've used roadblocks in this area. The roadblock and a couple of hints I've caught on news broadcasts in the last few days lead me to believe that the System knows something big is cooking. I hope they don't tighten up security out here the way they have back on the East Coast, it'll mess up our plans if they do. On the other hand, it'll do these bumpkins around here a lot of good to get a full dose of Big Brother's loving care. Most of them hardly ever see a liberal or a Jew, and they act as if there's not a war going on. They seem to think that they're far enough away from the things that are plaguing other parts of the country that they can keep on with their same old routine. They resent any hint that they may have to halt their pursuit of pleasure and affluence long enough to cut a cancer out of America that will surely destroy us all if it's not eliminated soon. But it's always been that way with Boobus Americanus. I'm quite concerned that I've heard no news of Evanston. I've been expecting the raid there every day since the last week of last month. Has there been more trouble with Harrison? Or has Revolutionary Command decided to postpone the Evanston raid, perhaps until our big offensive next month? There was no indication of such a postponement at my last briefing. More than likely the trouble is Harrison, damn him! When I recalculated the hit probability on the target at the range given me by our Chicago mortar team just before I left Washington for Dallas, I decided we should distribute our radioactive contaminant among five rounds instead of only three. That gives us a probability of nearly 90 per cent that we'll get one or more rounds into the generator building. But Harrison may have balked at having to handle that much ordnance. If that's the case, why hasn't someone told me? I'm also becoming concerned that I've received no orders as to what I'm to do when I finish my work here next week. If I don't get back to Washington then, I'm afraid I may not make it before the big push starts. I want to be back there with Katherine and the others when everything hits the fan next month. And I can't see any reason why I shouldn't, because there will hardly be time to send me anywhere else to set up another training course in special ordnance.

Reptil John Catchpole Angus Peter Allen Index of Reptile Episodes. 01 https://rumble.com/v2c5l9a-reptil-by-john-catchpole-and-angus-peter-allen.-epsiode-one.-a-puke-tm-comi.html 02 https://rumble.com/v2d610m-reptil-by-john-catchpole-and-angus-peter-allen.-episode-two.html 03 https://rumble.com/v2drjas-reptil-by-john-catchpole-and-angus-peter-allen.-episode-three-the-cursed-is.html 04 https://rumble.com/v2fk0ki-reptil-by-john-catchpole-and-angus-peter-allen.-episode-four-the-shadow-of-.html 05 https://rumble.com/v2h9b4g-reptil-john-catchpole-angus-peter-allen.-episode-five.-the-bewitched-cavern.html 06 https://rumble.com/v2m9hs8-reptil-by-john-catchpole-and-angus-peter-allen.-episode-six.-a-puke-tm-comi.html 07 https://rumble.com/v2ozbnq-reptil-by-john-catchpole-and-angus-peter-allen.-episode-seven.-the-slave-ar.html 08 https://rumble.com/v2skbjy-reptil-by-john-catchpole-and-angus-peter-allen.-episode-eight..html 09 https://rumble.com/v362i13-reptil-john-catchpole-angus-peter-allen.-episode-nine.-the-enraged-crowd..html 10 https://rumble.com/v3azgfv-reptile.-episode-ten.-checkmate-john-catchpole-angus-peter-allen.-a-puke-tm.html

Rahan. The son of the fierce ages. Text by Roger Lecureux. Art by Andre Cheret. Episode Thirty. To save Alona. Rahan is not strong enough to face a "two-nose"! The son of Crao knew the sounds of the jungle too well not to know that this pounding of the ground, which he perceived, was that of a charging rhinoceros. In those fierce times, the great woolly rhinoceros was one of the most fearsome monsters. Rahan was taking refuge on a big tree when. A demanding howl rang out! A woman! Rahan cannot abandon a woman to the anger of the "Two Noses"! Page Two: Leaping from branch to branch, he very quickly dominated the immense clearing. The rhinoceros was charging a hunter. As for the woman, she was lying in the tall grass. Although robust and firmly planted, the man was thrown to the ground by the brutal shock. Ghlong! The "Two-nose" lumbered on its course and turned around, searching for its victims with its cruel little eyes. Ra-ha-ha! Letting go of the vine, the son of Crao fell back on the hairy monster's spine! The ivory knife struck! Page Three: But the blade slid on the thick fleece, and only further excited the Rhinoceros, who rushed forward, towards the stunned hunter. Grabbing the horns, Rahan attempted to deflect the monster's charge. He succeeded, but was himself thrown close to the man. You have not killed Rahan yet, "Two-Nose”! The son of Crao had seized the hunter's long and strong spear. He leapt onto a stump, once again challenging the rhinoceros. What are you waiting for to attack, "Two-nose"?! Are you scared of Rahan? When the monster charged, Rahan had already wedged the spear between the roots. He held it, ready to dive to the side. You will die "Two-nose"! Page Four: Blocked by the stump, the spear did not break, and its point, hardened in the fire, disappeared into the woolly chest. Ra-ha-ha! The hunter, coming to his senses, saw the monster lying on its side. You saved Arok and Alona! Who are you? I am Rahan, son of Crao! Rahan fears the "Two-nose"! But when he heard the cry of your companion he was ashamed to flee! Rahan should have let the "Two Nose" kill us! Oh? As the woman clumsily got to her feet, Rahan noticed. That her ankles were tied with a vine! Arok fears that Alona will escape him! That's why he treats her like a captive!! Deliver me, Rahan!! Page Five: Rahan certainly saved our lives. But that does not allow him to meddle in the affairs of our clan! The robust hunter had unceremoniously thrown the young woman over his shoulder. Deliver Me, Rahan! Save Me! I do not want to become Arok's wife!! I do not like him! I do not like him! The son of Crao, taken aback, did not intervene. He saw the strange couple disappear in the thickets. Maybe Rahan is wrong to want to interfere in everything!? And yet, if Alona does not like Arok, nothing can force her to become his companion!! Crao-the-wise always said. Page Six: In a happy horde, "Females-who-walk-upright" Have the same rights as "Men-who-walk-upright"! It was almost mechanically that Rahan followed in the hunter's footsteps. Clouds fringed with blood, over the distant mountains, announced the approaching night. Arok cannot walk all night. He will stop to rest! The first calls of nocturnal birds were already rising in the foliage. Hardly had this thought crossed his mind than he caught a glimpse of the couple. He was sound asleep at the foot of a tree. She, feet bound, moaned softly. Do not hesitate, Rahan! Do not hesitate! What you are about to do would amuse Crao the Just! Page Seven: A moment later, a long but soft whistle alerted the young woman. And she saw a creeper coming down towards her! A whisper fell from the foliage. Rahan has come to deliver you, Alona! Hold on to this vine and say nothing. Nothing! While his "Captive" rose silently towards the foliage, hoisted by Rahan, Arok still slept. Rahan is risking his life by helping Alona! Arok's anger will be terrible! Rahan is already leading his charge on the tormented track of the big branches. Page Eight: A little after. Arok is a loyal hunter but my heart doesn't beat for him! The clan leader, Helas, gave me to Arok! This morning I wanted to flee Arok, flee my clan, and flee the territory. But Arok, as a skillful hunter, quickly found my tracks. He tied me up to take me back to the village. It was on the way that the "Two Nose" attacked us! Alona was serious and concerned. Never had the son of Crao felt so embarrassed. What are you going to do with me Rahan? Abandon me? Bring me back to the clan? Uh, Uh? Rahan had a horde once. "Those-who-walk-Upright". They had the right to choose their companion! The custom is quite different with mine! Page Nine: It is the chief who decides to unite us with such or such hunters, according to the merits of this one or that! And Arok has many merits? Unfortunately, yes! He is a great and brave hunter! But Alona doesn't want to become his wife, since it's too much for her to be pregnant! A cry of rage suddenly rang out. Arok arose! I finally found you Rahan! So you pretend to steal Alona from me!! Arok does not fear your knife, Rahan! He will prove it to you! Chtok! Rahan does not need his knife to subdue Arok-the-guilty! Deftly thrown, the weapon flew and stuck in a nearby tree trunk. Page Ten: A moment later, the two men were mortally engaged, and rolled in the tall grass. They were as strong as each other. If Arok was more massive, and more powerful, then the son of Crao was more agile, and more flexible than his adversary. It was a strong and fair fight where each took the upper hand in turn. Arok and Rahan are each so strong! Neither one nor the other will triumph! Panting, the two men ceased this hopeless struggle. If Marg-the-chief so decides. Alona will be yours! Alona will not be with Arok or Rahan! She prefers to die in the jungle! Furious, the young woman disappeared in the thick coppice. Page Eleven: Arok has lost the one who was to become his companion! And Rahan has lost his knife! However, behind the hills. Arok should have brought Alona back to the village a long time ago! I know, Taroo. And like you, I fear misfortune! Marg-the-chief was concerned. I did not know Alona was running away from our clan! I did not think her love for you would drive her to defy custom! Go find her, Taroo! If by luck you bring her back alive, I promise you that we will make an exception to the custom! At the same time, Arok and the son of Crao were searching for traces of the fugitive. Look at this! Alona is crafty! By taking the path of water, she makes us lose her tracks! Page Twelve: Had the young woman descended or ascended the river? It is difficult to swim against this current! Rahan thinks she chose this direction! If the river kills Alona, your clan's bad custom will be the cause! Arok will also be guilty! The two hunters observed each other with the same frankness. What will you do if we find each other? I will ask her to return to our clan. But she will be free to decide her destiny!! These are the words that Rahan likes to hear!! Confidence, Arok, we will find her! They were carried away by the current. Here and there on the muddy shores roamed huge hippos. Alona will not have risked herself in the middle of the "Flat-teeth". She would have had to descend along the water-way again! Page Thirteen: Alona! Alona! Only the bawling monkeys responded to the anxious calls that Arok occasionally made. I hope she was able to escape the "Sky Killer"! A bird with immense wings circled above the river. It dove towards the two men. Underwater Arok! Under water! The Son of fierce ages had faced similar winged monsters before. But he had never seen one so big! The giant pterodactyl's fearsome beak smashed through the surface, narrowly missing Rahan. The monster gained height and dived again. The "killer of the Sky" never abandons its prey! As long as he hasn't cut our throats, he will harass us! Page Fourteen: Flying level with the water, the bird returned to the attack. Rahan will not let his throat be cut! Arok sank, but the son of Crao waited. He dodged the terrifying beak. And. Clung to the clawed paws of the monster! The monster carried him for a moment but, weighed down by this burden, could not regain height! Ra-ha-ha! The great wings flapped heavily, but Rahan held on. You never abandon your prey, but neither does Rahan! Arok howled in admiration as his companion disappeared underwater, dragging the exhausted pterodactyl with him. Page Fifteen: Rahan had to use all his energy to drown the winged monster. But in this strange aquatic fight between the man and the giant bird, the man came out victorious! Ra-ha-ha! Rahan is the boldest hunter Arok has ever encountered! The fight would have been faster if Rahan had had his knife! Rahan will soon find his knife! Look out!! Alona! Yes, with Taroo! In the distance, indeed on a rocky platform overlooking the river, stood out two silhouettes. They seemed to be surrounded by a halo on the Rock!? Page Sixteen: Placed in front of the young woman as if to protect her, Taroo seemed to face an invisible danger. Taroo is a young hunter. He still lacks experience. That is a reason to help her! Is not it Arok!? The bitter little smile on Arok’s face faded. As they swam to shore, Rahan guessed that his companion had overcome his jealousy. A moment later, leaping into the thickets. They were aware of the grunts of wild animals. Alona and Taroo are being attacked by “Panthers”. His hearing had not deceived the son of Crao. The fight will be hard! Is Arok not afraid? Arok is never afraid! Three black panthers prowled at the foot of the rocky platform on which Alona and her companion had taken refuge. Page Seventeen: Arok has already faced "Baghaes" without any weapon. He breaks their spines! Rahan will try to imitate Arok! The son of the fierce ages was too modest. He too could, without a weapon, triumph over a beast. But Rahan would still prefer to have his knife! The two men huddled together, waiting for an opportunity to pounce. The felines, thirty paces away, were only interested in the couple taking refuge on the platform. Ra-ha-ha! When Rahan's battle cry alerted them, they turned sharply. And the most violent, wildest melee began! Stimulated by this unexpected help, Taroo immediately dove into it. Page Eighteen: Alona anxiously observed the phases of the triple confrontation. She saw the first animal collapse under Taroo's blows. She also saw Rahan who, riding a wild "Baghae", tried to break the vertebrae of its neck. She saw Arok who, in an unfortunate position, was fighting fiercely. Arok is in danger! Help him Taroo. Help him! Without having heard this call, the young hunter was already rushing forward, brandishing the ivory knife. A moment later, the three beasts were lying at the feet of the panting hunters. Welded by this common fight, they exchanged friendly smiles. Page Nineteen: Arok won't forget that Taroo saved his life! But it was Arok who came to Taroo's aid! But how did Taroo find Alona? We come very often to this rock, to admire the river. And I knew she would come back here! She came back! The young hunter tenderly embraced his companion. Rahan was right. It is with Taroo that Alona will be happy! Yes, those-who-walk-upright have the right to choose their destiny! The son of Crao joyfully went to retrieve his knife, which remained stuck in the side of the "Baghae". By courageously opposing the custom of your clan. Page Twenty: Alona gave an example to her sisters! May this example be followed! It will be, Rahan! Ours were too scared for Alona's life! So all that is left for Rahan is to continue on his way. No, brother! We owe you a lot! All three of us! Do us the kindness of staying with us for a while! In these fierce times, where everything is a struggle for life. The fraternity of "Those-who-walk-upright" was the most beautiful thing. This was why the son of Crao agreed to stay among this clan. As they descended the hill, into the sunset fires, Rahan and Arok seemed to be escorting the young couple to happiness. Index: https://rumble.com/v3486cm-rahan-index-of-episodes-by-roger-lecureux..html

Rahan. Episode Twenty Nine. The Long Manes. Rahan, the son of the fierce ages. Rahan was hungry, he was scared, and he was cold. Since dawn, to escape the downpours, he had holed up in this refuge. And he knew that, sooner or later, a wild animal would come to challenge him for this shelter. A hoarse growl told him that this moment had come. If the long mane attacks, Rahan won't have the strength to resist him! Overcoming his fatigue, the son of Crao braided the vines which hung at the entrance into a fragile barricade. Page Two: Then he tied one of these vines to his wrist. This frail rampart was not intended to stop a lion, but to signal its approach if he succumbed to sleep. The curtain of rain concealed the forest from him. But, from the grunts of the beast, he guessed its movements. What is "Long-mane" waiting for, thought Rahan? Why does he not attack? The thunder ceased, but the son of Crao did not see the moon reappear. Burdened by fatigue, he did not hear the beast approaching. It was a sudden jerk at the wrist that signaled the danger. His fingers twitched on his ivory knife. And as stupor riveted him to the ground, the lion he had glimpsed for a moment fled, and disappeared into the thickets. Rahan has never seen a “long-mane” flee like this! Could Rahan have dreamed it? Page Three: But, in front of the refuge, the footprints of the beast which prove that he had not dreamed it. As soon as it is daylight Rahan will go in search of the "Long-mane”! At dawn, in fact, he set off in pursuit. On the soggy, muddy ground, the tracks would be easy to follow. But this trail suddenly stopped at the edge of a large pond. Knowing the repulsion felt by big cats for water, Rahan was amazed that this one had crossed the pond. However Rahan must admit it, since the traces do not go back! On the other bank he could not find the track of the lion. But he discovered another. A little man has passed here! Page Four: These footprints of children prove that a clan lived on this territory. In his haste to find men again, he set off happily on this new track. But his joy was very short, as he suddenly saw a body. Oh! The little man is dead! Slaughtered by a "Long-mane"!! Here and there indeed reappeared the traces of the beast. But it is not a little man, thought Rahan. He is a small man! The cast of the body was that of an adult hunter, but very small. Crao sometimes spoke of these "Pygmies", who do not grow! Rahan could do nothing more for this man. He was about to resume the trail when a shower of short, slender spears struck all around him. Page Five: Forming an almost perfect circle! Such skilled hunters could have killed Rahan if they had wanted to! Why did they spare him? Pygmies appeared from all sides, impressed by the size of Rahan. They observed him with a certain fear, but without animosity. What horde do you belong to "Big Man"? Rahan has no more horde, and no more clan! But all "Those-who-walk-upright" are his brothers! As a roar rose in the distance, the "Pygmies” tore their javelins from the ground and rushed into the thickets. I hope they will avenge Daha! May a "Long-mane" finally perish under their blows! Page Six: Staying with Rahan, the chief led him to his village. Whose huts were hardly taller than the son of Crao. Since the season of green leaves the "Long-manes" have been attacking our isolated hunters. On nights with a big moon, these demon-beasts roam the crests of the hills, terrorizing our women and children with their cries. We men ourselves are afraid and there are many who would like to flee this territory! To this day, I have been opposed to abandoning such a game-filled forest! Why don't hunters kill these "Long-manes"? Because they are elusive! No one can approach them! Rahan however glimpsed a "long-mane" who fled without attacking him! Probably because you are a "tall man"! Page Seven: The hunters soon returned, without having discovered the beast. Rahan will help his Pigmy brothers! Dawn found the son of the fierce ages lying in ambush on the shore of the pond. He hoped that the "long manes" would come to drink there. As the mist slowly lifted from the surface, he made out the head of a beast. To both of us "Long-mane", thought Rahan!! A moment later he was swimming underwater, his knife between his teeth. It is strange that the "long-manes" of this territory love water so much! He was only a few feet away from the beast, in its wake, when he saw the amazing thing. Page Eight: It was not a beast he was about to disembowel. But a man! A man who was hiding under the skin of a "Long-mane"!! Recovering from his stupor, the son of Crao sheathed his knife, and grabbed the swimmer's ankle. Rahan wants to know the secret of "the wild man"! Rahan could stay underwater three times longer than anyone. He pulled the stranger down, who quickly lost his breath. Rahan wants to know why you hide under the skin of a "long-mane"! The son of Crao had just hoisted the man onto the bank, when a roar rang out. Attack Ayak! Kill the enemy! Page Nine: The thickets parted before a large lion. This time it was a real beast! Attack Ayak! Attack! Obeying the order, the beast leapt. The knife's ivory blade glinted as it burst from the lizard's sheath. This was not the first time that the son of the fierce ages faced a "long-mane". He knew that the first blow he would land would have to be fatal. And it was! His blade plunged into the side of the beast, who launched his last roar. Ra-ha-ha! The fierce cry of victory ended in a howl of anger. The lion-man had taken advantage of the brief fight to flee! Rahan will find you wherever you go!! Page Ten: With the agility of "Those-who-run-in-the-trees"! Rahan hoisted himself onto a high branch. He saw the man who already far away was climbing a hill. Rahan thanks you for showing him the way to your lair! Soon after, the son of Crao climbed in his turn towards the crest of this hill. And one new surprise awaited him. A clan of wild men! At the entrance to a cave, some men conferred. All wore a "Long-mane" skin. On a rock, a few lions dozed in the bright sun. Page Eleven: If Ayak hasn't returned yet, it's because he was killed by the "enemy-with-the-fire-hair"! You will be punished Dragka! By allowing yourself to be surprised by this enemy, you have delivered to him our secret! The "Little Men" will now know that they are not being attacked by real "Long-manes". Their terror will disappear! They will regain their courage and defend this game-filled forest that we have been coveting for many moons! For the son of Crao, in ambush not far from the cave, these words cleared up the mystery. This clan terrifies the "Pygmy’s” so that they will abandon their territory! A howl arose followed by hoarse growls. Dragka had just been offered to the lions!! These men are ruthless! May Rahan never fall into their hands! Page Twelve: Rahan could have slipped away and gone to reveal to the "pygmies" what he had just learned. But his curiosity was stronger. How do the "Beast-men" manage to leave behind them traces of "Long-manes"? A light rasping on a rock alerted him. A few steps from him, a snake was watching him. If Rahan makes the slightest noise while killing him, the whole clan will come running! Remembering a trick that Crao the Brave had taught him, he no longer moved. He even stopped breathing when the reptile slid down his chest, slowly, so slowly. Page Thirteen: A moment later the snake disappeared under the rocks. In front of the cave, the chief of the clan gave an order. You must bring back "The Fire-Haired Enemy" before dark! The wild men dispersed. They did not imagine that Rahan is so close to them! Otherwise, they would not leave their leader at Rahan's mercy! The chief was indeed left alone. But the four lions that had torn Dragka to pieces were once again dozing on the outskirts of the cave. The son of fierce ages, crawling to the grotto, did not take his eyes off the beasts. Fortunately, the wind is blowing from Rahan's side! Perhaps sated and not sniffing the scent of the man, the lions did not flinch when he slipped into the cave of the "Beast-men". Page Fourteen: At the bottom of the cave, in front of a big fire, the chief of the clan implored the gods of the hunt. Make the game-rich land of the "Little Men" return to Vigor the leader! And also make sure that the fiery-haired enemy dies before revealing the secret of "Long-manes"! It is up to you to kill him, Vigor! If you can!! Springing from the shadows, the son of Crao leapt into the open. Oh! Oh! Rahan understands now how you cut the throats of the "Small-Men"!! The hands of Vigor were gloved with sharp-clawed paws! Kaa! Sloka! Grag! Thor! To me! To me! Rahan understood that the chief, who was rushing on him, had called his four lions for help! Page Fifteen: Leaping aside, he dodged the strange clawed "Hands." His leg extended, unbalancing Vigor. The latter was still on the ground, and the point of the ivory knife was already goading his back. Rahan hates killing "Those-Who-Walk-Upright"! But. The lions, roaring, stood at the entrance to the cave. They were going to jump. The tip of this blade will visit your heart if you do not order your beasts to flee! And so Vigor howled. Back! Back! Go join your masters! Docile, the beasts disappeared. Rahan will not take your life, but he will deliver you to the "Small-Men" that you wanted to decimate. Page Sixteen: Oh! For the first time, Crao's son noticed the strange wooden plates laced on Vigor's feet. Rahan now understands how yours leave "Long-mane" footprints! The skillfully sculpted underside of the plates perfectly imitated the underside of a lion's paw! Rahan had not recovered from his surprise when Vigor, suddenly straightening up, snatched the ivory knife from him. Ha-ha-ha! You now know all our secrets! Yes it is with these skins and these false legs that we deceive the "Small-Men"! And it is with these trunks that we imitate the roars of the "Long-manes!" When the big moon arrives, we will prowl around their village. Woe to their hunters who linger in the forest! Page Seventeen: Without taking their eyes off each other, the son of Crao and Vigor circled slowly around the fire. You yourself should have died the other night! But Dragka was afraid of your size and ran away! We sent him out to find you, with one of those real long manes we trained. But you killed Ayak and Dragka fled again! If you have been spying on us for a long time, you know the fate we have reserved for this coward! This fate will be yours Rahan! Kaa! Sloka! Grag! Thor! To call his lions, Vigor only turned his head towards the entrance of the cave for a brief moment. A moment that Rahan knew how to take advantage of! Argh! Hit in the face by a flaming branch, Vigor collapsed near the fire. Page Eighteen: Rahan had promised himself to hand you over to the "Little Men"! But? But? Having impaled himself on the ivory knife, Vigor did not move. He deserved to join the "Territory of Shadows"! He was a "Bad-Man"! The son of the fierce ages, intrigued, looked at the tusks. Vigor said that his people imitate the cry of "Long-manes" with these "Things"! But how? Imitating the men of the great river, whom he had seen blowing into sea-shells, Rahan blew at the top of his lungs into the tusk. The roar which escaped from it was covered by a vengeful clamor. The wild men are back! Page Nineteen: Alone, Rahan had no chance of escaping the men of vigor and their lions! Nevertheless, he came out of the cave, ready for the final fight. And the menacing clamors became ovations. All the Pigmy hunters were there brandishing their javelins. Rahan has delivered us from fear! Rahan chased away the evil spirits that terrorized our people! The son of Crao found it hard to understand this sudden enthusiasm. But the chief of the pygmies continued. Since it was no longer about “Demon-Beasts", but simple beasts, confidence has returned to us. We have followed your footsteps here. Page Twenty: "Long-Manes" and "Tall-Men" who wanted to look like them, attacked us! But our hunters were no longer afraid, and they killed them! All of them! The son of fierce ages imagined the men of Vigor succumbing to the javelins of the pygmies. But these were too cruel, too perfidious not to reach the "Territory of Shadows"! With the mystery of the wild men clarified, peace and happiness returned to the "Little men". With whom Rahan remained until the season-of-yellow-leaves. Then one morning, as usual, he entrusted his destiny to his knife. The weapon spun for a moment and stopped, its blade pointing at the blazing horizon. It is towards this unknown territory that the son of Crao would go, to encounter new dangers, to discover new mysteries. Index: https://rumble.com/v3486cm-rahan-index-of-episodes-by-roger-lecureux..html