PukeOnABook

Rahan. Episode six. The Mammoth God. Rahan could have swum. But he preferred for his own amusement to cross the river on this tree that had been uprooted by lightning. The sun has risen as many times as the fingers of the hand, and Rahan has not met any man! No man. Destiny would decide otherwise. “Those who walk upright”, are they afraid to live here? The trees are big and beautiful! Game must be plentiful. Barely had the son of Crao had this thought, that. Over there! The man with the “tail-of-the-panther” violates mammoth territory! He must die! Page Two: Rahan heard the clamors of the clan and glimpsed the flint axes. The son of fierce ages, he was used to this inhospitality. Death to the “Tail-of-a-panther”! Death! Death! Death! In these savage times, anything strange to the clan was the enemy! Rahan tries to flee. The tail of the beast which he had made into a sheath floats at his hip. Rahan does not know this forest! He will not escape these hunters! Front, back, and to the side. Silhouettes jump in the thicket. But Rahan does not succumb without a fight! And the branches of this tree allow him to isolate his enemies! With the agility of a monkey he clung to the low branches. Page Three: And rose rapidly through the thick foliage of the great tree. “Tail-of-the-panther” cannot escape us! Some of the hunters are already hoisting themselves up the tree. The most nimble ahead of the others. Just as Rahan wished! Because it was easy for him to fight isolated enemies! Ah! He had thrown two of these into the void when. Ha-ha-ha! I have you “Tail-of-the-panther” Suddenly gripping the long panther tail, a hunter tried to unbalance him. But Rahan’s legs were wrapped around the tree. Page Four: And the man, slipping from his perch, remained suspended in the air. We will both fall! You will die with me "Tail-of-the-panther”! No! With a quick gesture, Rahan sliced the long sheath in two. Zlac! The crash of the broken branches accompanied the howl of the man who fell towards the ground! Argh! Ah! But Rahan had not sheathed his ivory knife, when a hand gripped his ankle. Which pitched him in turn, into the void! He hit one branch, and then another, and instinctively he tried to cushion his fall by clinging to vines. Page Five: Stunned by the successive shocks he disappeared under the green waters of the river. Vlouf! And he immediately recovered all his spirits. The hunters do not know how to swim! Rahan is saved! But Rahan has lost his Knife! Furious, the clan observed Rahan, who had just gained the other side of the river. A hunter brandished the knife that he had just found. The weapon of the “tail-of-the-panther” is very strange. They admired the polish of the handle, and appreciated the sharpness of the blade. We must bring this weapon back to Tarook. It now belongs to the clan leader! Rahan watched the hunters disappear. Rahan cannot live without his knife! He must take it back from these men! He must! Page Six: The ivory knife was unique to the son of Crao. The most prized of his possessions. He gazed gravely at the empty sheath. Rahan shall recover you, knife! You will return to your place. And later. No sound. No voices. The hunters must fear the darkness as Rahan once did. Oh! A strange spectacle suddenly petrified him. In the middle of the clearing on a high flat rock was a mammoth skull. At the bottom of the clearing a cave could be discerned. Rahan was not wrong. The clan fear the night! They will stay on the territory of the cavern until daylight. The soil around the rock was littered with objects. Shell necklaces, glittering stones. “Those who walk upright” act like this when they worship a god. Page Seven: Rahan had known hordes that worshipped the sun-god or the river-god. Others, like that of the forests, devoting themselves to the oak god. Rahan wondered if these hunters worship the mammoth god. The ivory of the immense curved tusks shone in the moonlight. Rahan does not believe in the power of these gods! But he knows that those who worship them are always obedient! An idea seized Rahan. He could not confront these men, whose number he did not know. But Rahan knows how to get them out of their lair! A moment later in the cavern. Listen to that voice Tarook! The god speaks! All of you listen! Mamazak Speaks! Page Eight: Overcoming their fear, the men came out of the cave one by one. Surrounded by a strange halo of fire, the mammoth god spoke. Men of the clan stay away from me! I will speak only with the chief! The hunters shivered in their trepidation. Mamazak calls you Tarook! Go Tarook Go! You must obey the god! Anxiously Tarook walked towards the god. Hidden behind the rock altar, Rahan recognized his knife in the chief's belt. He threw another tuft of grass on the fire he had lit and the flames seemed to shoot from the skull. Here I am Mamazak. Why do you blaze like the sun? Because my anger is great against you Tarook! They have stolen a weapon from a hunter I protect! And I see you carrying that weapon Tarook! Page Nine: Lay that weapon down in front of me Tarook, And my anger may cease! I will forgive the fault of your hunters! Worried, the chief of the clan clasps the knife. Mine did not know that you were protecting panther tail, we beg your forgiveness Mamazak. And gravely he laid it in the midst of the offerings. I forgive you! Retreat to your cave! Argh! As Tarook retreated towards his people, an ember burst forth. And it wrung a cry of pain from Rahan! It was not you that shouted like that Mamazak! It was a man! Rahan has betrayed himself! He cannot deceive anymore! Tarook rushed at the knife, but Rahan moved more rapidly. Yes! I am a man! I am Rahan! Son of Crao! Page Ten: The ruse failed, and combat became inevitable. A terribly uneven combat. Rahan suddenly hoisted himself onto the rock. Kill Rahan! Kill! Then on the very skull of the mammoth. Rahan is not afraid of you! Look! Rahan challenges your god! The clansmen hesitated. They brandished their axes without daring to throw them, doubtless fearing to touch the "Mammoth God". Certain, more audacious men nevertheless approached. If Rahan can climb on Mamazak without provoking his anger, we can too! They suddenly attacked head-on, leaping towards the rock-altar dominated by gigantic tusks. Kill Rahan! Kill! Kill! Kill! Kill! Page Eleven: But these giant tusks suddenly oscillate above them! Rahan is lost! But he will not die alone! Bracing himself against the skull, Rahan pushed it over on his assailants. The screams of the crushed men merge with the cracking of the monstrous skull that breaks in two at the foot of the rock altar. Crash! Then, fear and anger give way to hatred. Such profanation should be cruelly punished!! But Rahan had already jumped from the rock. And disappeared into the darkness. They do not chase Rahan into the night! But from daybreak, they will begin the chase! Page Twelve: He ran straight ahead for a long time, in the high ferns that lashed at his chest. Formerly Rahan would also have landed in a hole. But Rahan is no longer afraid of the night! The night and the moon are the companions of Rahan! In fact the moon lit up his mad race. It was in its pale light that suddenly appeared an immense abyss. Oh! The gorge was wide and deep. Its steep walls prohibited any descent into its depths. Only a bird could pass to the other side. But Rahan is no bird. Rahan walked along the impassable ravine for a long time. But it seemed to be without end. Page Thirteen: No! Rahan can't turn back! Sooner or later he will encounter Tarook and his Hunters! The bottomless gorge meandered to infinity. Rahan knows how to cross rivers, but this he does not know! Ooh! The River! A vision comes back to him. He sees himself again crossing the river, that very morning, on the tree uprooted by lightning. And his imaginative mind as always made an association of ideas. If a tree fell on the ravine, as on the river, then Rahan would overcome the obstacle! Can Rahan not strike down one of these like lightning? His heart beating, he observed the tops of the nearby trees. Page Fourteen: This one is high thought Rahan. Its top would fall on the other side of the ravine. But how can Rahan make a tree so high fall? Ah! Rahan knows! An instant later, he clawed the ground with his knife, at the foot of the tree on the opposite side to the precipice. Scrape! Scrape! It was a long and exhausting job. He released some roots here. He sliced some others there. The day is coming! Tarook and his clan are going on the hunt! The darkness was dissipating and he was redoubtable with ardor. They will find the traces of Rahan! Rahan must succeed before they arrive. Sometimes he would test the resistance of the tree. And then he would again vigorously attack the other roots. Page Fifteen: It was not until daybreak that the tree finally swayed under his exertions. It will fall soon! But if it falls into the abyss, Rahan’s idea will have been useless! Crack! Roots suddenly cracked, others like snakes, were torn from the ground! The tree finally crumbled towards the gorge and Rahan tried to guide its fall. Vrang! Ra-ha-ha! The long cry of victory echoed the crash of the peak falling on the other side of the ravine. Shouts arose and came closer. Ha-ha-ha! The hunters of Tarook have found the trail of Rahan. But they will not meet him again!! Page Sixteen: The narrow and curiously leafy “bridge” now allowed him to cross the gorge. The pack appeared. Death to Rahan! Death for Sacrilege! Rahan suddenly crouched down and avoided a violently thrown axe. Beneath him was the vertigo of the abyss. He slipped, and barely caught himself on a branch. Courage Rahan! As soon as you are on the other side, you will push the tree into the ravine! Tarook stimulated his men, who were hesitant to take risks following the fugitive. Will you let the profaner of Mamazak escape?! Cowards! There is a way to avenge Mamazak! I swear to you that Rahan will not arrive on the other side Tarook! The hunter grinned cruelly. Page Seventeen: Rahan no longer dared to look beneath him. His gaze did not shift from the cliff face, separated from him by ten paces. Another eight steps. Seven steps. In a moment he would be safe. Six. Five. Four. Ha-ha-ha! Rahan is saved, he thought to himself. Oh! While he was about to reach the goal, the "bridge" had moved! The "Point" had retreated! Rahan was confused. The cliff that he had almost touched was now receding from him. Turning his head, Rahan quickly understood. Oh! Tarook and his hunters were gripping the roots and were dragging the “bridge” back to them! Page Eighteen: There was a jolt and the end of the bridge lost its support. And Rahan was almost pitched into the abyss. Rahan is Lost! The burden was horribly heavy, but Tarook’s clan redoubled their efforts. The tree was slipping, slowly slipping! And its peak moved inexorably away from the cliff. Rahan must jump! He may fall into the abyss, but the hunters would kill him anyway! Under the pulls of the clan, the "Bridge" always retreated. Rahan retraced his path. Ha-ha-ha! Rahan is scared! Rahan returns to surrender! Oh! To gain momentum. And, after having suddenly turned around, the son of Crao ran towards the summit. Page Nineteen: It bends under his weight like a springboard. Rahan’s legs relaxed as it straightens up… In a flash he seemed to fly in the void above the abyss, towards the cliff. His fingers twitch on the edge of the rock, and he remained pinned to the wall. Panting and observing without believing his eyes that he had triumphed over the abyss. On the other side of the chasm the hunters furiously threw their flint axes. But Rahan, who climbed the cliff no longer had anything to fear from these projectiles. Page Twenty: Ra-ha-ha! His mocking and victorious cry was taken up by all the echoes of the gorge and rolled up to the rising sun which had set the horizon on fire. To challenge "Mamazak" and to accomplish such a feat, one must oneself be a god! Rahan is a god who took on a human appearance!! Mischievous Rahan saw the hunters fall back into the forest. No he was not a god! Undoubtedly a little more evolved than those of his species, and more daring too. But he was only a man! He verifies his knife, his only possession, is still in his sheath, and sets off again. This son of the fierce age went once more to meet the unknown. Encountering all the mysteries, all the dangers that hovered in those savage times, over the great horde of "Those-who-Walk-Upright".

(With sincere apologies for the previous incorrect upload) Rahan. Episode Five. The Liquid Tomb. Rahan is not afraid of you! He knows that the sun will chase the fires from the sky! The storm had lasted since the day before. And if Rahan is merely defiant of the lightning, he hates this torrential rain which has swollen all the streams of the forest. He hates the flashes of fire that streak through the sky. So he growled with joy when he finally made out a cave. He was rushing towards this refuge that he had been hoping for since dawn. When his ankle got caught in a vine. At the same moment, the ground opened up under him. Ah! Page two: He hit a wall violently and felt a pain in his thigh. Then he came to rest suspended above sharp stakes that pointed to the sky. A trap! If That Vine had not held Rahan back, he would be impaled like a beast! The cut in his thigh seemed to him insignificant, but its cause irritated him. This is not the first time that Rahan has injured himself with his knife. One day Rahan will open his stomach to this blade! He will die without even having faced an enemy! The precious ivory knife had already caused him a lot of trouble. And the idea had never occurred to the son of Crao to protect himself from this weapon, which he wore naked on his belt. Page Three: But that day. Rahan has found it! Rahan will no longer have to fear his cutlass! Shortly after, a curious bamboo case beating at his thigh, he resumed his race towards the cave. The trap proves that men live here, thought Rahan. The cave was high and so deep it seemed endless. Although Rahan could not distinguish anything his sense of smell detected a human presence. He made himself quieter than a feline, when. Clong! The bamboo case bumped into a rock! Betrayed by the noise, he had only time to throw himself back. The spear hummed in his ears. Chiplaf! Page Four: As he retreated, a second, and then a third spear fell at his heels. "Those-who-walk upright" do not want to share the refuge with Rahan! The rain did not stop, and all around him the streams squirmed on like serpents. Ah! You too would like to take refuge in the cave, “Baghae” Hiding in a puddle the Black Panther was about to pounce on the man. It was repugnant to Rahan to face the beast in this morass. He made a pass behind and another. And lost his balance, falling back into the trap of which he had forgotten! The dreadful vision of the spikes engulfed is spirit. Ah! Rahan is lost! But he was neither shredded nor disemboweled because the torrents of water had filled the pit. The god of rain is with Rahan. Page Five: When he climbed out of the trap the great cat was still watching him. Since you demand it Rahan will fight! Pull out your claws, Baghae! Rahan pulls out his! The knife of ivory sprang from the scabbard as the son of the ferocious age plunged. The man and the beast rolled in the mud. The gasps of one mingled with the growls of the other. Twice the ivory blade disappeared and emerged red from the black skin! Rahan, once again, had won! Ra-ha-ha! He straightened up and his cry of triumph resounded for a long time in the turmoil. Page Six: He tore off the feline's tail and hung this trophy on his belt, as the hunters of his clan once did. Then, throwing the remains of the beast on his shoulders, he headed for the cave. Rahan returns, men! Perhaps you will welcome him happily with this offering! It was again a mysterious twilight, but he glimpsed a silhouette and a brandished spear. Bak! Arakak! He turned suddenly, offering his burden to the projectile. Ah! Ah-ha! This shield of flesh had saved his life! The man, who was alone, did not have time to grab another weapon. Rahan will share "Baghae" with you, but you will share the cave with him! Page Seven: The two opponents were evenly matched. The man was screaming words that Rahan didn't understand and in turn, their bodies hit the rock. Vrazk! Trakra! Stop! Stop! "Those who walk upright” should not fight! Ah! Suddenly projected against a rock, Rahan had the impression that his head was bursting and that the thunder of the sky had entered the cave. Rahan and the man were confused. A huge rock panel, oscillating on its base had become detached from the wall. Vrang! It crashed down in front of the entrance to the cave. Immobile, it obstructed the entrance. Page Eight: Instinctively, Rahan and his adversary threw themselves together at the rock to push it back. It was a derisory and stupid reaction. And it only produced one thing: These two beings were prisoners under the mountain, and they were now united. We could have become friends sooner, Man! But you don't understand Rahan's words and Rahan doesn't know your language! Instinct alone made us act. Rahan wanted to take refuge in your cave and you thought he was coming as an enemy! This is what happens when "those-who-walk-standing-up" do not understand each other! Zlac! Zlac! Rahan, who had discovered dry leaves, struck flints together. He had learned this secret from "those of the river". Page Nine: When the stars of fire sprang from the flints and set the foliage ablaze, the man screamed. Ah! Trazaakk! He contemplated with wonder what he had probably never seen before. The convoluted vault of his immense lair. Trazaakk! Trazaakk! From which clan were you expelled from to exist alone? Thought Rahan. Maybe you led the same life as Rahan? A great fire soon crackled and Rahan skinned the panther. We can eat for several days, but we will not see the days again, nor the nights! The light of the flames hinted at other underground rooms. Rahan sees no way out! We will perish here, like beasts buried in their lair! Page Ten: The horde of the blue mountain preserved the light this way. Trazaakk! Each gesture of Rahan bought an exclamation of admiration from the man. “But, this was before the river of fire engulfed mine!” The terrible memory of the night when his clan was destroyed by the eruption of the volcano had never left Rahan. Rahan grew up in the jungle, alone like you! He had crossed immense rivers on rafts of his own invention. He crossed unknown territories and encountered strange hordes. From them he learned many secrets. That he always transmitted to "those who walk upright", his brothers! But Rahan's life will end here Trazaakk! Page Eleven: Although his words mean nothing to the one he still called "Trazaakk", Rahan spoke aloud. Let us explore our tomb! A noise rose in the distance and the ground in the cave shimmered strangely. We will not even have time to eat the ”Baghae” Trazaakk! The shimmering ground advanced towards the men, and spread out and expanded ceaselessly. The rains have enlarged the springs of the mountain. And the water seeps into the cave! We are going to be drowned! Take this torch quickly! The water had just submerged the fire. The walls offered nowhere on which Rahan and Trazaakk could have taken refuge. The water was now freezing their thighs. Follow me Trazaakk! Quickly! Page Twelve: The man allowed himself to be led towards another room which seemed elevated. Up there! The water was still rising and reached their stomachs. Then their torsos. The distant roar of the cataract grew louder. We must reach that platform Trazaakk! If the water stops rising we will escape drowning! Rahan had to support his companion in misfortune. Trazaakk cannot swim, just as long ago, Rahan could not. But knowing how to swim will not save Rahan. The water continued to rise. And it would end up invading this underground cavern as it had invaded the first. The two captives would perish in this liquid tomb! Page Thirteen: No! Rahan doesn't want to die! He wants to live! Ah! In the final torchlight, Rahan’s eyes sparkled. If the water rises so quickly, it has found a passage, a large passage! Why could Rahan not discover what water can find? Hold that torch up high Trazaakk, like this! Trazaakk was confused. Under Trazaakk’s bewildered gaze, Rahan disappeared into the dark waters. Fighting against the eddy he reached the opening of a third room, the deafening roar surging over his clamor of delight. Ra-ha-ha! Page Fourteen: A waterfall blasted forth from a gap in the rock. The torrential rains had transformed a meager source into a veritable cataract! We are saved! We just have to climb to the top! Rahan returned to find Trazaakk. He had abandoned the torch. But the daylight that tumbled from the gash in the rock was enough. The sun Trazaakk! Soon we will regain the sunlight! A tapestry of slippery moss covered the wall, and climbing seemed impossible. This moss is too slippery! These rock projections are too narrow! Oh! Fissures! The wall had just given Rahan a new idea. Page Fifteen: A moment later he was swimming towards the first cavern between the stalactites, As the water was forever rising. He sometimes had to pass under these obstacles. If I do not find them immediately, I will not be able to get back. Here they are! Floating under the vault of the first cavern, he finally found the spears he was looking for. But the water was still rising and it was now impossible for him to swim in this forest of stalactites. A moment later. Rahan cannot breathe! With his lungs on fire, he risked a new ascent. Page Sixteen: Ra-ha-ha! Rahan breathes! Rahan will rejoin Trazaakk! By chance he had discovered a last pocket of air! This new supply of air allowed him to pass through the entrances of the fully flooded lower chambers. And to return to the one where the waterfall rumbled. He only had eyes for the gap that stood out against the sky. Your spears will allow us to reach the top, Trazaakk! Ha-ha-ha! The torrent smothered Rahan's clear laughter, as Trazaakk looked on confused. A little later. We plant a spear here, and the other below. We climb a little and we replant the first one higher. Page Seventeen: As Trazaakk did not seem to understand, Rahan mimed the first step of the escalation. Do you understand now? Now it’s your turn. Repeating the motions of Rahan, Trazaakk climbed one rung, and hoisted himself on to another. Very good, very good! Ha-ha-ha! The laughter of Trazaakk suddenly made Rahan shiver. What are you doing Trazaakk?! Trazaakk! Trazaakk! Still laughing, the man continued the acrobatic climb. He was already too high for Rahan to stop him. You betrayed Rahan! You are a coward! Ha-ha-ha! And Trazaakk rose slowly towards the gap. Page Eighteen: Trazaakk had reached the gap. Rahan saw him take the spears and disappear between the rocks. He remained motionless staring at this now inaccessible opening. It was quite impossible for him to return to the submerged caverns. And Rahan has no other way to scale the wall! Rahan is lost! Oh! The spears spun in the void and fell towards him. Trazaakk has sent them back to me! But then? Why did he act like this? Presently, Rahan hoisted himself nimbly towards the gap. He left death beneath him, and He rose to life. Page Nineteen: Trazaakk! Trazaakk! Trazaakk! The sun was shining in the sky when he arose into the air of liberty. The birds were singing. He called for a long time and searched around in vain. He did not find Trazaakk. Trazaakk does not understand the words of Rahan. Maybe Rahan appeared to him as a sorcerer? He feared Rahan and it was to distance himself that he acted this way? If he feared Rahan he could have abandoned him in the cave! But he did not! Before fleeing he wanted to thank Rahan for having helped him! Good luck my brother, and good hunting! Rahan knew he would never see Trazaakk again. But he was happy. He had one more certainty that there is always something good in the heart of "Those-who-walk-upright". Page Twenty: Launching to all winds this salute of savage ages, Rahan suddenly thought of his knife. This case betrayed Rahan! Rahan will have to find something else! Something more quiet. More, Oh! The trophy that was still hanging from his belt gave him an idea. And he set to work. Was this skin not soft and supple? It would replace the coarse and noisy bamboo case. The horde he would meet, sometime later, immediately nicknamed him "Chade Baghae" that is to say "tail-of-the-panther". This tail was actually just a sheath! A sheath that no hunter of the "ferocious ages" had thought of before "Rahan", "Son of Crao".

Other Worlds: The Turner Diaries. Chapter 23 A Puke (TM) Audiobook Chapter Twenty Three. August 1, 1993. Today has been the Day of the Rope-a grim and bloody day, but an unavoidable one. Tonight, for the first time in weeks, it is quiet and totally peaceful throughout all of southern California. But the night is filled with silent horrors; from tens of thousands of lampposts, power poles, and trees throughout this vast metropolitan area the grisly forms hang. In the lighted areas one sees them everywhere. Even the street signs at intersections have been pressed into service, and at practically every street corner I passed this evening on my way to HQ there was a dangling corpse, four at every intersection. Hanging from a single overpass only about a mile from here is a group of about 30, each with an identical placard around its neck bearing the printed legend, "I betrayed my race." Two or three of that group had been decked out in academic robes before they were strung up, and the whole batch are apparently faculty members from the nearby UCLA campus. In the areas to which we have not yet restored electrical power the corpses are less visible, but the feeling of horror in the air there is even worse than in the lighted areas. I had to walk through a two- block-long, unlighted residential section between HQ and my living quarters after our unit meeting tonight. In the middle of one of the unlighted blocks I saw what appeared to be a person standing on the sidewalk directly in front of me. As I approached the silent figure, whose features were hidden in the shadow of a large tree overhanging the sidewalk, it remained motionless, blocking my way. Feeling some apprehension, I slipped my pistol out of its holster. Then, when I was within a dozen feet of the figure, which had been facing away from me, it began turning slowly toward me. There was something indescribably eerie about the movement, and I stopped in my tracks as the figure continued to turn. A slight breeze rustled the foliage overhead, and suddenly a beam of moonlight broke through the leaves and fell directly on the silently turning shape before me. The first thing I saw in the moonlight was the placard with its legend in large, block letters: "I defiled my race." Above the placard leered the horribly bloated, purplish face of a young woman, her eyes wide open and bulging, her mouth agape. Finally I could make out the thin, vertical line of rope disappearing into the branches above. Apparently the rope had slipped a bit or the branch to which it was tied had sagged, until the woman's feet were resting on the pavement, giving the uncanny appearance of a corpse standing upright of its own volition. I shuddered and quickly went on my way. There are many thousands of hanging female corpses like that in this city tonight, all wearing identical placards around their necks. They are the White women who were married to or living with Blacks, with Jews, or with other non-White males. There are also a number of men wearing the I-defiled-my-race placard, but the women easily outnumber them seven or eight to one. On the other hand, about ninety per cent of the corpses with the I-betrayed-my-race placards are men, and overall the sexes seem to be roughly balanced. Those wearing the latter placards are the politicians, the lawyers, the businessmen, the TV newscasters, the newspaper reporters and editors, the judges, the teachers, the school officials, the "civic leaders," the bureaucrats, the preachers, and all the others who, for reasons of career or status or votes or whatever, helped promote or implement the System's racial program. The System had already paid them their 30 pieces of silver. Today we paid them. It started at three o'clock this morning. Yesterday was an especially bad day of rioting, with the Jews using transistorized megaphones to whip up the crowds and egg them into throwing stones and bottles at our troops. They were chanting "racism must go" and "equality forever" and other slogans the Jews had taught them. It reminded me of the mass demonstrations of the Vietnam era. The Jews have a knack for things like that. But by three o'clock this morning the crowds had long since finished their orgy of violence and chanting and were in bed-all except a few groups of diehards who had rigged up loudspeakers and were blaring System radio broadcasts out over the surrounding neighborhoods, broadcasts which alternated between screaming rock "music" and appeals for "brotherhood." Squads of our troops with synchronized watches suddenly appeared in a thousand blocks at once, in fifty different residential neighborhoods, and every squad leader had a long list of names and addresses. The blaring music suddenly stopped and was replaced by the sound of thousands of doors splintering, as booted feet kicked them open. It was like the Gun Raids of four years ago, only in reverse- and the outcome was both more drastic and more permanent for those raided. One of two things happened to those the troops dragged out onto the streets. If they were non-Whites-and that included all the Jews and everyone who even looked like he had a bit of non-White ancestry - they were shoved into hastily formed columns and started on their no-return march to the canyon in the foothills north of the city. The slightest resistance, any attempt at back talk, or any lagging brought a swift bullet. The Whites, on the other hand, were, in nearly all cases, hanged on the spot. One of the two types of pre-printed placards was hung on the victim's chest, his hands were quickly taped behind his back, a rope was thrown over a convenient limb or signpost with the other end knotted around his neck, and he was then hauled clear of the ground with no further ado and left dancing on air while the soldiers went to the next name on their list. The hangings and the formation of the death columns went on for about 10 hours without interruption. When the troops finished their grim work early this afternoon and began returning to their barracks, the Los Angeles area was utterly and completely pacified. The residents of neighborhoods in which we could venture safely only in a tank yesterday were trembling behind closed doors today, afraid even to be seen peering through the crack in drawn drapes. Throughout the morning there was no organized or large-scale opposition to our troops, and by this afternoon even the desire for opposition had evaporated. I and my men were in the thick of things all day, mostly handling logistics. When the execution squads began running out of rope, we stripped several miles of wire from power poles to use in its place. We also rounded up hundreds of ladders. And we were the ones who pasted up the proclamations from Revolutionary Command in each block, warning all citizens that henceforth any act of looting, rioting, or sabotage, or any failure to obey the command of a soldier, will result in the summary execution of the offender. The proclamations also carry a similar warning for anyone who knowingly harbors a Jew or other non- White or who willfully provides false information to or withholds information from our police units. Finally, they list the reporting point in each neighborhood to which every person, at a time and date depending upon the position of his name in the alphabet, is to report for registration and assignment to a work unit. I nearly got into a shooting fight with a company commander near City Hall this morning about nine o'clock. That's where we were taking all the big shots to be hanged: the well-known politicians, a number of prominent Hollywood actors and actresses, and several TV personalities. If we had strung them up in front of their homes like everyone else, only a few people would have seen them, and we wanted their example to be instructive to a much wider audience. For the same reason many of the priests on our lists were taken to one of three large churches where we had TV crews set up to broadcast their executions. The trouble was that many of the big shots were arriving at City Hall already more dead than alive. The troops on the transport trucks were really giving them a working over. One famous actress, a notorious race-mixer who had starred in several large-budget, interracial "love" epics, had lost most of her hair, an eye, and several teeth-not to mention all her clothes-before the rope was put around her neck. She was a bruised and bloody mess. I wouldn't have known who she was if I hadn't asked. What, I wondered, was the point in publicly hanging her if the public couldn't recognize her and draw the a proper inferences between her former behavior and her punishment? I was drawn to a commotion near one of the trucks which had just arrived. A grossly fat old man, whom I immediately recognized as the Federal judge who had handed down some of the System's most outrageous rulings in recent years-including the one confirming the power of arrest granted by the Human Relations Councils to their Black deputies-was resisting the efforts of the troops to pull off his pajamas and dress him in his judicial robe. One of the soldiers knocked him down, and then four others began kicking him and repeatedly slamming him in the face, stomach, and groin with their rifle butts. He was unconscious, and perhaps already dead, when the rope was knotted around his neck and his limp figure was hauled about halfway up a lamppost. A TV cameraman was recording the whole scene and broadcasting it live. I was thoroughly disgusted by this latter incident and by several others of a similar nature, and I sought out the officer in charge of the troops there to lodge my complaint. I asked him why he wasn't maintaining proper discipline among his men, and I told him in strong terms that the beatings of the prisoners were counterproductive. We must maintain a public image of strength and uncompromising ruthlessness in dealing with the enemies of our race, but to behave like a gang of Ugandans or Puerto Ricans hardly accomplishes that. (Note to the reader: Uganda was a political subdivision of the continent of Africa during the Old Era, when that continent was inhabited by the Negro race. Puerto Rico was the Old Era name of the island of New Carolina. It is occupied now by the descendants of White refugees from radioactive areas of the southeastern United States, but before the race purges in the final days of the Great Revolution it was inhabited by a mongrel race of especially unsavory character.) Above all else we must show ourselves as disciplined, since we will be demanding strict discipline on the part of the civilian population. We must never give vent to our feelings of frustration or our personal hatreds but must show by our behavior at all times that what we are doing is serving a higher purpose. The captain exploded. He shouted at me to mind my own business. When I insisted that I was minding my business, he became red with anger and said that he, not 1, was the one who had the responsibility and that he was doing the best he could under very difficult circumstances. He pointed out correctly that the Organization had replaced nearly half the men in his company with untrained newcomers in the last month, and so it shouldn't be surprising to me that discipline wasn't all it might be. He also told me that he knew enough about the psychology of his men to understand the value of letting them beat the prisoners as a way of justifying to themselves that the prisoners were their enemies and deserved to be hanged. I really couldn't counter either of the captain's arguments, but I did note with some satisfaction that when he turned away from me he strode angrily over to a group of soldiers who were brutally pistol-whipping a long-haired, effeminate-looking youth in an outlandishly "mod" getup-a popular "rock" performer- and ordered them to stop. Upon thinking about it, I have come to see things more from the captain's viewpoint. Of course, we must tighten up discipline a great deal as soon as we can, but for the moment it is better for us to have more political reliability and less discipline among the troops. We delayed our crackdown on the civilian population as long as we did just so we could weed out and disarm the questionable GI's and replace them with the new people who've been coming through the enemy lines to us. Also, we wanted time to accustom the troops to the new order of things here and to give them at least a little ideological preparation for today's work. And we purposely let the civilians get more out of control than we might have, just so we would have a manifest excuse for taking thoroughly radical measures instead of half- measures, which could not have solved the civilian problem in the long run. One other reason for the delay I learned today was that we needed time to finish compiling our arrest lists. For several years Organization members here, just as in other parts of the country, have been building their dossiers of System toadies, Jew-fawners, equalitarian theorists, and other White racecriminals, along with their street directories of all non-Whites residing in predominantly White areas. We were able to use the latter, which were kept quite up to date even during the last month, without modification. But the dossiers required a huge amount of evaluation and weeding. In the first place there were far too many of them. For example, a White family might have a dossier as racecriminals because a neighbor had once observed a Black attending a cocktail party at their home or because they displayed one of the "Equality Now" bumper stickers, which have been distributed so widely by the Human Relations Councils. In general, unless there was also other evidence in a particular dossier, these people were not put on the arrest list. Otherwise, we'd have had to hang better than 10 per cent of the White population-an entirely impractical task. And even if we could hang that many people, there would be no good reason for it; most of that 10 per cent are really no worse than most of the other 90 per cent. They have been brainwashed; they are weak and selfish; they have no sense of racial loyalty-but the same things are true of most people these days. People are what they have become, and we have to accept that-as a starting point. Actually, it has been true all through history that only small portions of a population are either good or evil. The great bulk are morally neutral-incapable of distinguishing absolute right from absolute wrong-and they take their cue from whoever is on top at the moment. When good men are the rulers and the program-makers for a society, the population as a whole will reflect this, and people with no originality or moral sense of direction of their own will nevertheless fervently support the highest aims of their society. But when evil men rule, as has been the case in America for many years now, most of the population will wallow happily in degeneracy of the worst kind and will self-righteously parrot every filthy and destructive idea that they have been taught. Most judges today, most teachers, actors, civic figures, etc., are not being consciously and deliberately evil, or even cynical, in following the lead of the Jews. They think of themselves as being "good citizens," just as they would think of themselves if they were acting in a diametrically opposite way under the influence of good leaders. Thus, there is no point in killing them all. This moral weakness will have to be bred out of the race over hundreds of generations. For now it is sufficient for us to eliminate the consciously evil portion of the population-plus a few hundred thousand of our morally crippled "good citizens" across the country, as an example to the rest. The hanging of a few of the worst race-criminals in every neighborhood in America will help enormously in straightening out the majority of the population and reorienting their thinking. In fact, it will not only help, but it is absolutely necessary. The people require a strong psychological shock to break old habits of thought. I understand all this, yet I must admit that I was troubled by some of the things I witnessed today. When the arrests first started the public didn't realize what was coming, and many citizens were cocky and abusive. I was present shortly before dawn when the soldiers dragged about a dozen young people out of a large house near one of the university campuses, and they, as well as their housemates who were not arrested, were screaming obscenities at our men and spitting on them. All but one of those arrested here were either Jews, Blacks, or mongrels of various sorts, and two of the loudest of them were immediately shot, while the others were herded into a marching column. The last was a White girl, about 19, a bit flabby but still pretty. The shootings had calmed her down enough so that she was no longer screaming, "Racist pigs!" at the soldiers, but when the preparations for her hanging shortly thereafter awakened her to her own fate, she became hysterical. Informed that she was about to pay the price for defiling her race by living with a Black lover, the girl wailed, "But why me?" As the rope was knotted around her neck, she blubbered out, "I was only doing what everyone else was. Why are you picking on me? It's not fair! What about Helen? She was sleeping with him too." At this last outcry before the girl's breath was cut off forever, one of the other girls (presumably Helen) in the group of now- silent spectators on the lawn shrank back in terror. Of course, no one answered the girl's question, "Why me?" The answer is simply that her name happened to be on our list and Helen's didn't. There's nothing "fair" about that-or unfair either. The girl who was hanged deserved what she got. Helen probably deserves the same fate-and she is undoubtedly suffering the torments of the damned now, in fear that she eventually will be found out and forced to pay the price her friend did. This little episode has taught me something about political terror. Its very arbitrariness and unpredictability are important aspects of its effectiveness. There are a great many people in Helen's situation, whose fear that lightning may strike them at any moment will keep them walking on eggs. The melancholy aspect of the episode is epitomized in the girl's lament, "I was only doing what everyone else was." That is a bit of an exaggeration, but it is true enough that had others not set a bad example for her the girl probably would not have become a race- criminal. She paid as much for the sins of others as for her own. Now I realize more than ever before how essential it is that we instill in all our people a new moral basis, a new set of fundamental values, so that they will no longer be morally adrift like that unfortunate girl was-and like the great majority of Americans today are. This total lack of any healthy or natural morality was brought home to me again just before noon. We were hanging a group of about 40 land developers and real estate brokers outside the offices of the Los Angeles County Fair Housing Association. They had all participated in a special program which made lower mortgage rates available for racially mixed families buying homes in predominantly White neighborhoods. One of the realtors was a sturdy, handsome fellow of about 35 with a blond crew cut. He was vehemently defending himself: "Hell, I never agreed with any of this race-mixing crap. It makes me sick to my stomach to see these mixed families with their mongrel brats. But a man has to earn a living. I was told by the head building inspector in the county that it would be a lot easier to avoid building-code violations for those realtors who went along with the special mortgage program." Without realizing it, he was telling us that a bigger income came before racial loyalty in his set of values-something which is unfortunately true also of a great many who were not hanged today. Well, he made his choice freely, and he hardly deserves any sympathy. The soldiers didn't argue with him, of course. When his turn came, he was jerked off his feet with the same impartiality they had shown toward those who had accepted their fate in silence. They were under orders not to argue with anyone or to explain anything, except a brief statement of the offense for which a person was being hanged. Not even the most convincing protestations of innocence or that "there must be some mistake" caused them to hesitate for an instant. Certainly, we must have made some mistakes today - mistaken identities, wrong addresses, false accusations-but once the executions began there was no admitting to the possibility of mistakes. We deliberately created the image of inexorability in the public mind. And apparently we were quite convincing. Our execution squads were hardly back in their barracks this afternoon when we began receiving reports from all over the city of what appeared to be a sudden wave of murders and beatings. Corpses, most of them showing stab wounds, were being found on sidewalks, in alleys, and in apartment-building hallways. A number of injured persons- several hundred altogether-were also picked up on the streets by our patrols. Although there were a few Blacks among these beating and stabbing victims, we quickly determined that the great majority of them were Jews. All apparently were persons whom our execution squads had missed, but the citizenry had not. Questioning of several Jews who had been beaten soon revealed that at least some of them had been hiding with Gentile families. After our proclamations were posted, however, their protectors turned on them and drove them into the streets. Local vigilante groups armed with knives and clubs had ferreted out others who had not even been on our lists. I am sure that, without the forceful lesson of this Day of the Rope, we would not have so quickly elicited this sort of citizen cooperation. The hangings have helped everyone get off the fence in a hurry. Tomorrow afternoon some of my men will begin organizing civilian labor battalions to cut down the corpses and haul them to the disposal site I have already picked. It'll probably take three or four days to remove all the bodies-there are between 55 and 60 thousand of them-and in this hot weather it'll be quite unpleasant toward the end. But what a feeling of relief it is to finally have all the negative part of our task here finished! From now on it's all uphill-in the good sense: reorganizing, re-educating, and rebuilding this whole society.

Rahan. Episode Four. The Magic Stone. Rahan leapt once again at the big chameleon which had come to prowl around his camp and once more the strange animal escaped him and took refuge in a copse. Rahan does not want to kill you! Oh! As he had taken, a moment earlier, the brown color of the ground, the chameleon was now taking on the hue of the foliage under which he was crouching. Never has a hunter from the blue mountain clan tracked such curious game. Come! Rahan wants to see "The Color-changing Beast" up close! The animal could not this time avoid the quick movement of Rahan. Page two: Ra-ha-ha! Whose joyful cry awakens echoes from the ponds. How do you blend in with the rocks and bushes? If Rahan had this power he would escape all his enemies! Rahan amused, observed the beast which moved between his hands, the color of which she had taken. The sun slowly descended on the ponds and the son of Crao felt happy. Tomorrow, his raft will take him beyond these ponds, towards a new territory, towards the unknown. Yes If Rahan had your power, he would fear nothing! Ra-ha! A terrible bite in the back, suddenly tore from him a cry of pain. He let the chameleon escape and, and jumped aside. Argh! He spun around and stood stunned. There was nothing behind Him! Rahan did not dream it! Rahan has just been bitten by a beast! Page three: Or did a man throw a stone at Rahan?! But there was no living animal nearby in the rocks. Nothing suggested the presence of one of his fellows! If a man spies on Rahan, Rahan will uncover him! The son of Crao knew how to take advantage of Nature's lessons. The beast that changes colors had given him an idea. These leaves will conceal Rahan from his enemy! Ha-Ha-Ha! Rahan also now knows how to conceal himself! An instant later, branches slipped into his belt and others stretched in front of his chest gave him the appearance of a bush! He returned to the rocks and remained on the lookout at the place where his invisible enemy had struck him. Why does he not return? thought Rahan. Page Four: Rahan would have preferred combat to this waiting. But the desire to try out his new cunning forced him into immobility and silence. Ah! This silence was suddenly broken by a crackling at his feet. A flame rose along his legs, and flicked at his loincloth of dry leaves. Only rushing to the nearby pond could save Rahan, who did not have time to free himself from his burning camouflage. It was a strange human torch that disappeared into the green water. Rahan is saved! Rahan reacted with such promptness, that the burns were only superficial. He freed himself of his “skin of leaves”. Page Five: And he came to the surface just as a big crocodile swam near to him. Rahan prefers an enemy like you to the invisible enemy of the rocks! For having faced such saurians many times, the son of Crao knew how to fight them. He dived under its greyish belly, clung to a scaly leg and his ivory knife did the rest! The dying monster was still whipping the water from its tail when Rahan regained his footing on the bank. And now Rahan wants to know! Rahan must know! Rahan wants to see whoever hit him! Rahan wants to know how the leaves caught fire! Knife in hand, he strode resolutely towards the rocks. Page Six: Come out of your hiding place and fight fairly! Oh! Although nothing had moved in the rocks, he had just felt a pain in his chest. It was like a burning ember ejected from a fire that stuck to the skin. But it was not an ember. Rahan exclaimed in wonder. It was a miniscule speck of light! Rahan brought his fingers there and the pain moved to the top of his hand! Now the burning became unbearable. He threw himself aside and the stupefying phenomenon ceased! It is that patch of sun that bit Rahan in the back! It is her that set the foliage on fire! It was then that he noticed the translucent stone behind which the sun blazed. Page Seven: He picked up a dry flame and offered it to the bite of the luminous point. The patch of sun only shines two steps from the magic stone. He screamed with joy when the leaf burst into flame between his fingers. Ra-ha-ha! “Those who walk upright” are ignorant of this way of making fire! Until this day, Rahan had only been able to create fire by striking two flints. This discovery also upsets him. Rahan will introduce the magic stone to his brothers! But to make fire when he wants, Rahan must have the magic stone! He patiently unseated the small block of shimmering quartz. And repeated the experience. Ra-ha-ha! The fire catches when the sun crosses the stone, and it is directed like this! At this distance! Page Eight: Enraptured, Rahan did not hear the grass fluttering behind him. Vrang! Ah! When he regained consciousness, his wrists were bound by vines. He recognized his knife in the belt of one of the men who surrounded him. That man brandished the transparent stone. My brothers have reported to Tagar strange things! They saw you start a fire with this! And Tagar wants you to do this miracle again in front of him! Rahan Cannot! The stone is magic only under the sun! And the sun has set! Rahan Lies! Rahan wants to keep his secret! But Tagar knows how to snatch it from him! The clan leader yelled an order and the vines suddenly tightened. Page Nine: The men braced themselves and brutally spread the limbs of their captive. Rahan has nothing to hide from those who walk upright! He will reveal the secret of the magic stone to his brothers! But he needs the sun! You lie! Pull harder brothers! Rahan flexed all his muscles to resist the merciless pull of his tormenters. His strength was such that the men of Tagar gasped for breath, Shuffled and made no headway, and even recoiled. Enraged, Tagar brandished his club! Rahan is strong but Tagar has burst heads stronger than yours! He was a stupid brute. He was going to strike. Stop! How does Tagar want Rahan to tell him the secret? When he's dead? Eh! Euh! Page Ten: Tagar lowered his club, his limited mind had not for a moment sketched the idea that the secret would escape him forever if he killed his captive! He growled! Tagar wait daylight! But let Rahan not hope to escape in the Night! Tagar himself watch Rahan! Rahan was tied to a tree away from the cave where the clan lived. The men took refuge there as soon as the darkness came. But Tagar remained twenty paces from the captive, crouching in the half-light like a beast. Rahan was right. If Tagar had silenced him, Tagar would never have known the secret of the magic stone. But when Tagar knows the secret, he won't need Rahan anymore! Then he can kill him! Page Eleven: Rahan was divining the secrets of this obtuse being. Tagar is a savage, a beast! Rahan can expect no mercy from him! As soon as I reveal to him the secret of the magic stone, he will have me massacred by his clan! Rahan might perhaps have been able to patiently loosen his bonds. Tagar had foreseen this! He even planned for the event that he fell asleep. A long vine bound the captive's ankle to the clan chief's wrist. The slightest movement of one would alert the other! And yet Rahan must flee before sunrise! Ah! If Rahan still had his knife! Page Twelve: But the ivory knife was slipped into Tagar’s belt, and he, over there, contemplated the translucent stone. The brute's face expressed such covetousness that an idea suddenly occurred to Rahan. Approach Tagar, approach, said Rahan! Tagar was confused. I have to trust you with something. Tagar clutched his spear and was suspicious. He cautiously took a few steps. What secret have you? Things that I could not say in front of the clan Tagar. The true secret of the magic stone. I lied by saying we had to wait for the sun. I was hoping to gain time and escape. But Rahan understands that he is at the mercy of Tagar! Page Thirteen: If Tagar promises his life, Rahan will tell him how to use the magic stone even at night! Tagar Promises! The cruel gaze contradicted the words. So lead me up there on that plateau. Why up there? Because you have to place the magic stone under the moonlight in a certain way. Rahan’s ruse to be unbound and escape from the clan was crude. But he knew what sort of savage he was addressing. You must also promise to keep this secret and reveal it to no-one. I promise! The promise this time was sincere! Rahan thought to himself that this brute wouldn't even give his brothers the benefit of the secret! On the contrary, he would abuse it to dominate his clan! Lead me! Zlack! Page Fourteen: With a stroke of the spear, Tagar cut the bonds of the captive, then threw himself quickly back. I know your strength Rahan! And I am weary! You will stay far from me, at the end of this vine! A moment later, curiously held on a leash by Tagar, Rahan hoisted himself up to the plateau overlooking the ponds. The first phase of his plan had succeeded. Rahan has nothing more to fear from the clan! The only danger now comes from Tagar! How to get rid of this brute? Tagar stayed behind, tugging sharply at the vine when a rock threatened to hide its captive from him. Gently Rahan! I do not want to lose sight of you! The two men finally ascended to the rocky platform were they were bathed in the blue light of the moon. Page Fifteen: The time has come to reveal the secret of the magic stone Rahan! The quartz faintly glimmered in Tagar’s hand. Give! Back! I will throw it to you. As Rahan approached, the spear was readied. Tagar was definitely on his guard. Rahan caught the magic stone. You will know its secret Tagar! Behold! See Tagar! The magic stone captures the light of the moon as in a trap! Rahan played the quartz in the light of the moon and the translucent stone lit up. Tagar followed all the gestures of his captive who retreated, stooped and stood up. The secret is to know the right distance, Tagar. Page Sixteen: And here is that distance! On the rock a stone's throw from Rahan a small light had appeared shining like a star. If the light of the sun replaced that of the moon, this star would be hot enough to start a fire! You now know the secret of the magic stone, Tagar! And I don't need you anymore! You are going to die! The brute brandished his spear and aimed it at his disarmed captive. But Rahan had foreseen this reaction, and. His Riposte: Before the spear left Tagar's hand, the magic stone flew from his! Ha! Ra-ha-ha! Page Seventeen: Oh! Argh! But Rahan had not foreseen that his enemy would stagger and suddenly fall into the void, dragging him. He tried to cling to the ground, but it offered no grip and he was dragged to the edge of the platform. He finally managed to land on a rocky outcrop. Tagar, suspended from his leg, was screaming in terror! The Knife! What are you waiting for to cut the accursed vine? Ah! Each gesticulation of Tagar bought a cry of pain from Rahan. And it was impossible for him, unsupported and hampered by his burden, to regain a footing on the platform. Page Eighteen: But the son of Crao had the gift of knowing how to be patient in all situations. If Rahan cannot go up, he will go down! Making sure that the vine would remain wedged by a projection of rock, he let himself fall into the void! His body counterbalanced that of Tagar. Who suddenly found himself at his height! We have no choice, Tagar! In a lightning motion, Rahan recovered his knife. And sliced the vine that entrapped his ankle. With equilibrium suddenly shattered, the two bodies fell towards the black waters of the pond. Page Nineteen: Vlouf. Back on the surface Rahan saw the caimans and he also saw his raft on which he would be safe. Ra-ha-ha! Ha-ha-ha! His cry of triumph elicited a great laugh when he saw Tagar gesticulating under the moon. Still hanging from the vine stuck in the ledge, the clan chief howled in the night, calling his people for help. Rahan did not even have to worry about the caimans, as they crowded under the ledge, watching for the food that would fall from the sky. Page Twenty: Was Tagar a victim of the saurians? Rahan never knew. His raft glided through the swamp almost noiselessly. His raft carried him to the other side of the great pond, towards unknown territories. And Rahan thought. Rahan discovered yesterday the "color-changing-beast" and the “stone-that-catches-and-traps-sunlight-to-make-fire”! Rahan thought of the strangeness of nature, and also of those who walk upright. He met a man as wild as a beast! What will he discover today? No one in these fierce times could answer this question. On this new day that dawned, in a stammering world full of dangers and mysteries, Anything could happen to Rahan son of Crao, anything!

Episode Five. The bewitched Cavern! Page one: The two friends Nick and Don, accompanied by their friend Timms and Chief inspector Manning and Mark Bowen, are locked in battle with the masters of menace: Creech and Krait! These last two have supernatural powers, which is how they have reduced their adversaries to miniature size! For now, Timms fights against Krait who has become a mutant reptile. Whew! Thinks Timms, A good escape! But where are the others? It is absolutely necessary that they are returned to normal size! Timms finds a bicycle. I will follow them! I cannot give up! Approximately one kilometer away. Arh! Creech! Krait? What is happening? Page Two: The effect of the Potion! I am being transformed! Creech Brakes suddenly, and the shrunken passengers suffer a violent shock. Ah! We will never get out of this! I received a large blow! We must hold on! This is our only chance of salvation! Hold on Nick, as soon as we are in their laboratory, we will get our hands on the ray device and restore ourselves to normal! I will try inspector, and that is a promise. I would love to be normal. Krait and Creech suspect nothing. Everything is good Creech. But look at the helicopter up there, they are hunting us! Poor imbeciles, this is in the bag! Let me use my rays. Page Three: You will turn it into a little toy? No! Watch me do it Krait, watch well! A moment later, the rays illuminate an immense elm tree. Did you see that Jeff? The tree will explode! Vroom! They can do nothing against us! The whole world belongs to us! Page Four: And the two accomplices return to their lair. Did you reconnect the telephone? Nothing abnormal should be detected. Fear nothing! Call the Prime Minister Creech! And let him know our conditions! Like little mice, the four friends run on the floor. They grab a cord. Pull hard! We have to rip it off! Snap! Hooray! It is ours! Ha-Ha-Ha! Where are you going my little ones? You are all going to die! Page Five: The breaking of the telephone cable was fatal for the four friends, transformed as they were into microscopic beings. Very happy to have you among us! What precisely are you doing? Happily, Manning always had his revolver on him. Split! Hide where you can! But Krait reacts immediately! Splat! Krait? What have you there? Our enemies are always around! But this time, they will not escape us! Page Six: I will sweep them away like the insects they are! Mark Bowen just has time to pull Manning by the arms. Thwam! But as the hand rises again, Don comes running up with a needle. Page Seven: Smiff! Ouch! Krait! Krait! What's wrong? The devil take them! They disappeared! Cretin! We cannot work with these little microbes among us! Be careful what you say Creech! Remember with my venom I can dispatch you on the spot! You too Krait! With my rays I can shrink you to a microbe! During this argument. They argue! Perfect! We will apply the motto of “Divide and Conquer”! Yes, we must take advantage of their disagreement! Page Eight: Our sole objective: We must find the Rays Creech controls, otherwise we will never regain our normal size. Listen! They are looking for us! However, the reconciled Creech and Krait search everywhere. If I turn into a reptile again, I will look sharp! Wait! I have a better idea! There is a vacuum cleaner in the closet! And it will be so much fun to suck them up with this device! A Vacuum cleaner! Quickly! In this hole my friends! No! We do not know if a mouse would be a greater danger! We must choose something else! Whir! Page Nine: He advances! We will be sucked! Whir! Sucky-Sucky! Whir! Whir! No nonsense! Even the smallest error will cost us! Ha-Ha-Ha! We will collect them in the dust bag! We have reduced them to impotence! We have sucked them to dust! Ha-Ha-Ha! Thump! Whir! The dust began to suffocate the four! Page Ten: We must unplug the vacuum cleaner! Careful! We could cause a short circuit and electrocute ourselves! But the monster gives them no time to try. Imbeciles! I was hoping for a little laugh! Stamp! Stamp! Then Creech intervenes. Krait! Stop! I want to have a little fun too! Page Eleven: But again, there is much ado about nothing. Little Demons, Where did they go? It is your fault Krait! You always lose your coldness of blood! At the other end of the room. Mark and Manning catch their breath. Whew! How do we get out of this? I wonder! Where are the two boys? Krait did not even realize that his matches had fallen! What a stroke of luck! I think I have a good idea! If we start a fire, Krait will rush to put it out. Creech will follow the events. At the same time, one of us can seize the device. Page Twelve: We have to hurry! They are everywhere! Voila! Here is a match. Give it to me, and go to the other end of the laboratory! Grasping the match in both hands, Manning strikes it against the box. Strike! Great gods! He miscalculated his strike! He will fall into the fire! Page Thirteen: But he will burn like a torch! He did not jump fast enough! At least he did not fall into the fire! Immediately, Mark Bowen rushes towards Manning. Whiff! With an energetic movement of his arms, he swings Manning forward. Page Fourteen: Let us hurry up Don! Careful! Our clothes can catch fire! Not a second to lose! Leave the lab while I go get Creech's device. Good Luck Mark! Suddenly Creech and Krait realize the danger. Ah! These little devils are terrible! Leave them! Take care of the fire first Krait! And while the two accomplices attempt to put out the fire, Mark climbs on Creech’s chair. Page Fifteen: He reaches for the arm of the chair. As long as he does not look down! I will his device steal. But just when Mark reaches to press the button. Devil! What is this? Thass! Sneak! Surprised, Creech squirms in his chair and Mark and the device are thrown to the ground. Ugh! Before the old man can react, Manning and the two boys rush into the beam of the Rays! Hurry Mark! He may try and take it back! Under threats and insults, the four friends return to normal size! No! No! You will not get me! Think carefully Creech! This time it really is your end! Page Sixteen: But again, Krait comes to the rescue! Poor fools! You don't know my power! I will turn you into reptiles! We are out to sea! The venom is in his ring! Just then, the building wall collapses! Crash! Voila! Behold! The four friends have just enough time to escape the burning building. A few minutes later. Ka-Boom! Crash! Everything collapses! The building was wood everywhere! The fire caught rapidly. That wasn’t Mister Timm’s house was it? Page Seventeen: Creech and Krait, are they still inside? Crackle, crackle. What can we do? Nothing Don. They are no longer harmful. But Creech and Krait are very much alive. The rays, it is my only hope! And Creech directs the rays onto a mirror on the wall. I have to hurry before the heat breaks the glass! It has to work! Crash! Page Eighteen: The rays reflect onto Creech, and in the space of a minute, he and his chair are shrunk! Perfect, now I can run! For his part, Krait thinks about his safety. My potion! It's the only thing that can save me! Immediately he swallows the contents of the vial, and the transformation is accomplished! Arch! Argh! The change, the change! Page Nineteen: My crocodile skin protects me from fire! My salamander blood helps me bear the heat! I'm alive! In the flaming maelstrom and smoke, the extraordinary reptile man flees the burning house! Liberty! I am free! But Creech, the filthy, hiss, egotist, hiss, where is he? By passing through a mouse hole, Creech also escapes the danger! It is done! Now to find a reflective surface to regain my normal size! But in his haste to flee Creech is imprudent! Thump! Page Twenty: His chair brushes against a cord, of what seems like an ordinary rope. Thump! Suddenly, he raises his head and lets out a cry of horror! What! Oh No! Huge compared to Creech, a spider slowly advances towards him. His cry of anguish is heard by Krait! Creech? Where is he? He cries for help. Page Twenty one: The spider relentlessly advances! Cursed Beast! Argh! On all fours, Krait searches for the source of the sound. He let me down! I should abandon him too! But I need his knowledge, he is precious! Like a microbe at the mercy of the spider, Creech faints from fear, but at that moment. Thwap! Zlang! Ha-ha-ha! Creech! You owe me your life, my little scoundrel! Page Twenty two: And carrying his important ally in the hollow of his hand, the reptile man bounded away. Our enemies imagine that we are dead, and above us only sky! But they are dreamers! We are still alive and we will carry out our plans. After a while, the fire went out in the bungalow. They must be completely charred. I believe it, no expert will be able to identify them. But Creech’s wheelchair is surely still there. It is possible. But nothing proves that they did not have time to flee. Page Twenty three: The four friends search for hours. Nothing! No trace! I wonder how they managed to escape? I wonder too. They will start again somewhere else! God knows where! And strike harder for revenge! The police were immediately alerted, and the village cordoned off. Two men, one in a wheelchair! We have orders to shoot. Keep your distance! It seems that they have formidable rays! They can destroy the entire city! Page Twenty four: Perched at the top of the bridge, Krait fumes. Poor Fools! They are unaware of my power! Do not brag too much! We have not had the last word. Wait until I go back to my normal size first! Krait stops at the very end of the bridge. He found what he was looking for. A truck! What a godsend! I will be able to escape! But they will hear you jump on the roof! Trust me, my friend! Hiss! Do you forget that I possess the suppleness of a reptile? Have you ever heard of the flying lizard of Borneo? Krait launches himself into space in the direction of the truck. Page Twenty five: Krait! Wait! You are only holding my chair! I am falling! Carried away in the moment, Krait does not hear the feeble complaint. We are almost there! Krait! I am falling! Krait lands on the Tarpaulin. Creech has disappeared! And the Ray machine with him! I have to do something! Page Twenty six: I can command all reptiles! They are all under my control! Listen to me! All listen to me! The next instant, the truck driver brakes suddenly. Damn it, there are creatures on the road. Lizards Frogs? Where did all these animals come from? And. One of you needs to recover the little man! He fell behind! Bring him to me! Page Twenty seven: Crouching in a bush, Creech regards the Toad that is searching for him. A second later. Ka bong! Ka Bong! Bravo my faithful friend! You can rejoin your faithful brothers! Go! Go, Go, GO! Ouf! They are leaving! What a nightmare! Page Twenty Eight: And the driver returns to behind the wheel. One more time I owe you my life Krait? You won’t forget hear? We need to make our plans carefully. First of all I need a mirror to return to my true size. There are mirrors in this truck. I will slip you into my pocket. I'm going to dislodge the driver and take the wheel. For Krait it's child's play. The venom-laden ring is aimed at the driver. What is this? What is it? Thrash! Krait is violently thrown to the ground. Screech! Ah! Ah! Page Twenty Nine: The truck swerved into the embankment. Ah! Crash! And after travelling a few meters it caught fire. Crash! Wumpf! Creech? Where are you? Creech, answer me! Page Thirty: Here Krait! I am here, Help me! Hiss! You survived, so much the better! The mirrors! Where are the mirrors of the truck Krait? Put me in front of them so that I become normal again! It is not that simple. Oh, it is broken. The one that is inside is too. But! But! What am I going to do? The region is deserted. A little further, and we will certainly find houses with mirrors. Page Thirty One: At the same time, Inspector Manning, Mark Bowen and their young companions. They took flight, Inspector. Those madmen are at large again! They will cause damage again! Suddenly! Nick! Don! It is Timms! Where were you Timms? I was trying to catch you. And I Saw Krait. Barely half an hour ago. He caused a truck accident! Krait was proceeding along this deserted road. Maybe he got lost. We have one chance to find him. Page Thirty Two: But in this abandoned region there lived a solitary man of whom few had heard. His name was Harkin the hermit. Here begins the experiment to find the elixir of eternal youth. The potion must boil! Once I drink it, the mirror will project my youthful face. I worked a lot on the formula. A special mercury, herbs. Absorbed in work, the hermit did not see Krait enter the cave. We have found it! Here is a mirror. And that old fool is no obstacle. Page Thirty Three: Harkin the hermit admires himself in his mirror. Ha-Ha-Ha! I'm going to drink my potion. And in my mirror, I will witness the transformation! But in that moment, he feels, a glacial pressure on his wrist. Ah! No more experiments, old wizard! I need to make better use of your mirror! Ah! What a disagreeable sensation! You will have many more! Tarsa! Zing! At this moment, pic, the hermit's cat let out a strange cry! Page Thirty Four: By a thousand cobras! What is this! Krait! Never mind the cat! Think of me first! Ah! Yes! I forgot you! Will you at least show me your gratitude? Of course! Of course! But please put me in front of the mirror! I need to recover my size! Page Thirty Five: Krait’s laugh turns into a long complaint. Argh! Argh! I am changing! And once again, the reptile became the man. Excuse me Creech, I was just transitioning! You're welcome! Don't leave me like this. Krait installs his companion right in front of the mirror. Is that alright? Very good! Watch out! I will activate the rays. But, at the same time. Is this where you saw Krait, Timms? I am certain. We must pay careful attention to Creech's rays! We must not be taken in anymore! They don't know we followed them Mark! We can surprise them again. Page Thirty Six: Just at that moment. Devil! What is this? Hiss! Hiss! A cat? Maybe savage. Savage cat, or alley cat, where did it come from? Oh look! He wasn’t us to follow him! Oh Good! Let’s go! He is heading for a cave. But what does this all mean? Krait and Creech never had a cat! I bet they are there! They may have dislodged a cat that had settled there! Page Thirty Seven: For a surprise, it is a surprise! Let us be prudent, all the same. You are right Manning! These two individuals are terribly dangerous! Inside. Are you ready Creech? Yes. The rays will cover me, and I will grow, little by little. Look! The effect begins, I can feel it. Page Thirty Eight: Suddenly, under their astonished gaze. Ah! The mirror is disintegrating! Kaboom! Then there is silence. A dreadful silence. What? What is this? What does it mean? I do not know! But the old hermit has something to do with it! It is of no consequence! Let us get out of here, we have a lot of work to do! A very strong wind was blowing when we entered and now not a breath! Page Thirty Nine: Turning around they see the cat frozen like a statue. What happened to this cat? It is hypnotized? I sense an indefinable danger! Something has happened. Faced with the danger that they cannot explain, they flee. Two hundred meters away, they stop to catch their breath. It smells like it's burning here! But it is us! Out clothes are consumed! It is probably that damned mirror! What mysterious forces did it release when it broke!? I confess I don't understand anything about it! But it's been a long time since I've been so scared! Page Forty: At the same moment. He searches everywhere! I will get the ray machine! Timms take care of Krait! In the inside of the cave, Harkin the hermit lay inanimate. Is he alive? Yes! But we must take care of him without wasting a second! They will inspector! Here are the traces of the wheelchair! A moment! We heard an explosion coming from inside. There is only one exit! They could not vanish! What if they had made themselves invisible? These two are capable of anything! The hermit is the only one who can enlighten us! Take him to the hospital! Page Forty one: At the same time, Mark and I will go in search of these two monsters! Pay close attention! In the deserted countryside, Krait and Creech felt uneasy. Not a breath! Nothing moves except our two bodies! And not a sound! What weight of weather. Look at that butterfly Krait! It is immobile, suspended in midair! It is incredible! But wait! I want to do a little experiment. Krait grabs the Ray device and. No! Krait! Do not drop it! Page Forty two: Much to their delight, the metal box remained suspended for a moment. Then imperceptibly it began to move. She Floats! No! It falls at normal speed but you and I don't see it! It is the effect of the bewitched mirror! Since we broke it, we've been living in other dimensions! We are moving much faster, both of us. A second for us is ten minutes for the others! That is the reason that everything seems motionless to us? And throwing up a laugh of joy, Krait resumes his place behind his friend. Formidable Creech! We have an additional asset to dominate the world, my friend! You're right! We can move as fast as this. We are invisible to an ordinary gaze, and nothing can stop us! Page Forty three: Very far behind, Mark Bowen and Inspector Manning follow the wheelchair tracks. How the devil did they escape from us? I wonder too! And if you notice? The tracks of the wheels are extremely light. And that the ruts are completely dry. As if the wheels were hot. It is uncanny! They should not be far away! And yet we do not see them! They certainly followed this path! Nick wondered if they had made themselves invisible! Is it possible? The rays of Creech, the power of Krait to transform into a reptile. That is not bad! But invisibility, never! In that case, let's continue to follow the tracks! We will eventually catch up to them! Page Forty four: Timms and the two boys had taken the opposite direction carrying the still unconscious old hermit. The hospital is just behind this wood, in the village. This old man bears the traces of snake bites! No wonder Krait attacked him! Do you think he can tell us? Without a doubt! I hope we can revive him before Mark and the inspector get in trouble. Are they in danger? I mean something unexpected that we didn't think about? At that moment. Stop Creech! Look behind us! Bowen and Manning! They cannot see us. They are immobile, like everything else. We can turn around and attack them before they move an inch. Page Forty five: They are at our Mercy! They cannot see us! We can act without fear! Indeed the two men were completely invisible to the human eye! They do not even hear our voices. Watch how I am going to destroy them with my poisoned ring! No! Let us not be in such a hurry! We can also burn them! It will only take a fraction of a second! But Krait's credulity causes their downfall. The box of matches fell from his hands with such speed that. Wumpf! Page Forty six: Poor fool! What have you done? Back off! Back away before the flames reach you! But their slightest movement increases the danger. Stop! Fool! Ah! We burn! We burn! The wheelchair crashes against the wall. Page Forty seven: And bounces towards the water with the two men. Creech! Stop the chair, Great Gods! This heat is unbearable! Then. Splash! Creech! What have you done? But you're the one who pulled out the matches! Luckily there was this water under the bridge. Page Forty eight: Quickly! Help me get the wheelchair out! Do you think it still works? Mark and Manning were ignorant of how close they were to death. They took the road. But from what side? More tracks! Let us go left, they descend! Oh! This wall has been broken down! But there is nothing below! Let us continue. Let them come Krait! They don't see us. As soon as the chair is out of the water, we will get away. We have truly become invisible! Page Forty nine: The wheelchair is hoisted onto the bank. You see? Our two enemies are motionless! They cannot see or hear us! They will not escape our vengeance! Krait marches off towards Manning and Bowen. Sit in your chair, I'll take care of them! Meanwhile, Timms and the two boys have taken the hermit to the hospital. You saved my life! Harkin will reward you! We are looking for the two men who attacked you. They are dangerous! Page Fifty: Harkin grabbed a carafe of water from the bedside table, stared at it, and pronounced strange words. Marathek! Mawreba! Krathon! I see them! I see them! They have reached the fifth dimension! They are invisible to the human eye! They are a death threat! What is he saying Don? I do not know. But He must prevent them from doing evil. The hermit continued to gaze intently into the carafe of water. Those who steal Harkin's secrets will pay dearly! Silence! I will act! Page Fifty One: At that moment, Krait was about to throw a big rock at Mark and Manning. Manning! Attention! It is Krait! Thrash! But how? Where did he come from? Abruptly transitioning from one dimension to another, Krait momentarily loses his composure. Creech! Help me! Help Me! Back in his chair, Creech rushes over. Come quickly Krait! Hurry Up! Great Gods! They escape! Page Fifty Two: Follow them! No Mark! If Creech sends his Rays against us, we are damned! We finally found them! Oh! If only we could telephone! How to stop them? How? Creech and Krait motor away in the wheelchair. The way is open for them! They can recommence sowing terror! I see nothing to stop them! Page Fifty Three: Creech and Krait were motoring in their infernal wheelchair when suddenly. Aircraft Creech! They have not given up on us! Ha-Ha-Ha! They will regret their folly! Hunter calling base! The two Men are in sight, reference one two six, three six five! To the northeast. Attack Immediately! Destroy! Manning and Mark are in contact with the aviators. It will be a real massacre! But why do the authorities not listen to us? Have they ever done that? For our part, we will try not to lose sight of Creech and Krait. A few miles away, Creech sends his rays against the squadron. Note well the aircraft in the center Krait! Page Fifty Four: Caught in the field of the rays, the plane expanded to three times its size. And the inevitable accident with the other two occurred. Crash! Boom! Ah! Is this not marvelous? The poor idiots will finally understand that it is useless to attack us! And we are in command! Page Fifty Five: An instant Creech! The government will certainly make a statement on television. I am thinking of something. In the space of a second England will be at our feet! Look Mark! There they are! They are coming this way! We can block their route! Excellent idea! We can hide behind the shrubs and shoot at them. And without remorse, believe me! What is going on? They should be here already! Yes. No obstacle is in their way. A long time passes. I will go and have a look. They slipped through our fingers once again. But how? Page Fifty Six: Creech and Krait are headed towards the television transmitter. Are you sure the rays can pass through? Of course! And since the link is direct, there will be no danger for us! Do you realize, Creech! Thousands of stupid people will plug in their sets and. And my rays will reach them in full. Ha-ha-ha! More than half of the population will fall into our hands, all at once! Nothing seemed to be in the way of these diabolical plans. Nothing except Harkin the hermit's revenge. I see them! In a strange place difficult to identify. It is necessary however! Manning and Mark have lost their tracks. Nick, Don and Timms attend anxiously. Machines. Screens. Unknown to me. I, I do not know. Page Fifty Seven: At the same time. Ha-ha-ha! Thousands of television viewers will be transformed in to little dwarfs. We will become the masters of the country. Nothing can stop us! At the hospital. All those machines. I don't see what it could be. I will give this news to Mark and Manning. And the three friends leave the hermit's room. Mark and Manning lost sight of them. But they must not be very far away! I hope so! Wait for me here. I will be right back. Nick manages to reach Mark and Manning by radio. It could well be a television transmitter. There is one on the moor. That would explain why they did not pass by here. Page Fifty Eight: Good god! They will transmit their reducing rays by television! Should we send cars with loudspeakers to towns to warn people? Those two monsters would have plenty of time to destroy everything! No! Let us do it alone, Mark! Mark and Manning rush through the moor. We will have to continue on foot. If they see us, we are done. They reach the building without difficulty. I have to shoot them! I have no scruples! We must put an end to the danger they represent! Page Fifty Nine: Unfortunately, Creech and Krait see him and. Bring them back to my Field, Krait! Wham! Lying on the ground, Mark sees Krait swallow the contents of a vial. Oh No! No! Yes Bowen! I will transform myself into an invincible serpent! And you will die! You and your friend will feel the effect of my poison! At that moment, Creech triggered his rays. And they enveloped his accomplice! Ah! What are you doing you fool! I am shrinking! Page Sixty: Then there was an explosion. The circuits shattered. It missed! Everything blew up! Barely standing on his feet, Mark drags Manning out Just in time! Blown up! It is the end! Boom! Crash! The authorities must have intervened. They cut the power to the relay station. This time we're definitely finished with Creech and Krait. The world can heave a sigh of relief! End of this Episode.

Rahan. By Roger Lecureux. Episode three. The fish trap. Rahan will still have to gnaw roots and eat the weeds. For a few moons Rahan has known how to fly under the water. But he still was not swimming fast enough to catch up with the marvelous mottled fish that would appease his hunger. Exhausted by this new and vain attempt, he returned to the shore. While the sparkling salmon that came up the river seemed to taunt him. If Rahan had vines, he would make a net, like the fishers of the clan of black men. But Rahan has no vines. Page Two: Lying in the shade of a bush he was watching the leaping fish when something crashed onto the river. Oh! Wampa! It would take a Rahan with wings like a Wampa. The great bird flapped its wings and its sharp beak caught in flight a salmon which sprang out of the water. Rahan stays huddled in the shadow of the thorn trees because he knows how dangerous it is to face this monster of the sky. But this one was already gone, a new fish in its beak. Rahan had not killed any game since he ventured into this savage territory. He was hungry, very hungry. Jump! Jump! He thinks, one of you may end up falling back on solid ground! A salmon wriggled at the end of a branch, suspended by its mouth from a thorn in the shrub. Very close to the thorn, Rahan noticed the cluster of tiny red fruits. Page Three: Perhaps it was to swallow these fruits that he jumped out of the water? And he impaled himself on the thorn! Rahan would never have imagined such a strange trap. Rahan, the son of Crao, the sole survivor of the horde of the blue mountain that was decimated by a volcanic eruption, has lived since his childhood in the wild. Nature was both his ally and his enemy. Sometimes she raged against him. Rahan does not fear fire from heaven! Sometimes, on the contrary, she would reveal secrets to him that his waking brain knew how to put to good use. If this trap attracts fish, they will be caught by Rahan. And since they devour each other, the flesh of this one will attract the others! Pruning a branch bristling with thorns Rahan perhaps invented that day the first hook. Page Four: And indeed, an instant later. Ra! Vlouf! Vlouf! Two, three, four fish hang from the fish trap. Rahan punctuates each take with a cry of victory! From then on, he knew he would never be hungry when he wandered near a stream. Rahan will no longer foolishly pursue fish in their domain, he will make them come to him! Ha-Ha-Ha! He was scaling one of these fish when the rustling of huge wings resounded above him. The shadow of the swooping predator enveloped him immediately. A terrible shock knocked him to the ground before he could touch his ivory knife. The Wampa! The, the, oh! Page Five: One fish then a second, disappeared in the bird's oversized beak. Back Wampa, back! Rahan did not fish for you! Rahan knew how fearsome this monster was. The fish of Rahan will not pass through your gullet! The ivory blade crossed through the throat of the raptor, which beat its wings one last time and collapsed. Long ago, Rahan did not know how to throw his knife! He would have faced you in hand to hand combat, and your beak would have opened his chest. It is this spear that will open your chest Rahan! The young man who was approaching held his spear high. That Wampa belonged to my clan! He is docile and faithful! He was fishing for us! Page Six: Is it possible for a monster like the Wampa to obey those who walk upright? Rahan has never seen such a thing! What does it matter to Marha what Rahan has seen! Rahan killed the Wampa! He must die in his turn! Zizz! Ha-Ha-Ha! Marha is not fast enough for Rahan. Leave the lance where rests Marha! I could kill you as easily as I killed the Wampa! But Rahan does not want to kill "Those who walk upright". Especially when they are your age! But you are going to make me die! Page Seven: What are you saying? If Marha returns to his family without the Wampa, he will be sacrificed! A look of terror passed over the face of the boy. No game is found in this cursed territory. Only the big river fish allow the clan to survive. But to catch the fish, you need a Wampa. Rahan breaks the spear. This one fishes for us! By killing him you have condemned the clan to starvation. I will teach you other ways to fish! This one for example. As soon as Rahan’s branch-hook had touched the water, a salmon was caught. Vlouf! Shortly after, the fish accumulated on the river bank, at the feet of the bewildered child. Ah! Ha! Again! Marha must be dreaming. What country do you come from to know such a marvelous secret? Page Eight: Rahan did not know before this morning! But Rahan knows how to observe things and sometimes imitate nature. In Marha’s eyes, admiration competed with fear. The clan will not forgive me for letting you kill the Wampa! But Marha! I will reveal to your clan the secret of fishing. Lead me to them. The clan of Marha lived in a large cave, not far from the river. Astonished shouts greeted the child. Who is the man with Marha? Where is the Wampa? The Wampa is dead Kardirk. A terrible silence suddenly fell on the cave. Rahan had the impression of hearing the beating heart of some colossus that had arisen. It is me, Rahan, who stabbed the Wampa! I was fishing on the river and the Predator wanted to eat my fish. I protected them, as is a hunters right! Page Nine: Rahan kept his hand on his knife, ready to respond to any assault from the clan. But no one moved. Chief Kardirk's voice thundered. It was indeed your right Rahan! And no one will reproach you. But Marha, to whom we had entrusted the Wampa, Should have protected it from your blows! The law of the clan is formal, whoever lets the Wampa die must die in turn! Marha must die! But it was I who killed the Wampa! I should be punished! No! You protected your fishing, as you should have! And Marha should have protected the Wampa. The men were already binding the boy’s arms and legs. Do not kill me! Do not kill me! Rahan will reveal the secret of fishing! Rahan threw the cluster of Salmon at Kardirks’s feet. Marha is telling the truth! Let him live and I will teach you. Every day, more fish than the Wampa could catch. Page Ten: Your secret is not important to us Rahan! Our horde has always fished with a trained Wampa! It will continue! Rahan recognized the feeling that he had repeatedly encountered in "Those who walk upright". Attachment to habits and customs. Kardirk is wrong! Rahan too once believed that his horde was the strongest, that it had the best hunters. But Rahan met others who were aware of the things of which he was ignorant. Rahan has known more skilled hunters than his brothers! "Those who walk upright" always have something to learn from each other! Kardirk eyed Rahan with a strange smile. Rahan thinks that he is more cunning, more skilled, and stronger than Kardirk? The horde leaders’ tone hinted at a challenge. This one was dropped. Since you are interested in Marha, I propose this to you. The first of us to bring a young Wampa back to the horde will decide Marha's fate! Page Eleven: Rahan caught a glimpse of Marha's anguished gaze. Rahan accepts Kardirk's challenge! We start immediately! Each their own way! If Kardirk brings back a Wampa first, he will decide to put Marha to death! May Rahan win this test! Rahan didn't know anything about this country. But he knew that the Wampas were still roosting in the mountains. He dashed into the steppe with low bushes. Rahan must discover the Wampa’s area before dark. The soft branches whipped his legs and hips, but he did not care. Oh! His knife, struck by a branch, was torn from his belt. Page Twelve: Such incidents had often happened. And he had repeatedly almost lost the precious weapon. Rahan wondered how he could keep the knife from slipping. During his fights, the knife had sometimes slipped from his hand. And Rahan had had the idea of this loop fixed to the handle. But he did not have that idea until this morning. Thus, Rahan will no longer lose his knife. The sun was very high when it reached the mountain. A couple of Wampas chased each other in the sky, the flight of which he carefully followed. But Rahan was not alone in observing the birds of prey. The nest of these Wampas is not far! Kardirk will cross it before Rahan! Page Thirteen: The two birds disappeared into a crevice in the mountain. Rahan will have to kill them to bring back one of their young. A moment later Rahan was climbing the rock wall. There were large and numerous protrusions helping his ascension. Ah! Kardirk. Down below, the leader of the horde had just missed a hold. He spun around for a moment. He is lost! No! A ledge had stopped Kardirk's fall. The chief of the clan remained motionless on this perch. Rahan saw that Kardirk had lost his weapon. He would not be able to face the Wampas. The birds of prey sprang from the crevice and dived towards the inert man. Rahan has no right to let them shred Kardirk! Page Fourteen: The birds seemed to hesitate and circled above the rock. Putting this hesitation to profit, Rahan leapt from one projection, and then to another. Rah! He landed near Kardirk just as a Wampa attacked. Ah! Raising his battle cry Rahan wanted to brandish his knife! And. His idea had turned against him! The vine which usually slipped easily held the knife to its belt! And he had no time to untie the knot. A Wampa swooped down on him, wrapping its wings around him! Ah! You may kill Rahan, but you will die with him! Page Fifteen: Pushed against the rock by the winged monster, Rahan hit where he could. Free to move, he had quickly found a vital point. But with the short vine holding the knife to his belt, he could not deliver blows above his hip! The second Wampa attacking Kardirk came to. Unarmed, the chief of the clan desperately resisted the raptor. Rahan stood up screaming his victory cry! Ra-ha! Kardirk is going to die. Rahan will be able to bring the young Wampas back to the clan! Rahan has won the challenge! Page Sixteen: It didn't occur to Kardirk that the one he had challenged could help him. So he watched with amazement as Rahan rushed forward. Ra-ha! The son of Crao had time to untie his Knife this time. And his first blow was so precise that he needed no time for a second strike. Zlang! Kardirk slowly freed himself from under the raptor’s corpse. Rahan could have let Kardirk perish. Why did Rahan not do it? Because Rahan thinks those who walk upright must help each other. As if they were all part of the same clan! Of the same horde! Page Seventeen: Strange cries now rose from the crevice. The young Wampas are in the nest. Go, Rahan, go! You have earned the right to bring one back to the clan! There was perhaps a little bitterness in Kardirk's voice, but not anger. Rahan hoisted himself up to the perch of the Wampas. He reappeared very quickly, happily brandishing a hideous and already enormous baby bird. I think this one will be an excellent fisherman! He joined the chief of the clan at the foot of the cliff, who had just recovered his club. Our horde will now have a lot of respect for Rahan, thought Kardirk to himself. Argh! The blow was so unexpected that Rahan collapsed without even seeing who hit him. Page Eighteen: He only understood when he came to. Kardirk the deceiver did not want to accept his defeat! He grabbed the young Wampa! He will claim to have won the event and will have the right to decide the fate of this poor Marha. And I know he will decide on death! Furious and anxious, Rahan rushed in the still fresh footsteps of Kardirk. He was soon in sight of the grotto from which rose joyful cries. The horde salutes the victory of its leader. I, Kardirk. I am happy and proud to have triumphed over an adversary as loyal, as courageous as Rahan! Rahan was amazed at the loud voice of Kardirk singing his praises! But since I brought back the Wampa, I have the right to decide on the fate of Marha! Page Nineteen: I Kardirk, Chief of the clan, decide that the young Marha must be forgiven! Marha will live! We entrust him with the task of training the Wampa for fishing. Oh Rahan! Rahan had just entered the cave with a faint smile on his face. I see a good decision Kardirk! I would not have taken another if I had been victorious! Kardirk, a little embarrassed dragged Rahan aside. You are the real winner Rahan! I told my people how you saved me! And that you knocked me out? No I lied about the Wampa. But you have to understand me, Rahan. If you had brought back the Wampa. I would have lost the trust of the clan! My people would have fought to designate a new chief. And I don't want them to fight anymore. Of course if you want you can tell them the truth! I will bow to their decision! Marha's fate alone interested me Kardirk. You saved him and I am satisfied. Page Twenty: However, I would like to reveal something to your clan! Kardirk was very worried, and followed Rahan who returned to the horde. The training of the Wampa will be long brothers! How will you eat while you wait? Don't you think the time has come for me to reveal to you the secret of fishing! Kardirk, gave Rahan a grateful look. And the latter spoke at length of the discovery he had made that very morning. In the days that followed there reigned a joyful animation on the banks of the great river. Rahan was right! We now know how to catch more fish than a Wampa family would catch! Your horde will never go hungry, Kardirk! Oh! Hold me! This one will get me Ha-Ha-Ha! Ha-Ha-Ha! Rahan was happy, happy. He had taught something to those who walk upright. He found his reward in their joy.

Episode four. The shadow of the Serpent. Page 1: Todays’ preferred distraction for Don Redding and Nick Dexter is fishing. Nick, I’ve got something on the end of my line! Lucky! Wait for me, I’m coming to help you. Even together, the line is still too heavy. But, but, it’s not a fish! Nick! Its, it’s a man! The two boys bring back the drowned man to the shore. Quickly! Artificial breathing Nick! I will try Don, but I’m afraid it will do nothing. Page 2: However, the drowned man seems to come back to life. But his eyes remain closed. He’s not very well yet. I’ll look for Mister Timms, he may be able to help us. A few minutes later, the man of science, Mister Timms, comes to their aid. I did what I could Mister Timms. Let’s bring him inside here. A half hour later. Where, where am I? In good hands, my friend. My name is Mister Timms. The two young people, they have pulled you from the river. The…the river? Oh yes! They drowned me to prevent me from becoming the master of the world. Page 3: I ALMOST HAD EVERYTHING! DO YOU HEAR ME! Great gods! You are doing well Monsieur. Excuse me! I am so, so tired. At the same instant, at the offices of Scotland Yard, London. Glad to meet you Mark. And you too, Inspector Manning, as our names are associated with the shadow of the serpent. That creature could destroy the country, Mark. I feel quite a relief now that he has been eliminated. Page 4: The man they speak of was a famous biologist who had discovered a potion allowing him to transform reptiles into fearsome monsters. I won’t be able to relax until we fish out his corpse. The current may have swept it away, mark. But the serpent was alive and well. Nick and Don, which the newspapers have spoken of. They fought Creech, chief of the white eyes. I must find this Creech! And together we will rule the world. Page 5: A few minutes later, the saviors find the serpent under the covers. Nick, Don, you two can retire, I’ll take care of things. You believe that he is completely recovered? At the slightest warning, I’ll call a doctor. Perfect. Till tomorrow. All is serene in the little bungalow, and then suddenly. What! What is this? Silence Imbecile! You are under my power! You and your two friends fought Creech, the master of the white eyes. Creech?! Page 6: What has become of him! You know, tell me! Uh! He is dead! But the door opens suddenly… Timms, is that you Timms? Creech! It is impossible! Creech’s fingers tighten on a small device that emits rays… Ah! Thurf! Ha, ha! Timms! You rejoiced too soon! It is YOU that are going to die, right now! Page 7: Wait a moment, hang on a minute, something isn’t quite right! Back you! I am the master here! Don’t move! The slightest movement, and I’ll transform you into a serpent! You are the serpent then? It is me! I wanted to meet you! Because together, we can become the masters of the world! I have the secret of rays that can make men ten times stronger! And I have power to transform anyone into monstrous reptiles! Page 8: Two days later, the two master criminals rob a pet store. That’s it! I have the lizards. Let’s hurry! Henceforth we shall be known as the Pet Shop Boys! And back in their new laboratory… A lizard is a type of reptile that I can command. Let me do it Krait! My rays will work Marvels! A few minutes later, a monstrous beast is standing before them! Skur! Ah! Look at our power and despair! Extraordinary! Let’s see if he will obey! Creech and Krait appear amazed by the result! What a menacing appearance! It is a monster, a monster that I will control! Page 9: Back! Back! Obey the orders of your master! Immediately, the monster lays on the ground. Marvelous Krait! But will he obey in other circumstances? You doubt my Power? Let’s try it on you! You threaten me!? I can transform you into a white eye that obeys me with a finger, do you hear? Ha, ha! A mere jest, my friend! We must join our exceptional forces! Krait became serious. I have little work to do. This man you want to make disappear, this Timms. Creech’s eyelids flutter for a second. Timms, ah yes. I forgot all about him. Page 10: With a sneer, Creech directs his rays at the monster, and it retransforms into a harmless lizard! Let’s recover Mister Timms. Come my beautiful Lizard! I promise you Timms for dessert! Meanwhile, Don and Nick comeback to see their friend Timms. Bizarre! Timms isn’t in the habit of leaving his door open. Quick, let’s go in and see what’s happening. They find Timms lying on the ground. And on closer inspection… No! No! It’s not possible! The curse of the white eyes! Page 11: It is serious! This means Creech is still alive! We must notify the police! And get Timms out of here! Timms seems totally unconscious. Beware Nick, Creech must be close by. Indeed. Here, Look! With that other mannequin that we dragger from the river! Quick, let’s go out the back door. If they see us, we’re cooked! When Creech and Krait enter the House. What? Flown? Timms couldn’t have left all by himself. He did not have the strength. One moment! Page 12: Look! The two boys! Pass me the lizard! He will be the instrument of my vengeance! And while Nick and Do are in train with their friend. Timms is already a white eye! A Zombie! I could order him to destroy these boys! Certainly, certainly! But the lizard is so much more spectacular! And Creech pulled out his amazing Ray device. Go ahead! Turn it into a giant reptile! And I will prove my power to command the reptiles! But... What are you doing? I’m changing Timms back to normal, so he can be terrorized by the attack of the Lizard. Page 13: Timms convulsed and almost fell over. What is going on? Timms, you have become yourself again! There it is! I remember! Creech is back! What a nightmare! Only Creech could return you to normal! He must still be around! Stand aside Krait! The show begins! Look at this! Those two get along like thieves at a fair! Let's go! Fast! BUT: Grah! Turn around, my beautiful creature! Take a good look at the enemies you must destroy! Page 14: The ground trembles as the giant reptile lurches forward! Hiss! It is hard to believe! Another Creech invention! How can we escape him> He has the strength of a dinosaur! Hiss! Rip! The three friends run straight ahead, without the faintest idea of where they are going. Ah! The ground is slippery, there is nothing to cling to. Ah! A cliff is ahead of us! All three of them fall and roll on the ground. Ah! We’re going to fall! Page 15: Forever followed by the ignoble reptile… Hiss! Which in turn, slides along the slippery rocks behind Timms, Don and Nick! Skar! Ah! Hiss! Page 16: Luckily, the three amigos Were stopped at the first rock outcropping. Ugh! This is horrible! By a miracle we have been saved. But Timms has been struck on the head. Ah! A spectacular end for those three idiots, Krait! I told you that I could command the reptile. Listen krait! We are going to create an army of lizards, snakes and toads which I will transform into giants, thanks to my rays! And I will command it to sow terror! Page 17: At that moment. Poor Timms! What a shock he received! His breathing is labored! We absolutely must get him out of here and to a hospital. But how? Help me up Nick! You watch over him, while I search for help. Page 18: The business is perilous but Don is determined to achieve his goal. I must have a good hold! Provided these two lascars are not nearby. Phew! I’m there. I’ll get what I need from Timms house. Ten minutes later he returned with a rope, a hammer and a stake. He pounds the stake into the earth. I’m going to throw you a rope Nick! Attach it under your armpits before climbing! A few minutes later, Nick and Don haul up their friend. How are you doing? Careful not to slip Nick! Page 19: The main road is five hundred meters from here. We will find a car to take us into town. After dropping Timms at the hospital, we will run to the police station. But then. Creech? The white eyes? A giant reptile? Come on, come on, what do you take me for? But its true monsieur inspector. We could not invent such a story! And there was another man with Creech! An ugly man with a nasal voice. Perhaps an Australian. Perfect, we are going to see the commissioner. But I warn you, if you lie, it will be a bad quarter hour. Page 20: What is the point Nick? They will not believe us. And these two monsters are at large? Who knows what they will invent next? You will explain everything to the commissioner, since you are so sure of yourself. He will never believe us Don! And that was naturally what happened. How can you prove that Creech is still alive? We have reported the strict truth monsieur commissioner! We must act quickly! The commissionaire is enraged when. Don points to a photograph on the wall and exclaims. That’s is him! The other man that was with Creech! WHAT? But that is absolutely impossible! Page 21: Right away the commissioner grabs the telephone. Get me inspector manning, it is extremely important. And that’s how Nick and Don found themselves in the Police officer in charge of the Krait affair! Mat I present Mark Bowen! He was Kraits assistant. We’re all ears. We will tell you everything, down to the minutest detail. The story Nick and Don tell convinces the two men totally. I shall create a gigantic cordon enclosing your estimated location of Creech and Krait. Make sure the army helps! Their usefulness is immeasurable! I will order a helicopter and take these two boys with us. At the same time, alone in their lair. What do you think of the chair Cheech? Is it convenient? I am delighted, it is the last word! I move like a normal being. Page 22: Ha-Ha-Ha! I can even descend the staircase! Thump! Bump! In this case, we can move anywhere, I can’t wait to try it out. Pick up the specimens Krait! The entire Village would tremble in fear is it was aware of our plans. Krait fills a box with Lizards. Come, come, and advance towards the master of all reptiles. Suddenly, the roar of a helicopter is upon them! Take cover Krait! No one must see us! Page 23: Do not worry, my friend. Who would be interested in two harmless old men! However. LOOK THERE! LOOK THERE! Aim over there. At the first attempt! What luck! All units in location, Encirclement! Five, four, three, two, one. I repeat encirclement! On the ground, Krait knits his eyebrows and frowns. Those two boys, with my old enemies from the past, Brown and Manning! Page 24: Release the Lizards! Quickly, quickly! I will direct my rays upon them. They will bring us those demons in that helicopter. Inspector Manning continues to give orders. Assemble yourselves and tighten the cordon. Attention, Manning here! They are preparing something below! Quickly Krait, quickly! Release the lizards! Three little lizards are set free and subjected to the fantastic Rays! Zap! Come on, my little ones, you have to GROW, GROW LARGER! Page 25: Gar! Snurfa! Slurp! The pilot abandons control of the helicopter, and Manning ceases to give orders! By the great ghost of Caesar! What are those monsters called? We have to escape! Krait commands monsters! Advance my lizards! Destroy the enemies of your master! Like creatures of a horrible nightmare, the Reptiles pursue their prey! Higher Manning! Climb even higher! But Manning seems paralyzed with fear! They climb into the void! One of the Lizards touches the helicopter! Page 26: Slurp! Indeed, a slight lick to the fuselage boom of the Helicopter… The passengers are knocked about, but Manning regains control of the aircraft. On the Ground, Creech and Krait are Jubilant! Fascinating! Magnificent! They will see that we are serious now. Crouching on the ground, one of the Lizards concentrates its energy into a strike with its tail against the aircraft. Ah! Look! Page 27: At just that instant, shots are heard, and grenades are thrown. Boom! Skrak! Ah! Our men surround them! Don’t Hesitate! Arrest Creech and Krait! The two fools saw the danger. We must flee! Bad luck about the helicopter. The reptiles must open a way for us! To me, my beautiful lizards! This Way! You must help us now. Obeying the power of Krait, the two monsters advance under the gunfire. That is very good! Continue! Help us to escape! Page 28: But the soldiers have nerves of steel! Parker, Jenkins, there is no point shooting, nothing touches them. Then, heavy artillery rounds detonate and burst around them. Tak! Tak! Boom! Finally, Manning, Don and Nick see the reptiles crashing to the ground. Bravo! They fall! Yes, but the weight of their bodies rolls them towards the soldiers. The soldiers are indeed swept in all directions. Out of the Way! Argh! Crush! Crunch! Squelch! Page 29: Keep Moving Krait! Forward! We will get through this! Vroom! The two criminal masterminds hurtle away on the wheelchair. A man tries to stop them, but Krait knocks him down. Crack! Thung! DOG! You can do nothing against us! While, from the Helicopter. Hello, Hello, This is Manning. They are getting away, they are getting away, heading south! We must not lose sight of them. Of course Nick! Do not worry! The inspector has one more trick up his sleeve! A place to finally intercept them. We have two tanks. In two minutes, they will be in action. Page 30: Indeed, as Creech and Krait motor away. The devil! Look there! We don’t have any time to operate on Lizards. You will have to think of something else! Creech stops immediately. Perfect! Be reasonable, and we won’t shoot! Poor idiots! They are ignorant of the power of my rays! But, I hope you don’t turn them into giants Creech! On the contrary, on the contrary, ha-ha-ha! Thrash! And the rays burst forth! Page 31: Ah! What is this? What is happening? We have become smaller! Blinded by the rays, the soldiers continued to fire. You see Krait! It works! These cretins are getting smaller and smaller! Oh No! No! The soldiers continue to shrink! What is happening to all of us! Page 32: Look carefully Krait! One of them will shoot at us, his bullet will disappear into the atmosphere. Suddenly there was nothing. You are a genius Creech! They have become invisible to the naked eye! Ah! What adventures they will live! They will fight like tiny insects! They will fall into the crevices that are like abysses! Without them, I could rule the world! What for? A world without slaves? Page 33: Bursting out in sinister laughter, the two men escape on their fantastic wheelchair. And above all, we must not quarrel Krait. From their helicopter Nick, Don and the others did not comprehend what had happened. Look, there are the tanks! The men had to conduct Creech and Krait to headquarters. But the response from headquarters surprised them. The colonel has completely lost contact with them! We had better descend Mark, but for heaven’s sake be careful. There is no one left in the tanks! Suddenly, Nick picks up a rifle that had partially escaped the effects of the rays. Look! This rifle, look at the size it has been shrunken to! Page 34: So, they guess the ugly truth. Creech possesses a ray that can change man and beast into giants. And to shrink them to even make them disappear! But then Creech and Krait have escaped. In order not to spread panic, Inspector Manning decides to keep the adventure a secret. We will have to keep quiet and follow the sequence of events. For now, and action would be risky. Ten kilometers away, life continues as normal in the small village of Tanbury. Good morning postman! It’s a beautiful day, isn’t it? Well I’m quite worried about the storm. Page 35: Everything was calm in the municipal library. When suddenly, against all expectations. Crunch! Splat! What is going on? The building is collapsing! And in the middle of the stones and rubble appeared a gigantic toad. Gurk! Guruck! Page 36: In vain, the people attempt to run away. Ah! Everything collapses! Things fall apart, the center cannot hold! Look at that monster, it’s the biggest one of those I have ever seen! Skrunck! Crunch! Slurp! An invasion of space monsters! Run away! Run away fast! Page 37: On a nearby hill, Creech and Krait rejoice at the spectacle. Go ahead! Destroy! Crush everything! Ah! Ha-ha! In a few minutes everything will be in ruins! Can you imagine Krait! The panic there must be there! We are the masters of the universe! At the police station of the little village. This is sergeant Walters in Tanbury. Horrible things are happening here! It is terrifying! Ah! Crunch! Page 38: The news reaches Manning and Bowen. But that’s not here from here! Let’s go! And these two young boys, inspector? Sorry! But we can’t involve you in these events! But here we are! And from the start! You can’t exclude us like this! Ah! But we must! It’s too dangerous! Out! What a story! I am furious! Don’t worry I know a short cut! We will arrive at the same time in Tanbury! Advancing through the fields, the two friends stop suddenly. Oh look Nick! A gift shop! GREAT GODS! CREECH AND KRAIT! Page 39: Monsieur Bowen and Inspector Manning will be happy after all when we give them this information. Excellent! They have to be stopped! But a twig snaps under Nick’s feet! What? Those two kids again! Turn around! Creech and Krait motor towards Nick and Don! This time, they won’t escape us! I will direct my rays on them, and they will die! Page 40: Nick and Don start running! We need to warn Bowen and inspector Manning! Behind them, Creech fumes! I cannot have them in my way! Calm down, my friend. There are bumps in the chair, and trees that get in the way. Suddenly a falcon crossing the sky gives Krait a diabolical idea. Stop Creech! Direct your rays on that falcon. But, but, you cannot control the birds! No! But the falcon is a predator, and transforming into a giant, he can attack the two boys. Page 41: Immediately the rays from Creech sweep the sky and an immense shadow falls on Nick and Don! Nick! Oh No! We are caught! Where can we hide! While the giant bird descends on them, Nick grabs a pebble the size of a small ball, and throws it at him. Page 42: The pebble hits the bird on the beak, and unbalances it. Run quick! Nick and Don arrive on the main highway. Look Nick! Its Inspector Manning’s car! They have seen us! In a second Manning is out of the car. Bang! Pop! Stand aside, young boys. Page 43: A revolver shot, and the bird falls heavily from the sky. So little fools! We had recommended that you go home! But! But! We saw Creech and Krait! We followed them! Where are they? I don’t see them! No doubt, this huge bird is there work. We have to get our hands on them! In fact, the two men are only a few meters from them… We have all four of them Creech! Do you realize! All four at once! A moment Krait! Be patient. I will focus my device at one point. Page 44: A second later, and Creech presses the button of his diabolical machine. My darlings, I will reduce them to grains of powder. They will flow like sands through the hour glass, for the rest of the days of their lives. Sparkle! Zap! Crackle! For a few seconds, the four friends do not realize what is happening to them, and then. Hello! The car is getting bigger! But no! It is we who are shrinking! Its Creech again and his Rays! Don and Nick approach the Car. But this car is enormous! It’s as big as a whale, and seats about twenty! No way! I am telling you, it is us who are becoming smaller! Page 45: Ha-Ha-HA! Look Krait! They become microscopic! Manning is the first to react. Run away, before they make us disappear completely! We will have to hide in a safe place! This cave would be a good choice! Quickly, inside! Page 46: And once inside. Oh Look! Great Gods! This cave is the lair of some animal! Page 47: The beast resembles a rabbit, but it has the eyes of a ferret. Don’t move! Stay especially still! These little animals attack anything that moves! But we cannot go out! Creech and Krait are waiting for us outside! I have my revolver, I will shoot. But just at the moment Manning is about to pull the trigger, the beast rushes at them. Guh! Page 48: Don grabs a big stone, and Come on, Youi Big thing! Wham! The ferret rolls to the end of the cave. Oh look! The cave is collapsing! The stones crumble with a deafening noise! We are imprisoned! Page 49: At the same time. Those miserables! They have slipped between our fingers. Ah! No matter, they cannot do us any harm, tiny as they are. They will never return to their normal size! The four trapped friends examine the collapse with the aid of inspector Manning’s flashlight. What are we going to do? How are we going to get out of here! Nick is the first to regain his wits. What a mess we are in! Everyone knows rabbits dig holes! Surely there is another way out. They advance into the dark. Damn! Look at that millipede! Fortunately, he fears us! He looks like a giant serpent! Page 50: If it is a snake, Krait has the power to control it! AH, those! You will have to find them. But what can we do against them, small as we are? We must get our hand on that infernal machine of theirs, otherwise we shall stay small forever. In the ruined city, Creech and Krait rejoice at their success. In this dust that was a city, here we are, we’re sitting pretty! It is destruction! Chaos! We can cause it anywhere, anywhere! London, Moscow, New York can become our targets. Do you realize we have achieved the impossible! The governments of all countries will tremble! But they will gain nothing by resisting! Nothing! Page 51: Raising his head, Krait gives a long whistle in the direction of his reptiles. You did a beautiful job, my friends. Come closer, and return to your normal size. Then, Creech shines his rays on the monsters, and. Ha! Ha! They are rendered harmless. Now we can go home to study our plans. But one man who has known Creech for a long times has just left the hospital. He drives alone, and listens to the radio. What? Huh? Everyone has left town? But I am not afraid. I would love to meet these two characters. That man is Timms, The companion of Nick and Don, the only one with the power to calm the panic that has gripped the region. Behold the village! But the reptiles have gone. I have to find Creech and Krait! Page 52: Two hundred meters from Timms car. Finally, the exit! A way out you say? A way out? I thought we would never get there. But our troubles are not over. We do not even know where we are. Look, we are at the entrance to the village. With hope, Creech and Krait are still here. Just then a warning noise advertises itself. Great Gods! Trying to run from the monstrous engine, Don slips close to the wheels. Ah! Page 53: The car slows down. Argh! Manning draws his revolver and aims at the wheel. Put! Le bang! The tire bursts! Bang! And the automobile comes to a halt. Screech! Page 54: Don, who do you feel? All good, inspector Manning. When the driver gets out of the car. Don! Look! It is Mister Timms! Reduced to the size of commix division, the small friends recognize their friend. Timmy look down here! Squatting down, Timms can hardly believe his eyes. Is this the work of Creech! Do you know he and Krait demolished the village? Of course! Timms, you are our only hope! He is right mister Timms! Page 55: We must recover him if we want to return to our normal proportions. And small as we are, we can approach them without them noticing! At the same time, in the ruins of Tanbury. What do you suggest that we do now Krait? A telephone call to the Prime Minster. I’m sure he’ll want to see us. He will try and use force against us. Of course! But we can transform their soldiers to the size of dwarves! And we can send giant toads against London! Suddenly! Thwack! Argh! What was that? Someone threw a pebble! I thought the entire village ran away in panic! Me! I’m not afraid of your monsters! Creech! Here is a madman who must be pursued and destroyed! Bah! Leave this poor idiot. Page 56: No! I will transform myself into a reptile! Allow me to take this man Creech. I will destroy him! The incredible potion transforms Krait in a glance. Argh! I am changing! On the other side of the wall. My trick worked! I caught their attention! Perfect Timms! Occupy Krait, while we sneak up on Creech’s wheelchair unobserved! Page 57: Careful Timms! Krait is behind you! Stay here, but don’t get caught! Krait is transformed into a reptile! Watch out for the ring! She sends her venom! Timms begins to run, making as much commotion as possible! Argh! You cannot escape me! Page 58: Suddenly, flexing his muscles, Krait jumps like a toad! Great gods! Timms finds himself in a courtyard, surrounded by rubble. I am a prisoner, the stones are unpassable. There is no sign of Krait, only his voice reaches Timms. Ha-ha-ha! Have you ever heard of the Chameleon, that’s takes the color of his surroundings? I am here! No! No! Stop poor fool, I am coming. Page 59: Timms jumps into a hollow behind the pile of rubble. I must hide, he has extraordinary power! But no barrier can prevent Krait from passing! I hiss saw you! Hiss! I will follow you! Creech starts to become impatient. Krait! Krait! Stop! Stop being stupid we have more important matters to attend to. He does not see the four tiny shadows that slide towards him. Krait? Do you hear me? Come back. Keep going Creech! continue! An above all, don’t look around you! Page 60: A few minutes later, the four little adventurers are on the wheelchair. Ouf! It is difficult to climb on this slippery surface! And when Krait returns empty handed, they are again safe. He ran away! But it is of no consequence. When he tells of his adventure, he will sow panic around him! And off they motor on their wheelchair. It is good Krait! Now to serious matters. We will be masters of the Universe! The masters! Nothing can stand in our way! Nothing but us! We are in the mouth of the wolf! But our luck is holding! End of this episode!

Rahan. Episode Two. The Crazy Horde. A Puke (TM) Comic. Rahan. Episode Two. The Crazy Horde. Page 1: The gigantic wave rose up into the sky, and seemed immobilized for an instant above Rahan, then the mountain of water crumbled. Ah! Rahan will escape you, as he escaped your sisters! The ridiculous battle cry was drowned out by the crash of the waves. The skiff tumbled, broke up and disappeared under the torrent of foam. And Rahan, stunned, was carried away by these logs to which he had attached himself at the beginning of the storm. Page 2: Rahan doesn’t want to die! Rahan wants to see the sun again! Tangled under the raft, Rahan has only a few seconds to free himself. His ivory knife severed the cords. The wreckage passing over him hid the day. Ah! The great desert of water will not smother Rahan. When he burst out into the open, still gasping, the storm was passing. But the monsters that worried him so much, and that disappeared with the storm, were already reappearing here and there. The fishermen of the clan of black men know how to face this. Fish! But Rahan does not know, Rahan does not dare. Ah! Vlouf! Struck by a splinter of bark, his cutlass had just been torn from his belt. A brief yellow flash. The weapon of ivory disappeared in to the depths. Page 3: Without his knife, Rahan would not last for long. Rahan cannot survive without his knife. The son of Crao remembers when he braved the darkness and then escaped from the lake hunters, after stealing their leader’s marvelous knife. Those of the lake had said that the forest had been barren twice by the time Grahar had finished polishing the knife. If Rahan does not retrieve it, he will never find another like it. He still hesitated. Should he let himself be carried away to the land he could see in the distance? Or brave the big black fish that prowled around the skiff? The desire to recover the precious weapon won. He buried his head in his arms, as he had seen the men of the river do. Ra! Page 4: Rahan may be crazy for acting like this. The desert of water is perhaps endless, like the sky! Rahan will get nowhere. He had no time to be surprised by the aquatic landscape that he was discovering for the first time. Oh, what can Rahan do without his knife? The shark spirals around him, twisting around. Rahan caught a glimpse of the sharp teeth, and an idea occurred to him. Rahan also has teeth! Teeth and Claws! Flattening himself against the shark, he felt his collar. His fingers clenched on the sharpest of the claws, once torn from the giant mountain bear. Rahan will cut you. The claw lacerates the white belly. If this wound was not enough to kill the monster, a stream of blood nevertheless gushed forth. Page 5: Attracting the other sharks who, a few seconds later, argue over the shredded flesh of their fellow. They forget Rahan! Oh! The knife! Rahan learned that day that the desert of water unlike the sky had an end. And strange vegetation grew on its floor. The sharks were still killing each other in the distance, when he hoisted himself on the wreckage. Rahan is thirsty, very thirsty. He will find water on this land. Stirring the waters, as the black men had taught him, he paddled towards the shore. Why? Why? Why kill him Taar? Because you must. If he discovers our secret. He, He, He will reveal it to all those who “walk end to end.” Page 6: Rahan heard the whistle of the arrow, and threw himself on the sand. But. Ha-ha-ha! Where is the clumsy child who fires at Rahan? The arrow had stopped twenty paces from him. Angry cries broke out, and two men appeared. Taar will kill you! They walked upright but in the strangest of ways. One step left, one step right. They leaned on each other and sometimes staggered to the point of falling. Rahan did not come to your land as an enemy! Advance no further! Taar will crush you! They looked Robust, and Rahan was apprehensive about hand to hand melee. The colossi lurked forward at the same time. But did not reach their goal. One of the two men ploughed his way into the beach. Ah! Page 7: Rahan, with a single push, sent the one named Taar to join him. Ha-ha-ha! The enemies of Rahan have legs as hollow as reeds! His knife in hand, he waited for the counter attack. Stand up limp-legged men! Stand up! Rahan is ready for combat! But they remained there, paralyzed by stupor. Slumped over on each other, his two adversaries had fallen asleep! Rahan did not strike them, and they are knocked out! But maybe it's a trick that Rahan doesn't know yet? It was not a ruse, because the two men did not react when Rahan tied them up. As soon as Rahan finds food, he will build a new raft. And set out again on the great desert of water. Under the palms of nearby trees hung clusters of strange hairy fruits. Page 8: A moment later, Rahan was racing. These fruits are as hard as the rocks of Mont Bleu. Clock! Clock! Disgusted, furious he threw some of the giant nuts on the ground. His anger was such that his knife escaped him. Ah! He quickly descended from the tree, and remained still. What amazed him was not that the fruit had burst on a flat stone, Oh! But that his knife was stuck in the sand, up to the hilt! How is it possible that the knife sticks itself? Never before had Rahan used his weapon other than firmly held in his hand. It fell from above. It spun several times and, and, it planted itself. Page 9: Amused by the discovery, he repeats the experience. As luck would have it, the knife, thrown in the air, planted itself once again. Zlop! Rah! If the knife sticks in the sand, it can also stick in the flesh! Can Rahan kill game without approaching it? Forgetting his captives, Rahan practiced on a palm tree. Skillful, intuitive, he quickly understood that it was necessary to project the weapon in a certain way. Zlang! Rah! Zloc! Dependent upon the distance, he gives it a certain rotation so that at the end of its course the point arrives first on the target. He had just thrown his knife again, when the horde burst from the thickets. He killed our brothers! Kill! Kill! Let us avenge Taar! Page 10: Rahan had no time to jump towards his knife, so far from him. Disarmed, he was overwhelmed by the pack. Kill! Kill! Hands held him down. Others brandished formidable spears. Stop! Save the man who came from the water! Taar and his companion had straightened up. And curiously enough, they were no longer swaying. Taar was at his mercy and he could have killed me. But he did not do it! He deserves to live! The horde released Rahan, who went to recover his knife and cut the bonds of Taar. Rahan came as a brother. Why did you shoot an arrow at him? What arrow? The bewildered Taar seemed sincere as he crouched to examine the arrow. Rahan looked on, unsure what to think. Oh I understand! Taar drank too much at the red source! He who drinks too much from it no longer knows what he is doing. Page 11: The red source? Come! Taar will lead you to the marvelous source. The leader of the horde was already leading Rahan in the forest. A little later. This hill was covered with trees. The fruits were so numerous that it appeared as red as blood! But an avalanche has ravaged everything. For days the rocks felled the trees, and crushed the fruits that were more numerous than the leaves in the forest. And the blood of the fruits flowed in rivulets down the mountain. This pond, long since dried up, has been filled with this marvelous beverage that you see! Drink Rahan! Do like them! You'll feel stronger, bolder! Rahan listened, confused. The clan gather near the reddish pool, like a thirsty heard around a water hole. Page 12: Rahan was thirsty. He drank a sip, then a second, a third. This drink burns your mouth and throat! Rahan doesn't like fruit blood! Taar and his men drank greedily, they laughed and shouted for no reason. Rahan understands why Taar had hollow legs and why he shot his arrow so poorly. Cursed is the drink that clouds the sight. Rahan had taken a few sips, and although the sun was shining brilliantly. The horde appeared to him, as through the mist that sometimes floats over the swamps. Stop! Drink no more! Fruit blood makes you weaker than a child! Stop! Stop! But the men were not listening to his exhortations, and drank and drank. Some quarreled stupidly, others gesticulated like monkeys. Others staggered before collapsing on the ground. Don’t drink anymore Taar! Page 13: Taar is the chief! Taar does not take orders from the man who came from the water! Brutally pushing Rahan aside, Taar plunged his face back into the thick red liquid. Rahan thought to himself that, if an enemy were lying in wait, these fools would be defeated without even a chance to defend themselves. Rahan felt only a slight uneasiness. But in prudence, he hoisted himself into the fork of a tree. The blood of the fruits makes you sleep. Rahan will never drink it again. He was about to fall asleep, when cries resounded near the red pond. A woman. A woman was indeed running from one man to another in despair. Wake up! Wake Up Taar! An animal is in the camp! Page 14: He ransacks our huts! He will kill our children! Your Children! The men groaned and grunted, but none regain consciousness. The woman recoiled in fear when she saw Rahan. Useless woman! The blood of the fruits has got the better of their senses! What do you want from me? Who, who, are you? What does it matter, woman! Take me to your camp! Let us not stay and stare at each other, I want to help you! What will you do alone against the animal? A moment later cries of terror interspersed with terrifying rumblings reached Rahan. We are here! May the great hut have withstood the animal. Look! It has already broken into the huts! I managed to escape while the other women and children took refuge in Taar's hut! Page 15: A huge tiger clawed furiously at the log wall. He had already broken into the most fragile huts. Grr! Vrang! If the big hut collapses, the animal will massacre the children. Rahan knew what carnage would ensue from an unrestrained tiger of this size. He knew that only one thing could calm the enraged monster. The death he threw. Ra! The wall suddenly collapsed. Rahan could see the terrified faces within. Grr! Rahan knew that if he could not divert the fury of the beast onto himself, the children would be lost. Abandoning their now vulnerable refuge, the women and children fled into the forest. Do not stay together! Spread out! Page 16: The giant beast bounded behind the refugees, and Rahan bounded behind it. A child suddenly stumbled, and a woman, without doubt his mother, threw herself on him to protect him. Gr! Ra! Ra! Rahan roared as he jumped onto the back of the tiger. A cloud of dust enveloped the struggling man and monster. Never has Rahan confronted an animal as great as you! But you will not kill Rahan! Rahan grabbed one of the gigantic canines and twisted the terrifying mouth away from his chest! The other hand was striking randomly. But a claw suddenly tore his weapon arm. Under the blow, the weapon flew twenty paces. Page 17: The women watched the combat anxiously from a distance. Who is this man Maraha? I do not know. He was with the others near the red pond. But alas, ours were senseless as usual. Rahan had just freed himself and the giant tiger gazed with a certain amazement at this prey that had resisted him so fiercely. A wounded animal never gives up the fight. If Rahan does not strike him in the heart, Rahan will die. The two adversaries ready themselves at the same time. The man to seize the arrow he had just seen, the beast to leap. The fragile arrow breaks in the chest of the monster. The new injury increases its fury tenfold. He made a fantastic leap while disengaging, turned around in an instant and renewed the attack. Page 18: Hitting a root, Rahan fell on his back near a copse. His raging cry turned into a clamor. Ra! Within reach of his hand, His knife hung suspended on a branch of the copse! He saw the tiger relax. The terrible claws and teeth. The white underbelly where lay the beating heart. He threw the knife. The ivory blade disappeared into the coat. The handle turned as red as the blood of the fruits. And the monster rolled over at the feet of Rahan. Struck down. Come back! Come back! You have nothing more to fear from the animal. Rahan as slain the beast with knife teeth! The faces of the women relaxed. Page 19: They released their children, who ran towards Rahan, assailing him with their joy. Rahan is strong and cunning! Only Taar could have done what Rahan has done. The leader of the horde appeared, followed by a few of his men. But Taar did not! Taar slept while his loved ones were in danger! He approached with an uncertain step. Without Rahan, the animal would have slaughtered your son, Taar! Rahan was right, the blood of the fruit is cursed. Taar thanks the man who came from the water. Rahan is welcome for as long as he wants. If he wishes, he can be of this clan! But the son of Crao could not stay long on this island. Were there not other unknown lands that were waiting for him? Why leave Rahan? Because Rahan wishes to taste everything, to know everything! Page 20: He had learned of the sea floor of the desert of water. And of the wood skinned fruit he had never seen. He had discovered that you could throw your knife like this! But above all, he learned that those who walk upright must beware of the blood of the fruit! Taar also learned this! When Rahan left the island some time later, the sound of an avalanche reached him. Taar and his hunters blocked up the source of the red liquid. Their voices are clear and their legs are strong! The horde can depend upon them again. Rahan answered the salutes of the clan until the land disappeared into the distance. He let himself be carried away by the currents, towards the distant horizon. Rahan contemplated that there are other worlds, other men with unknown customs, and other mysteries. Rahan will discover them! Thus thought Rahan, the son of fierce ages. Hundreds of thousands of years ago, at the dawn of man.

The Turner Diaries, Chapter 22. A Puke(TM) Audiobook Chapter Twenty-two. July 19, 1993. For the past five days I've been witnessing what surely must be one of the biggest mass migrations in history: the evacuation of the liberals and mestizos and "boat people" from southern California. We've been marching them to the east at a rate of better than a million a day, and there still seems to be no end to them. I learned at our unit meeting this evening, however, that tomorrow is expected to be the last full day of evacuation. After that, it'll just be a matter of sending them across the lines in batches of a few thousand at a time, as we round up strays and finish separating some areas which are still racially mixed. My men and I have had the responsibility of finding transportation for those unable to make the trek on foot. We started with flatbed trucks and large tractor-trailer rigs able to haul a couple of hundred people at a time, and we ended up using every delivery van and panel truck we could find in or near the evacuated liberal and Chicano neighborhoods: nearly 6,000 trucks altogether. At first we tried to do a careful job of making sure each truck had just enough fuel in its tank to make the one-way trip into enemy territory, but that took too long, and so we settled for trying to be reasonably sure that each vehicle had at least enough fuel for the trip. Late yesterday we began running out of trucks, and so all day today we have been using passenger cars. I broke up the roughly 300 men under me into squads of 10. Each squad rounded up approximately 50 young liberal volunteers-with the promise of food-who claim they are experienced at jumping the ignition on cars. Then our squads began ferrying every parked car, from Volkswagens to Cadillacs, which can be started and whose fuel gauge indicates at least a quarter of a tank of gasoline, into the packed debarkation areas. There our liberal car-thief volunteers hustle a pregnant Negress or an elderly cripple behind the wheel, pack the vehicle with as many picaninnies and miscellaneous lame, sick, and halt non-Whites as it can possibly carry-sometimes piling them on roofs and fenders- and send it on its way. Then back for more cars. I have been surprised to see how callous our volunteer liberals are toward their own people. Some of the older liberals, who haven't been able to fend for themselves, are obviously near the point of death from starvation and dehydration, yet our volunteers handle them so roughly and pack them so tightly into the cars that it makes me flinch to watch them. When one overloaded Cadillac started onto the eastbound freeway with a lurch this morning, an ancient Negro lost his grip and fell off the roof, landing headfirst on the pavement and crushing his skull like an egg. The liberals who had just loaded the car roared with laughter; it was apparently the funniest thing they've seen in a long time. Our logistics have been terrible. We've violated every security rule in the book and taken some extraordinary risks. There were hundreds of times when the liberals could have jumped us, because we were spread so thin and often obliged to work deep within their jam-packed enclaves without backup personnel to rescue us in the event of trouble. I really don't have enough men to handle this job properly, and we've all been working at least 18 hours a day, often not stopping to rest until we're so tired we're stumbling. It's a good thing tomorrow is the last day, because I don't think my men can last much longer-or our luck either. What we've accomplished so far is really quite remarkable, though. We've moved out approximately half a million non-Whites who couldn't possibly have made it on foot. Each and every one of these is now the responsibility of the System-to feed and house and clothe and keep out of trouble. Together with the seven million or so able-bodied liberals and Chicanos we're sending them, that's quite a responsibility This whole evacuation amounts to a new form of warfare: demographic war. Not only are we getting the non-Whites out of our area, but we're doing two additional things which should pay off for us later by getting them into the enemy's area: we're overloading the System's already strained economy, and we're making life next to intolerable for the Whites in the border areas. Even after the evacuees have been dispersed around the country, they will constitute about a 25 per cent increase in the average nonwhite population density outside California. Even the most brainwashed White liberals should find this increased dose of "brotherhood" hard to swallow. On my way to the unit meeting about an hour ago, I stopped at an overlook above the main evacuation route out of Los Angeles. It was after sunset, but still light enough to see well, and I was awed by the sight of the enormous stream of colored life moving slowly to the east. As far as I could see in either direction, the unwholesome flood crept along. Later we'll switch on the street lamps along the freeway, and the march will go on all night. Then, in the heat of the morning, the evacuation of the able-bodied ones will be reined in enough so that we will have room on the freeway for our vehicles to get through again. We found out at the beginning that when we tried keeping the marchers going during the day they dropped like flies. The sight of that huge, flowing swarm of non-Whites left me with an overwhelming feeling of relief that it was moving away from us, out of our area. And I shuddered with revulsion at the thought of being at the other end of the evacuation route and seeing that swarm moving toward me, into my area. If the System bosses had the option, they'd turn the liberals back at the border with machine guns. But with the border manned with mostly non-White troops, it is pretty hard to give the order to fire on that non-White flood. Since the inundation began, they haven't been able to figure any way to stop it. They are trapped by their own propaganda line, which maintains that each of those creatures is an "equal," with "human dignity" and so forth, and must be treated accordingly. Yes, sir, things are looking up here, and I'm sure they're looking liberaler and liberaler elsewhere! The proof of that is the counterflow of White refugees into our area from the east. From a hundred or so a day 10 days ago, their numbers have grown to several thousand a day. Our border guards have processed a total of more than 25,000 Whites coming across the line, up to this afternoon. Most of these, it seems, are simply running to get away from the liberal troops and the liberal and Chicano evacuees who have flooded the enemy's border areas. If it is easier for them to run west than east, they run west. But about 10 per cent of them are not from the border areas at all. They are White volunteers who have deliberately crossed over to join our fight. Some have come from as far as the East Coast, whole families as well as young men, who made their decision as soon as it became apparent to the country that our revolution has indeed established a foothold here. July 24. Boy! I'm really becoming a Jack of all trades. I just got back to HQ from a repair trip to the big switching station outside Santa Barbara. It's been acting up, knocking out our electrical power here every day or so, and I had to figure out what was wrong and get a repair crew to fix it. I'll certainly be glad when we get the civilian population here organized, so that the people who're supposed to keep the utilities running are back on the job again. But we must do first things first, and that means reestablishing public order and insuring an adequate food supply. We still don't have order, but we're now bringing almost enough food into the metropolitan area to keep the people from starving. I got some insight into how we're managing that during the Santa Barbara trip. In the countryside I passed literally hundreds of organized groups of White youngsters, some working in the orchards and fruit groves, others marching along the road singing, with fruit baskets slung across their shoulders. They all looked tanned and happy and healthy. Quite a difference from the hunger and the rioting in the cities! I had my driver stop as we came abreast of a group of about 20 young girls, all wearing heavy work gloves and miscellaneously dressed in shorts and overalls. Their leader was a freckled 15- yearold with pigtails who happily identified her group as the 128th Los Angeles Food Brigade. They had just finished five hours of fruit-picking and were headed for lunch at their tent camp down the road. Well, I thought to myself, this is hardly a brigade, but obviously a lot more organizing of the civilian population has been going on than I've been aware of. I knew the girl was too young to be a member of the Organization, and, it soon developed, she was totally innocent of any political understanding whatever. All she knew was that things back in the city are frightening and unpleasant, and so when the nice lady with the armband at the emergency food-distribution center had talked to her and her parents and told them that youngsters who volunteered for farm work would be looked after and well fed, they had agreed she should go. That was a week ago, and yesterday she had been appointed the leader of her group of girls. I asked her what she thinks about her work. She said it is hard, but she knows it is important for her and her girls to pick as much fruit as possible, so their parents and friends back in the city will be able to eat. The adults at the camp have explained to them what an important responsibility they have. Had they also been told about the significance of the revolution? No, she doesn't know anything about that, just that the Chicano farm workers have left, and now the White people will have to do all their work. She thinks that is probably a good idea. Other than that, all that the girls have been taught is how to do their particular job-and the work songs and the hygiene lectures in the evenings, around the campfire. Well, that's not a bad beginning for 12- to 15-year-olds. There will be time for their further education later. If only the adults were as cooperative as the kids! The girls did have one complaint: their food. There was plenty of it, but it was all fruits and vegetables; no meat, no milk, not even any bread. Obviously, the people who're organizing the food brigades have a few logistic problems yet to work out too. We swapped the girls half a case of canned sardines and some boxes of soda crackers we had in the car in return for a basket of apples, and both sides felt they had gotten a good deal. Coming through the mountains just north of Los Angeles we encountered a long column of marchers, heavily guarded by GI's and Organization personnel. As we drove slowly past, I observed the prisoners closely, trying to decide what they were. They didn't seem to be liberals or Chicanos, and yet only a few of them appeared to be Whites. Many of the faces were distinctly Jewish, while others had features or hair suggesting a Negroid taint. The head of the column turned off the main roadway into a little-used ranger trail which disappeared into a boulder-strewn canyon, while the tail stretched for several miles back toward the city. There may have been as many as 50,000 marchers, representing all ages and both sexes, just in the portion of the column we passed. Back at HQ I inquired about the strange column. No one was sure, although the consensus was that they were the Jews and the mixedbreeds of too light a hue to be included with the evacuees who were sent east. I remember now something which puzzled me a few days ago: the separation of the very light liberals-the almost Whites, the octoroons and quadroons, the unclassifiable mongrels from various Asian and southern climes-from the others during the concentration and evacuation operations. And I think I now understand. The clearly distinguishable nonwhite are the ones we want to increase the racial pressure on the Whites outside California. The presence of more almost-White mongrels would merely confuse the issue-and there is always the danger that they will later "pass" as White. Better to deal with them now, as soon as we get our hands on them. I have a suspicion their trip into that canyon north of here will be a one-way affair! But obviously there's still a lot of sifting-out to do. We have cleared the all-liberal and all-Chicano areas and certain all-Jewish neighborhoods, but there are still areas, comprising nearly half the urban territory under our control, where utter chaos prevails Jews in these areas, working with reactionary elements among the Whites, are becoming more brazen by the day. There is nearly continuous demonstrating and rioting going on in the worst sections, and the Jews are using leaflets and other means to maintain the general unrest in other sections. Since Friday four of our people have been killed by snipers. Something must be done soon! July 25. A very pleasant contrast today with most of my work of late: I spent the day interviewing some of the volunteers who have crossed into our area since July 4, trying to pick a hundred or so for a special problem-solving group which will begin doing in a regular and systematic way the sort of engineering and logistic chores I and my crew have been stuck with till now. The people I talked to had been pre-screened before they got to me, and they all have an engineering or industrial-management background. There are about 300 men, plus a hundred or so wives and children, which is an indication of the really substantial flow of new blood into our area. I don't know what the total is up to now, but I do know that the Organization has increased its strength in California several times over in the last three weeks- and we are taking as members only a small fraction of the new volunteers. The great majority have either been organized into labor brigades, primarily for farm work, or, in the case of most of the males of military age, put into Army uniforms and given rifles we've salvaged from one of the bombed-out National Guard armories. In the latter way we are gradually increasing the overall reliability, if not the proficiency, of the military force under our control. Many of these "instant soldiers" have had little or no military training, and we haven't had a chance yet to give them any of the ideological preparation which the new Organization members are receiving, yet they are clearly more sympathetic to our cause, on the average, than the regular GI's. We are integrating them into the regular units as rapidly as we can. I queried the people I saw today about their present living arrangements and family situations as well as about their training and work experience. Nearly all of them have been assigned to a block of recently vacated housing in a former liberal area, just south of Los Angeles proper. The Organization has set up a new unit HQ in a small apartment building there, and that's where the interviews took place. There were very few complaints from the people I talked to, although they all mentioned the extraordinarily filthy condition of the buildings into which they have moved. Some of the apartment units are so saturated with filth they are simply not habitable. Everyone, however, has pitched in cheerfully, and the disinfecting, scrubbing, and repainting effort has made a remarkable transformation in just a couple of days. I made a brief inspection tour, and it was heartwarming to see pretty, White children playing quietly where previously hordes of screaming, young liberals had swarmed. A group of about two dozen parents were still working on the grounds around the apartments. They have collected a small mountain of litter: beer cans, cigarette wrappers, empty TV-dinner cartons, demolished furniture, and rusted-out appliances. Two women have marked off a sizable area of barren, thoroughly trampled lawn with stakes and string and are spading up the earth for a community vegetable garden. In windows which had previously known only torn paper shades, bright curtains-improvised from bed sheets and home- dyed, I imagine- have gone up. Fresh flowers are on sills formerly occupied only by empty liquor bottles. Most of these people arrived here with little more than the clothes on their backs, having left everything behind and risked their lives in order to be with us. It's a shame we are unable to do more for them now, but they're the type who are pretty well able to do for themselves. One of the first volunteers I picked this morning was a man to find a suitable truck somewhere and use it regularly for hauling refuse away from the new settlement and bringing in food each day from the nearest distribution point, which is about six miles away. He will be responsible for his own mechanical maintenance and for finding gasoline wherever he can, until we have time to set up a new fuel-distribution system. He is a 60-year-old who formerly owned his own plastics factory in Indiana, but he is happy to be a garbageman here! By the time we get the overall civilian situation whipped into shape, the average population density in our part of California will be a little less than half what it was a month ago. There'll be the greatest plenty of housing for new people coming in, and we'll probably level about half the residential and commercial areas in Los Angeles county, plant trees, and make parkland of them. That lies in the future, though, and for now our aim is simply to settle the new people temporarily in areas well separated from those we haven't pacified and weeded yet. But even the tiny beginning we have already made fills me with joy and pride. What a miracle it is to walk streets which only a few weeks ago were filled with non-Whites lounging at every street corner and in every doorway and to see only White faces-clean, happy, enthusiastic White faces, determined and hopeful for the future! No sacrifice is too great to successfully complete our revolution and secure that future for them-and for the girls of the 128th Los Angeles Food Brigade and for millions of others like them throughout our land!

Rahan, Episode 1 The Secret of the Sun. By Roger Lecureux. Translate by Puke on a Plate. Rahan. Episode one. The Secret of the Sun. Page One: Rahan is still. His hand rests on his Ivory Knife that he stole two moons ago from the chief of the lake clan. Rahan is not afraid of the “Man with the long legs”. If you do not get out of this copse, Rahan will find you! You run long legs, but you will not escape Rahan! You will reveal the secret of the sun. Rahan did not know that this being was not a man, but an animal which we would come to know as a kangaroo, dozens of thousands of years later. Page Two: He was so fast, that he caught up with this marsupial this morning… Your long legs are not so valuable as Rahan’s. Only the sun can escape Rahan. But Rahan will join him soon! I know he is hiding in your country longlegs! Flac! SPEAK! Where is he hiding? Rahan will be thankful if you take me to the lair of the Sun. By the time an odor warns Rahan of a new presence, it is already too late. He didn’t have time to avoid the great swirling butterfly that struck him in the head. Vrang! Ah! Why did he want to kill the Kaga? Let us kill it! We will kill it after we find out where it came from. Page Three: Robust, Rahan recovers his senses. My name is Rahan, Son of Crao, the chief of the blue mountain tribe. My tribe was devoured by the blue mountain many moons ago. One night the blue mountain vomited its bowels of fire and all of my horde perished. The visions of that terrible night assail him once again! Again, he sees himself huddled under a flat rock that protected him from the torrent of lava. The whole clan disappeared. “Crao”, “Raror”, even “Taa”, the dog. Only Rahan was spared by the wrath of the blue Mountain! Rahan was small then, very small. But the clans that he wanted to join have not wanted him! They always shunned him, and pushed him away. Those who walk upright are beasts. Rahan will be a beast. Page Four: And the sole survivor of the horde of the blue mountain was as dangerous as a wild beast. Arh! Killing for defense. Killing for food. Killing for survival. And his clamor of victory erupted so often throughout the great forest. Rah! When these had turned green as many times as the digits of both hands, Rahan, who could have been the leader of the horde, knew nothing of other men, of other worlds… Rahan wants to join the sun. He wanted the long-legged man to lead him to the cave of the flaming god! The kraga is not a man, but a beast! And no one has ever been able to approach the realm of the Sun! Rahan is even stupider than a kaga! Rahan will die! You will not kill Rahan! Page Five: The boomerangs flew towards Rahan as he flew to the woods. He knew how to avoid them, and even captured one in flight. In the forest, Rahan knows how to track the most cunning beasts. Rahan knows how to cover his tracks. But Rahan knew not that "long legs" is an animal. These men are right. Rahan is stupid. Rahan knows nothing. He does not even know how to use this wooden butterfly. Enraged, he threw away the boomerang. And: Oh! It returns! It returns as the dog “Taa” used to return, at the call of his name! Rahan tries ten times, and ten times the marvelous projectile returns to his feet! There are men more ingenious than those of the Blue Mountain, of the river and the lake! And Rahan is ignorant, ignorant of everything. Page Six: Maybe it is true that no one has ever discovered the lair of the Sun God! May be it exists not! His pursuers had been lost long ago, and Rahan, as every evening, was chastened by the Sun. You hide again! But Rahan knows your cave is at the bottom of this desert! Rahan will soon be with you! Since the night when the river of fire had carried away his brothers, Rahan had feared the darkness. Rahan will beg you to shine endlessly. There will be no more night, no more darkness. I know you will court Rahan when he is near you. From his infancy, the son of Crao has pursued the sun. But he only discovers new horizons behind which the flamboyant God unceasingly evades him. Page Seven: Three more times the forests are bare. The sun escapes Rahan, as Rahan escapes his enemies. But Rahan is relentless. Rahan learns to handle his wooden butterfly with more dexterity than those of the river use their stones. But those of the river know how to lie down on the water and glide like fish. Rahan knows this not! In the pursuit of the sun, the rivers are formidable obstacles. Rahan will not stop. Rahan will never stop. Like all of his clan, he is ignorant of swimming. And he wasted long days searching for a crossing. But one Morning. If the trees glide on the water like those in the river, Rahan can use the trees! Page Eight: The trunk onto which he jumps spins on itself, precipitating him into the rapids. Ah! Rah! But another stump, instinctively snatched as it passes, saves him. Rahan moves on the water, like those of the River. With knowledge of how to cross the largest rivers, his march to the sun accelerates. Rahan will soon be near you. What is your secret? Why cannot Rahan, who catches that fastest prey, catch you? Doubt grew within him. The men of the kraga country, where they not right? Was not the cave of the sun god inaccessible to those who walked upright? Page Nine: One thing irritated Rahan: The way in which the sun god mocked his efforts. A hundred times he had the experience of falling asleep, facing the horizon where the sun was hiding. And a hundred times the sun appeared behind him. It is a trick to make me go back! Rahan will not fall into this trap, he will surprise you where you are sleeping, while you are sleeping. Other seasons pass. Rahan crossed other deserts. Other Jungles, facing beings he never knew existed. One evening when he was running towards the red disc of the sun god, stupor and despair invaded him. Is this you lair? The river was so immense that the other side could not be seen. The sun god was slowly sinking into the desert of water. Here ends the land of men and beasts! Here begins the great territory of the Sun God. Page Ten: The sand caressed the shadows and Rahan glimpsed the most curious monsters he had ever seen. They do not attack Rahan. They are not dangerous to him. Indeed, giant tortoises do not attack humans. At dawn, some crawl to the great desert of water. Since these beasts live in the realm of the sun god, they will lead me to him. He straddled one of the monsters, who seemed indifferent to the burden. Rah! Ha-ha-ha! For the first time in his life, Rahan can walk without his legs! Ha-ha-ha Lead me to the Sun, “Round back”, Faster! Faster! Ha-ha-ha! He was still laughing when the tortoise carried him out to sea. Page Eleven: But his laughter was strangled, when the monster suddenly sank beneath the water. Ah! Deprived of his usual raft, Rahan is lost. He flails wildly in the middle of the waves Ah! Rahan does not want this! Not to die without meeting the Sun. His hands and feet first stir the water without order Vlouf! Vuf! Rahan does not want to die! Then in a manner more calm, as he had observed among the men of the river people. Stroke, stroke. And he howled with joy! Rah! Rahan floats on water! Rahan has defeated the water! Page Twelve: His joy of triumph over the hostile element was tarnished by the appearance of the sun. As always, you show yourself on the other side from where I saw you disappear. But Rahan knows part of your secret! He saw you conceal yourself in the desert of water. AND HE DID NOT SEE YOU COMING OUT! It is that you take another trail! The shore is therefore not the end of the land! Beyond these waters exist other lands, and perhaps other men! Rahan wants to know them! For days Rahan was busy. You will carry me to the other side of the desert of water. He constructed a raft more solid than any he had made before. The idea that unknown worlds existed in the depths of the water desert haunted him, now more than the Sun god. The new taunts surprised him. Page Thirteen: Shine where you want! Disappear and reappear where you want! Rahan has wasted too much time chasing you Sun! Rahan, son of Crao, laughs at you! The vengeance he feared did not happen. And Rahan follows that one could defy the gods with impunity. He no longer feared the darkness. One morning, he let himself be taken by the currents. Rahan arrives in unknown lands! Rahan will join you, unknown men! For two days he was carried like this. The men of the river have never seen such fish! But Rahan sees it! Rahan knows more than them. The flying fish that sometimes fell on the raft helped him overcome hunger. And Rahan knows part of your course, Sun! Page Fourteen: He knows that you appear at the bottom of the desert of water and that you fly above to hide on the other side! Indeed, from east to west Rahan can observe the voyage of the sun. But part of this journey remained unknown. But what happens to you beyond the desert of water? Eh! It is on dawn of the third day that land appears, and the current pushes the raft there. It resembles the small mountain where the clan lived. Distant cries arise from the other side of the island. Only “Those who walk upright” make cries like this. Rahan climbs the little mountain. Black men? But why do they pursue each other? Why do they want to kill each other? Page Fifteen: Mounted on rafts lighter and faster than his, the dark skinned men chased each other across the watery desert. Ah! From the ridge where he was in ambush, Rahan dominated the entire island around which the black men chased each other. He was suddenly surprised. The fugitives are now behind those that pursue them! The fugitives are like the sun! YES! They are like the sun which disappears IN FRONT of me and reappears BEHIND Me! The great territory of men and beasts therefore resembles this land. IT IS ROUND, LIKE A FRUIT. And the sun journeys around it and never lands on it. Page Sixteen: Thus at the dawn of humanity a being sketched a vague notion of the world in which he lived. Rahan could not imagine of course that in reality the "Fruit" revolved around the sun. But why don’t they fight? Why do the fugitives in turn become the pursuers? The ways of the black men astounded Rahan, who had never seen men chasing one another without killing each other. They Saw Rahan! They came ashore, but Rahan was not scared of the black men. Rahan had dared launch himself onto the great water desert. Rahan had discovered the secret of the sun. He would face this horde, as Crao would have done. His ivory knife in one hand, his wooden butterfly in the other, Rahan went down to the curious huts where the black men gathered. Page Seventeen: Arriving on the beach, he marched straight towards the enemy as would have his father before him. How will they attack Rahan? Do they not have stone tipped sticks? Will they make Rahan face the strongest of them, as the lake clan did? Or will they attack me all at once, like the cowardly horde of the wood? Rahan was now only thirty paces from the black men. As two of them rushed towards him, he raised his boomerang. He did not have time to throw his returning butterfly before a kind of spiders web fell over him. Page Eighteen: He tries to stand up, but his limbs become entangled in the swarm of vines. Rahan is captured like a fly. And Rahan will die! Black men crowd around him. But their words have nothing in common with the sounds of humans ready to finish off captive game. Free the white man! The clan of fishers salute you, man from afar. Uh? Rahan did not comprehend these words. But as they helped him to free himself, and offered him fruits, he knew he would see the sun again. Page Nineteen: He awoke and slept many times before he assimilated the language of the black men. We would not have caught you like a fish if you did not brandish that thing. Rahan was getting ready to fight. For combat? My brothers never fight. Neither among themselves nor with the clans of the distant islands. What you saw on the day of your arrival was only a game. Our young men often race each other. A GAME? A RACE? Never before had it occurred to Rahan that skill and strength could be used for anything other than hunting and combat. The clans can therefore do something other than kill each other? Men can therefore live with other men like those of his own clan? All of us together are formed into the great horde of “Those who walk upright”? Page Twenty: The revelation fills the heart of Rahan the savage with joy. For the first time in his life, Rahan was welcomed as a brother. Rahan is happy. And then there is no longer clan, no longer horde. Rahan will be the son of all clans, all hordes. Rahan will go everywhere, see everything, and learn everything! He will reveal what he possesses and teach the others. So will live Rahan, in the first age of humanity. In these times where everything is still unknown, dangerous and mysterious for the species of: “Those who walk upright.” SUCH WILL LIVE RAHAN. SUCH WILL LIVE THE SON OF Crao. SUCH WILL LIVE THE SON OF AGES. FEARLESS.

Made with 100% Recycled Clickbait, better for the environment. Remember! With Guilt Credits, you can feel guilty about the environment, and trade them with friends! Just like Indulgences really. Episode Three. The Cursed Island. Page 1: Like any other day, the steamer Jolly Jack transports hundreds of tourists on an excursion to Doomcrag Island. Nick Dexter and Don Redding are among the passengers spending their vacation on Doomcrag Island. Three long weeks! Do you realize? What a dream! We will finally forget the white eyes! To their immense surprise, a familiar face stands out in the crowd. Oh look Don! Monsieur Timms! Hello Mister Timms! Page 2: But, the chemist disappears in the crowd. Strange! Did you see that? Why is he running away from us? Nevertheless, we are friends. A little later, Timms climbs towards old Doomcrag castle. The Boss will reproach me. He wanted me to arrive unnoticed. An in the Grand Hall of the Castle… Patron! I made a mistake. What have you done, you crawling dog? The Patron is none other than Ezra Creech, the one we thought was dead, eaten by a shark. I was recognized by the two young boys, Dexter and Redding. They are here on Doomcrag? And you are surprised? By all the demons reunited! You will pay for this. Page 3: Obeying orders, Timms sits in his chair and attaches himself. I am ready Boss. Perfect! Now Suffer! Under the evil eye and insane laughter of the old man, Timms chair is electrified. I don’t want you to ruin my Plans Timms! After this electrical discharge you will obey y sole will! Now, and whatever comes! Timms gets to work at his beakers and retorts. So, miserable, what are your results? Very soon master, before tonight. Indeed… That’s it? Here is the gas that transforms men into monsters with white eyes one hundred times more powerful than the previous one, and it resists all the antidotes! Page 4: Ezra Creech breathes in the gas, and the transformation is instantaneous! Bah! I’ve won once again! Humanity will tremble! I shall take up the con quest of the world. But first, lets have some fun. A huge rock known as the “Devil’s Balloon” dominates the Village. You will see, poor people down below! Ezra Creech stands by the huge rock, and with one hand… The Devils Balloon rushes upon the peaceful village. Page 5: It lands in the village square. Rumble! Rumble! Don has just enough time to save a baby in a stroller. A few seconds later, a pleasure boat is crushed! Crunch! Page 6: Immediately the passers-by gather around Don. My baby! How can I thank you monsieur? Replied censored. “It is my pleasure Madame”. Say Nick! Do you know where the mass fell from? From the summit, up there. So it was the Devils Balloon up there? How could it fall? It’s been there for centuries! Meanwhile at the top of the mountain, Ezra Creech is Jubilant. Ha, ha, ha! This is just a small start, to start our hand. It is tomorrow that everything will commence. At that instant, a Pidgeon passes in front of a window at the chateau. Page 7: He enters the laboratory, and wets his small beak in a beaker. And the transformation occurs! Next day, the regular scheduled aircraft lands at Doomcrag airport. No one sees the Pidgeon flying over the ground. No one, except the pilot. Ah! Look! Page 8: The small and fragile legs strike the aircrafts wing. Crash! The aircraft crashes and Burns! Emergency help arrives and passengers and crew disembark. The Pidgeon! It’s them! The white eyes! What story is he recounting? Help me. The White eyes! The white eyes? Again? No! No! It is not possible! Page 9: The news spreads immediately in the City. The White Eyes! The White eyes are back! Nick and Don start out to climb the mountain, and hear an explosion. Boom! What else is going on? It’s coming from the airport, look and explosion! But, here, at the point where the Devils Balloon had rested. Do you see those teeth, it’s how the stone was fixed forever. Yes, until yesterday, but who, and why? Suddenly! Don! Look, at the top, on the ramparts! What, my word, its Timms! Page 10: The Chemist looks down sadly on Doomcrag. No! No! He thinks. I cannot go on like this, I’ll tell the boss I’ve had enough! Immediately Timms finds Ezra Creech at his desk. Boss, I don’t want to do this dirty work anymore. What does this mean? The White of Ezra Creech’s eyes shines brilliantly! You will obey my orders you understand! If you protest, you will undergo my treatment! No! No! You can have it! Perfect! Take this vial! You will pour the contents into the water reservoir, and tomorrow, the whole island will be peopled with white eyes! Page 11: Hidden behind the window, Don and Nick have not missed a word. Great Gods! Did you hear that! We must prevent this from happening! When Timms descends towards the village, he is shadowed by the two young men. You there, hold it! Why, wheat is it? A sudden movement, and the vial escapes from Timms hand. Argh! Page 12: And tumbles towards the city! To explode in the courtyard of a primary school! A moment later, all of the schoolchildren are turned into white eyes! Kill! Burn! Destroy! Kill the teachers! Terrified, the teachers barricade themselves in the buildings. Vive les white eyes! One lifts up a teacher’s car. Lift it up, we will tear it to pieces! In a few seconds the school is sacked! Destroy! Destroy it all! Destroy! Page 13: The school children from Cragsby go through the town! To the chocolate factory! Death to all those who oppose the White Eyes! Spreading through the factory, the children gorge on chocolate! Ha! Ha, slurp, slurp! Crunch, Chomp! Argh! Meanwhile, on the heights, Nick and Don Question Timms Why are you in the service of Ezra Creech! He, He Has destroyed my will by his electric treatment! I made a gas much more powerful than the other! Get me out of here so he never finds me! You’re just a poor fool, He has reduced you to nothing! We have to help him Nick! The two friends hide the Chemist in a cave. Page 14: Wait for us here, we will return for you. Thanks Nick. Look Nick, a boat is heading to the Village. The “boat” is in reality a great aircraft carrier. We must seize this chance! Yes, we must make Creech harmless. They go to the aircraft carrier, and then… Can you take us to the Commander? It's a matter of life or death. It’s the white eyes. The White eyes? A few minutes later, the two boys are in the cabin of the commander. You ask me to send aircraft to bomb Doomcrag castle. But you are crazy! You must believe us commander! There is not a second to loose. Ezra Creech took refuge there. Page 15: But from his refuge, Creech had seen the Aircraft Carrier. Ah! This boat can be a menace to me, but I will use it against them! We are going to have some fun, ha, ha. And Creech throws handfuls of grain into the air. Eat! Eat my little children! And become my allies! Squawk! Squawk! Indeed, soon after the birds head towards the planes! Oh Look! Damn seagulls come by the hundreds! Bad luck, look at their eyes! And they fall on the deck, destroying everything Squawk, Squawk! Page 16: From the conning tower, Nick and Don attend the scene. Too late! Creech is faster than us! We have one chance again! Open fire on Doomcrag castle. But, while the marines obey orders and load the guns. Squawk! Ah! It is dramatic! Squawk! Page 17: The aircraft carrier is cut in two! Squawk! Boom! Whoom! Don and Nick are saved with the others. It’s another blow by Ezra Creech! During this time, the one on the tower rejoices at the spectacle. Bravo, my feathered friends. Nothing will prevent me from becoming master of this Island, nothing. Page 18: However, the two boys are able to reach a calm beach. So, what do we do now? Call the police! We must organize an aerial attack against the castle. But the news of the white eyes has made the inhabitants flee. A little boy walks alone on the street. This kid will show us the way Do you know where the police station is? Suddenly the eyes of the boy become white! Nick and Don take to their heels. He belongs to the group of friends. He’s chasing us, we have to act fast! Page 19: Nick climbs into a truck and releases the brake. Quick, run! But to their great surprise, the truck doesn’t move! Ah! And soon the road is blocked by hundreds of the white-eyed kids Beware of intruders! Hunt them down! After them! Page 20: Destroy! Destroy! Let's get in there quick, the building under construction! Don! It's our only chance of salvation. They go up the long steel staircase. What do we do now? CONTINUE UPWARDS! At the base, the little white eyed monsters don’t waste any time! Nick! The whole scaffolding will collapse! A second later, Don is thrown into the void! Argh! Nick holds onto his friend with all of his strength. Phew! I can’t take it anymore. Climb so I can let go! Page 21: Suddenly a helicopter appears and stops above them. Hold on to the hook. Damn! It was about time! Incredible! Both safe and sound. A little later. I picked up these two young people while I was doing an inspection tour over the city. If you have any information to share with us on the white eyes, come and see the colonel. Any information! And how! Page 22: Their story ended. At dawn I will send an infantry battalion to dislodge Ezra Creech. It would be suicide Commander. You must blow up the castle and Creech with it. WHEN I NEED more advice, young man, I'll ask you. Oh, Excuse me Colonel. We should try to get Timms of this Island, and with him, the antidote. In this case it is best to leave with the brigade. Meanwhile at Doomcrag, Ezra Creech addresses the little white-eyed monsters. You will help me turn every living thing on this Island into white eyes! Vive the white eyes! We obey you, Boss! Page 23: This very evening, Ezra Creech throws several vials containing the gas into the town’s water reservoir. It's Timms who would have this job Ah! This one I will destroy. One hour later retirees in the retirement home drink the contaminated water. Your Chocolate, take One! Thanks friend. A few minutes later. Ah! Demolish! Destroy it. Page 24: At dawn, the army arrives on the Island. Stop on the beach. Nick and Don are with the first wave. And now Don? Quickly, let’s get Timms from the Cavern. A group of old people arrive in front of the soldiers. And to their great surprise! Kill the intruders. Huh! Whack! Page 25: Long live the White Eyes! Kill the intruders! Quickly! Get out of here. The invisible hands attack the pillars of the Jetty, and one collapses. No one can oppose the power of the white eyes. Only a few soldiers manage to escape the Island by swimming. A few other try to get to their truck, but… No one will escape the white eyes! Page 26: And the army attack on Doomcrag ends in catastrophe. Argh! Eagh! Crash! Ezra Creech rejoices at the spectacle. Ha, ha! he thinks. Nothing can stop me now. NOTHING. In a few hours, everything living on this Island will be transformed into white eyes. Page 27: He will visit the amusement park. Ha, ha, ha! What an adorable creature he thinks as he enters the tank for the giant killer octopus. In the aquarium. He admires the monster in his glass cage. You will be very useful! A friend with eight tentacles! Meanwhile, Nick and Don arrive at the cave where they had left their friend Timms. Timms, Timms, where are you? Where is he? He is not here Don! Timms seems even more terrified than before. We will leave this Island, so you can fight against the white eyes. I WILL DO ANYTHING... ANYTHING YOU WANT, BUT TAKE ME FROM HERE. Page 28: Everything is fine until they get to the lighthouse. Let’s take one of those little boats… Suddenly, everything changes! Great Gods! A Giant Killer Octopus emerges from the ocean! Eh! Ah! It is the end! Quickly! Get into the lighthouse! But the building tumbles under the assault! Crack! Page 29: Heavens! The giant killer octopus ingests the lighthouse! Phew! We had a narrow escape! Yes, now we have to find a boat. Crossing the deserted town. You think he is too? I don’t know, let’s be on our guard. Page 30: Under his helmet, sparkling white eyes! With hands of steel, he seizes Timms. No, No! Don’t hurt me! Take me to your Boss! Creech receives him vociferously! Timms You disobeyed me you sniveling dog! You will be punished! No! Have pity! To start with, you will undergo the treatment! Then, if you will work for me...I have a task for you! Whatever you want boss! Page 31: SILENCE! YOUR GAS DOES NOT SATISFY ME COMPLETELY! YOU WILL PREPARE ME ANOTHER TIMMS, MORE POWERFUL Meanwhile, in the military camp on the mainland, the colonel reviews the situation. Ezra Creech has transformed the inhabitants of the Island into monsters with white eyes! I should have listened to the two boys. We will bombard the Castle! And it must be reduced to dust. Nick and Don are hidden behind a rick, when the first sound of cannon fire starts! It is the Army firing on the Castle! They have finally decided to follow our advice! Too late! If they had listened to us, the world would already be rid of Ezra Creech. Page 32: Creech sees everything, hears everything from his new headquarters. Poor fools! They think we can attack Ezra Creech like any mortal. At his call, and animal presents itself, a giant white-eyed kangaroo with boxing gloves on its paws! Perfect! You will fly to the continent and silence their absurd canon! In the shadow of the eagle, the kangaroo soars in the sky! GO ahead my friend! Rend, tear, and destroy! The batteries of cannon are still firing when the eagle and the kangaroo arrive. Ah! God in heaven! The White Eyes! Page 33: The two envoys of Creech fall upon the cannon! Ah! Strewth! Fair Dinkum! Ah! No! I don’t want to be attacked! Run fast as you can! Wham! Balaam! Squawk! Having turned the canons into piles of scrap, the eagle and the Kangaroo return by air. Page 34: And soon after. Good Work, my dear friends! Now, I will summon all our brothers and sisters on the island for a great council of war! A little later, from their observation post, Nick and Don see the inhabitants of Doomcrag filing past. What do you think of that Don? They are going into the amusement park. Follow them Nick! Looks like a meeting! Damn! Creech is there too! Page 35: My brothers, my sisters, as the first stage of conquest of the world, I propose to invade the continent! Long live our chief! Let’s invade the Continent! Yes! I promise you. We will burn demolish, destroy! And my friends from the old people’s home will lead the assault! Of all the assistants, missus Pinkie, the dean is the most enthusiastic. The meeting ends, and the two friends advance by the light of the ghost train. The authorities on the mainland must be alerted! They probably aren’t really paying attention to an aircraft carrier being sunk, and a combat battalion destroyed. All right! But let's wait for Creech to announce the date of the invasion. Page 36: In a store, they take a huge lamp and… Returning: to the beach, nick starts sending a message… He spells out: D, A, N, G, E, R. Provided someone sees it, someone who can read Morse code. But two white eyes watch! And before the two young people have seen the danger, a multitude of crabs surround them! Look out Nick! Ah! Page 37: Tighter and tighter the circle draws. Nick, what are we going to do! We can’t let ourselves die, we have to try to leave. And, jumping into the air, he takes a prodigious leap. Come quickly Don, let’s try our luck! Don jumps in turn, and the two friends go running, pursued by the redoubtable claws! A few meters further. Bad luck! An army of Lobsters! Let’s climb the Jetty! It’s out only chance! Page 38: TO THEIR AMAZEMENT, They have not escaped the danger. The lobsters begin to saw through the iron columns with their powerful claws. The center cannot hold! In a few seconds everything will fall apart! Let’s get on to the roof of this rotunda! When all of the Iron scaffolding crumbles. Hold on Nick, we’re going to slide! Saved! We are saved! Incredible! Let’s leave before those awesome creatures find us! A little further along the beach, at the repair dock. Damn! Look at that! We have seen it all! Page 39: Dozens of white eyes were repairing the Jolly Jack. Miss Pinkie, Terror of the old people’s home, was fixing the rivets by hand! Ha! Ha! Hah! What will they do with the Jolly Jack? Evidently use it to invade other territories! Page 40: Meanwhile at general headquarters, Ezra Creech talks with Timms. So, this famous gas, a thousand times more powerful, is it ready or not? Not everything is done! Is not so easy. I don’t want to hear about difficulties. Good Boss. I must have this gas to Invade Europe and America. The operation to conquer the world begins tomorrow. It will all begin with the invasion of the continent with the Jolly Jack! Page 41: Ezra Creech reunites his friends at the amusement park. My brothers, My Sisters! The hour has rung for the white eyes to be masters of the world! Tomorrow we invade the continent! You will sail on the jolly jack and miss pinkie here will command the shock troops who will eliminate all living beings! Destruction! Demolition! Yells Missus Pinkie, the demolition mam. From their hiding place, Don and Nick see and hear everything. Let's try again Nick. To send a warning in Morse. They try a first message. At Dawn. Let’s go quickly! They will notice us if we hang about. They are very fast. We’ll get across to their boat. We will remain hidden until departure and during the crossing. Page 42: They climb along a hawser and hide in a lifeboat. I can't wait to see the dawn break you know. Oh, yes, we'll have a blast! Shortly before dawn, Ezra Creech witnesses the departure of the white eyes under the orders of missus pinkie, who is wielding a sledgehammer. Fight savagely my brothers and my sisters. We will not forget you boss! Long live the White Eyes! As soon as the old ship leaves port, it is escorted by seagulls that had been transformed into white-eyed monsters. Page 43: Canon fire rings out from the shore. Poor idiots, they shoot at us. Soon their canon will be silent for eternity! And Missus Pinkie howls an order to a vulture perched on the mast. Seek! Locate! Exterminate! Squawk! Squawk! The shots come from a single tank. Naturally the soldier does not see the danger coming. Aim to the right. Fire! Squawk! Squawk! Page 44: The Vulture with the white eyes drops the tank into the Sea! Our feathered brother has done good work! A few minutes later, Missus pinkie leads the shock troops onto the Normandy beaches! Demolition! Destruction! Tea and a chocolate biscuit at eleven! There are no obstacles, and it is under an oppressive silence that Nick and Don advance up the beach. The army surely did not receive our message. They would have taken action. These monsters will raze the city. Which is when. Two monsters with white eyes! Open Fire! Page 45: Nick and Don have just enough time to throw themselves to the ground. No! Stop! We do not have white eyes! Stop! Those are two boys that have helped us. The Sergeant explains to Nick and Don, that he is part of the Brigade that is defending against the White eyes. In that case, you should have received your message yesterday. We received it, and the measures taken for the welcome are spectacular. We set a trap, says the smug soldier. There is a column in the square that is booby-trapped. As soon as they approach it will fall over on them and crush them. Page 46: At just that moment, the redoubtable Missus Pinkie conducts her troops towards the Village Square. Demolition! Destruction! Let’s Go! One, Two, Three! But as soon as they arrive at the foot of the column. Crack! From the proud tower at the center of the town, Death looks gigantically down! And before the huge mass of marble crashes down on them. Hold it, hold it my brothers, hold it! We are not afraid of such a huge erection hitting us in the face! Page 47: Long live the White Eyes! We are invincible! The rumor reaches the small group at the beach. I believe that it, says the sergeant. But another surprise awaits the survivors at the station. Then. Look! I will crush this miserable wretch! No! No! Please, I will do whatever you ask! I am a train conductor! I can take you wherever you want! I can take you to London. Perfect! Take us to London! I can’t wait to raze the parliament and Buckingham palace! Page 48: And thus, carrying its monstrous passengers, the train starts in the direction of the Capital! Demolition! Destruction! But, five kilometers from the small village, the driver jumps from the train! To the devil with you. A few seconds later, and the vehicle is involved in a catastrophe! Look! The Points! They have been destroyed! We are betrayed! Vengeance! Vengeance! Revenge my Brothers. Page 49: The rails have been torn up. Ah! We are doomed! But the redoubtable missus Pinkie reacts immediately. Help my feathered brothers! The birds with white eyes answer the call! Squawk! Squawk! And hundreds of pairs of wings land of the roof and change the direction of the train. Page 50: Well played! The white eyes are unbeatable because they are united! As we no longer have a conductor, we have to find another means of transport or continue on foot to London. Walk! Think about the work we can do on our way! However Nick and Don were taken to the headquarters of the armed forces. Dexter and Redding have arrived from Doomcrag, General. Did you derail the train? Everything failed. They are advancing on London. And nothing and no-one is in their way to stop them. Page 51: What about Timm’s antidote? And he's the only one who can make it! If he's still alive! He still lives. But Creech holds him under his power and makes him manufacture the dreadful gas. If we can bring him back here, he could work for us. It’s all about getting him out of Doomcrag. Nothing is easier! You will retrieve him with a helicopter. A helicopter? The monstrous birds will immediately attack it! And by the way, they will attack any means of transport. The best way is to swim there. Nick and Don are excellent swimmers. At nightfall… Provided we don’t meet with the white eyed sharks! Or the giant lobsters and Crabs! Page 52: But the monsters living on the seabed seem to be asleep. No trace! So much the better! What luck! I can’t believe my eyes. But a familiar voice startles them. Ha! We meet again, my good friends! Creech! Under the rays of the moon, the white eyes of Creech flash sinisterly. Poor Morons! My aquatic friends have notified me of your arrival. You are surrounded. Ha! Ha! Ha! Page 53: A policeman seizes the two young men by their shoulders. Do I tear them to bits or what Boss? No! I want them to live and suffer. Flashes of hate shoot from the eyes of the monster. I could transform you two into white eyes. You are unworthy of such a fate! You will suffer! SUFFER! And the two boys are moved to the amusement park that Creech has made his headquarters. Hold Timms! I bring you two helpers! They will undergo the same torture as you for each day of delay! No! NO! Please not that torture! When they find themselves alone with the chemist. Timms! Come on, let's see! You have to work on the antidote! We must do it to save humanity! I have already found it. Page 54: He takes in his hands two small ampules. In my left hand is the antidote, in my right, the super gas, one puff of which will allow a man to move mountains! Good! We have to get min off this island immediately! Let’s hide them, the dawn will is coming soon! Yes, but how? The white eyes are everywhere. A few minutes later, there are three silhouetted profiles in the park. It was certainly not their lucky day. Gaah! Yells the particularly articulate policeman. Let’s hurry! Let’s quickly climb the cliff! Page 55: As the two boys and the chemist climb as fast as they can. There we go! He is not following us! In front of them is a menacing danger. Timms! Use the antidote quickly! Gah! Argh! Timms is unsettled. I mixed the ampules up! I do not know which one is the antidote and which is the gas! Too bad! Try and use any of them. Page 56: There! I hope it’s the right one. The ampule comes crashing down at the feet of the policeman. He utters a cry that makes the cliff shake. Argh! Argh! Argh! As he pounds his fists on the rocks. Argh! Oink! Oink! Police sounds! The cliffs begin to tremble as if it were an earthquake. It was the wrong ampule! He has become super powerful! Page 57: The policeman becomes a thousand times fiercer! Ga! Argh! Oink! For heaven's sake Timms, send the antidote before that individual destroys the entire island! Let’s go! And I hope the formula works! The ampoule bursts at the feet of the uniformed man, and immediately: Hello, hello, hello, you three tell me why you’re up there! It’s forbidden! Page 58: In a few minutes the policeman took on his normal appearance and remembers what happened. If your friend has the secret antidote, we must immediately bring him back to the mainland. Follow me. Where are you taking these miserable three, Brother? Orders from the boss. Top secret! Accompanied by the policeman, Timms, Nick and Don arrive safe and sound on dry land. Stop right there! Who are you! Dexter and Redding! Take us to the General quick as you can! Seconds later. Perfect Timms! Now, quick as you can, without delay, you get to work and produce the antidote. Nothing simpler, Colonel! After mid-day nap times, I’ll have large quantities ready. Page 59: Indeed, a few hours later the first helicopter carrying the antidote flies over the railway tracks heading to London. Attention! Here come the shock troops of the white eyes heading towards London! At the head of the Shock troops, the redoubtable Missus Pinkie did not lose her courage! Poor Miserables! Do you think that you can stop us! They are dispensing some product on us. A little later, the shock troops is composed only of the old and feeble. What are we doing here? I want to go home. Is it elevens yet? Where is my cocoa and biscuits? Let’s hurry back, we will miss the soap opera on television. The same evening the island of Doomcrag is rid of the white eyes. This time we have succeeded! Page 60: Aware of the danger, Ezra Creech hurries to leave the island in his own manner, in the claws of a mighty white eyed eagle! Quickly my feathered brother! Quickly, before they enfeeble us! But Creech doesn’t make it very far. Turn left, my friend, or we are prisoners! One second later, the Eagle returns to normal, and the monstrous Creech tumbles into the Port. Squawk! Argh! Doomcrag is definitively free from the nightmare of the white eyes. I hope this time it's the end of Ezra Creech Nick! And that it is also the end of the monsters with white eyes! End of the episode!

Reptil by John Catchpole and Angus Peter Allen. Episode two. Failure to become Superman. PAGE 1: An error in the manufacture of a new insecticide produced a harmful power. By breathing this gas, living beings underwent a transformation! In particular, they became white-eyed, aggressive monsters. Thanks to the efforts of two boys, Don Redding and Nick Dexter who successfully delivered an antidote, the village of Wimbering was saved. Army tanks leave the valley, carrying all the insecticide reserves in order to put it out action, while Nick and Don fly over the city by helicopter in the company of Timms, the chemist. Thus, any remaining insecticide will be buried at the bottom of the Atlantic? Yes Nick! Ten miles deep? It is the safest place. This damned product is unfortunately not biodegradable. So it has to remain buried for eternity at the bed of the sea. PAGE 2: But when the huge cylinder reaches the coast not far from Merehaven. You see them Ivan? Yes master, they transport it on the on the barge. Ezra Creech, the man in the Wheelchair, is wanted by all police agencies. Hello! This is control, this is control! The package has arrived. Action! Over! Ezra Creech was disabled and had been confined to his wheelchair for ten years. In few hours, I will become a normal man again: and even a superman! A little later, escorted by destroyers the huge cylinder is sunk. How long will it take? Five days. They will open the hull of the barge and it will sink, along with the cylinder. PAGE 3: The operation took place a mile from the port. All of a sudden! Boom! It’s an explosion Capitan! Great gods! You are clever! What caused it? How? In a few seconds, the frog men take a sample of the gas. PAGE 4: That night in his lair, at the top of the hill, Creech breathes in the gas. Finally! Immediately, his eyes turn white. Victory! Ezra Creech holds the world in his hands! The old Villain intends on displaying his power. Let’s go, just to see what happens. He tears up a train track. Crunch! Formidable! PAGE 5: Ha, Ha, Ha! For ten years I have waited for this moment, now I am Invincible! His second target is a great bronze statue! He, he, he! Into the dirt with you too, son! A very good start! Now to begin serious work! I will conquer Merehaven and then the whole world! PAGE 6: Meanwhile, the police are taking stock. Sirs, the cylinder is at a depth of ten fathoms! It is accessible to anyone wishing to withdraw small quantities of gas! It has already been done! A white-eyed monster has caused a disaster on the port. A monster with white eyes? Has someone else breathed that damned gas? A little later. Look! The man with the white eyes has removed the rails, and the freight train has passed over the bridge. Nick and Don, who are in the crowd, exchange a knowing look! Don! Everything is repeating itself! Alas! What a nightmare! We are back to where we started! PAGE 7: This week at Merehaven! The man himself! An animal star box contest: the Gorilla Man! And that night, when the Animal gorilla man is doing his running training on the hill, when! The man in the wheelchair stretches his foot and trips up the giant! Ouch! Miserable! I will grind you to dust! Try it! We will have a laugh. PAGE 8: At first contact, the animal is thrown forward! Aha! Eh! And tumbles several times over himself. Ha! Ha! The performance of a lifetime! Then, Creech’s henchman approaches the boxer. Just one puff, Ivan! And I'll have this giant for as an ally. PAGE 9: A few minutes later, after the effect: What? What as it happened to me? And who are you? Look me in the eyes and you will see that we are the same! We are the white eyes! And we can conquer the world! The two men head towards a hundred year old tree at the top of the hill. Do you feel the new forces buzzing within you? Go on, my friend, knock over this tree! Yes! Yes! With a single effortless gesture, the white-eyed giant uproots the tree. AAAH! PAGE 10: Strengthened by this alliance, Creech goes to the reptiles of the Merehaven zoo. A forty five meter Anaconda. We shall release her! It will make a noise in Merehaven! Let’s Go, he said pointing to the American Anaconda. Right away the partition glass is broken and the harmful gas is released. In a few minutes, the snake rears up. Hiss! He is one of us! Yes, we gain an ally! At the same time: Timms drives Don and Nick to Merehaven station. But why return us with us? We would like to help. We have done enough at Wimbering! I can't watch you risk your life again. PAGE 11: But, as they cross the square. Hiss! Argh! Heavens! look! Hiss! Hiss! A giant anaconda crushes a bus. Ah! The little car is thrown up into the air by the huge reptile! Ah! Don and Nick are unharmed from the accident but Timms has lost consciousness. Do you know what I think Don? Yes, there is no question of leaving Merehaven! Exactly! Merehaven has a wonderful aquarium that is where Ezra Creech and his two accomplice next arrive. Look carefully! This will be our new ally! PAGE 12: Yes, the great white shark, the terror of the oceans, will now part of our family! The famous gas is injected into the shark! Just a small amount is enough! One hour later, under the horrified looks from the guards, the monster leaps out of the aquarium. He returns to the ocean! That evening, three naval units enter the port. Object in view! It looks like a shark fin! PAGE 13: A second later. Eh! Arch! Argh! The eyes, look at the white eyes! The boat turns around on itself, and its cannons are trained afar, unable to bear on the target. However, in the hospital, Nick and Don attend with anxiety for news regarding Timms. How is he doctor? I can't tell, he's still in a coma. PAGE 14: So we stay here! But how to fight against the White eyes! Let's alert the authorities first! The City is completely deserted! People are staying at home. The white eyes can strike at any moment. They go up to the lighthouse to better monitor the city. It is a question of knowing how humans and animals have been affected by this gas. We have to see the results first, and check if it is indeed the white eyes. To their great surprise, they hear a voice a voice behind them. Tell me, young people, what's going on in town? Scary rumors are spreading. Nothing great, Sir! But it is advisable not to leave our houses. PAGE 15: The authorities have things well in hand, and the police helicopter is flying over the city. You reassure me! It is terrible being old and without defense. Good night sir, we will come to see you tomorrow! Goodbye children. You are really very nice! Ezra Creech takes off his glasses, and his white eyes start to shine. Perfect, Perfect! Those two kids just gave me some interesting news. At nightfall. Her it is Ivan. The Apiaries of Merehaven, Delicious local honey. PAGE 16: A little gas in each hive and we will have many more friends. At dawn the police helicopter crosses the skies of Merehaven again. Hello, this is the patrol. No sign of the snake or the shark. The city is completely deserted. And then Suddenly! Ah! What is it? The helicopter is engulfed in a buzzing cloud! No! No! Ah! They are coming from everywhere! All around us! PAGE 17: Thousands of bees cover the helicopter and force it to descend! Until it is forced to crash! And then, the swarm returned to the abandoned lighthouse, into which Ezra Creech was retiring. And here our little friends return. PAGE 18: He, ha! Ha we present the power to strike anywhere on earth. At sea and in the air. The whole world is under my domination! Indeed - when the tanks enter the afflicted city. Your orders are to shoot anything that moves! The power of Creech is felt immediately. Gash, Argh! PAGE 19: And only stops after destroying the first two units. While in the port, the divers try to remove the large cylinder containing the harmful gas. Are surprised by the white-eyed shark! Don and Nick represent Timms at an improvised police meeting. PAGE 20: To limit damage, we will ship all of the zoo animals to London! Excellent Idea. As an afterthought, we must also evacuate the taxpaying inhabitants. Don and Nick leave the meeting. Let's take a look at the old man who lives in the lighthouse. We should bring him some provisions. He should not dare go out. The two boys are far from imagining that the object of their compassion is the most formidable man there is! You are too good to me, my children! I am a poor weakling in constant menace of death. Don’t worry! We’ll take care of everything. The animals at the Zoo will be… No Nick that is secret information! What nick means sir is that we will take some measures to limit the spread of the trouble. PAGE 21: The old fox at instantly understands. They will evacuate the animals from the zoo by train I guess. So, that afternoon the animals are loaded onto freight trains. Approximately five hundred meters from the station, on a small wooden Bridge, Ezra Creech and a trusted acolyte wait with a small gas bomb. Here’s the train! We are going to spray everything with the contents of the bomb and all the passengers without exception will become our allies! The train moves forward as the gas vapors slowly spread. Ha, ha, ha! Long live the white eyes! PAGE 22: THE DRIVER AND HIS ASSISTANT ARE THE FIRST AFFECTED. Argh! What? Why are we leaving Merehaven? Yes! Why? It is here that we have to live, stop the train! The train stops, and the two men get out! Quickly! Let us free our animal friends! And then, to action! But already the beasts have become monsters, and have smashed the wagons and headed for the city! Overturning everything in their rampage! Attack! Destroy everything! PAGE 23: Immediately alert, the Army is at attention! Fire! But before the order is carried out, the soldiers are savagely attacked! Argh! Ah! Argh! From their hotel room., Nick and Don hear the noise and put their noses to the window. These are the zoo animals! They are ruthlessly devastating the city! An Eagle swoops down on their window. Squawk! Heavens! He will carry us away! Retreat! PAGE 24: The eagle is already in the room! Squawk! Squawk! Help! Help! Don was torn from the ground by the claws of the animal. Nick Do Something! Don! No, No! A few seconds later, Don flies over the port. Bad luck! He’ll take a bite out of me! PAGE 25: The jet fly’s around the eagle and its prey. Squawk! Just my luck, a poorly drawn English Electric Lightning! After completing a wide turn, the Plane rushes towards them. Oh No! They will not shoot at us. Then, promptly releasing its prey, the eagle throws itself at the jet, and snaps its wing off! PAGE 26: Dropped from the air, Don will fall into the sea. Ugh! In vain does he try to come back to the surface! Misfortune! The shark with white eyes. Is it me he's going for? Finally Don reaches the surface. Bur! A little longer, and I would have ended up in his mouth. Climbing the ricks, he sees the old lighthouse. I will visit the old infirmed man. Provided we do him no harm. As he approaches, he hears a sound of voice... We must find other men to help us. Shut up you! I have already thought of it. I will tell you what is we must do. PAGE 27: Inside, Ezra Creech addresses an imposing assembly. We are seventy here! The City is in the hands of our friends from the zoo. But for the world to be ours, we must become more and more numerous. Look at these specimen! It contains the precious vapors. Six volunteers among you are going to spread them in town. Don gets chills of horror! The villain is the chief of the white eyes! We will choose your targets wisely. Retain only the strongest the smartest. Only the best deserve to be part of our group! Yes! Yes! PAGE 28: Don remains hidden until the departure of the six white eyes. I have to warn the authorities of Merehaven of this new danger On the outskirts of town he finds a bicycle. What a godsend! Alas! On reaching the high street No! What bad luck. A white eyed gorilla! He pedals at full speed. Na! Argh! You can howl old man he yells at the Gorilla! I believe I’m getting ahead. PAGE 29: But the Gorilla is Unchained, and. Rips up a street lamp! And hurls it at the boy! Crash! Argh! Triumphantly the Gorilla advances towards the boy pinned under the lamp! Argh! Argh! PAGE 30: But all of a sudden, a black cloud covers the sky! Eh! Helping arms reach to help Don. We have succeed with the use of Smoke to scare away that animal! But let's go fast! He could come back. Let’s go young man! The soldiers carry don to the post office at the center of the village. I have extremely important news to convey. We will see the commander of the troops in the region. A few minutes later. You claim to have discovered the one who directs all the operations of the White Eyes? Yes, it’s the disabled old man who lives in the lighthouse. PAGE 31: This evening, he sent six of his men with the order to spread the harmful gas in very specific points. Well, tomorrow at dawn, I'll send a squadron to the old lighthouse. Thank you young man, what are you planning to do now? I'll find my buddy. Don't worry about me commander. Left alone in his office, the brigade commanderr…. Calling all patrols, watch out for a young boy named Don Redding. He is part of the White eyes, watch out! His white eyes flash. Heh, heh, heh! PAGE 32: Don arrives at the hotel, where he hopes to find N ick. I bet the doors are locked. They are! All refugees in the attic. Suddenly, he is grabbed b y a snake in a vice like grip! Argh! Le Hiss, Sur Le Hiss! The embrace tightens around his chest, he is strangled… Suddenly, he seems to hear a familiar voice. Don! Don, can you hear me Don? PAGE 33: When he opens his eyes, Nick sees his friend bending over him. Nick, Nick, what happened? You were very lucky! Close your eyes and go back to sleep, we'll talk about all this tomorrow. As Don obeys, his friend's face changes… Yes, I ordered the snake to let you go. And tomorrow I'll drive to the boss, you'll be one of us. The dawn rises over the little town of Merehaven, revealing a village invaded by the white eyed animals. The beasts seem peaceful though. but a man goes out to get groceries and is savagely attacked. Argh! Help! Help Argh! PAGE 34: From the window of the Hotel, Don views the scene. Brigadier Ponsonby has promised to send her tanks to dislodge the villain who lives in the lighthouse. What? Why? What did he do? What did he do? But this man is the leader of the white eyes! He is responsible for all our misfortunes! Let's go see what's happening at the lighthouse. Watch out for the beasts they attack without warning. Indeed, just behind them. Nick, look to your right! PAGE 35: But, to their surprise, the snake slithers away. Incredible, he leaves quietly and doesn’t attack us. Is the snake Italian? Don reflects for an instant. I have a thought about this thing Nick. How did you rid us of the snake? Do you also possess some extraordinary power? Nick didn't need to respond! His eyes answer for him... Ah! You too belong to their group? Yes! It happened last night, along with Brigadier Ponsonby and some others! He will never send his tanks against our great boss! The big boss? You mean to say that. Yes! Ezra Cheech, the old man from the light house! I’m going to take you to him and you will become one of us! PAGE 36: Don reacts immediately! No, No my old man he yells as he runs away. Perfect! So you refuse to become one of us? All that remain is to eliminate you. And Nick puts his power to the test. The arch of the bridge crumbles as Don screams in terror! Argh! PAGE 37: And holds onto an outcropping of stone, while below him, in the water… Bad luck! A great White shark! Muscles stretched to the limit, he tries desperately to maintain a hold. I should have dropped! Better to be eaten by the shark than shot buy is best friend! You refused the last luck that remained to you! Nick rushes at Don. PAGE 38: But Don Crouches and Nick is pitched into the void. Ah! Damn! Curses! Provided that the shark does not attack… Nick indeed emerges unscathed from the water. You cannot escape me Don! None can escape from the power of the new whites, it is infinite! And raising his arms, Nick begins screaming at the top of his lungs. White eyes from heaven! Listen to me! By the hundreds attack the fugitive! Attack! Strike! PAGE 39: A few minutes later, Don feels the whisper of a hundred pairs of wings above his head. Ah! And the beaks and sharp claws attack. Ah! I can't take it anymore I'm exhausted. He pushes into the first door he finds, which by chance is the Merehaven Cottage hospital. Ouch! He stammers as he staggers into the reception room. And finds himself in a Great Hall. Oh, he wonders, it is The Hospital! Is Doctor Timms still here? PAGE 40: Timms is the only one in a room, Don! What pleasure to see a friendly face! They moved the whole hospital to the basements and forgot me! But we cannot not stay here Timms. White eyes will arrive in a moment! What happened since I lost consciousness? All the Zoo animals turned into white eyed monsters! And poor Nick was affected too. Merehaven is no longer a safe place, you have to leave the village. You hear that Noise? It sounds like tanks. PAGE 41: In fact, a column of tank emerges at the end of the avenue. Look out Don! We are saved! Hey! It's me, Don Redding! And with me is Mister Timms! Alas, in the turret of lead tank one white-eyed military man yells into his mic. Two men in sight! Stop at two hundred meters and open fire! Oomph! Bang! Boom! Keep your head down Timms! Run away! Suddenly a tanker truck appears in front of them! But this truck belongs to my company. PAGE 42: Indeed, the driver hails them with a cheerful voice. He! Monsieur Timms, Were are you running to in you pajamas? We are being pursued by those tanks over there that are still shooting at us at a range of two hundred meters. Can we bum a ride? Don has just time to jump inside the vehicle. Wait for me I come too! While microphone in hand, Brigadier Ponsonby Yells orders to the white-eyes. Fire on the tanker truck! The truck flees at full speed. As soon as they received your message at the factory, they sent me here with huge quantities of the antidote mister Timms. There is enough here to cure millions of white eyes. PAGE 43: Suddenly they feel a shock. Oh no! We are on fire. Immediately, Nobby the drive applies the brakes, and the three descend from the vehicle. Quick behind the wall, the fire is spreading. The Truck’s explosion is heard from miles around, and a thick fog descends on the little village of Merehaven. Ba-Boom! PAGE 44: When Brigadier Ponsonby breathes that vapor. But what happened to me? Why did I give the order to fire on this tank truck? Creech in his wheelchair, along with his accomplices breathe in the gas. What is happening to me! I am loosing al my powers? Trying to get up, Creech reverse his chair… Tellme it’s not true! I am forever the strongest! The world belongs to me! Bur it is already too late. PAGE 45: The great shark has also lost its fearsome strength. And this ends the terrible threat of the white eyes. The in habitants begin to emerge from their basements. The army confines the animals to the Zoo. Finally Don finds his fearless friend Nick. I’m so sorry for what happened in the past Don! All is forgotten Nick! It's all over! The antidote has done its work in time Fortunately. End of the Episode. Next episode: The Cursed Island.

Other Worlds: The Turner Diaries Chapter 21, Puke (TM) Audiobook Chapter Twenty-One. July 11, 1993. Busy day! We've got some electrical power coming back into the area now from one of the hydroelectric plants up north, but not much. Electricity has to be strictly rationed, and I spent all day mapping out the sections of the metropolitan area which were to be energized and then dispatching teams to cut or switch out power lines and reconnect others. Later, if the rationing is successful, we may also provide power to some other sections. Last night I found out why Washington hasn't tried to send troops in here from other parts of the country: It's because we've got Vandenberg AFB and all the missile silos there! For the first 48 hours after our Monday-morning attack last week, the System was in such a panic and the military situation was so uncertain that no major troop movements were possible. Although we were spread so thin that there was no hope of seizing and holding territory anywhere except here on the West Coast, we did create an enormous amount of disruption, disorder, and confusion everywhere. Our people inside the military in other parts of the country had been instructed to carry out actions calculated to temporarily paralyze their units. This involved some sabotage, arson, and demolition, but to a much greater extent it involved selective shootings. In units with a high quota of non-Whites, our people shot down liberals at random, shouting slogans such as "White power!," with the deliberate intention of provoking a liberal reaction. This was followed up by the same tactic which we used here so successfully: seizing radio stations and broadcasting spurious calls for liberals to turn their guns against their White officers. In other units communications centers were seized and messages sent which created the false impression that the units had come over to us. On top of all that, we wreaked real havoc on the civilianpopulation. Power plants, communication facilities, dams, key highway interchanges, tank farms, gas pipelines, and everything else that could be blown up or burned down was hit Monday morning in an all-out effort, all across the country, to cause civilian panic and keep the System temporarily occupied with the attendant problems. I also learned that, along with everything else, the raid on the Evanston Project took place Monday morning. I was immensely pleased to hear that it was a complete success. So the net result was that, by the time the System had assessed the situation and had regained enough confidence in the loyalty of any of its military units to try to move against us, we had finished mopping up Vandenberg and had issued our ultimatum: any military move against us would result in our launching nuclear missiles targeted on New York City and Tel Aviv. And that's why things have been so quiet for the last few days! And now I understand Revolutionary Command's whole strategy, which had eluded me for so long and caused me so many misgivings. RC realized all along that there was no way, with our present numbers, that we could sustain a military assault against the System on a large enough scale for a long enough time to bring it down. We could have continued our guerrilla campaign of economic sabotage and psychological warfare for quite a while, of course, but time was ultimately on the side of the System. Unless we could make some really dramatic breakthrough which would increase our numbers substantially, the System's growing police powers would eventually paralyze us. Well, we've made the breakthrough now. And we've got the potential, at least, for some very substantial growth; there are some twelve million people under our control in the Los Angeles metropolitan area alone. How large the total population base we have to draw from is still not clear, because of the anomalous situation in northern California. Under direct Organization control at this moment is a strip of California which runs from the Mexican border to about 150 miles northwest of Los Angeles and from the coast inland for a distance varying from 50 to 100 miles. Included in this strip are San Diego, Los Angeles, and all-important Vandenberg AFB. The Sierras and the Mojave Desert form a natural eastern boundary to our territory. In a further coastal strip which runs almost to the Oregon border and includes San Francisco and Sacramento, an anti-System military faction seems to be running things, but I gather that our own authority has not yet been established there. And the states of Oregon and Washington appear to be still firmly under System control, contrary to earlier rumors. Elsewhere in the country, things are in a general uproar and our hit-and-run raids are continuing, but the System is in no immediate danger of collapsing. The main problem worrying the government seems to be whether or not it can trust its own armed forces. As a consequence of this worry, troops in some areas are still confined to their bases, even though they are badly needed to restore order among the civilian population. In some of the worst areas of civilian rioting-primarily because of the disruption of food supplies-the government is using special military units made up of non-Whites only. They've rushed some of these all-liberal units into the border area around our California enclave. The closest such unit seems to be in Barstow, about 100 miles northwest of here. Some White refugees from there have been trickling into our area, and their reports are pretty sickening: mass rape and terror from the liberal troops, who are lording it over the local Whites. I hate to hear of such things happening to White people, but the reaction can only be favorable to us. And it's good that we've forced the System to show its lack of confidence in the loyalty of the White population and its dependence on non-White elements. What's most important for us now, though, is that the government isn't trying to force its way into our territory. Our Vandenberg threat is holding them off for the moment, although that situation certainly won't last forever. But at least it gives us a chance to try to get our civilian population under control here. And what a mess things are in! There are more fires than ever, and rioting has become widespread. We simply don't have enough people, even including all the military personnel nominally on our side now, to maintain order while we restore essential utilities and set up an emergency food-distribution system. We have altogether about 40,000 armed-forces personnel at our disposal, nearly two-thirds of them in the metro area here and the other third scattered from San Diego to Vandenberg. It is a ticklish situation, though, because they outnumber Organization members in this area by about 20 to one-which is actually not half as bad a ratio as I had thought earlier, but still quite bad enough! The great majority of these troops owe no loyalty to the Organization and, in fact, do not realize that their orders are coming from us. So far we have been keeping them busy day and night, and they haven't had time to ask too many questions. Organization members have been assigned to every military unit, from the company level up, and Henry-whom I saw again briefly last night-seems to think we've got a pretty good grip on them. I hope so! I have had a chance to chat with a few of the troops we have been using for fuel-recovery and utility-repair crews. They seem to be impressed by three facts: that the government in Washington has totally lost control out here; that the liberals, both inside the military and outside, are a dangerous and unreliable element; and that they, with weapons and food, are a lot better off than the civilian population right now. But ideologically they are in poor shape! Some of them are vaguely on our side; others are still chock-full of System brainwashing; and most are somewhere in between. The one thing that's keeping them in line now is the total absence of any alternate source of authority here. The System hasn't even gotten around to broadcasting appeals for loyalty aimed at our troops-probably because that would constitute an admission to the rest of the country just how big our win here has been. The official System line at the moment is that the situation is well under control, and the "racist gangsters" in California (that's us) will soon be rounded up or liquidated. Since we have been broadcasting appeals to revolt aimed at their troops day and night and have also been giving a picture of the situation here much rosier than it actually is, the System's story sounds pretty hollow. Instead of denying our claims the System has simply started jamming our broadcasts, which is probably their shrewdest course. July 14. The first substantial shipment of food entered the metro area today-a convoy of 60-odd big tractor-trailers full of fresh produce from the San Joaquin valley. They unloaded at 30 emergency distribution points we've now got manned in the White sections, but it was like trying to fill the ocean with a thimble. We need at least five times as much food every day, just to maintain the White population at a bare-subsistence level. There are still large stocks of non-perishable food in warehouses here, even though all the grocery stores have been looted bare. As soon as we're a little better organized and have located and inventoried it all we can use this warehoused food to supplement the incoming fresh food. Meanwhile, there have been nasty incidents at several warehouses, where we've had to shoot a number of people who wouldn't take "no" for an answer. The really nasty business is what we're running into in the liberal and racially mixed areas, though. I've spent the last two days directing salvage crews in areas which the troops have just finished clearing. The job of the troops is to separate the liberals from the rest of the population and confine them in controlled-access areas until they can be convoyed out of our enclave. It's done in a quite simple and straightforward manner. A liberal holding area is designated, having been chosen for its proximity to a freeway heading east and for the ease with which all exits from the area can be blocked. Tanks and machine-gun crews take up positions at these exits. Then a sweep through surrounding neighborhoods begins, converging on the designated holding area. Groups of infantry are preceded by sound trucks which repeatedly broadcast an announcement, such as: "All liberals must assemble immediately for food and water supplies at the Martin Luther King Elementary School on 47th Street. Any liberal found north of 43rd Street after 1:00 PM will be shot on sight. All liberals must assemble ...." At first, groups of liberals tried to stand their ground and defy the troops, apparently under the impression that the honkies wouldn't actually shoot them. (Note to the reader: "Honky" was one of many derogatory slang terms referring to a White person which was used by Negroes in the three decades prior to the Great Revolution. Its origin is uncertain.) They discovered their mistake quite soon, however, and the word spread quickly. Most liberals moved along the streets leading into the designated areas a block or two ahead of the slowly advancing infantry, who made quick searches of each building as they came abreast of it. liberals who had not already vacated the premises were roughly driven into the streets at bayonet point. If they put up any resistance at all they were shot on the spot, and the sound of this occasional gunfire helped to keep the other liberals moving along. There have so far been only about half-a-dozen instances of liberals with contraband firearms barricading themselves in buildings and shooting at our troops. Whenever this happens the troops bypass the occupied building and call in a tank, which riddles the building with cannon and machine-gun fire. Once again, it's a damned good thing the civilian population was disarmed by the System years ago. If more liberals had guns there'd be no way we could deal with them, considering the disparity in numbers. My salvage crews move in right behind the infantry. Our job is to inventory and secure all essential supplies and facilities: gasoline and bulk quantities of other fuels, non-perishable food, medical supplies, heavy transport vehicles, certain industrial facilities, etc. The liberals have pretty well cleaned out all the food in their areas, and they've mindlessly destroyed a lot of the other things we're looking for-although we are finding a lot of things they've missed, including more than 40 tons of dried fish meal in a pet- food plant just this morning. The stuff doesn't taste very good, but this one batch will supply the minimum protein requirements of 100,000 people for a week. And yesterday we ran across 30,000 gallons of liquid chlorine, which is needed for water purification. We also recovered most of the drug inventories of a hospital and two clinics, in which the drug storerooms were still intact even after rioting liberals had ransacked the buildings. We also found gruesome evidence of one way in which the liberals have solved their food shortage: cannibalism. They began by setting up barricades in one main street to stop cars driven by Whites, apparently as early as Tuesday of last week. The unfortunate Whites were dragged from their cars, taken into a nearby liberal restaurant, butchered, cooked, and eaten. Later the liberals organized hunting parties and made raids into White areas. In the cellar of one liberal apartment building we found a scene of indescribable horror attesting to the success of these raids. I and a crew of my men noticed a commotion in front of the building as we finished checking the looted shambles of an adjacent warehouse and came out onto the street. A group of GI's milling around the entrance were obviously distressed about something. One of them came running out of the apartment building and began retching and vomiting on the sidewalk. Then another, with a grim expression on his face, led a young White girl out of the building. She was about 10 years old, naked, filthy, and in an obvious state of shock. As soon as I pushed my way into the building I recoiled from the horrible stench which permeated the place. Putting a handkerchief over my nose and mouth didn't seem to help, but with the aid of my flashlight I descended the cellar stairs past two more GI's who were coming up. In the arms of one of them was a silently staring White child of about four, alive but apparently too weak to walk. The cellar, which was illuminated by two kerosene lanterns hanging from steam pipes, had been converted into a human slaughterhouse by the liberals in the apartment building. The floor was slippery with half-congealed blood. There were washtubs full of stinking entrails, and others filled with severed heads. Four tiny, human haunches dangled overhead from wires. On a wooden workbench beneath one of the lanterns I saw the most terrible thing I have ever seen. It was the butchered and partially dismembered body of a teenaged girl. Her blue eyes stared emptily at the ceiling, and her long, golden hair was matted with the blood which had rushed from the gaping wound in her throat. I retched and stumbled back up the stairs and out into the light again. I could not make myself go back into that awful cellar, but I sent two of my crew with cameras and lights down there to make a thorough photographic record. The photos will be useful for troop indoctrination. From one of the GI's outside the building I learned that parts of at least 30 children, all White, had been found in the cellar, along with the two who were still alive. They had been tied to a pipe in one corner. In the rear courtyard of the building was an improvised barbecue grill and a large pile of small, human bones - thoroughly gnawed. We took photographs of the courtyard too. I have been working in mostly liberal areas, but I have also heard some pretty bad stories from our people who have been in White and Chicano areas. No cases of cannibalism by Whites or Chicanos have been reported-the liberals are a race apart in this respect-but there's been a lot of killing in fights over food. And there've been some grisly atrocities where gangs of liberals have invaded White areas and taken over White homes, especially in the wealthier districts, where the homes are more isolated from one another. On the positive side, in some of the predominantly White middle- class and working-class neighborhoods, Whites have banded together to protect themselves from incursions by liberals and Chicanos. This is a refreshing development, but surprising, m view of the way the morons out here have been voting in recent years. Is it possible that years of Jewish brainwashing have failed to take hold in the White masses? Actually, I'm afraid it has taken hold in all too many cases. In the racially mixed neighborhoods, for example, the Whites have suffered terribly in the last 10 days, and they've made virtually no effort to protect themselves. Without guns, of course, self-defense is pretty much a matter of numbers-and the will to survive. Although the Whites are badly outnumbered in only a few mixed neighborhoods, they seem to have lost the feeling of identity and unity which the liberals and Chicanos still have. Most of all, though, many of them seem to be convinced that any effort at self-defense would be "racist," and they fear being thought of as racists-or thinking of themselves that way- more than they fear death. Even when gangs of liberals took their children away or raped their women before their eyes, they offered no significant resistance. Really sick! It's hard for me to feel sorry for Whites who won't even try to protect themselves, and it's even harder for me to understand why we should take chances and knock ourselves out to save such brainwashed scum from the fate they richly deserve. And yet it is in the mixed areas that we're having the most trouble and taking the most chances! We are reluctant to fire on crowds where we may kill Whites as well as non-Whites, and the bastards apparently realize this and are taking advantage of it. In some neighborhoods we're meeting so much opposition that it's nearly impossible to achieve our goal of separating the various racial groups into enclaves. Another big problem in trying to achieve racial separation is that so many people in this area cannot easily be classified as White or non-White. The process of mongrelization has gone so far in this country and there are so many swarthy, frizzy-haired characters of all sizes and shapes running around that one doesn't know where to draw the line. Nevertheless, we've got to draw the line somewhere, and soon! There is no way we can feed everybody in our area, and if we're to avoid mass starvation among the Whites we must separate them into clearly defined areas soon, where electricity, water, food, and other essentials are available. And we must move everyone else out of our area, one way or another. The longer we delay, the more unruly the public will become. Actually we have done pretty well at concentrating the liberals. About 80 per cent of them are sealed in four small enclaves now, and I understand that the first mass convoy of them is heading east tonight. But for the rest, about all we've really done is immobilize the population, so they can't move from one neighborhood to another. We certainly don't have them under control, and, so far as I'm aware, we've not even begun mass arrests or taken any other action against Jews and other hostile elements yet. Let's get on with this now!

Reptil by John Catchpole and Angus Peter Allen. Epsiode One Terror in the City >>Page 1. Misfortune fell on the peaceful little town of Wimbering on a sunny Wednesday in June. There a man approaches a van stopped in front of a tobacconist. Quickly! Just time to operate while he takes his pot! With the door open, Jeff takes a quick glance at the Goods. NOTHING, How uninteresting, boring chemicals! WHAT FELL? I pick it all up and I'm off from here. But the cardboard slides and releases balls of plastic which roll in all directions. DAMN, If THE Guy Notices I'm cooked! >>Page 2 Yet when the driver gets back behind the wheel, Jeff is already far away. However a crow with a Persian eye sees the brilliant ball, and alights on the rooftops. Squawk!, Squawk! In the company of his brothers he crushes it... Immediately, a green smoke spreads around the two. An hour later two schoolboy’s Nick Dexter and Don Redding were walking through the woods when suddenly…. Don look at this plane! But why? No, no! it's incredible! It’s like the Italian army not surrendering! >>Page 3 Incredible but true! Above their heads a plane is attacked by a dozen crows. The pilot screams in horror! Oh those white eyes! A moment later, the aircraft crashes! Squawk! Squawk! AH it's going to crash into the lake! Nick is an excellent swimmer he immediately dives in! And succeeded in bringing the pilot to the shore... How do you feel? >>Page 4 OH! These eyes these ALL WHITE eyes WHAT HORROR! What? At the same time Percy Jobling, the teacher, walks in his thoughts along the Grande Avenue. That?? Will I do? How to arrive there? While walking he crushes something. Right away, a cloud of green smoke envelopes him…. And Suddenly: My head my head Ah! >>Page 5 The smoke produces a weird effect on Percy Jobling who returns home, and he must face his landlady. NOT ONE MORE DAY! NOT ONE MEAL BEFORE WE HAVE SETTLED OUR RENT! Instead of apologizing as usual, Jobling responds to her firmly. YOU WILL BE PAID TONIGHT MADAM! Good, so, in this case… And all alone in his room…. She will see, this will show them all what strength I have… >>>Page 6 His eyes shining with a strange white glare: I don't want to be drawn like a poor guy anymore! I'm going to stand up and people will respect me! Meanwhile nick Dexter and don Redding tell the police about the crash. I love kidding, but you're not going to make me believe that a flight of crows can bring down a plane. I swear to you that it is true, inspector sir. The pilot told us that they had all white eyes. The pilot is still in shock. Unable to convince the inspector, the two boys go back to school. And yet it's true it was awful to see those crows swoop down on the plane and rip it apart with their beaks and claws. Yes Nick, awful! The same afternoon they had a history lesson with Percy Jobling. We will make him angry! A real wreck this teacher! But to their surprise, Jobling speaks in a loud voice and commands them: Catchett! Snyde! Stop making faces open all your books to page seventeen. >>Page 7 That day in the class we hear the bees Buzz! What happened to the teacher? I don't know but he scares me today! The lesson finished, Jobling leaves the school and walks down the grand avenue. Now everything will begin! A few minutes later, he was in a bank, his face covered with a balaclava. Give me the money, and you will live! OOH! Two employees throw themselves on the masked man. Come on Jim, we can't let it happen! But, to their surprise! Ahh! >>Page 8 Someone had the presence of mind to close the safe. A sheer waste of time! OH! Did you see that! No human could have done that! And under the amazed eyes of the employees, Percy Jobling leaves the bank with three sacks of money. Poor fools! They can't stop me! In the street, there was panic. Arrest the thief! Out of my way you oafs! Ouch! Ouch! >>Page 9 A little further: Hey you Crazy! Without hesitating for a second, Percy put the new forces to the test, overturning a bus! And a little later alone in his room. Rich! I'm the richest man in Wimbering, and that's just the beginning. Page 10: Then returning the shy teacher with polite manners. Here's what I owe you, ma'am plus a week's notice I'm leaving my room tomorrow I'm moving into an apartment. Monsieur Jobling, I ah, thank you. From their side after class Don and Nick return to the park with a pair of binoculars. There it is Nick, they're at the top of that tree. Oh! The dirty beasts! Nick sees the crows fly away all at once, squawking. Squawk, Squawk! The pilot was right, they really have white eyes! But what were they doing up there? They were watching for another plane to destroy! At that time, a few miles from Wimbering in the director of the chemical association. You say well that the capsules are missing Jim? What negligence! Or have you lost them? I don't know sir I loaded the van in London, it arrived HERE and I realized that a dozen capsules have disappeared! Page 11: What exactly did they contain? A new, recently developed insecticide. The guys from London ask me to test it. You should have informed the police monsieur, this product is dangerous I’m afraid. What? The police? Are you trying to be funny? Bah! It's not serious! It is certainly only a product derived from D, D, T. Night falls over the town of Wimbering, after a day marred by a bank heist and a plane crash But things didn't have to end there. Meoow goes a cat in the street. Page 12 Around midnight the black cat sees a silhouette at the corner of the street And throws itself forward with all claws out! The man assailed falls on the ground and lies still. Growl! Howls the black cat. Page 13 A few hours later. A police man remarks: Heavens! What is this? At dawn the unfortunate is transported to the city hospital, where his life is still in danger. What's happening to him doctor? I guess he was attacked by a leopard or a puma. A very strong animal, in any case he is in a sorry state, inspector. Do you remember puma who ran away from the Gerantly zoo last year? We never found him. He's still hanging around here, that's the only explanation. The next day, all the stations broadcast the news. After the plane crash, the bank heist, we have just learned that a puma is terrorizing the inhabitants of Wimbering! Minet, Minet, come quickly, and have your milk. Meow! Around ten o'clock that day above the fields, an auto gyro flies. Weird! I have never seen crows fly like this in flocks! Page 14 A few minutes later, there is a catastrophe! The machine goes down in flames as the crows return to their roost. The same day Percy Jobling is looking for a house to rent. Very pretty! I admired this house for a long time, but I never dreamed of living in it. Page 15 Jobling searches out the owner, who says: I'm afraid it's too expensive for you sir. Your price agrees with me. I shall move in immediately. That evening on returning from school, Nick and Don were passing by…. Look at that! He bought the house, and he has a little fire burning in his yard. But how did he do it? All he owns are the clothes on his back? And wanting to know more…. Bonsoir monsieur, good evening sir do you live here now? Yes Deter, I bought the house. Did you inherit a legacy? Leave this fire alone you two! Page 16 And suddenly, Jobling changes his physiognomy. Get the hell out of here! The two kids don't need to be told twice. You saw his eyes! Yes! White eyes! Just like the crows that attacked the plane, and then… Don had picked up something near the wood fire. Look what he was burning! A money bag from the bank! It’s from the bank that was robbed! Misfortune then decidedly fell on the city, as an aircraft crashed into power pylons, creating enormous damage. Page 17 And another passerby crushed a ball while walking in the main avenue Nick and Don did not know what to do however, after their discovery. It's extraordinary, Don! We should go to the police, but they'll think we're crazy. But we have proof nick! This scrap of fabric bore the name of the bank! Also: So according to you there is a connection between the airplane crash the bank heist and the actions of your professor? Yes monsieur inspector. The white eyes and here is the rest of the bag which contained the money. But anyone can own a bag or a large sum of money! As for these white-eyed stories, I don't want to hear anymore! Get out! Page 18 But after the departure of the two boys. Na! Na! So the professor also has this strange power! I will go see him. The passerby who had stepped on the glass ball was none other than the inspector! He went to Percy Jobling. What can I do for you inspector? Look closely at my eyes and you will know why I am here! And then after. Jobling! You are wasting your energy on nonsense! By combining our capabilities, we will become masters of Wimbering! And then the world! A train laden with gold bullion arrives in Wimbering this evening. Our first common act will be to seize millions in gold! Yes! Yes! Page 19 Meanwhile, in the office of the director of J M B chemicals… You say you tried the product on a mouse and? And she attacked a cat and killed it! It's the truth! We are aware Tim that you have been working long hours. Go home and return after a long rest. At ten minutes to midnight, the driver of the armored train aimed his searchlight when he saw a silhouette on the track. Out of the way you poor idiot! I will never be able to brake in time! Page 20 But with a single wave of the arm the man stops the locomotive. Arh! A second masked man forces the door of the armored car. Arh! Then Jobling smashes the sentries. And rushes on the ingots! Thump! Ouch! Page 21 At the end of the day, Jobling and the black inspector transport their loot in a stolen truck and bury it in a wasteland outside the city. The two white-eyed men are jubilant! It will be safe here. We are already very rich! And we haven't done anything yet! The next day on television. Two men yesterday succeeded in an extraordinary hold-up against an armored train carrying gold a few kilometers from Wimbering. Page 22 But Wimbering's troubles weren't going to end there. Oh wait mum! I found a gemstone! Hurry up or we'll miss the movie, There are a lot of people at the cinema today. Two balconies will do. Ok I’ll take them. A little later, having fun, the child drops his marble on the orchestra seats. Immediately a green vapor spreads and a hundred people are victims of the terrible product. One of these victims, Alf Jiggs, is going to take his night job at the Wimbering power station, after the cinema show. Page 23 You're ten minutes late, Mister Jiggs. What? I've had enough of your back-chat! Whack! Alf Jiggs then rushes the machines. I've had enough of everything here. Page 24 And from this moment, I will do what I please. Soon the whole town is plunged into darkness. And when Nick and Don come home… What's going on? An electricity failure! And then suddenly… Ye ow! Who shouted? No, it's a cat meowing. But look at his eyes. What Horror! White eyes. Page 25 Hiss! Its following us! The white-eyed cat pounces on Don! Na Ah! Don! Nick runs to help his friend but a simple swipe from the cat sends him flying a few meters away! Ugh! Ugh! Page 26 And then. What is going on here? Twink come, my little Twink. Meow! Monsieur Jobling! What are you doing outside at such an hour? You ought to go home. Yes monsieur. Good night mister. As soon as the two boys moved away. So you're one of us, excellent! Wait the day will come when we will be the masters of everything. Na! Both boys are however, confer. Tomorrow we will have to carry out our investigation seriously Don. And we will start with Jobling. Yes! We will watch him very closely. Page 27 But the next day a new incident would mark the life of the small town! Your papers! For lack of attention and... Quoi? The driver grabs the street lamp, ripping out of the ground! No one gives me orders! Amazing! It’s like an Italian army marching forwards! The young man was numbered amongst the unfortunates who had breathed in the vapors at the cinema. I am strong! I can do anything! Page 28 Opposite, a hundred people demolish the town hall! Let's go! Panic seizes the uninfected. And so it is with the Dexters! Get on quickly Nick! We must leave the air of madness that is blowing on this city! Five minutes dad! I want to warn Don, he lives with his aunt and they don't have a car! Arriving at his friend Nick's house, he was shocked. Great gods! The whole neighborhood was demolished! A group of people suddenly emerges from the rubble. Excusez moi messieurs, have you seen a boy called Don? Page 29 He is not one of us! Look elsewhere! As he tried to get away Nick stumbled. Ah! Get Him! Suddenly, a terrifying explosion throws everyone into the air! Aah! Boom! Page 30 Blinded by dust and smoke, Nick tries to find his glasses. I have to get out of here as soon as possible but I have to find my glasses. He vaguely perceives a silhouette advancing towards him! Who is that? Nick! God be praised! It's me Don. Don, you heard that explosion? The gas plant has blown! It's panic all over Wimbering! We better get out of town! My aunt has already left. They run to Nick's house, But: My parents left without us! You don't have to blame them. We will try to catch up with them. The terrified inhabitants of Wimbering evacuate in a panic. So? No walk today in Wimbering. Page 31 Alas, with its nonchalant step, a cow crushes a small glass ball. And suddenly she went mad and a hundred times stronger than a bull! Krunch! A special information program was broadcast in the region. Equally distressing and contradictory news comes to us from Wimbering. There is talk of a mass exodus. We give the floor to our reporter who is on site. This is Barry Smith, speaking to you from Wimbering. We are witnessing here scenes of the apocalypse. It is chaos and terror. Page 32 Suddenly. Squawk!, Squawk! Oh our helicopter is under attack from white-eyed crows! Ladies and gentlemen we have lost contact with the helicopter of our correspondent. Meanwhile, Nick and Don make their way through the rubble of the main avenue. Don't you hear that kind of bellow? Looks like we're the last to go. From afar they saw the silhouette of a cow rushing towards them. Is that a cow Don? Yes, come quickly over here. Page 33 A second later a tree was uprooted. Crash! Watch out for the tree! Ah! The hysterical cow was still a few meters away from them! Gha! Quickly Nick, force the door open! They entered and quickly closed the door behind them. Phew, we had a narrow escape. The best thing is to wait here until this fury is gone. Let's go up on the roof and look about. Page 34 From up there, Don saw a figure dominating a crowd. It is Jobling, haranguing that crowd of people with white eyes. In effect: My friends my brothers, we must organize ourselves! Down with the weaklings! He is right! The weaklings will be reduced to dust and we will go on to conquer the world! Nick and Don get chills. Jobling became their leader. And do you know who they call weaklings? Anyone who doesn't look like them! In the meantime the army surrounds the city. You have to turn around, sir. You must let me into the city... I am the only one who can stop this horrible disaster! Page 35 The motorist was none other than doctor Timms, the chemical inventor who was the origin of all these misfortunes. I have discovered the antidote to these noxious fumes. You must let me pass! I received an order! Don't let any civilians pass! It's too late to talk about antidote! The tanks are on their way they have been ordered to shoot anything that moves! No! The unfortunate victims act unconsciously! At noon, the first tank made its entry into the town which seemed deserted. But. Down with the weaklings! Attack! Page 36 Kill! Kill! The tanks are attacked, and smashed! Crash! Arg! Aaw! And knocked over like toys! Page 37: The soldiers who escape in time are in turn attacked by white-eyed crows. Ah! Ah! Help! Squawk! And again it's terror in the streets of Wimbering. Ah! Ah! And in a sad reversal of fate, a soldier’s foot comes down on a ball. The news reaches the high command, who issue new orders. Over to you, Battalion G! Open fire and keep shooting! Page 38 The guns are immediately in position and the bombardment begins. All in position! Fire! So. Gaw! Kill! Ugh! Ah! Suddenly the soldier who had just inhaled the green smoke destroyed the battery! Ha, Ha! Ha! Crash! Page 39 And he fled at full speed towards the city. I come to join you, my brothers! Fortunately, Timms from gaming the surveillance of the soldiers, arrives at Wimbering! I'm the only one who can protect the city from destruction. But, the white-eyed crows spotted him. Squawk! Squawk! Heavens! The cries of these birds of prey will alert the others! Squawk! Page 40 And as Timms advances down the main street. Ah! Let me go dirty beasts! He's a weakling, you have to destroy him! At that instant. This way! Come quickly. How? What? Don just has time to bring the chemist inside. I don't know exactly who you are, but you have to be crazy to walk around the city like that! I have an antidote to cure all these fools. Page 41 And while the crows attack the door. Squawk! Squawk! Timms explain to the two friends what he intends to do. This cylinder must explode like a bomb in a closed place where all the exposed people have gathered. And you say there's fifty percent chance of a cure? Assuming we can get them all together! But time is running out. The weakling took refuge in the tower. Squawk! Squawk! Perfect! We are going to finish him. And forcing the door. Where is the weakling! My name is Timms! I am your friend! Page 42 Hidden in a dark Nick and Don hold their breath. No weakling is our friend! Take him to the chief! Timms had left his precious antidote to the two boys. Perfect! We have the bomb! Our chances are minimal! How to get them all together? But, a little later, Don climbs to the top of the tower and sees a crowd gathered. Look Nick! White eyes! They are all heading to the cinema! Indeed, a little later the white eyes gathered in the cinema listen to their boss Jobling. My dear friends. Page 43 I have called you together to tell you of my plan. We are certainly the masters of Wimbering. But we still have to conquer the other regions, the other countries. This evening, we will attack the army and march on London. In one weeks’ time, we will strike together in the city! The plan Jobling has is very simple. Using their strength, the White Eyes must systematically destroy anything they find in their path! Page 44 While jobling, espouses his way of conquest, Nick and don advance slowly towards the cinema, their antidote bomb under Nick's arm. They left a sentry outside, I'm going to occupy him so that you can enter. I hear you Don! And immediately. Who did this? Page 45 The sentry reacts violently. Crash! Get out of there! I'll bring this building down on you! It was up to Nick make a distraction. Let’s Go! But while running he stumbles and… Arh! Page 46 Groping, deprived of his glasses, he vigorously searches for his treasure! While Don flees by climbing up a wall. I no longer see the sentry. I hope nick managed to detonate the antidote bomb. But. A weakling is hiding here I must find him! Bad luck! If he sees me, I'm lost. Page 47 And just at this moment. Damn! Ha! There you are! The wall begins to tilt. Ker thonk! Don loses his balance and falls! Page 48 You aren’t going to die here weakling! My master will decide when and where! Ugh! Don is therefore led before Jobling. I just found this boy hanging around, grandmaster. I do not recognize him. Very well! Lock him up with the other prisoners. We'll take care of them before we leave Wimbering! But then, Don could not do anything? What happened? Oh damn! They arrested him too! Page 49 And then I found this one carrying this object! Ah! It's the antidote. So throwing himself forward don knocks the bomb to the ground. Immediately, the vapors of the antidote spread in the room. May it work! For the safeguard of Wimbering and humanity! Whomf! Page 50. Don sees Jobling advancing towards him threateningly as the cat chuckles menacingly. Odious weakling! Damn it didn't work! Ga! But instant after the horrible nightmare fades. Why you aren’t at school, Redding? And for that matter, what am I doing here? Perfect! We have succeeded! And he doesn't remember anything! None of the victims of the strange product remembered his wild adventure. Everything returned to order and in Wimbering was reconstituted. The White Eyes, once again simple and peaceful citizens, were able to circulate again in complete safety. What are we doing tonight Nick? I wonder! There's never anything interesting in this little town. End of this episode!

Chapter Twenty July 7, 1993. Looks like I'll be here till morning, so I can take an hour or so now to record the events of the last few days. This is really a swanky place. It's a penthouse apartment from which we can see most of Los Angeles-which is why we're using it as a command post. But the luxury is unbelievable: satin sheets; genuine fur bedspreads; gold-plated bathroom fixtures; wall taps which dispense bourbon, scotch, and vodka in every room; huge, framed, pornographic photographs on the walls. The apartment belonged to one Jerry Siegelbaum, a business agent for the local Municipal Employees Union-and the star subject of the dirty photos on the walls. Looks like he preferred blonde, Gentile girls, although his partner in one picture is a Negress, and he's with a young boy in another. Some representative of the workers he was! I hope someone moves him from the hallway outside soon; there's been no air-conditioning since Monday, and he's beginning to stink pretty bad. This huge city presents quite a different aspect now from the last time I had an overall view of it at night. The blaze of lights outlining all the main streets is gone. Instead, the general liberalness is broken only by hundreds of fires randomly scattered through the city. I know there are thousands of vehicles moving down there, but they are driving without lights, so they won't be shot at. For the last four days one has heard the practically continuous scream of sirens from police and emergency vehicles mixed with the sound of gunfire and explosions and the whirring clatter of helicopters. Tonight there is only the gunfire, and not much of that. It looks like the battle here has reached a decisive stage. At two o'clock Monday morning more than 60 of our combat units struck simultaneously throughout the Los Angeles area, while hundreds of other units hit targets all across the country, from Canada to Mexico and from coast to coast. I haven't heard yet what we accomplished elsewhere, because the System has clamped a total censorship on all the news media-the ones we haven't seized ourselves, that is-and I haven't had a chance to talk to any of our own people who've been in contact with Revolutionary Command. But here in Los Angeles we've done surprisingly well. Our initial assault cut off all water and electrical power into the metropolitan area, knocked out the main airports, and made all the major freeways impassable. We took out the telephone exchanges and blew up every gasoline storage depot. The harbor area has been almost a solid mass of flames for four days now. We seized at least 15 police stations. Mostly we just took their weapons, destroyed their communications equipment and whatever vehicles were not on patrol at the time, and then pulled out. But apparently our people are still holed up in several police buildings and are using them as local command posts. At first the cops and the firemen were running around like chickens with their heads cut off-sirens and flashing lights everywhere. By Monday afternoon, however, communications had broken down so badly and there were so many fires and other emergencies that the police and fire departments were being much more selective in their responses. In many areas our teams were able to go about their work practically without interference. Now, of course, most emergency and police vehicles are out of fuel and can't move at all. And the ones which still have gas seem to be lying low. The whole key to neutralizing the police-and to everything else, for that matter-was our work inside the military. It was apparent to everyone as early as Monday afternoon that something big was happening inside the military establishment. For one thing, other than the troops and tanks guarding power stations, TV transmitters, and so on-as always-no military units were deployed against us. For another thing, there were obvious signs of armed conflict inside all the military bases in the area. We could see and hear jet fighter-bombers swooping low over the city, but they were not attacking us-at least, not directly. They were strafing and bombing the dozen or so California National Guard armories in the metropolitan area. Those jets were apparently from El Toro Marine Air Station south of here. Later we saw several dogfights in the sky over Los Angeles and heard that Camp Pendleton, the big Marine Corps base about 70 miles southeast of here, was being hit by heavy bombers from Edwards Air Force Base. All in all, a very confusing scenario for everyone concerned. But Monday evening, quite by chance, I ran into Henry, of all people, and he explained quite a bit of the military situation to me. Good old Henry-how glad I was to see him again! We met in the KNX transmitter building, where I was helping our broadcast team get the station back on the air after we seized it. That, by the way, is what I've been doing for four days: repairing shot-up transmitters, shifting transmitter frequencies, and improvising equipment. We now have one FM station and two AM stations on the air, all operating from emergency generators. In all three cases we cut the cables from the studios and installed our broadcast teams directly at the transmitter sites. Henry came roaring up to KNX in a jeep, wearing a U.S. Army uniform with colonel's insignia and accompanied by three soldiers carrying machine guns and anti-tank rockets. He was bringing the text to be broadcast-a text directed primarily at military personnel. As soon as I had finished splicing our microphone and audio equipment into the transmitter input, Henry and I stepped to the side to talk while his message was being read over the air by our announcer. It consisted of an appeal to all White military personnel who had not already done so to join our revolution, together with a warning to those who failed to heed the appeal. The message was very well designed, and I am sure its effect on both military and civilian listeners was powerful. Henry, it turned out, has been in charge of the Organization's entire recruiting effort in the armed forces for over a year, and he has been concentrating his efforts on the West Coast since he was transferred here last March. The story he told me was a long one,but, together with what I have learned since then its essence is this: ' We have been recruiting inside the military on two levels since the Organization was formed. At the lower level we operated semi- openly before September 1991 and clandestinely afterwards That involved the dissemination of our propaganda among enlisted personnel and non-coms, mostly on a person-to-person basis. But, Henry told me, we have also been recruiting at higher levels, in the utmost secrecy. Revolutionary Command's strategy hinged on our success in winning over a number of high-ranking military commanders, : and on Monday we began playing that hidden trump. That's why the armed forces haven't been used against us and also why various military units have been shooting and bombing each 0 other the last four days. The intra-military conflict started with units commanded by our sympathizers on one side and those loyal to the System (by far the majority) on the other side. Another aspect to the conflict soon developed and overshadowed the first, however: liberal against White. Military units commanded by pro-Organization officers began disarming all liberal military personnel as soon as we launched our Monday-morning attack. The excuse they used was that liberal militants had launched a mutiny in other units and that their orders from higher up were to disarm all liberals to prevent the j spread of the mutiny. Generally, White servicemen were ready and willing to believe that story and did not need to be told twice to turn their guns against the liberals in their units. Those few whose liberal predispositions made them hesitate were shot on the spot. In other units our enlisted personnel simply began shooting any liberals they saw in uniform and then deserted to units commanded by our sympathizers. The liberals, naturally enough, reacted in such a way as to make the story about a liberal mutiny come true. Even in those units commanded by pro-System officers heavy fighting between liberals and Whites broke out.And, since some of these units are nearly half liberal, the fighting has been bloody and prolonged. The result has been that, although the units commanded by our sympathizers initially had only about five per cent of the strength of the pro-System units, most of the latter have been paralyzed by internal fighting between liberals and Whites. And now Whites are coming over in increasing numbers to our units because of this. Our broadcasts have helped this process along greatly. We have exaggerated our own strength, of course, and have told White servicemen who want to join our units where to go. And to help convince them-as well as to keep the liberals spooked and doing their thing-we have turned one of our transmitters into a phony "soul" station and been broadcasting a call for a liberal revolution, telling the liberals to shoot their White officers and non-coms before the Whites can disarm them. About the only military units in the Los Angeles area able to offer any effective opposition to us have been some Air Force fighter and bomber units-and the Marine air unit at El Toro. They have been attacking military units believed to have come over to us. But, according to Henry, they have been doing about as much damage to the pro-System forces as to ours. Henry chuckled as he explained to me that the Organization had been unable to make sufficient headway in its recruiting in the California National Guard to be able to count on any Guard units coming over to us. So the Organization kidnapped the local Guard commander, General Howell, just before the Monday morning attack, as a preventive measure. When the System couldn't locate Howell, they were apparently afraid he had joined us. Their fears were undoubtedly confirmed when they heard that he had hurriedly left his home with three strangers after midnight Monday, less than an hour before everything hit the fan. Anyway, their suspicions got the better of them, and so they ordered all the National Guard armories and depots bombed by loyal air units Monday afternoon. And at Camp Pendleton we were nowhere near having the upper hand before the System panicked and ordered in the bombers. I am sure that move is what tilted things in our favor. There is still heavy fighting in the Pendleton area, but we are apparently on top there now. I don't know from which base the column of tanks came that neutralized the main Los Angeles police headquarters for us today, but they were certainly a godsend. We never could have done it without them. From the beginning the L.A. cops have been our only really organized opposition. The smaller police forces in surrounding jurisdictions have not been a particular problem. Some we knocked out of action completely; others decided to lie low and mind their own business after a few early skirmishes. But the 10,000 or so men in the L.A.P.D. were very much in action against us until a few hours ago, and the going was very rough. We've had at least 100 KIA's here in the last four days-between 15 and 20 per cent of our local combat strength. I don't know why we failed to do the same thing with the police here we seem to have done with the military. Perhaps it was just a shortage of cadres on our part, and military recruiting was given a higher priority than police recruiting. In any event, the main police headquarters here almost immediately became the center of counter-revolutionary resistance. The L.A. city cops were joined by some sheriff's units from the county and even by some state highway patrol units, and they turned their main headquarters building into a fortress that was impregnable to anything we could bring to bear against it. In fact, it was almost certain death for any of our people to venture within a couple of blocks of the place. They had a large store of fuel, more than a thousand vehicles, and emergency power for their communications equipment, and they outmanned us by a large factor. Using helicopters for reconnaissance, they pinpointed our various strong-points and the buildings we had seized, and they sent out raiding parties involving as many as 50 vehicles and 200-300 men. Our demolition of virtually every highway overpass had limited their mobility to a large extent, but their airborne observers were able to route them around many obstacles. We managed to protect certain really vital points-including the radio stations we had seized-only by having well-dug-in machine- gun crews covering the avenues of approach. Fortunately, the cops had only a few armored vehicles, because most of our people had no weapons for dealing with armor. It was only today that anti-tank weapons became generally available to our combat teams. If the L.A. cops had been able to link up with any military units remaining loyal to the System, that would have been the end of us. Fortunately, a dozen old M60's from a unit which had come over to us got to them first. They rolled right over the roadblocks the police had set up around their headquarters, riddled the building with HE and incendiary shells, and liberally sprayed the hundreds of police vehicles in the area with machine-gun fire. The cops' communications and power were knocked out, and their building was set afire in d dozen places. They had to evacuate the building, and we rained 81-mm mortar fire down on the surrounding parking lots and streets until the area became untenable for them. The place is deserted now and still burning. Most of the cops seem to have made their way to their homes and changed into civilian clothes. Now that most of the organized resistance against us here has been neutralized, everything hinges on whether we can get this area effectively under our control before military units from other parts of the country are sent in. I don't understand why that hasn't already happened. I was told just a couple of hours ago to report in the morning to a group of our technical people who will have the task of planning the details of restoring some electrical power and some water to the area, reestablishing routes for vehicular traffic, and locating and securing all remaining supplies of gasoline and diesel fuel. Sounds like more of a job for a civil engineer than for me. It also sounds a little premature, but it is encouraging to know that Revolutionary Command seems to be confident of the future. Perhaps I'll find out more about the overall situation tomorrow. July 10. Well, well, well! Things have really been happening- some good things and some bad things, but mostly good, so far. The military-and-police situation seems to be essentially under control here-and, in fact, for most of the West Coast, although there is apparently a lot of fighting still going on around San Francisco and in a few other areas. And there are still a few armed groups here-some cops and some military personnel-roving around and causing a little mischief. But we've secured all the bases and military airfields here and will round up stray personnel in another day or two. The order is out now to shoot on sight anyone carrying arms unless he is wearing one of our armbands. That's a welcome switch from a few days ago, when we were the ones liable to be shot on sight. After years of hiding, slinking around in disguises, and getting sick with fear every time we saw a cop, it's a wonderful feeling to be out in the open-and to be the V ones with the guns. The big problem here has become a civilian one. The civilian population has gone completely amok. Actually, one can hardly blame them, and I'm surprised they behaved themselves-more or less-as long as they did. After all, they've been without electric power and without a water supply for a week. A very substantial portion of them have also been without food for several days. For the first couple of days-Monday and Tuesday-the civilian population did just what we expected them to do. Hundreds of thousands of them piled into their cars and onto the freeways. They couldn't go very far, of course, because we had blown up a number of key interchanges, but they did manage to create a collection of the most monumental traffic jams imaginable, thus finishing our task for us of making ground travel almost impossible for the police. By Tuesday afternoon most of the White population had returned to their homes - or, at least, to their own neighborhoods-many of them leaving their stalled cars on the roads and hiking back. They had discovered, first, that there was no feasible way for them to leave the Los Angeles area by automobile; second, that they couldn't buy gasoline, because the electric pumps at the filling stations weren't working; third, that most stores and businesses were closed up tight; and fourth, that something really big was happening. They stayed home, kept their transistor radios on, and worried. There was remarkably little crime or violence, except in the liberal areas, where rioting, looting, and burning began early Monday afternoon and grew progressively more intense and widespread. By early Thursday, however, there was a good bit of looting in White areas as well, mostly of grocery stores. Some people had not eaten for more than 48 hours by then and were acting from desperation rather than lawlessness. Since it wasn't until Thursday night that we began to feel sure we had the police licked, we did nothing to discourage civilian disorder. The more of them in the streets, hungry and desperate, smashing store windows and stealing food, looking for drinkable water and fresh batteries for their radios, getting into fights with other people looking for the same things, the less time the police had for us. That, of course, was the principal idea behind our knocking out power, water, and transportation at the very beginning. If the police had had only us to cope with, we couldn't have won. But they couldn't handle us and a general breakdown of public order at the same time. Now, however, we're the ones with the job of restoring order, and it's going to be a bitch. The people are absolutely out of their minds with fear and panic. They are behaving in an entirely irrational manner, and a great number of lives are bound to be sacrificed before we get things under control. Partly, I'm afraid, starvation and exhaustion are going to have to do it for us, because our manpower and other material resources are entirely inadequate for the task. Today I went out with a fuel recovery team, and I got a close look at our civilian problem. It really shook me. We were driving a big gasoline tank truck, with an armed jeep escort, from filling station to filling station in the Pasadena area, pumping the gasoline out of each station's tanks and into our truck. There's enough fuel in the area to meet our own needs for quite a while, but the civilians are just going to have to get along without their cars for the duration. Pasadena used to be mostly White a few years ago, but it has become substantially liberal now. In the liberal areas, whenever we ran into liberals near a filling station, we simply opened fire on them to keep them at a distance. In the White areas, we were mobbed by hungry Whites begging us for food-which, of course, we didn't have to give them. It's a damned good thing they have no firearms, or we'd be in a hell of a jam now. Thank you, Senator Cohen! Oops! No more time to write now-have to go to a meeting. We should get a briefing there on the national situation.

The Biology of War. By Doctor G F Nicolai. Professor of Physiology at Berlin University. Translated from German By Constance and Julian Grande. 1919. In preparing this work many of the numerous foot notes have been placed inline in the text or discarded, and the few figures and tables are abridged or described as far as possible. The numerous quotes in French, German, Russian and Latin are, were possible, translated into English. This book was written while world war one was in progress. What does it tell us about the modern world? How the first fully industrial and global war changed the Earth? It is for the reader to decide. "The Biology of War" was written in German, by a German, for Germans, written since the outbreak of war, in the German fortress of Graudenz in which the author was imprisoned. If the German Government could have had its way, the book would never have seen the light, at any rate not so long as the war lasted ; but by a happy chance the manuscript was conveyed to Switzerland, where it was brought out by the leading German-Swiss publishing firm, Orell Fussli of Zurich. When the book appeared, it was promptly barred from Germany, the reasons for which will soon be obvious to anyone who reads it; and the author was condemned to five months' imprisonment in a common jail. At present he is interned in Germany, and carefully watched. Indeed, were it not for his position, he would probably still be in prison like Liebknecht, or would have shared the fate of Edith Cavell or Captain Fryatt. Even before the war Doctor Nicolai was opposed to Prussian militarism, and when war broke out and Germany violated Belgian neutrality, he openly protested. For this he was degraded from his professorship and his property confiscated; and finally he was sent to Graudenz fortress, occupying during part of the time the room famous as the "Fritz Reuter room." Fritz Reuter, born 1810, died 1874, was condemned to death in 1833 because he belonged to a German students' society, a sentence commuted into one of thirty years' imprisonment. Although the English translation has been simplified as much as possible without doing violence to the author's ideas, nevertheless the fact remains that this book is not for the intellectually indolent. Certain passages it has not been possible to make very simple because the ideas themselves are profound, while the reasoning is throughout very close. The whole book is written from the standpoint of a biologist, while the medical man not infrequently appears in it as well: the breadth of the author's knowledge and the variety of his quotations, classical, literary, and historical, cannot fail to astonish every reader. Since writing the above the world outside Germany has been gratified to learn that Professor Nicolai has escaped from Germany in a German aeroplane and has reached Denmark. The aeroplane was the "Albatross thirty four fifteenth" and of a somewhat old-fashioned type. Doctor Nicolai's companion on board was Doctor Silberhorn, a German subaltern. A second aeroplane, the "F 16," accompanied the "Albatross thirty four fifteen.” After all, war is a business like any other, and it is comparatively immaterial that it should be "cruel and violent." Now, whoever learns one business forgets the others. A white man who has been accustomed to be treated somewhat as a superior being for a time in the tropics is often years before being able to feel at ease again in his native land. Anyone who has played at being master, even for only a few days, fights shy of being a servant again; and anyone who has played at soldiers for a time becomes a soldier. If a nation is often at war, it becomes warlike, and unlearns its peaceful occupations. War, however, cannot do more than protect civilization, which must be built up on peace; and hence a time comes sooner or later to all martial peoples when they have nothing left to protect. All they can then do is to collapse. Usually a stronger nation has meantime appeared to rob them of everything which they once stole from others; but this need not happen, for a victorious nation perishes of internal decay bred of trust in its own victorious armies.

Other Worlds: The Turner Diaries, Chapter 19 Chapter Nineteen. June 27, 1993. So, I finally have my orders! It's to be California for me during our big summer offensive. At first I was very disappointed that I won't be able to go back to Washington, but the more I consider the implications of some of the things I was told this afternoon, the more I'm convinced that the real focus of our activity in the next few weeks will be on the West Coast. It looks like I'll be in the thick of things there, and that will be a welcome change from all this classroom work, at least. Denver Field Command summoned me and six of my pupils to a meeting today on two hours' notice. We were told almost nothing, except that I and four of the others are to be in Los Angeles by Wednesday night at the latest. The last two were given a destination in San Mateo, just outside San Francisco. I protested immediately and vehemently: "All these people have been trained especially to attack specific targets in this area. And they've been trained as teams. It doesn't make sense to break them up now and send some of them to California, when they can be so much more effective here. If they are sent away, our whole program for the Rocky Mountain area will be jeopardized." The two DFC officers at the meeting assured me that their decision had not been made capriciously and that they are fully cognizant of the validity of my objections, but that more pressing considerations must prevail. I finally forced them to reveal that they had received an urgent order from Revolutionary Command to transfer every activist they could spare to the West Coast immediately. Apparently other field commands all over the country have received similar orders. They were reluctant to say more, but from the emphasis they put on our deadline for reporting to our California destinations, I strongly suspect that things are set to blow sometime next week. I did accomplish one thing this afternoon: I arranged to have Albert Mason, who was to go to San Mateo but whose presence here is really essential to the success of the operations planned for this area, swapped for another man. But I had trouble gaining even that concession. I insisted on knowing exactly what criteria had been used in selecting the men to be transferred. It turned out that, except in my case, there were two: infantry combat experience and rifle marksmanship-which makes it look like they want snipers and barricade fighters out on the Coast, rather than saboteurs and demolition experts. Al, it is true, qualified as an "expert" with the rifle when he was in the service, and he spent three years as a squad leader in Southeast Asia. (Note to the reader: Turner is referring to the so- called "Vietnam War," which had been over for two decades at the time but which played an enormously important role in laying the groundwork for the Organization's later success in dealing with the System's armed forces.) But he has also been my best pupil here. He is the one man I spent time with explaining some of the newer military gadgets we expect to acquire in our raids on the arsenals around here. He is the only one I am sure will be able to use the new M-58 laser range finders, for example, and teach our mortar teams how to use them too. And he is also the only one here to whom I taught enough basic electronics so that he can rig up the radio-controlled detonators which are an essential part of our plan for knocking out the highway network in this area and keeping it knocked out. Only when I pointed out these things to DFC did they agree to let Al stay here. We then spent half an hour going over a list of all the other activists here before we found one I thought could go to California in Al's place without jeopardizing things here and who also satisfied their criteria. My impression is that everything we planned for this area is still "go," and it is still considered important for us to achieve our objectives here, but the really critical theater of operations will be the West Coast. We are approximately doubling our manpower there with these last-minute transfers, but we are doing it in such away that at least most of the operations planned for other areas can go ahead, though with fewer personnel. Well, we only have 48 hours to drive more than 1,000 miles, and there's no telling how many checkpoints we'll be stopped at. The others will be by to pick me up in about two hours, and then it'll take me at least four hours to pack my gadgets in the car so they won't be found if we're searched. I think I'll take a quick nap now. July 1. Wow! Are things tense here! We arrived yesterday, around one in the morning, after a trip I'd just as soon forget. The others are dispersed to their assigned units, but I'm staying with Los Angeles Northwest Field Command temporarily, in a place called Canoga Park, about 20 miles northwest of Los Angeles proper. It is apparent that the Organization is much more solidly entrenched here than elsewhere, simply from the fact that there are eight different field commands in the Los Angeles metropolitan area, whereas one suffices for most other major cities in the country. That would indicate an underground membership here in the 500-700 range. Mostly, I've been catching up on my sleep since I arrived, but the other people here don't seem to be doing any sleeping at all. Couriers are constantly coming and going, and conferences are being held at all hours. This evening I finally buttonholed someone and got at least a partial briefing on the situation. A simultaneous assault on more than 600 military and civilian targets all over the country has been scheduled for next Monday morning, July 4. Unfortunately, however, one of our members here was picked up by the police on Wednesday, just a few hours before our arrival. It seems to have been just a fluke. He was stopped on the street for a routine identification check, and the cops became suspicious about something. Since the man is not in the Order, he was neither prepared nor under an absolute obligation to kill himself if captured. The great worry for the last two days has been that, under torture, he will reveal enough of what he knows to tip off the System to the fact that a major assault is scheduled for Monday. Then, even though the authorities won't know just which targets we plan to hit, they'll tighten up security everywhere to the point that our casualties will be unbearably high. Revolutionary Command has two choices: silence our man before he can be interrogated, or reschedule our entire offensive. The latter choice is almost unthinkable: too many things have been carefully arranged and synchronized in detail for next Monday to allow the date to be advanced, and a postponement might run into months-with enormous risks attendant on having so many people, already primed for Monday, knowing so much for so long. So it was decided yesterday to act on the first choice. But even that presents a major problem: we can't hit our man here in Los Angeles without risking blowing the cover of one of our most valuable legals, a special agent in the FBI's Los Angeles office. That's because the prisoner is being held in a location which is supposed to be a big secret. If we raid the place, they'll only have; half-a-dozen people to suspect as the one who leaked the information to us. The System's customary procedure when they pick up one of our people is to perform only a very cursory interrogation in the field- just enough to determine whether there is any indication that the prisoner is connected in any way with the Organization. If there is, then he is flown back to Washington for a thorough working over by their Israeli torture specialists. And the latter is what we can't afford to let happen. The interesting thing in this particular case-and the thing which has kept Revolutionary Command in a state of agonized indecision for two days now-is that the FBI has been holding the prisoner here, instead of flying him back to the Washington headquarters Thursday morning, as soon as they suspected they had an Organization member. No one seems to know exactly why, not even our FBI legal. It may just be an instance of organizational inefficiency on their part. Or perhaps they're bringing an interrogation team out here from Washington this time, contrary to their previous routine. Anyway, RC has decided to hold off on the hit and see what happens. If no move is made to put the prisoner on a plane for Washington or to interrogate him further here within the next 36 hours, the problem will be solved; any information the System extracts from him will come too late to interfere with our Monday schedule. But if a transfer or an interrogation seems imminent before Sunday afternoon, we're prepared to launch a lightning raid on the FBI's secret prison here, even at the risk of losing our inside man in the local FBI office, whose information in coming months can be invaluable to us. As for me, I still don't know why I'm here or what I'm supposed to do, and I'm not sure anyone else does either. I was just told to wait. Well, I guess we're really facing a major test again, like we did in September 1991. It just seems incredible to me that the Organization is actually launching an all-out assault on the System in two days. The total number of men we can put on the firing line, for the whole country, can't be more than 1,500, despite the very rapid gains in recruiting we've made in the last few months. Altogether-including our support personnel, our female members, and our legals-our strength can't possibly exceed 5,000 people, and I'd estimate that nearly a third of them are concentrated here in California now. It just seems unreal- like a gnat planning to assassinate an elephant. Of course, we're not expecting the System to collapse Monday. If it did we wouldn't know how to cope with the situation, because the Organization is still far too small to take over the running of the country and the rebuilding of American society. We'll need an infrastructure 100 times as large as we have now to even begin tackling that job.What we will do Monday is escalate the conflict to a new level and forestall the System's latest strategy for dealing with us. We really have no choice in the matter; if the Organization is to survive and continue growing under the very difficult circumstances which have been imposed on us, we must maintain our momentum-especially our psychological momentum. The danger in not constantly escalating the war is that the System will find a new equilibrium, and the public will become accustomed to it. The only way to maintain the present influx of recruits is to keep a substantial portion of the public psychologically off balance-keep them at least half convinced that the System isn't strong enough and efficient enough to wipe us out, that we are an irresistible force, that sooner or later the war will sweep them, too, up in it. Otherwise, the worthless bastards will take the easy way out by just sitting back to see what happens. The American people have already proved that they can shamelessly continue their crass pursuit of pleasure under the most provocative conditions imaginable - so long as new provocations are introduced gradually enough for them to become accustomed to them. That's our greatest danger in not acting. Besides that, however, the political police are continually tightening the screws. Despite our extraordinary security procedures, they will eventually succeed in penetrating the Organization and wrecking us-if we give them time. And it's becoming harder all the time for us to move around without being picked up. Very soon now, the new internal passport system which we wrecked more than a year ago will be back on the tracks, twice as mean as before. I don't know how we'll survive when that becomes operational. Thinking back over the last two years, though, it's amazing that we've survived even until now. There have been a hundred times when I didn't know how we'd be able to last another month. Part of the reason we've been able to make it this far is something for which we really can't take credit-and that's the inefficiency ofthe System. They've made some bad mistakes and failed to follow up on a lot of things which could have hurt us badly. One gets the impression that except for the Jews, who are really burning the midnight oil in their efforts against us, the rest of the System is a bunch of clock-watchers. Thank "equal opportunity"- and all those liberals in the FBI and in the Army-for that! The System has become so corrupt and so mongrelized that only the Jews feel at home in it, and no one feels any loyalty toward it. But a bigger part of the reason is the way we've adapted to our peculiar circumstances. In just two years the Organization has learned a whole new way of existence. We're doing a number of things now which are absolutely vital to our survival but to which we had given almost no thought two years ago. Our interrogation technique for checking out new recruits, for example; there's no way we could have lasted this long without that, and we didn't develop it until we absolutely had to have it. What we would have done without Dr. Clark to work out the technique, I don't know. And then there's the matter of false identities. We had only the vaguest ideas about coping with this problem when we first went underground. Now we have a number of specialized units who do nothing but provide nearly foolproof false identities for our activists. They are real professionals, but they've had to learn their rather gruesome trade in a hurry. And money-what a problem that was in the beginning! Having to count our pennies affected our whole psychology; it made us think small. So far as I know, no one in the Organization had ever given any serious thought to the problem of financing an underground movement before the problem became crucial. Then we learned the counterfeiting trade. It was providential that we had someone in the Organization with the requisite technical knowledge, of course, but we still had to set up our distribution network for getting the counterfeit bills into circulation after we'd printed them. In just the last few months this accomplishment has made an enormous difference for all of us. Having a ready supply of cash - being able to buy whatever we need instead of hijacking it, as in the old days-has made things much easier. It has given us greater mobility and greater safety. There's been a certain element of luck in our success so far, and there's no doubt that Revolutionary Command has been doing a pretty good job of generalship. We've had good planning, a good strategy-but, more than that, we've shown the ability to meet new challenges and solve new problems. We've remained flexible. I think the history of the Organization proves that no one can make a fixed plan for a revolution and then stick to it. The future is always too uncertain. One can never be sure how a given situation will develop. And totally unexpected things are always happening- things that no planner, however thorough, could have foreseen. So, in order to be successful, a revolutionary must always be ready to adapt to new circumstances and take advantage of new opportunities. Our record in that regard is reassuring, but I cannot help being apprehensive about next week. I am sure we will knock hell out of the bastards Monday. We will throw a good-sized monkey wrench into the country's economic machinery if only half the things we have planned come off successfully. And we will force the System into a state of total mobilization, with the resulting psychological shock to the general public. But what then? What about next month and the month after that? We're throwing everything we've got into next week's offensive, and there is just no way we can keep up such a level of activity for more than a few days. We are stretched too thin everywhere. And yet my instinct tells me that the Organization is not acting purely from desperation now. We are not making one, last, desperate effort to wreck the System Monday. At least, I hope not. If we make an all-out effort, then have to retrench when it fails-as it surely will-the psychological effect will be as lethal for us as it will be helpful for the System. So Revolutionary Command must have something up its sleeve I don't know about. I am sure the heavy concentration of our people in California is a clue, but I can't figure it out.

Blitzed. By Norman Ohler. Drugs in Nazi Germany. Translated by Shaun Whiteside. Chapter One. Methamphetamine, theVolksdroge. (1933 to 1938) National Socialism was toxic, in the truest sense of the word. It gave the world a chemical legacy that still affects us today: a poison that refuses to disappear. On one hand, the Nazis presented themselves as clean-cut and enforced a strict, ideologically underpinned anti-drug policy with propagandistic pomp and draconian punishments. In spite of this, a particularly potent and perfidious substance became a popular product under Hitler. This drug carved out a great career for itself all over the German Reich, and later in the occupied countries of Europe. Under the trademark ‘Pervitin’,this little pill became the acceptedVolksdroge, or ‘people’s drug’, and was on sale in every chemist’s shop. It wasn’t until 1939 that its use was restricted by making Pervitin prescription-only, and the pill was not subjected to regulation until the Reich Opium Law in 1941. Its active ingredient, methamphetamine, is now either illegal or strictly regulated,but, with the number of consumers currently at over 100 million and rising, it counts today as our most popular poison. Produced inhidden labs by chemical amateurs, usually in adulterated form, this substance has come to be known as ‘crystal meth’. Usually ingested nasally in high doses, the crystalline form of this so-called horror drug has gained unimaginable popularity all over Europe, with an exponential number of first-time users. This upper, with its dangerously powerful kick, is used as a party drug, for boosting performance in the workplace, in offices, even in parliaments and at universities. It banishes both sleep and hunger while promising euphoria, but in the form of crystal methit is a potentially destructive and highly addictive substance. Hardly anyone knows about its rise in Nazi Germany. BREAKING BAD: THE DRUG LAB OF THE REICH. Under a clean-swept summer sky stretching over both industrial zones and uniform housing, I take the suburban train south-east, to the edge of Berlin. In order to find the remnants of the Temmler factory I have to get out at Adlershof, which nowadays calls itself ‘Germany’s most modern technology park’. Avoiding the campus, I strike off across an urban no man’s land, skirting dilapidated factory buildings, and passing through a wilderness of crumbling brick and rusty steel. The Temmler factory moved here in 1933. It was onlyone year later that Albert Mendel (the Jewish co-owner of the Tempelhof Chemicals Factory) was expropriated by the racist laws of the regime and Temmler took over his share, quickly expanding the business. These were good times for the German chemicals industry (or at least for its Aryan members), and pharmaceutical development boomed. Research was tirelessly conducted on new, pioneering substances that would ease the pain of modern humanity or sedate its troubles. Many of the resulting pharmacological innovations shape the way we consume medicine today. By now the former Temmler factory in Berlin-Johannisthal has fallen into ruin. There is no sign of its prosperous past, of a time when millions of Pervitin pills a week were being pressed. The grounds lie unused, a dead property. Crossing a deserted car park, I make my way through a wildly overgrown patch of forest and over a wall stuck with broken bits of glass designed to deter intruders. Between ferns and saplings stands the old wooden ‘witch’s house’ of the founder, Theodor Temmler, once the nucleus of the company. Behind dense alder bushes looms a forsaken brick building. A window is broken enough for me to be able to climb through, stumbling into a long dark corridor. Mildew and mould grow from the walls and ceilings. At the end of the hallway a door stands beckoning, half open, encrusted with flaking green paint. Beyond the door, daylight peers through two shattered, lead-framed industrial windows. An abandoned bird’s nest hides in the corner. Chipped white tiles reach all the way to the high ceiling, which is furnished with circular air vents. The Temmler factory in Berlin-Johannisthal. This is the former laboratory of Doctor Fritz Hauschild, head of pharmacology at Temmler from 1937 until 1941, who was in search of a new type of medicine, a ‘performance-enhancing drug’. This is the former drug lab of the Third Reich. Here, in porcelain crucibles attached to pipes and glass coolers, the chemists boiled up their flawless matter. Lids rattled on pot-bellied flasks, orange steam released with a sharp hissing noise while emulsions crackled and white-gloved fingers made adjustments. Here methamphetamine was produced of a quality that even Walter White, the drugs cook in the TV seriesBreaking Bad,which depicts meth as a symbol of our times, could only have dreamed of. PROLOGUE IN THE NINETEENTH CENTURY: THE FATHER OF ALL DRUGS. Voluntary dependence is the finest state. Johann Wolfgang von Goethe. To understand the historical relevance of methamphetamine and other substances to the Nazi state, we must go back before the beginning of the Third Reich. The development of modern societies is bound as tightly with the creation and distribution of drugs as the economy is with advances in technology. In 1805 Goethe wroteFaustin classicist Weimar, and by poetic means perfected one of his theses, that the genesis of man is itself drug-induced: I change my brain, therefore I am. At the sametime, in the rather less glamorous town of Paderborn in Westphalia, the pharmaceutical assistant Friedrich Wilhelm Sertürner performed experiments with opium poppies, whose thickened sap anaesthetized pain more effectively than anything else. Goethe wanted to explore through artistic and dramatic channels what it is that holds the core of the world together – Sertürner, on the other hand, wanted to solve a major, millennium-old problem which has plagued our species to a parallel degree.It was a concrete challenge for the brilliant 21-year-old chemist: depending on the conditions they are grown in, the active ingredient in opium poppies is present in varying concentrations. Sometimes the bitter sap does not ease the pain quite strongly enough, and other times it can lead to an unintended overdose and fatal poisoning. Thrown back entirely on his own devices, just as the opiate laudanum consumed Goethe in his study, Sertürner made an astonishing discovery: he succeeded in isolating morphine, the crucial alkaloid in opium, a kind ofpharmacological Mephistopheles that instantly magics pain away. Not only a turning point in the history of pharmacology, this was also one of the most important events of the early nineteenth century, not to mention human history as a whole. Pain, that irritable companion, could now be assuaged, indeed removed, in precise doses. All over Europe, apothecaries had to the best of their ability (and their consciences) pressed pills from the ingredients of their own herb gardens or from the deliveries of women who foraged in hedgerows. These homegrown chemists now developed within only a few years into veritable factories, with established pharmacological standards. Morphine was not only a method of easing life’s woes, it was also big business. In Darmstadt the owner of the Engel-Apotheke, Emanuel Merck, stood out as a pioneer of this development. In 1827 he set out his business model of supplying alkaloids and other medication in unvarying quality. This was the birth not only of the Merck company, which still thrives today, but of the modern pharmaceutical industry as a whole. When injections were invented in 1850, there was no stopping the victory parade of morphine. The painkiller was used in the American Civil War in 1861–65 and in the Franco-Prussian War of 1870–71. Soon morphine fixes were doing the rounds as normal procedure.The change was crucial; the pain of even seriously injured soldiers could now be kept within bounds. This made a different scale of war possible: fighters who before would have been ruled out for a long time by an injury were soon coddled back to health and thrust onto the front line once again. With morphine, also known as ‘morphium’, the development of pain relief and anaesthesia reached a crucial climax, both in the army and in civil society. From the worker to the nobleman, the supposed panacea took the whole world by storm, from Europe via Asia and all the way to America. In drugstores across the USA, two active ingredients were available withoutprescription: fluids containing morphine calmed people down, while drinks containing cocaine, such as in the early days Vin Mariani, a Bordeaux containing coca extract, and even Coca-Cola, were used to counter low moods, as a hedonistic source of euphoria, and also as a local anaesthetic. This was only the start. The industry soon needed to diversify; it craved new products. On 10 August 1897 Felix Hoffmann, a chemist with the Bayer company, synthesized acetylsalicylic acid from willow bark; it went on sale as Aspirin and conquered the globe. Eleven days later the same man invented another substance that was also to become world famous: diacetyl morphine, a derivative of morphine – the first designer drug. Trademarked as ‘Heroin’, it entered the market and began its own campaign. ‘Heroin is a fine business,’ the directors of Bayer announced proudly and advertised the substance as a remedy for headaches, for general indisposition and also as a cough syrup for children. It was even recommended to babies for colic or sleeping problems. Business wasn’t just booming for Bayer. In the last third of the nineteenth century several new pharmaceutical hotspots developed along the Rhine. Unlike other, more traditional industries, the chemical industry didn’t require as much in terms of overheads to get business going, only needing relatively little equipment and raw material. Even small operations promised high profit margins. What was most important was intuition and specialist knowledge on the part of the developers, and Germany, rich in human capital, was able to fall back on an inexhaustible stock of excellent chemists and engineers, trained in what was atthe time the best education system in the world. The network of universities and technical colleges was recognized as exemplary: science and business worked hand in hand. Research was being carried out at top speed and a multitude of patents were being developed. Where the chemicals industry was concerned, Germany was the ‘workshop of the world’. ‘Made in Germany’ became a guarantee of quality, especially for drugs. GERMANY, THE GLOBAL DEALER. This didn’t change after the First World War. While France and Great Britain were able to acquire natural stimulants such as coffee, tea, vanilla, pepper and other natural medicines from colonies overseas, Germany, which lost its (comparatively sparse) colonial possessions under the terms of the Versailles Treaty, had to find other ways – stimulants had to be produced synthetically. In fact, Germany was in dire need of artificial assistance: the war had inflicted deep wounds and caused the nation both physical and psychic pain. In the 1920s drugs became more and more important for the despondent population between the Baltic Sea and the Alps. The desire for sedation led to self-education and there soon emerged no shortage of know-how for the production of a remedy. The course was set for a thriving pharmaceutical industry. Many of the chemical substances that we know today were developed and patented within a very short period of time. German companies became leaders in the globalmarket. Not only did they produce the most medicines, but they also provided the lion’s share of chemical raw materials for their manufacture throughout the world. A new economy came into being, and the picturesque Rhine Valley became a Chemical Valley of sorts. Previously unknown little outfits prospered overnight and grew into influential players. In 1925 the bigger chemicals factories joined together to form IG Farben, one of the most powerful companies in the world, with headquarters in Frankfurt. Opiates above all were still a German speciality. In 1926 the country was top of the morphine-producing states and world champion when it came to exporting heroin: 98 per cent of the production went abroad.Between 1925 and 1930, 91 tonnes of morphine were produced, 40 per cent of global production.Under the obligations of the Versailles Treaty, Germany reluctantly signed the League of Nations International Opium Convention in 1925, which regulated the trade. It was not ratified in Berlin until 1929. The local alkaloid industry still processed just over 200 tonnes of opium in 1928. The Germans were world leaders in another class of substances as well: the companies Merck, Boehringer and Knoll controlled 80 per cent of the global cocaine market. Merck’s cocaine, from the city of Darmstadt, was seen as the best product in the world, and commercial pirates in China printed fake Merck labels by the million.Hamburg was the major European marketplace for raw cocaine: every year thousands of kilograms were imported legally through its port. Peru sold its entire annual production of raw cocaine, over five tonnes, almost exclusively to Germany for further processing. The influential ‘FachgruppeOpium und Kokain’ (Expert Group on Opium and Cocaine), put together by the German drugs manufacturers, worked tirelessly on a close integration of the government and the chemicals industry. Two cartels, each consisting of a handful of companies, divided up between them the lucrative market ‘of the entire world’;the so-called ‘cocaine convention’ and ‘opiates convention’. Merck was the business leader in both cases. The young Weimar Republic, swimming in consciousness-altering and intoxicating substances, delivered heroin and cocaine to the four corners of the world and rose to become a global dealer. THE CHEMICAL TWENTIES. This scientific and economic development also resonated with the spirit of the age. Artificial paradises were in vogue in the Weimar Republic. People chose to flee into worlds of make-believe rather than engage with the often less rosy reality – a phenomenon that more or less defined this very first democracy on German soil, both politically and culturally. Many were reluctant to admit the true reasons for the military defeat and repressed the shared responsibility of the imperial German establishment for the fiasco of the First World War. The malicious legend of the ‘stab in the back’ gained currency, claiming the German army had only lost the war because of internal sabotage from the left. These escapist tendencies often found expression either in sheer hatred or in cultural excess, most of all in Berlin. Alfred Döblin’s novelBerlin Alexanderplatzidentified thecity as the ‘Whore of Babylon’, with an incomparably grubby underworld, a place seeking salvation in the most appalling, barely imaginable, excesses, particularly drugs. ‘Berlin nightlife, oh boy, oh boy, the world has never seen the like! We used to have a great army, now we’ve got great perversities!’ wrote the author Klaus Mann.The city on the Spree became synonymous with moral reprehensibility. When Germany’s currency collapsed – in autumn 1923 one US dollar was worth 4.2 billion Marks – all moral values seemed to plummet with it as well. Everything whirled apart in a toxicological frenzy. The icon of the age, the actress and dancer Anita Berber, dipped white rose petals in a cocktail of chloroform and ether at breakfast, before sucking them clean. Films about cocaine or morphine were showing in the cinemas, and all drugs were available on street corners without prescription. Forty per cent of Berlin doctors were said to be addicted to morphine.In Friedrichstrasse Chinese traders from the former German-leased territory of Tsingtao ran opium dens. Illegal nightclubs opened in the back rooms of the Mitte district. Smugglers distributed flyers at Anhalter station, advertising illegal dance parties and ‘beauty evenings’. Big clubs like the famous Haus Vaterland, on Potsdamer Platz, and Ballhaus Resi, notorious for its extravagant promiscuity, on Blumenstrasse, attracted potential fun-lovers in droves, did as smaller establishments like the Kakadu Bar or the Weisse Maus, where masks were distributed on the way in to guarantee the anonymity of the guests. An early form of sex-and-drugs tourism from western neighbours and the USAbegan, because everything in Berlin was as cheap as it was exciting. The world war was lost, and everything seemed permitted: the metropolis mutated into the experimental capital of Europe. Posters on house walls warned in shrill Expressionist script: ‘Berlin, take a breath / bear in mind your dance partner is death!’ The police couldn’t keep up: order collapsed first sporadically, then chronically, and the culture of pleasure filled the vacuum as best it could, as illustrated in a song of the times: Once not so very long ago Sweet alcohol, that beast, Brought warmth and sweetness to our lives, But then the price increased. And so cocaine and morphine Berliners now select. Let lightning flashes rage outside We snort and we inject! At dinner in the restaurant The waiter brings the tin Of coke for us to feast upon – Forget whisky and gin! Let drowsy morphine take its Subcutaneous effect Upon our nervous system – We snort and we inject! These medications aren’t allowed, Of course, they’re quite forbidden. But even such illicit treats Are very seldom hidden. Euphoria awaits us And though, as we suspect, Our foes can’t wait to shoot us down, We snort and we inject! And if we snort ourselves to death Or into the asylum, Our days are going downhill fast – How better to beguile ’em? Europe’s a madhouse anyway, No need for genuflecting; The only way to Paradise Is snorting and injecting! In 1928 in Berlin alone 73 kilos of morphine and heroin were sold quite legally on prescription over the chemist’s counter.Anyone who could afford it took cocaine, the ultimate weapon for intensifying the moment. Coke spread like wildfire and symbolized the extravagance of the age. On the other hand, it was viewed as a ‘degenerate poison’, and disapproved of by both Communists and Nazis, who were fighting for power in the streets. There was violent opposition to the free-and-easyZeitgeist: German nationalists railed against ‘moral decay’ and similar attacks were heard from the conservatives. Though Berlin’s new status as a cultural metropolis was accepted with pride, the bourgeoisie, which was losing status in the 1920s, showed its insecurity through its radical condemnation of mass ‘pleasure culture’, decried as ‘decadently Western’. Worst of all, the National Socialists agitated against the pharmacological quest for salvation of the Weimar period. Their brazen rejection of the parliamentary system, of democracy, as well as of the urban culture of a society that was opening up to the world, was expressed through tub-thumping slogans directed against the degenerate state of the hated ‘Jewish Republic’. The Nazis had their own recipe for healing the people: they promised ideological salvation. For them there could be only one legitimate form of inebriation: the swastika. National Socialism strove for a transcendental state of being as well; the Nazi world of illusions into which the Germans were to be enticed often used techniques of intoxication. World-historical decisions, according to Hitler’s inflammatory textMein Kampf, had to be brought about in states of euphoric enthusiasm or hysteria. So the Nazi Party distinguished itself on the one hand with populist arguments and on the other with torch parades, flag consecrations, rapturous announcements and public speeches aimed at achieving a state of collective ecstasy. These were supplemented with the violent frenzies of the Brownshirts during the early ‘Kampfzeit’, or period of struggle, often fuelled by the abuse of alcohol. ‘Realpolitik’ tended to be dismissed as unheroic cattle trading: the idea was to replace politics with a state of social intoxication.If the WeimarRepublic can be seen in psycho-historical terms as a repressed society, its supposed antagonists, the National Socialists, were at the head of that trend. They hated drugs because they wanted to be like a drug themselves. SWITCHING POWER MEANS SWITCHING SUBSTANCES. … while the abstinent Führer was silent. Günter Grass. During the Weimar period Hitler’s inner circle had already managed to establish an image of him as a man working tirelessly, putting his life completely at the service of ‘his’ people. A picture was created of an unassailable leader-figure, entirely devoted to the Herculean task of gaining control of Germany’s social contradictions and problems, and to ironing out the negative consequences of the lost world war. One of Hitler’s allies reported in 1930: ‘He is all genius and body. And he mortifies that body in a way that would shock people like us! He doesn’t drink, he practically only eats vegetables, and he doesn’t touch women.’Hitler allegedly didn’t even allow himself coffee and legend had it that after the First World War he threw his last pack of cigarettes into the Danube near Linz; from then onwards, supposedly, no poisons would enter his body. ‘We teetotallers have – let it be mentioned in passing – a particular reason to be grateful to our Führer, if we bear in mind what a model his personal lifestyle and his position on intoxicants can be for everyone,’ reads an announcementfrom an abstinence association. The Reich Chancellor: ostensibly a pure person, remote from all worldly pleasures, entirely without a private life. An existence apparently informed by self-denial and long-lasting self-sacrifice: a model for an entirely healthy existence. The myth of Hitler as an anti-drug teetotaller who made his own needs secondary was an essential part of Nazi ideology and was presented again and again by the mass media. A myth was created which established itself in the public imagination, but also among critical minds of the period, and still resonates today. This is a myth that demands to be deconstructed. Following their seizure of power on 30 January 1933, the National Socialists suffocated the eccentric pleasure-seeking culture of the Weimar Republic. Drugs were made taboo, as they made it possible to experience unrealities other than the ones promulgated by the National Socialists. ‘Seductive poisons’had no place in a system in which only the Führer was supposed to do the seducing. The path taken by the authorities in their so-calledRauschgiftbekämpfung, or ‘war on drugs’, lay less in an intensification of the opium law, which was simply adopted from the Weimar Republic,than in several new regulations which served the central National Socialist idea of ‘racial hygiene’. The term ‘Droge’ – drug – which at one point meant nothing more than ‘dried plant parts’wasgiven negative connotations. Drug consumption was stigmatized and – with the help of quickly established new divisions of the criminal police – severely penalized. This new emphasis came into force as early as November 1933, when the Reichstag passed a law that allowed the imprisonment of addicts in a closed institution for up to two years, although that period of confinement could be extended indefinitely by legal decree.Further measures ensured that doctors who consumed drugs would be forbidden to work for up to five years. Medical confidentialitywas considered breakable when it came to detecting consumers of illegal substances.The chairman of the Berlin Medical Council decreed that every doctor had to file a ‘drug report’ when a patient was prescribed narcotics for longer than three weeks, because ‘public security is endangered by chronic alkaloid abuse in almost every case’.If a report to that effect came in, two experts examined the patient in question. If they found that hereditary factors were ‘satisfactory’, immediate compulsory withdrawal was imposed. Although in the Weimar Republic slow or gradual withdrawal had been used, now addicts were to be subjected to the horrors of cold turkey.If assessment of the hereditary factors yielded a negative result, the judge could order confinement for an unspecified duration. Drug users soon ended up in concentration camps. Your identity card at the Reich Central Office for Combating Drug Transgressions could be a matter of life and death. You were defined by a number (as a dealer, prescription forger, Eukodal addict, artist, etc.) and a colour (purple: Jew; red: held for drying out, etc.). Every German was also ordered to ‘convey observations about drug-addicted acquaintances and family members, so that corrective action can be taken immediately’. Filing systems were put in place in order to establish a thorough record, enabling the Nazis to use their war against drugs to feed into a surveillance state quite soon after they came to power. The dictatorship extended its so-called ‘health leadership’ into every corner of the Reich: in every administrative district there was an ‘anti-drug consortium’. Doctors, chemists, social security authorities and representatives of the law such as the army and the police were all involved, as well as members of the National Socialist People’s Welfare, establishing a full-blown anti-drug web. Its threads converged in the Reich Health Office in Berlin, in Principal Department II of the Reich Committee for the People’s Health. A ‘duty ofhealth’ was postulated, which would go hand in hand with the ‘total containment of all demonstrable physical, social and mental damage that could be inflicted by alcohol and tobacco’. Cigarette advertising was severely restricted, and drug prohibitions were put in place to ‘block any remaining breaches of moral codes in our people’. In autumn 1935 a new Marital Health Law was passed which forbade marriage if one of the parties suffered from a ‘mental disturbance’. Narcotics addicts were marginalized into this category and were branded as ‘psychopathic personalities’ – without the prospect of a cure. This marriage prohibition was supposed to prevent ‘infection of the partner, as well as hereditarily conditioned potential for addiction’ in children, because among ‘the descendants of drug addicts an increased rate of mental deviations’ had been observed. The Law for the Prevention of Hereditarily Diseased Offspring took compulsory sterilization to its brutal conclusion: ‘For reasons of racial hygiene we must therefore see to it that severe addicts are prevented from reproducing.’ Worse was to follow. Under the guise of ‘euthanasia’, those considered ‘criminally insane’, a category including drug users, would be murdered in the first years of the war. The precise number of those affected is impossible to reconstruct.Of crucial importance to their fate was the assessment on their file card: a plus (sign) meant a lethal injection or the gas chamber, a minus (negative) meant a deferral. If an overdose of morphine was used for the killing it came from the Reich Central Office for Combating Drug Transgression, which had emerged out of the Berlin Drug Squad in 1936 as the first Reich-wide drug police authority. Among the ‘selecting doctors’ a mood of ‘intoxicating superiority’ prevailed.The anti-drug policy served as a vehicle for the exclusion and suppression, even the destruction, of marginal groups and minorities. ANTI-DRUG POLICY AS ANTI-SEMITIC POLICY. The Jew has used the most refined means to poison the mind and the soul of German people, and to guide thought along an un-German path which inevitably led to doom. Removing this Jewish infection, which could lead to a national disease and to the death of the people, is also a duty of our health leadership. Medical Journal for Lower Saxony, 1939. From the outset, the racist terminology of National Socialism was informed by linguistic images of infection and poison, by the topos of toxicity. Jews were equated with bacillae or pathogens. They were described as foreign bodies and said to be poisoning the Reich, making the healthy social organism ill, so they had to be eradicated or exterminated. Hitler said: ‘There is no longer any compromise, because such a thing would be poison to us.’ In fact the poison lay in the language itself, which dehumanized the Jews as a preliminary stage to their subsequent murder. The Nuremberg Race Laws of 1935 and the introduction of theAhnenpass(Proof of Aryan Ancestry) manifested the demand for purity of the blood – this was seen as one of the supreme goods of thepeople, and one most in need of protection. Needless to say, this produced a point of intersection between anti-Semitic propaganda and anti-drugs policy. It was not the dose that determined the poison, but the category of foreignness. Propagated as the standard work on the subject, the central, entirely unscientific thesis of the bookMagische Gifte(‘Magic Poisons’) posits: ‘The greatest toxic effect is always produced by narcotics alien to the country and the race.’Jews and drugs merged into a single toxic or epidemiological unit that menaced Germany: ‘For decades our people have been told by Marxists and Jews: “Your body belongs to you.” That was taken to mean that at social occasions between men, or between men and women, any quantities of alcohol could be enjoyed, even at the cost of the body’s health. Irreconcilable with this Jewish Marxist view is the Teutonic German idea that we are the bearers of the eternal legacy of our ancestors, and that accordingly our body belongs to the clan and the people.’ SS Haupsturmführer Criminal Commissar Erwin Kosmehl, who was from 1941 director of the Reich Central Office for Combating Drug Transgressions asserted that ‘Jews play a supreme part’ in the international drug trade. His work was concerned with ‘eliminating international criminals who often have roots in Jewry’.The Nazi Party’s Office of Racial Policy claimed that the Jewish character was essentially drug-dependent: the intellectual urban Jew preferred cocaine or morphine to calm his constantly ‘excited nerves’ and give himself a feeling of peace and inner security. Jewish doctors were rumoured to be ‘often extraordinarily addicted to morphine’. In the anti-Semitic children’s bookDer Giftpilz(‘The Poisonous Mushroom’) the National Socialists combined their twin bogeymen, Jews and drugs, into racial-hygiene propaganda that was used in schools and nurseries.The story was exemplary, the message perfectly clear: the dangerous poison mushrooms had to be eradicated. While the selection strategies in the battle against drugs were directed against an alien power that was perceived as threatening, in National Socialism they almost automatically had anti-Semitic connotations. Anyone who consumed drugs suffered from a ‘foreign plague’. Drug dealers were presented as unscrupulous, greedy or alien, drug use as ‘racially inferior’, and so-called drugs crime as one of the greatest threats to society. It is frightening how familiar many of these terms still sound today. While we have driven out other Nazi verbal monstrosities, the terminology of the war on drugs has lingered. It’s no longer a matter of Jews – the dangerous dealers are now said to be part of different cultural circles. The extremely political question of whether our bodies belong to us or to a legal-social network of social and health-related interests remains a virulent one even today. THE CELEBRITY DOCTOR OF KURFÜRSTENDAMM. The word ‘JEW’ was smeared on the plaque of a doctor’s surgery on Bayreuther Strasse in Berlin’s Charlottenburg district one night in 1933. The name of the doctor, a specialist in dermatological and sexually transmitted diseases, was illegible. Only the opening hours could still beclearly seen: ‘Weekdays 11 to 1 and 5 to 7 apart from Saturday afternoon’. The overweight, bald Doctor Theodor Morell reacted to the attack in a way that was as typical as it was wretched: he quickly joined the Nazi Party to defuse future hostilities of that kind. Morell was not a Jew; the S “A.” had wrongly suspected him of being one because of his dark complexion. Mixing an anti-drugs campaign and anti-Semitism – even in a children’s book. ‘Just as poisonous mushrooms are often difficult to tell from good mushrooms, it is often difficult to recognize the Jews and confidence tricksters and criminals.’ After he had registered as a Party member, Morell’s practice became even more successful. It expanded and moved into the lavish rooms of a nineteenth-century building on the corner of Kurfürstendamm and Fasanenstraße. You joined, you flourished – that was a lesson Morell would never forget, right until the end. The fat man from Hessen hadn’t the slightest interest in politics. The satisfaction that made his life worthwhile came when a patient felt better after treatment, obediently paid the fee and came back as soon as possible. Morell had developed strategies over the years that gave him advantages over the other doctors on Kurfürstendamm with whom he vied for well-to-do clients. His smart private practice was soon seen as one of the most profitable in the area. Equipped with the most up-to-date technology – all originally bought with the fortune of his wife, Hanni – over time it had the whole of high society beating a path to the door of Morell, a former ship’s doctor in the tropics. Whether it was the boxer Max Schmeling, various counts and ambassadors, successful athletes, business magnates, high-powered scientists, politicians, half of the film world: everyone made the pilgrimage to Doctor Morell, who specialized in new kinds of treatment, or – as some mocking tongues had it – in the treatment of non-existent illnesses. There was one field in which this modish, egocentric doctor was considered a pioneer: vitamins. Little was known at the time about these invisible helpers, which the body itself can’t produce, but which it urgently needs for certain metabolic processes. Injected directly into the blood, vitamin supplements work wonders in cases of under-nourishment. This was precisely Morell’s strategy for keeping his patients interested, and if vitamins weren’t enough, he deftly added a circulatory stimulant to the injection mixture. For male patients he might include some testosterone with an anabolic effect for muscle building and potency, for women an extract of nightshade as an energy supplement and for hypnotically beautiful eyes. If a melancholy theatrical actress came to see him to get rid of stage fright before her premiere in the Admiralspalast, Morell wouldn’t hesitate for a moment, but would reach with his hairy hands for the syringe. He was said to be an absolute master of the injection needle, and there were even rumours that it wasimpossibleto feel the prick as his needle went in – in spite of the size of the implements at the time. His reputation went beyond the boundaries of the city, and in the spring of 1936 his phone rang in the consulting room, even though he had categorically forbidden his nurses to disturb him during surgery hours. But this was no ordinary phone call. It was from the ‘Brown House’, Party headquarters in Munich: a certain Schaub on the line, introducing himself as Hitler’s adjutant and informing him that Heinrich Hoffmann, the ‘Official Reich Photographer of the NSDAP’, was suffering from a delicate illness. It was the Party’s wish that Morell, as aprominent specialist in sexually transmitted diseases who was well known for his confidentiality, should take on the case. They didn’t want to consult a Munich doctor for such a discreet matter. The Führer, in person, had sent a plane for him, which was waiting at a Berlin airport, Schaub added. While Morell couldn’t stand surprises, he also couldn’t turn down an invitation like that. Once he arrived in Munich, he was put up at state expense in the grand Regina-Palast-Hotel, treated the pyelonephritis that Hoffmann had contracted as a result of gonorrhoea – ‘the clap’ – and was invited with his wife to take a trip to Venice by his influential patient by way of thanks. Back in Munich the Hoffmanns gave a dinner in their villa in the elegant district of Bogenhausen with the Morells present. There was spaghetti with nutmeg, tomato sauce on the side, green salad – the favourite dish of Adolf Hitler, who was, as this evening, often a guest at Hoffmann’s house. The Nazi leader had been closely connected with the photographer since the 1920s, when Hoffmann had made considerable contributions to the rise of National Socialism. Hoffmann, who owned the copyright for important photographs of the dictator, published large numbers of picture books called things likeHitler as No One Knows HimorA Nation Honours Its Führerand sold them by the million. There was also another, more personal reason that linked the two men: Hitler’s lover, Eva Braun, had previously worked as an assistant for Hoffmann, who had introduced the two in his Munich photographic shop in 1929. Hitler, who had heard a great many good things aboutthe jovial Morell, thanked him before dinner for treating his old comrade, and regretted not having met the doctor before; perhaps then his chauffeur, who had died of meningitis a few months earlier, would have still been alive. Morell reacted nervously to the compliment, and barely spoke during the spaghetti dinner. The constantly sweating doctor with the full face and the thick round glasses on his potato nose knew that in higher circles he was not considered socially acceptable. His only chance of acceptance lay in his injections, so he pricked up his ears when Hitler, in the course of the evening, talked almost in passing about severe stomach and intestinal pains that had been tormenting him for years. Morell hastily mentioned an unusual treatment that might prove successful. Hitler looked at him quizzically – and invited him and his wife to further consultations at the Berghof, his mountain retreat in the Obersalzberg near Berchtesgaden. There, a few days, later, during a private conversation, the dictator frankly admitted to Morell that his health was now so poor that he could barely perform any action. That was, he claimed, due to the bad treatment given to him by his previous doctors, who couldn’t come up with anything but starving him. Then if there happened to be an abundant dinner on the programme, which was often the case, he immediately suffered from unspeakable bloating, and itchy eczema on both legs, so that he had to walk with bandages around his feet and couldn’t wear boots. Morell immediately thought he recognized the cause of Hitler’s complaints and diagnosed abnormal bacterial flora, causing poor digestion. He recommended the preparation Mutaflor, developed by his friend the Freiburgdoctor and bacteriologist Professor Alfred Nissle: a strain of bacteria that had originally been taken from the intestinal flora of a non-commissioned officer who had, unlike many of his comrades, survived the war in the Balkans without stomach problems. The bacteria are kept in capsules, alive, and they take root in the intestine, flourish and replace all the other strains that might lead to illnesses. This genuinely effective concept convinced Hitler, for whom even processes within the body could represent a battle forLebensraum, or ‘living space’. Extravagantly, he promised to donate Morell a house if Mutaflor actually did cure him, and appointed the doctor as his personal physician. When Morell told his wife about his new position, Hanni was less than enthusiastic. She commented that they didn’t need it, and referred to his thriving practice on Kurfürstendamm. Perhaps she already sensed that she would rarely get to see her husband from now on, because a very unusual relationship would form between Hitler and his personal physician. He alone is responsible for the inexplicable, the mystery and myth of our people. Joseph Goebbels. The dictator always hated being touched by other people, and refused treatment from doctors if they inquired tooinvasively into the causes of his ailments. He could never trust a specialist who knew more about him than he did himself. Good old general practitioner Morell, with his cosy harmless air, gave him a sense of security from the very beginning. Morell had no intention of questioning Hitler to genuinely find the root of his health problems. The penetration of the needle was enough for him; it was a substitute for serious medical treatment. If the head of state was to function, and demanded to be made immediately symptom-free, whatever his complaints, Morell hesitated no more than he would when treating an actress at the Metropol Theatre, but instead prepared a 20 per cent Merck glucose solution or a vitamin injection. Immediate removal of symptoms was the motto, followed not only by the bohemian circles of Berlin but also by ‘Patient A’, as he appeared in Morell’s books. Hitler was delighted by the speed with which his condition improved – usually while the needle was still in his vein. His personal doctor’s argument convinced him: for the Führer, with all the tasks he had to perform, his energy consumption was so high that you couldn’t wait until a substance found its way into the blood in tablet form via the digestive system. For Hitler it made sense: ‘Morell wants to give me a big iodine injection as well as a heart, liver, chalk and vitamin injection. He learned in the tropics that medicine must be injected into the veins.’ The busy ruler lived in constant fear of not being able to function properly, that he wouldn’t be able to do everything he needed to do, and that he wouldn’t be able to perform due to illness. Since he believed no one else was capable of carrying out his duties, from 1937 Morell’sunconventional methods of treatment quickly gained in importance. Several injections a day were soon the norm. Hitler became used to his skin being punctured, and having what was assumed to be a potent substance flowing into his veins. Each time it happened he felt instantly better. The fine stainless steel needle that conjured up ‘immediate recovery’ was fully in line with his nature: his situation required constant mental alertness, physical vitality and hands-on decisiveness. Neuroses and other psychological inhibitions had to be switched off at all times, as if by the push of a button, and he himself needed to be permanently refreshed. Soon his new physician seldom left the patient’s side, and Hanni Morell’s fears came true: her husband had no time for his practice any more. A locum had to be installed at Kurfürstendamm, and Morell later claimed, oscillating between pride and fatalism, that he was the only person who had seen Hitler every day, or at least every second day, since 1936. Before every big speech the Reich Chancellor now allowed himself a ‘power injection’ in order to work at the peak of his capabilities. Colds, which could have kept him from appearing in public, were ruled out from the start by intravenous vitamin supplements. To be able to hold his arm up for as long as possible when doing the Nazi salute, Hitler trained with chest expanders and also allowed his body to snack on glucose and vitamins. The glucose, administered intravenously, gave the brain a blast of energy after twenty seconds, while the combined vitamins allowed Hitler to address his troops or the people wearing a thin Brownshirt uniform even oncold days without showing a sign of physical weakness. When he suddenly lost his voice before a speech in Innsbruck in 1937, Morell quickly alleviated the nuisance with an injection. At first his digestive problems improved as well, and so the promised estate for the personal physician was given to Morell, on Berlin’s exclusive Schwanenwerder island, next door to the propaganda minister, Goebbels. The elegant villa, surrounded by a hand-forged iron fence, at 24 to 26 Inselstrasse,wasn’t a complete gift: the Morells had to buy it themselves, for 338,000 Reichsmarks, although they did receive an interest-free loan of 200,000 RM from Hitler which was later converted into a fee for treatment. The new home didn’t just bring advantages to the celebrity doctor, who had now been elevated to the highest social stratum. Morell had to employ domestic servants and a gardener, and his basic expenses soared, even though he wasn’t automatically earning more. But now there was no turning back. He enjoyed his new lifestyle too much, as well as his immediate proximity to power. Hitler had also become more than used to the doctor, brushing aside any criticism of the man who many people in the hard-fought-for inner circles found less than appetizing: Morell wasn’t there to be sniffed at, Hitler professed, he was there to keep him healthy. To give the former society doctor a hint of seriousness, Hitler awarded him an honorary professorship in 1938. VOLKSWAGEN –VOLKSDROGEN. The first years in Morell’s treatment developed into an extremely successful period for Hitler, who was cured of his intestinal cramps and, always dosed up on vitamins, was healthy and agile. His popularity grew unstintingly, chiefly due to the fact that the German economy was enjoying a boom. Economic independence became a fixed point in Nazi politics: it would produce a higher standard of living but also meant that war was inevitable. The plans for expansion were already in the desk drawers. The First World War had made it clear that Germany had too few natural raw materials for armed conflict with its neighbours and so artificial ones had to be created: synthetic petrol produced from coal as well as ‘Buna’ (synthetic rubber) were at the centre of the development of IG Farben, which had gone on growing in power within the Nazi state and had consolidated its position as a global player in the chemical industry. Its board described itself as the ‘Council of the Gods’. Under Göring’s tutelage, the economy was to become independent from all imported materials that could be produced in Germany itself. Of course, that also included drugs. While the Nazis’ war on drugs brought down the consumption of heroin and cocaine, the development of synthetic stimulants was accelerated and led to a new blossoming within the pharmaceutical companies. The workforces of Merck in Darmstadt, Bayer in the Rhineland and Boehringer in Ingelheim grew and wages rose. Expansion was also on the cards at Temmler. The headchemist, Doctor Fritz Hauschild,had noticed how the Olympic Games in Berlin in 1936 had been influenced by a substance called Benzedrine, a successful amphetamine from the USA – and still a legal doping product at the time. At Temmler all development resources were now pooled in that direction, since the company was convinced that a performance-enhancing substance was a perfect fit for an age in which everyone was talking about new beginnings. Hauschild turned to the work of Japanese researchers who had synthesized an extremely stimulating molecule called N-methylamphetamine as early as 1887, and crystallized it in its pure form in 1919. The drug was developed out of ephedrine, a natural substance that clears the bronchia, stimulates the heart and inhibits the appetite. In the folk medicine of Europe, America and Asia, ephedrine had been known for a long time as a component of the ephedra plant, and was also used in so-called ‘Mormon tea’. Hauschild perfected the product and in autumn 1937 he found a new method of synthesizing methamphetamine.A short time later, on 31 October 1937, the Temmler factory patented the first German methylamphetamine, which put American Benzedrine very much in its shadow. Its trademark: Pervitin. The molecular structure of this pioneering material is similar to adrenalin and so it passes easily through the blood and into the brain. Unlike adrenalin, however,methamphetamine does not cause sudden rises in blood pressure, but works more gently and lasts longer. The effect occurs because the drug tickles out the messenger substances dopamine and noradrenaline from the nerve cells of the brain and pours them into synaptic gaps. This puts the brain cells in excited communication with each other and a kind of chain reaction takes place. A neuronal firework explodes and a biochemical machine gun starts firing an uninterrupted sequence of thoughts. All of a sudden the consumer feels wide awake and experiences an increase in energy; the senses are intensified to the extreme. One feels livelier, energized to the tips of one’s hair and fingers. Self-confidence rises, there is a subjectively perceived acceleration of thought processes, a sense of euphoria, and a feeling of lightness and freshness. A state of emergency is experienced, as when one faces a sudden danger, a time when an organism mobilizes all its forces – even though there is no danger. An artificial kick. Methamphetamine does not only pour neurotransmitters into the gaps but also blocks their reabsorption. For this reason the effects are long-lasting, often more than twelve hours, a length of time which can damage the nerve cells at higher doses as the intracellular energy supply is drawn into sympathy. The neurons run hot and brain chatter can’t be turned off. Nerve cells give up and die off irrevocably. This can lead to a deterioration in the ability to find words, in attention and concentration, and a general depletion in the brain where memory, emotions and the reward system are concerned. The lack of stimulation once the effect fades away is a sign of empty hormone stores, which have to fill up again over the course of several weeks. In the meantime fewer neurotransmitters are available: the consequences can include a lack of drive, depression, joylessness and cognitive disturbances. Although such possible side-effects have been investigated by now, further in-depth research was put on the back-burner at the time because Temmler were over-eager, bursting with pride over their new product. The company smelled a roaring trade and contacted one of the most successful PR agencies in Berlin to commission an advertising campaign the like of which Germany had never seen. Their publicity model was the marketing strategy for another rather stimulating product, produced by none other than the Coca-Cola Company, which – with the catchy slogan ‘ice cold’ – had enjoyed enormous success with their brown brew. In the first weeks and months of 1938, when Pervitin was beginning to go from strength to strength, posters appeared on advertising pillars, the outsides of trams and on the buses and local and underground trains of Berlin. In a modern, minimalist style they mentioned only the trademark and referred to its medical indications: weakness of circulation, low energy, depression. It also showed the orange and blue Pervitin tube, the characteristic packaging with curved lettering. At the same time – another trick by this branch of business – all the doctors in Berlin received a letter from Temmler saying bluntly that the company’s aim was to persuade the doctors personally: what people like themselves they also like to recommend to others. The envelope included free pills containing 3 milligrams of active ingredient as well as a franked postcard to be returned: ‘Dear Doctor, Your experiences with Pervitin, even if they were less than favourable, are valuable to us in helping to limit the field of indication. So we would be very grateful to you for a message on this card.’A substance in its test phase. Just like the old dealer’s trick: the first dose is free.Representatives of the Temmler factory visited large-scale practices, hospitals and university clinics all over the country, delivered lectures and distributed this new confidence- and alertness-boosting drug. The company’s own account said, ‘reawakening joy in the despondent is one of the most valuable gifts that this new medication can give to patients.’ Even ‘frigidity in women can easily be influenced with Pervitin tablets. The treatment technique is as simple as can be imagined: four half-tablets every day long before bedtime ten days a month for three months. This will achieve excellent results by increasing women’s libido and sexual power.’On the Patient Information Leaflet it also said that the substance compensated for the withdrawal effects of alcohol, cocaine and even opiates. It was marketed as a kind of counter-drug to replace all drugs, particularly illegal ones. The consumption ofthissubstance was sanctioned. Methamphetamine was regarded as a kind of panacea. The substance was also claimed to have a system-stabilizing component: ‘We live in an energy-tense time that demands higher performance and greater obligations from us than any time before,’ a senior hospital doctor wrote. The pill, produced under industrial laboratory conditions in consistently pure quality, was supposed to help counteract inadequate performance and ‘integrate shirkers, malingerers, defeatists and whiners’ into the labour process.The Tübingen pharmacologist Felix Haffner even suggested the prescription of Pervitin as a ‘supreme commandment’ as it amounted to ‘the last effort on behalf of the whole’: a kind of ‘chemical order’. Germans, however, didn’t need an order to take the buzzy substance. The hunger for powerful brain-food was already there. Consumption wasn’t decreed from above and it wasn’t top-down, as you might have expected in a dictatorship; it was entirely bottom up.This so-called ‘speedamin’ landed like a bomb, spread like a virus, sold like sliced bread and was soon as much of a fixture as a cup of coffee. ‘Pervitin became a sensation,’ one psychologist reported. ‘It soon gained acceptance in a very wide range of circles; students used it as a survival strategy for the exertions of exams; telephone switchboard operators and nurses swallowed it to get through the night shift, and people doing difficult physical or mental labour used it to improve their performance.’ Whether it was secretaries typing faster, actors refreshing themselves before their shows, writers using the stimulation of methamphetamine for all-nighters at the desk, or hopped-up workers on conveyor belts in the big factories raising their output, Pervitin spread among all social circles. Furniture packers packed more furniture, firemen put out fires faster, barbers cut hair more quickly, nightwatchmen stopped sleeping on the job, train drivers drove their trains without a word of complaint, and long-distance lorry-drivers bombed down freshly constructed autobahns completing their trips in record time. Post-lunchtime naps became a thing of the past. Doctors treated themselves with it, businessmen who had to rush from meeting to meeting pepped themselves up; Party members did the same, and so did the SS.Stress declined, sexual appetite increased, and motivation was artificially enhanced. A doctor wrote: ‘Experimenting on myself, I also observedthat both physically and mentally one may receive a pleasant boost in energy, which for six months has allowed me to recommend Pervitin to manual and clerical workers, fellow colleagues who are temporarily short of time, and also speakers, singers, with stage fright, and examination candidates. One lady likes to use the medication, two by two tablets before parties; another successfully on particularly demanding working days, up to three by two tablets daily. Pervitin became a symptom of the developing performance society. Boxed chocolates spiked with meth-amphetamine were even put on the market. A good 14 milligrams of methamphetamine was included in each individual portion – almost five times the amount in a Pervitin pill. ‘Hildebrand chocolates are always a delight’ was the slogan of this potent confectionery. The recommendation was to eat between three and nine of these, with the indication that they were, unlike caffeine, perfectly safe.The housework would be done in a trice, and this unusual tidbit would even melt the pounds away, since Pervitin, a slimming agent, also curbed the appetite. Another part of the highly effective campaign was an essay by Doctor Fritz Hauschild in the respectedKlinische Wochenschrift. In this, and again in the same journal three weeks later, under the headline ‘New Specialities’, he reported on the extremely stimulating effect of Pervitin, its ability to increase energy and boost both self-confidence and decisiveness.Associative thought became much faster and physical work easier. Its multiple applications in internal and general medicine, surgery and psychiatry seemed to give it a wide field of indication, and at the same time to stimulate scientific research. Universities all over the Reich pounced on these investigations. First to engage was Professor Schoen from the Polyklinik in Leipzig, who reported ‘psychic stimulation lasting for several hours, sleepiness and weariness disappearing and making way for activity, loquacity and euphoria’.Pervitin was fashionable among scientists, perhaps not least because at the start there was so much pleasure involved in taking it yourself. Self-experimentation was only common courtesy, after all: ‘First of all we may report on our personal experiences based on self-experimentation after repeated consumption of 3 to 5 tablets, 9 to 15 milligrams, of Pervitin, which were what enabled us to draw conclusions about its psychical effects.’More and more advantages came to light. Possible side-effects remained in the background. Professors Lemmel and Hartwig from the university in Königsberg testified to greater focus and concentration and advised: ‘In these eventful times of conflict and expansion it is one of the doctor’s greatest tasks to maintain the performance of the individual and where possible to increase it.’ A study by two brain researchers from the southern town of Tübingen claimed they had demonstrated an acceleration of the thought process through Pervitin, along with a general increase in energy. Inhibitions of the decision-making process, inhibitions generally and depressive conditions had been ameliorated. An intelligence test had demonstrated a distinct improvement. A Munich-based Professor Püllen released data from ‘many hundreds ofcases’ supporting these statements. He reported a generally stimulating effect on the cerebrum, the circulation and the autonomic nervous system. He had also, with a ‘high dose of 20 milligrams administered once only, established a distinct reduction in fear’.Hardly a surprise that Temmler should have supplied doctors with these positive results by mail, and ensured that they were regularly updated. Pervitin was a perfect match for the spirit of the age. When the medication conquered the market there actually seemed to be a reason for thinking that all forms of depression had come to an end. At least those Germans who profited from the Nazis’ tyranny thought so, and that was most of them. If, in 1933, many had still believed that the new Chancellor’s career would be short-lived, and didn’t think him capable of very much, a few years later everything looked very different. Two miracles had occurred, one economic and one military, covering the two most urgent problems for Germany in the 1930s. When the Nazis took power there were six million unemployed and only 100,000 poorly armed soldiers; by 1936, in spite of a continuing global crisis, almost full employment had been achieved, and the Wehrmacht was one of the most powerful military forces in Europe. Successes in foreign policy mounted up, whether it was a matter of the remilitarization of the Rhineland, the annexation of Austria or ‘bringing the Sudeten Germans home to the Reich’. The Western powers did not punish these breaches of the Versailles Treaty. Quite the contrary, they made greater and greater concessions because they hoped to prevent a new war in Europe. But diplomaticsuccesses didn’t mollify Hitler. ‘Like a morphine addict who can’t give up his drug, he couldn’t give up his plans for new seizures of power, new surprise attacks, secret marching orders and grand parades,’ the historian Golo Mann wrote, describing the character of the emperor from Braunau.The Allies misjudged the situation: Hitler wouldnotbe mollified by diplomatic success. Hitler wasnevercontent. Boundaries had to be crossed in every respect and at all times, and state borders in particular. From the German Reich to the Greater German Reich to the planned Teutonic World Reich: the constant hike in doses was in the nature of the National Socialist cause, and this lay first and foremost in the hunger for new territories. The slogans ‘Home to the Reich’ and ‘A People without Space’ summed it up. Doctor Morell, the personal physician, was even directly involved with the defeat of Czechoslovakia. On the night of 15 March 1939 the Czech president, Emil Hácha, in poor health, attended a more or less compulsory state visit to the new Reich Chancellery. When he refused to sign a paper that the Germans laid in front of him, ade factocapitulation of his troops to the Wehrmacht, he suffered a heart attack and could no longer be spoken to. Hitler urgently summoned Morell, who hurried along with his case and his syringes and injected the unconscious foreign guest with such a stimulating medication that Hácha rose again within seconds, as if from the dead. He signed the piece of paper that sealed the temporary end of his state. The very next morning Hitler invaded Prague without a fight. During the following years, Hácha sat at the powerless head of the ‘Protectorate of Bohemia andMoravia’, to which parts of his country had been reduced, remaining Morell’s loyal patient. In that respect, pharmacology worked as a way of continuing politics by other means. During those first months of 1939, the last months of peace, Hitler’s popularity reached a temporary peak. ‘Look at everything this man has achieved!’ was a standard proclamation, and many of his countrymen also wanted to put their potential to the test. It was a time when effort seemed to reap rewards. It was also a time of social demands: youhadto be part of it, youhadto be successful – if only so as not to arouse suspicion. The general upturn also produced a concern that you might not be able to keep up with the new rapid pace. The increasingly schematic nature of work placed fresh demands on the individual, who became a cog in the works. Any help was welcome when it came to putting yourself in the mood – even chemical help. Pervitin made it easier for the individual to have access to the great excitement and ‘self-treatment’ that had supposedly gripped the German people. The powerful stuff became a sort of grocery item, which even its manufacturer didn’t want to keep stuck just in the medical section. ‘Germany, awake!’ the Nazis had ordered. Methamphetamine made sure that the countrystayedawake. Spurred on by a disastrous cocktail of propaganda and pharmaceutical substances, people became more and more dependent. The utopian ideal of a socially harmonized, conviction-based society, like the one preached by National Socialism, proved to be a delusion in terms of thecompetition of real economical interests in a modern high-performance society. Methamphetamine bridged the gaps, and the doping mentality spread into every corner of the Reich. Pervitin allowed the individual to function in the dictatorship. National Socialism in pill form.

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.

Haynes Owners Manual for the Avro Vulcan Bomber

Sun and Steel YUKIO MISHIMA "Nothing gives the armed forces so much attraction as the fact that even the most trivial duty is ultimately an emanation of something far loftier and more glorious, and is linked, somewhere, with the idea of death. The man of letters, on the other hand, must scratch together his own glory from the rubbish within himself, already overfamiliar in every detail, and refurbish it for the public eye." "Once there were such words, though they are lost to us nowadays. They were not simply beautiful phrases, but a constant summons to superhuman behavior, words that demanded that the individual stake his very life on the attempt to climb to their own lofty heights. Words such as these, in which something first uttered as a conscious resolve gradually comes to demand an inescapable identification, lacked from the outset any bridge that might link them with ordinary, everyday preoccupations." "Before my eyes, there slowly emerged a giant snake coiled about the earth; a snake that by constantly swallowing its own tail vanquished all polarities; the ultimate, huge snake that mocks all opposites. Opposites carried to extremes come to resemble each other; and tilings that are farthest removed from each other, by increasing the distance between them, come closer together. This is the secret that the circle of the snake expounded."

"The Naked Communist" W. Cleon Skousen The Ensign Publishing Company, Salt Lake City, Utah Library of Congress Catalog Card Number: 58-lU64 ELEVENTH EDITION January, 1962 13th Printing, 1972 Designed by Keith Eddington, illustrated by Arnold Friberg “THE CONFLICT BETWEEN COMMUNISM AND FREEDOM IS THE PROBLEM OF OUR TIME. IT OVERSHADOWS ALL OTHER PROBLEMS. THIS CONFLICT MIRRORS OUR AGE, ITS TOILS, ITS TENSIONS, ITS TROUBLES, AND ITS TASKS. ON THE OUTCOME OF THIS CONFLICT DEPENDS THE FUTURE OF ALL MANKIND.” George Meany President, AFL-CIO PREFACE One of the most fantastic phenomena of modern times has been the unbelievable success of the Communist conspiracy to enslave mankind. Part of this has been the result of two species of ignorance — ignorance concerning the constitutional requirements needed to perpetuate freedom, and secondly, ig- norance concerning the history, philosophy and strategy of World Communism. This study is designed to bring the far-flung facts about Communism into a single volume. It contains a distillation of more than one hundred books and treatises — many of them written by Communist authors. It attempts to present the Communist in his true native elements, stripped of propaganda and pretense. Hence, the title, “The Naked Communist.” Students in the western part of the world have a tendency to shy away from the obscure complexity of Communism because they have a feeling they are groping about in a vacuum of un- known quantities. It therefore became the author’s objective many years ago to try and clarify these concepts so that they could be more readily understood and thereby become less frightening. The most terrifying of all human fears is “fear of the unknown” and consequently it seemed highly desirable to disarm the Communist revolutionists of any such supreme advantage by spreading before the student the whole picture of Marxism which is simply “modern materialism in action.” A panoramic study of Communism might easily degener- ate into a long list of dates, names, and platitudes without helping the student to gain a genuine understanding of the his- tory and philosophy of Marxism. Therefore, in this study, an attempt has been made to present Communism as the living, breathing, vibrating force in the earth which it really is. The political development, the philosophy, the economic theory and the big names in World Communism have all been presented in their historical setting. Since an ever increasing number of disillusioned Com- munist officials have fled from behind the Iron Curtain, it has been possible to remove much of the mystery which formerly obscured a correct understanding of the Marxian- disciplined mind. This study therefore presents the Marxian civilization without reference to its propaganda claims but within the realm of reality where, during each passing day, millions of human beings are vicariously learning for the rest of the race the true meaning of life under Communism. To those who have never taken occasion to study the past one hundred years of Marxism, this presentation may at first seem somewhat harsh. But that is because the exposed seams of Communism are inherently harsh. Marx designed it that way. From a comfortable armchair in a cloistered study it is sometimes difficult for a student to catch the spirit and sub- stance of Communism in action. But the Korean veteran, the Iron Curtain refugee, the returning ambassador from Mos- cow — these who have felt the physical and psychological impact of World Communism — may count this study under- drawn and overconservative. The reader should be warned that the complex nature of Communism prevents some of this material from being geared to rapid reading. Sometimes whole volumes have been digested into a few paragraphs. It will be helpful to the reader if sufficient time is taken to explore rather thoroughly the technical or philosophical chapters before proceeding. To help the reader identify the most significant points in the text, a list of preliminary questions is presented at the be- ginning of each chapter. While seeking to be brief, the author hopes he has not been obscure. There are many to whom I am indebted for assistance, suggestions and technical data used in connection with the preparation of this work. Since the writing and much of the research was completed while I was a member of the faculty of Brigham Young University I received much valuable help from the members of the faculty as well as the administrative staff. I am also indebted to several of my former associates in the FBI with whom I studied Communist philosophy, Com- munist subversion and Communist espionage during my six- teen years with that organization. The impressive vignette illustrations heading each chapter throughout this book are the work of the famous American artist, Arnold Friberg. They exemplify his ability to con- dense a complex idea into a simple, forceful, pictorial symbol. His magnificent gallery of Biblical paintings which he did for Cecil B. DeMille's production of “The Ten Commandments” has been widely acclaimed during their worldwide tour of exhibition. I am proud to have the text of these pages en- hanced by the talented hand of such a good friend. Another close associate, Keith Eddington, is responsible for the striking jacket and impressive design of this book. The tedious task of typing the manuscript and reams of research data for the project was capably performed by Velora Gough Stuart and Louise Godfrey. The bulk of the credit for the final completion of the work should go to my wife who efficiently managed the affairs of eight robust offspring while their father completed the re- search and writing for the manuscript. I am deeply grateful to all those who contributed time, skill and encouragement to bring the work to final fruition. W. CLEON SKOUSEN Salt Lake City, Utah, November 1, 1958 Preface to the Eleventh Edition The generous acceptance of this book by the public has been both encouraging and gratifying. In this edition, as in several of the others, I have included some new material in order to keep the study up to date. W. CLEON SKOUSEN Salt Lake City, Utah, January 1, 1962 CONTENTS The Rise of the Marxist Man — I I The Founders of Communism — 7 London, 1853 The Early Life of Karl Marx Marx as a Young Man Friedrich Engels The Communist Manifesto The Revolution of 1848 The End of the Communist League The Family of Karl Marx The Founding of the First International Marx Writes a Book to Change the World The Closing Years Epilogue II The Appeal of Communism — 31 The Case for Communism The Communist Philosophy of Nature The Origin of Life, Consciousness and Mind A Brief Critique of the Communist Philosophy of Nature The Communist Approach to the Solution of World Problems 43 The Communist Interpretation of History Human Progress Explained in Terms of Class Struggle The Communist Theory Concerning Private Property The Communist Theory of the Origin of the State The Communist Theory of the Origin and Economic Significance of Religion The Communist Theory of the Origin and Economic Significance of Morals The Communist Plan of Action The Dictatorship of the Proletariat The Classless, Stateless Society Under Full Communism IV A Brief Critique of the Communist Approach to World Problems — 61 Communism as a By-Product of the Industrial Revolution The Communist Interpretation of History The Communist Explanation of Society The Origin of the State What Is Religion ? The Communist Theory of Morals The Communist Theory of Class Struggle The Dictatorship of the Proletariat The Stateless, Classless Society Under Full Communism Communism as a Negative Approach to Problem-Solving V The Rise of the Revolutionary Movement in Russia 89 Marxism Comes to Russia The Early Life of Nikolai (V. I.) Lenin Origin of the Bolsheviks Background of Leon Trotsky The Russian Revolution of 1905 Background of Joseph Stalin Stalin Engages in Criminal Activities Stalin as a Union Organizer, Writer and Bolshevik Leader The Role of Russia in World War I VI How Russia Became a Communist World Power — 109 The Russian Revolution of March, 1917 The Destruction of Russia’s Plans for a Democracy Russia Repudiates Communism at the Polls Lenin Takes Russia Out of the War The First Attempt to Communize Russia The End of a Communist Dream The Rise of Stalin to Power The First Five-Year Plan The Communist Crisis of 1932-33 U. S. Recognition of Communist Russia Comes at a Critical Time Joseph Stalin’s Return to Power Stalin Creates a New Class VII Communism in the United States — 131 American Founding Fathers Try Communism Marxism Comes to the United States The First Wave of Communist Violence Strikes the United States William Z. Foster Launches the Communist Labor Union Drive The Growth of U. S. Communism as Seen by Whittaker Chambers Whittaker Chambers Breaks with Communism Elizabeth Bentley Takes Over After Chambers Leaves THE SILVERMASTER CELL THE PERLO CELL VIII Communism and World War II — 155 The Rise of Adolf Hitler and Nazism in Germany The Communists Claim Credit for Starting World War II Stalin Suffers a Strategic Defeat World War II Moves Closer to the United States The U. S. Policy of Coexistence Goes into Its Third Stage The Story of American Lend-Lease to Russia Russian Attempts to Secure the Secrets of the Atomic Bomb Closing Months of World War II U. S. Policy of Coexistence Enters the Fourth Stage Creation of the United Nations Communist Attitudes at the Close of World War II IX Communist Attacks on the Free World During the Post-War Period — 177 The Decay in U. S. - Soviet Relations at the End of World War II The Free World Loses 100 Million People The Free World Loses China with Her 450 Million People Effect of the Yalta Agreement on Post-War China Chiang Kai-shek Attempts to Create a Democracy in China Disaster Strikes Down an Old U. S. Ally The Wedemeyer Report The State Department White Paper of 1949 An Amazing Development The Communist Attack on South Korea The Korean Armistice The U. S. Summarily Abandons Its Twenty-Year Policy of Appeasement The Role of the FBI in the Battle of the Underground The Crack in the Iron Curtain The Communist Conquest in lndo-China The Task of Isolating a World Aggressor Russia Tests the New U. S. “Get Tough” Policy X Communism Under Khrushchev — 209 Khrushchev as the Dictator of the Ukraine How Khrushchev Seized Power The Hungarian Revolution — 1956 The UN Investigation of the Hungarian Revolution Inside Khrushchev’s Russia The Hazardous Life of a Communist Dictator Khrushchev’s Scheme to Force the U. S. to Invite Him to America Was Khrushchev’s Visit a Mistake? Aftermath of the Khrushchev Visit The U-2 Incident The RB-47 Incident The Space Race The March of Communism in Africa The Tragedy in the Congo XI The Communist Conquest of Cuba — 237 Who Is Fidel Castro? Castro’s Second Attempt at Murder Is Successful Castro as a Soviet Agent in the Bogota Riots Castro Commits His Third Murder The Batista Regime in Cuba The Castro Coup D’Etat The Communist Take-Over XII The Future Task — 253 The Communist Timetable of Conquest Importance of the Psychological War Current Communist Goals What About Disarmament? What About Peaceful Coexistence? What About the United Nations? Is the Communist Movement a Legitimate Political Party? Is the Soviet Empire Vulnerable to Economic Pressure? Could Peaceful Pressures Cause the Communist Empire to Explode Internally? What Can the Ordinary Individual Do? Suggestions for Parents Suggestions for Teachers Suggestions for Students Suggestions for Businessmen Suggestions for Legislators Suggestions for the Press Suggestions for Ministers The West Can Win Historical Photographs FIVE VITAL QUESTIONS 1 Whaf Do the Defenders of Communism Say? — 289 PEACEFUL COEXISTENCE ILLEGAL OPERATIONS REVOLUTIONARY VIOLENCE WAR AND PEACE THE COMMUNIST INTERNATIONAL DIPLOMATIC INTRIGUE ETHICS AND MORALS THE BIBLE RELIGION INDIVIDUAL FREEDOM AND CIVIL LIBERTIES EDUCATION LABOR 2 How Does a People Build a Free Nation? — 317 Rise of the Liberals Political Philosophy of American Founding Fathers A Philosophy Becomes a Reality Results of 175 Years of American Liberalism The Pattern for Abundant Living 3 What Is Free Enterprise Capitalism? — 327 The Nature of Man Man’s Mainspring of Action The Law of Variation Under Capitalism Everyone Can Gain The Meaning of a Free Economy 1. FREEDOM TO TRY 3. FREEDOM TO BUY 2. FREEDOM TO SELL 4. FREEDOM TO FAIL How Capitalism Makes Things Plentiful and Cheap The Law of Supply and Demand Sets the Price Failure of an American Experiment with Socialism 4 Did the Early Christians Practice Communism? — 343 5 What Is the Secret Weapon of Communism? — 347 Who Inspired Hitler? What Was the Mission of Karl Marx? Pirates of Science and Religion Men Who Worship Themselves The Fruits of Materialism Communists without Labels First Major Premise of Communism Second Major Premise Third Major Premise Fourth Major Premise Can Communist Beliefs Hurt Us? What Puzzled Gouzenko Most? Treason in High Places The Secret Weapon of Communism Home-Made Materialism Conversation between a Student and a Professor The Bible Provides Its Own Rebuttal Sometimes Students Puzzle Parents What About Atomic-Bomb Security? Would the Ten Commandments Frighten a Communist? Who Has Seen God? How Important Is an Oath? The Fourth Commandment A Vacuum in the Training of Youth Are Elderly People Important? What About Communist Purges? Significance of Marital Integrity The Thief and the Character Assassin The Sanctity of Work The Christian Code A New Dynamic Trend in Education Bibliography — 379 Index — 385 The Rise off the Marxist Man It is a terrible and awesome thing when a man sets out to create all other men in his own image. Such became the goal and all consuming ambition of Karl Marx. Not that he would have made each man equal to himself ; in fact, it was quite the contrary. The image he hoped to construct was a great human colossus with Karl Marx as the brain and builder and all other men serving him as the ears and eyes, feet and hands, mouth and gullet. In other words, Marx surveyed the world and dreamed of the day when the whole body of humanity could be forced into a gigantic social image which conformed com- pletely to Marx’s dream of a perfect society. To achieve his goal, Marx required two things. First, the total annihilation of all opposition, the downfall of all existing governments, all economies and all societies. “Then,” he wrote, “I shall stride through the wreckage a creator!” The second thing he needed was a new kind of human being. He visualized a regimented breed of Pavlovian men whose minds could be triggered into immediate action by signals from their masters. He wanted a race of men who would no longer depend upon free will, ethics, morals or conscience for guidance. Perhaps, without quite realizing it, Marx was set- The Naked Communist ting out to create a race of human beings conditioned to think like criminals. Producing such a race had been the dream of power- hungry men for more than 4000 years. Nimrod had projected the design, Plato polished it, Saint Simon sublimated it — now Marx materialized it. Today this breed of criminally conditioned man walks the earth in sufficient numbers to conquer countries or continents, to change laws and boundaries, to decree war or peace. He might well be called Homo-Marxian — the Marxist Man. He has made it terribly clear that he intends to become the man of the twentieth century. Homo-Marxian is frightening and puzzling to the rest of humanity because a criminally conditioned mind does not respond the way normal people expect. For example, if a well meaning person invited a profes- sional criminal into his home for dinner the shifty eyed guest would be likely to survey the fine variety of choice foods, the expensive silverware and shiny goblets, and completely miss the warm sincerity and friendship which the host was trying to convey. In fact, the criminal mind would probably con- clude that his host was not only soft hearted but soft headed. Eventually, he would get around to deciding that such a weak man could not possibly deserve so many fine things. Then he would spend the rest of the evening figuring out how he could return in the darkness of the night and relieve his host of all his bounteous treasures. Anyone familiar with the history of Communist leader- ship during the past one hundred years will immediately recognize this same kind of mind at work. The flagrant abuse of U.S. friendship and generosity during World War II is typical. Homo-Marxian puzzles all those who try to work with him because he seems irrational and therefore unpredictable. In reality, however, the Marxist Man has reduced his think- ing to the lowest common denominator of values taken from nature in the raw. He lives exclusively by the jungle law Marxist Man of selfish survival. In terms of these values he is rational almost to the point of mathematical precision. Through calm or crisis his responses are consistently elemental and there- fore highly predictable. Because Homo-Marxian considers himself to be made en- tirely of the dust of the earth, he pretends to no other role. He denies himself the possibility of a soul and repudiates his capacity for immortality. He believes he had no creator and has no purpose or reason for existing except as an incidental accumulation of accidental forces in nature. Being without morals, he approaches all problems in a direct, uncomplicated manner. Self-preservation is given as the sole justification for his own behavior, and “selfish mo- tives or stupidity” are his only explanations for the behavior of others. With Homo-Marxian the signing of fifty-three treaties and subsequent violation of fifty-one of them is not hypocrisy but strategy. The subordination of other men’s minds to the obscuring of truth is not deceit but a necessary governmental tool. Marxist Man has convinced himself that nothing is evil which answers the call of expediency. He has released himself from all the confining restraints of honor and ethics which mankind has previously tried to use as a basis for harmonious human relations. History is demonstrating that because of his mental con- ditioning, Homo-Marxian is probably the most insecure of all men in his feelings. Since he believes himself to be an accidental phenomenon in a purposeless universe, he has an insatiable appetite to bring all things under his total domina- tion. He admits that until this is done he cannot feel secure. Not only must he conquer the human race, but he has assigned himself the task of conquering matter, conquering space, and conquering all the forces of cosmic reality so as to bring order out of natural chaos. He must do this, he says, because man is the only creature in existence which has the accidental but highly fortunate capacity to do intelli- gent, creative thinking. He believes that since Homo-Marxian is the most advanced type of man, he must accept the responsi- bilities of a supreme being. He is perfectly sincere in his The Naked Communist announcement that Homo-Marxian proposes to become the ulti- mate governor and god of the earth and then of the universe. Under the impact of such sweeping theoretical ambitions, many non-Marxists have been caught in the emotional tide of this ideological fantasia and have allowed themselves to be carried along in the current toward the shores of what they hoped would be a promised land of man-made godliness. How- ever, in recent years a growing number of these pilgrims have risked life itself to come back to reality. Each one returns with the same story. Homo-Marxian was found to behave exactly like the graduate creature from the jungle which he believes himself to be. He regards all others with fearful suspicion and responds to each problem as though his very existence were at stake. Although he demands the right to rule humanity, he disdainfully rejects the most basic lessons learned during thousands of years of human experience. Re- turning pilgrims bear one witness : Homo-Marxian has reversed the direction of history. He has turned man against himself. It is in this historical crisis that man finds himself today. Marxist Man could not have come upon the earth at a more illogical time. In an age when technological advances have finally made it feasible to adequately feed, clothe and house the entire human race, Marxist Man stands as a military threat to this peaceful achievement. His sense of insecurity drives him to demand exclusive control of human affairs in a day when nearly all other peoples would like to create a genuine United Nations dedicated to world peace and world-wide pros- perity. Although man can travel faster than sound and po- tentially provide frequent, intimate contacts between all cultures and all peoples, Marxist Man insists on creating iron barriers behind which he can secretly work. Marxist Man makes no secret of his ultimate objectives. He is out to rule the world. Because Homo-Marxian is still an adolescent he knows he cannot devour the whole human race in one greedy gulp. Therefore, he must be satisfied with one chunk at a time. As we shall see later, he has adopted an orderly “time-table of conquest” which he is following Marxist Man with a deadly fixation. According to Communist prophecy, time is running out on the free world. This dilemma leaves the unconquered portion of fright- ened humanity with only three possible courses of future action : 1. They can meekly capitulate. 2. They can try to co-exist. 3. They can set about to pull the blustering bully down. As far as this writer is concerned there is absolutely no question whatever as to the course of action free men must ultimately take. In fact, it is the only choice the law of survival allows. Surely no man who has felt the throbbing pound of freedom in his veins could countenance capitulation as a solution. And no man who knows what lies behind the lethal Communist program of “co-existence” would dare ac- cept that proposal as a long range solution. What then remains? Several years ago while serving with the FBI this writer became aware that the experts on Marxism have known for a long time that there are definite ways to stop Communism cold. Furthermore, if free men move in time, this can be done without a major war! That is why this book was written. It was written under the persuasion that modern men would be foolish indeed if they accepted the phenomenon of Homo- Marxian as a permanent fixture in the earth. There are well established and easily understood histori- cal reasons why every legitimate influence should be brought to bear on the removal of this roadblock from the pathway of normal human advancement. This must be done for the sake of Homo-Marxian as well as for the rest of humanity. He is the victim of a man-made experiment, trapped in his own self-perpetuating cycle of human negation. As long as free men are the prevailing majority in the earth there is a very good chance of breaking this cycle. To do so, however, free men must achieve an intelligent and dynamic solidarity at least as strong as the illusory but firmly fixed purposes of Homo-Marxian. The Naked Communist At the conclusion of this study there are listed a number of policies which, if used in time, could remove the roadblock that Marxist Man has thrown across the pathway of the race. These policies are solutions which automatically spring out of an understanding of the history, philosophy and ultimate objectives of Marxism. They are also the cold hard facts which have grown out of our bitter experiences in attempting to deal with Marxist Man. If enough people will study the problem and move across the world in one vast united front it is entirely possible that the race can celebrate the close of the Twentieth Century with this monumental achievement: Freedom in our time for all men! I The Founders off Communism In this chapter we shall try to become acquainted with two men. The first is Karl Marx, the originator of Communism, and the second is Friedrich Engels, his collaborator. We shall try to present their lives the way the Communists present them — not as the soft, visionary social reformers which so many text books seem anxious to describe, but rather as the two-fisted, power hungry revolutionists which their closest followers found them to be. Although presented in brief summary, this chapter attempts to include sufficient details so that the student of Communism can answer these questions: Why do Marxist writers call their founder a “genius” yet frankly admit he was “a violent, quarrelsome, contentious man, a dictator and a swashbuckler” ? Was Marx well educated? What was his nationality? Where did he do most of his revolutionary writing? author’s note: Because this book was written for high school seniors as well as college students and members of the armed forces, the author has deliberately avoided the use of research references such as ibid.y and op, cit. f lest they prove confusing. The Naked Communist How was it that Marx never acquired a profession, an office, an occupation or a dependable means of livelihood? How did Engels differ from Marx? What were the six principal goals which Marx and Engels set forth in the Communist Manifesto? Why did Marx believe one of his first tasks was to “de- throne God”? Why did he think his book, Capital, would change the world? Why did Marx fail in his two attempts to create organiza- tions for the promotion of world revolution? London, 1853 On a chilly, foggy day in 1853, a British government official stood in the drizzling rain before the doorway of a human hovel in the heart of London’s slums. He knocked and after a short delay was admitted. As the officer entered the room thick clouds of smoke and tobacco fumes billowed about his head causing him to choke and cough while his eyes watered. Through the haze he saw the proprietor of the slum dwelling, a barrel-chested man with disheveled hair and a bushy beard. The man greeted the officer in a strong German accent, offered him a clay pipe and then motioned him toward a broken-backed chair. If the officer had not known better he would never have guessed that the bushy-bearded man who sat before him was a graduate of a university with a Ph.D. degree. Nor that the wife who had just hustled the children into a back room was the daughter of a German aristocrat. Yet such was the case. This was the residence of Dr. and Mrs. Karl Marx. At the moment Karl Marx was a political fugitive — having been driven from Germany, France and Belgium. England had granted him domicile along with other revolutionary leaders from the Continent and for this Marx was grateful. It gave him a lifelong base from which to continue his revolu- tionary work. On this particular day the presence of the officer was no The Founders of Communism cause for alarm. It was the routine check which the British Government made on all political exiles living in England. Nor was the officer hostile. He found the Marxes strange but interesting people who could engage in very lively conversation on world problems while sitting blissfully in a domestic en- vironment of incomprehensible confusion. The officer later included his puzzled observations concerning the Marxes in his official report: “(Marx) lives in one of the worst, therefore one of the cheapest, neighborhoods in London. He occupies two rooms. The room looking out on the street is the parlor, and the bed- room is at the back. There is not one clean or decent piece of furniture in either room, but everything is broken, tattered and torn, with thick dust over everything and the greatest untidiness everywhere. In the middle of the parlor there is a large old-fashioned table covered with oilcloth. On it there are manuscripts, books and newspapers, as well as the children’s toys, odds and ends and his wife’s sewing- basket, cups with broken rims, dirty spoons, knives and forks, lamps, an ink-pot, tumblers, some Dutch clay-pipes, tobacco ashes — all in a pile on the same table. . . . But all these things do not in the least embarrass Marx or his wife. You are received in the most friendly way and cordially offered pipes, tobacco and whatever else there may happen to be. Eventually a clever and interesting conversation arises which makes amends for all the domestic deficiencies .” 1 Thus we are introduced to one of the most dramatic per- sonalities to cross the pages of history during the nineteenth century. And one who would have a greater impact dead than alive. Biographers would grapple with the enigma of Marx’s life. At one moment Marx would be called “the greatest genius of this age,” and a moment later even his disciples would feel forced to call him “a violent, quarrelsome, contentious man, a dictator and a swashbuckler, one at feud with all the world and continually alarmed lest he should be unable to assert his superiority .” 2 1 Wilson, Edmund, “to the Finland station,” pp. 217-218. 2 Ruhle, Otto, “KARL MARX,” pp. 209, 308. The Naked Communist Such were the contradictory, surging forces of human dynamics which found expression in the turbulent personality of Karl Marx. The Early Life of Karl Marx Karl Marx first saw the light of day at Treves, Germany, May 5, 1818. He certainly had no need to apologize for his progenitors. For many generations his male ancestors on both sides had been outstanding scholars and distinguished rabbis. However, the father of Karl Marx decided to break the ties of the past both religiously and professionally. He withdrew his family from the local synagogue to join the congregation of a local protestant faith and then reached out after pro- fessional recognition as a practicing attorney. Karl Marx was six years of age when the traditional moorings of the family were thus uprooted, and some biographers of Marx attribute his rejection of religion in later years to the conflicts which this sudden change in his life precipitated. In elementary school young Karl revealed himself to be a quick, bright scholar. He also revealed a quality which would plague him the rest of his life — his inability to keep a friend. Seldom, in all of Marx’s writings, do we find a reference to any happy boyhood associations. Biographers say he was too intense, too anxious to dominate the situation, too concerned about personal success, too belligerent in his self-assertiveness, to keep many friends. However, Karl Marx was not lacking in sentiment and genuine hunger for affection. At 17, when he began his university career, the letters which he wrote to his parents occasionally unveiled deeply sentimental, woman- like feelings. Here is an example : “In the hope that the clouds which hang over our family will gradually disperse ; that I shall be permitted to share your sufferings and mingle my tears with yours, and, perhaps, in direct touch with you, to show the profound affection, the immeasurable love, which I have not always been able to ex- press as I should like ; in the hope that you, too, my fondly and The Founders of Communism eternally loved Father, bearing in mind how much my feelings have been storm-tossed, will forgive me because my heart must often have seemed to you to have gone astray when the travail of my spirit was depriving it of the power of utterance ; in the hope that you will soon be fully restored to health, that I shall be able to clasp you in my arms, and to tell you all that I feel, I remain always your loving son, Karl.” Such expressions must have puzzled the elder Marx. Throughout his career as a father he was never able to counsel or cross this hot-tempered son without precipitating an emo- tional explosion. The letters of Karl Marx make frequent reference to the violent quarrels between himself and his parents; the letters from Karl’s parents complain of his ego- ism, his lack of consideration for the family, his constant demands for money and his discourtesy in failing to answer most of their letters. Marx as a Young Man It was in the fall of 1835 that Marx entered the University of Bonn to study law. This was a hectic year. He scandalized his parents by joining a tavern club, running himself deeply in debt and almost getting himself expelled for “nocturnal drunkenness and riot.” His studies were most unsatisfactory and he threatened to become a professional poet instead of a lawyer. In the summer of 1836 he fought a duel and received a wound over the eye. It was finally decided that it would be better for the University of Bonn if Karl Marx transferred to some other university. The elder Marx heartily agreed. Karl was sent to Berlin. It was at the University of Berlin that the intellectual forces in Karl Marx became sinews and the whole pattern of his life began to take shape. Although he complied with his father’s wishes and studied law, it was a half-hearted cam- ouflage to cover up his avid exploration of philosophy. In the midst of this exploration his father died and Marx im- mediately came out in the open with his announcement that The Naked Communist he would seek an academic career. He wanted to occupy a chair of philosophy at some university. Marx chose for his doctoral dissertation: “The Difference Between the Natural Philosophy of Democritus and of Epicurus.” In this study he favored the materialism of Epi- curus because it allowed for an energizing principle in matter. He thought that if matter were auto-dynamic it would do away with the need for a Creator, a designer or a governing force in the universe. The anti-religious senti- ments of Marx found further expression in his thesis when he chose for its motto the cry of Prometheus: “In one word — I hate all the gods !” During this period of intellectual incuba- tion three things dominated the thinking of Karl Marx: his desire to discover a philosophy of nature; his desire to com- pletely repudiate all forms of religion; his desire to win the hand of the daughter of Baron von Westphalen. While Marx was at the University of Berlin he fell in with a left-wing school of Hegelians who were followers of the German philosopher, Georg Wilhelm Hegel. At the mo- ment their whole energy was consumed by a desire to liqui- date Christianity. David Friedrich Strauss had published his Life of Jesus in 1835 and shocked all Germany with his contention that the Gospels were not true historical documents but were merely myths which he believed evolved from the communal imagination of early Christians. A close associate of Marx, Bruno Bauer, wrote on the same theme in 1840 under the title. Historical Criticism of the Synoptic Gospels. In this book he claimed the Gospels were forgeries. He said Jesus had never existed, that he was a figure of fiction and therefore Christianity was a fraud. At this point Bauer and Marx decided they would boldly publish a Journal of Atheism, but the magazine lacked financial sponsorship and died in gestation. Nevertheless, the anti Christian campaign gained anoth- er eloquent protagonist named Ludwig Feuerbach who came out in 1841 with his Essence of Christianity. He not only ridiculed Christianity but presented the thesis that man is the highest form of intelligence in the entire universe. This The Founders of Communism exotic flash of speculation fascinated Marx. He had written the same idea into his thesis for a doctorate. Marx had bluntly said it is necessary “to recognize as the highest di- vinity, the human self-consciousness itself !” The government’s reaction to this anti-Christian cam- paign took a serious turn, therefore Marx decided it would not be prudent to present his thesis to the University of Berlin where he had been studying. His friend, Bruno Bauer, sug- gested that he go to the University of Jena. Marx followed this suggestion and consequently received his degree of Doc- tor of Philosophy from that institution in April, 1841. Shortly afterwards, however, a leveling blow wiped out his passionate ambition to become a professor of philosophy at some German university. This resulted from the fact that Marx collaborated with Bauer in writing a pamphlet which was vigorously investigated because of its revolutionary flavor. When the Prussian officials identified the authors, Bauer was summarily dismissed from the University of Bonn and Marx was assured that he would never be allowed to teach at any university in Germany. Now the revolutionary spirit flamed high in Marx; somehow he must start a movement to remake the world. However, to succeed in such a task he felt he must have the companionship of Jenny von Westphalen, the attractive and popular daughter of a German aristocrat who lived in Marx’s hometown. For seven years he had corre- sponded with her. One of his letters made it clear that if she married him she would become the wife of a revolutionary. Said he: “Jenny ! If we can but weld our souls together, then with contempt shall I fling my glove in the world's face, then shall I stride through the wreckage a creator !” 3 In June, 1843, the wedding took place. At the time the bridegroom was unemployed and Jenny von Westphalen soon discovered that this was to be a permanent characteristic of their entire married life. Karl Marx never acquired the slightest comprehension of the responsibilties which a hus- 3 Wilson, Edmund, “to the Finland station,” p. 115. The Maked Communist band assumes as the head of a family. Nevertheless, Jenny von Westphalen remained loyal and devoted to Karl Marx under circumstances which would have crushed a woman of weaker mettle. After the marriage they had a five month honeymoon following which they went to Paris, where Marx hoped to collaborate in publishing a revolutionary organ called The Franco-German Year Books. The publication collapsed after its first issue and Marx spent the next fifteen months in the pleasant task of “studying and writing.” This was to be the pattern of his whole life. In later years while his family was starving he could be found at the library devoting himself to the interesting but, for him, completely unremunerative study of higher mathematics. Voltaire re- ferred derisively to the breed of men who cannot run their own families and therefore retreat to their attics so that from there they can run the whole world. Marx seemed to fit this pattern. Although he seemed physically indolent, Marx was actually capable of prodigious quantities of intellectual work if it dealt with a subject which interested him. Otherwise, he would not stir. As a result of these personal characteristics, Marx never did acquire a profession, an office, a regular oc- cupation or a dependable means of livelihood. Concerning this phase of his career a friendly biographer states : “Regular work bored him, conventional occupation put him out of humor. Without a penny in his pocket, and with his shirt pawned, he surveyed the world with a lordly air. . . . Throughout his life he was hard up. He was ridiculously ineffectual in his endeavors to cope with the economic needs of his household and family; and his incapacity in monetary matters involved him in an endless series of struggles and catastrophies. He was always in debt; was incessantly being dunned by creditors. . . . Half his household goods were al- ways at the pawnshop. His budget defied all attempts to set it in order. His bankruptcy was chronic. The thousands upon thousands which Engels handed over to him melted away in his fingers like snow .” 4 4 Ruhle, Otto, “kari, marx,” pp. 383-381,. The Founders of Communism This brings us to the only close friend Karl Marx ever had — Friedrich Engels. Friedrich Engels In many ways Engels was the very opposite of Karl Marx. He was tall, slender, vivacious and good natured. He enjoyed athletics, liked people and was by nature an opti- mist. He was born in Barmen, Germany, November 28, 1820, the son of a textile manufacturer who owned large factories both in Barmen, Germany, and in Manchester, England. From his earliest youth Engels chafed under the iron disci- pline of his father, and he learned to despise the textile fac- tories and all they represented. As he matured it was natural that he should have lined himself up with the “industrial pro- letariat.” For the son of a bourgeois businessman, young Engels had a surprisingly limited education; at least it did not in- clude any extensive university training. But what he lacked in formal training he supplied through hard work and na- tive talent. He spent considerable time in England and learned both English and French with such facility that he succeeded in selling articles to liberal magazines of both languages. Biographers have emphasized that while the hearty and attractive Engels differed in personal traits from the brood- ing, suspicious Marx, nevertheless, the two of them followed an identical course of intellectual development. Engels, like Marx, quarreled bitterly with his father, took to reading Strauss’s Life of Jesus, fell in with the same radical left- wing Hegelians who had attracted Marx, became an agnostic and a cynic, lost confidence in the free-enterprise economy of the Industrial Revolution and decided the only real hope for the world was Communism. Engels had been an admirer of Marx long before he had a chance to meet him. It was in August, 1844, that he traveled to Paris for the specific purpose of visiting Marx. The mag- The Naked Communist netic attraction between the two men was instantaneous. After ten days both men felt it was their destiny to work to- gether. It was during this same ten days that Marx con- verted Engels from a Utopian Communist to an outright revolutionist. He convinced Engels that there was no real hope for humanity in the idealism of Robert Owen or Saint- Simon but that conditions called for a militant revolution to overthrow existing society. Engels agreed and proceeded back to Germany. Six months later Marx was expelled from France, along with other revolutionary spirits, and took up residence in Brussels, Belgium. Here Marx and Engels wrote The Holy Family, a book designed to rally around them those Communists who were willing to completely disavow any connection with the so-called “peaceful reforms” of phil- anthropy, Utopianism or Christian morality. The red flag of revolution was up and Marx and Engels considered them- selves the royal color-guard. The strange relationship which rapidly developed between Marx and Engels can be understood only when it is realized that Engels considered it a privilege to be associated with such a genius as Marx. Among other things, he counted it an honor to be allowed to assume responsibility for Marx’s financial support. Shortly after Marx was expelled from France, Engels sent him all the ready cash in his possession and promised him more : “Please take it as a matter of course that it will be the greatest pleasure in the world to place at your disposal the fee I hope shortly to receive for my English literary venture. I can get along without any money just now, for my governor (father) will have to keep me in funds. We cannot allow the dogs to enjoy having in- volved you in pecuniary embarrassment by their infamous be- havior.” This new partnership between Marx and Engels gave them both the courage to immediately launch an International Communist League based on the need for a violent revolution. They planned to use the workers in Germany and France as the backbone for their new political machine but this proved The Founders off Communism bitterly disappointing. After spending several months among the French workers Engels castigated them because they “prefer the most preposterous day-dreaming, peaceful plans for inaugurating universal happiness.” He told Marx that the tinder for a revolution in France was nonexistent. Having thus failed in their plan to build their own revolu- tionary organization, Marx and Engels decided to take over one that was already in existence. In August, 1847, they suc- ceeded in gaining control of the “Workers’ Educational So- ciety” in Brussels. This immediately gave them prestige among reform organizations in Europe. It also gave them the first opportunity to extend their influence in England. At this point Marx and Engels would have been surprised to know that England rather than the Continent would become the headquarters for their revolutionary work. The Communist Manifesto During November, 1847, word came from London that the “Federation of the Just” (later known as the Com- munist League) wanted Marx and Engels to participate in their second congress as representatives of the Communist organizations in Brussels. Marx and Engels not only at- tended the congress but practically took it over. By staying up most of the night laying their plans and by using shrewd strategy at each of the meetings, they succeeded in getting the congress to adopt all of their basic views. Marx and Engels were then commissioned to write a declaration of principles or a “Manifesto to the World.” They returned to Brussels and immediately set to work with Marx pouring into the text his passionate plea for a revolution. When they were through they had announced to mankind that the new program of Interna- tional Communism stood for: 1. the overthrow of capitalism, 2. the abolition of private property, 3. the elimination of the family as a social unit, 4. the abolition of all classes, 5. the overthrow of all governments, and 6. the establishment of a communist order with communal ownership of property in a The Naked Communist classless, stateless society. To accomplish this, the Communist Manifesto was crystal clear as to the course to be taken : “In short, the Communists everywhere support every rev- olutionary movement against existing social conditions. Let the ruling classes tremble at a Communist revolution. The proletarians have nothing to lose but their chains. They have a world to win. Working men of all countries, unite!” The Revolution of 181*8 The red glare of revolution came much sooner than either Marx or Engels had anticipated. In February, 1848, while the ink on the Communist Manifesto was still drying, the revolutionary spirit of the French proletariat united with the resentment of the bourgeoisie against Louis Philippe and a violent uprising ensued which drove the Emperor from the country. Immediately afterwards a provisional government was set up which included members of the Communist League, who promptly summoned Marx to Paris. Marx was flushed with excitement when he arrived at the French capitol armed with full authority from the Communist League headquarters to set up the international headquarters in Paris and to engineer the revolutions in other countries from there. Marx learned that the intoxicating success of the uprising in France had induced the radical element in the provisional government to send “legions” into surrounding countries. Their purpose was to launch an uprising in each country and build the revolution into one magnificent conflagration. Al- though this was precisely what Marx had been advocating for several years, he suddenly sensed that such a campaign at the present moment might backfire and cause them to lose the support of the masses in those countries where legions were sent. Nevertheless, the plan was adopted and the first legions were marched off to Germany. Marx soon followed and be- gan publishing a revolutionary periodical in his native tongue called the Rheinische Zeitung. The revolutionary leaders soon discovered that Marx was The Founders of Communism a propaganda liability. This became painfully evident when he was sent with other members of the Communist League to organize the workers in the Rhine Valley. Marx, when asked to address the German Democratic Congress, badly bungled this golden opportunity. Carl Schurz says: “I was eager to hear the words of wisdom that would, I supposed, fall from the lips of so celebrated a man. I was greatly disappointed. What Marx said was unquestionably weighty, logical and clear. But never have I seen any one whose manner was more insufferably arrogant. He would not give me a moment’s con- sideration to any opinion that differed from his own. He treated with open contempt everyone who contradicted him. . . . Those whose feelings he had wounded by his offensive manner were inclined to vote in favor of everything which ran counter to his wishes . . . far from winning new adherents, he repelled many who might have been inclined to support him.” 3 From the beginning the revolution in Germany had been anemic and by May 16, 1849, it had reached a state of in- glorious collapse. Marx was given twenty-four hours to quit the country. He stayed just long enough to borrow funds and print the last edition of his paper in red ink and then hastened away to find refuge in France. But France was no refuge. Marx arrived in Paris penni- less and exhausted, only to find that the Communist influence in the new Republic had wilted and died. The National As- sembly was in the hands of a monarchial majority. As soon as possible he fled from France, leaving his family to follow later because he was destitute of funds. He decided to make his permanent exile in London. The End of the Communist League Although Marx had to cram his family into a cheap, one- room apartment in the slums of London, he felt sufficiently i Ruble, Otto, “karl marx,” pp. 157-158. The Naked Communist 20 satisfied with their well-being to immediately concentrate his attention once again on the task of reviving the fires of the revolution. In spite of this spirit of dedication, however, Marx’s effort to lead out did more harm than good. His agitating spirit always seemed to create splinters and quarrels in the ranks of his confederates and before long he had prac- tically cut himself off from his former associates. The Cen- tral Committee was taken out from under his influence and transferred to Cologne. There it remained until 1852 when all Communist leaders in Germany were arrested and sen- tenced to heavy prison terms for revolutionary activity. Marx did everything in his power to save his estranged comrades. He gathered documents, recruited witnesses and proposed various legal arguments which he thought might help, but in spite of all this yeoman service the verdicts of “guilty” pulled out of active revolutionary service every one of the party leaders then on trial. This sounded the death knell for the Communist League. The Family of Karl Marx From this time on the Marx family lived in London in the most extreme poverty. A peculiar combination of emo- tions was expressed by Marx in his correspondence during this period. On the one hand he expressed soulful concern for the welfare of his wife and children. He confessed in a letter to Engels that the “nocturnal tears and lamentations” of his wife were almost beyond endurance. Then, in the same letter he blithely went about explaining how he was spending his whole time studying history, politics, economics and social problems so as to figure out the answers for all the problems of the world. In 1852 his little daughter, Francisca, died. Two years later marked the passing of his young son, Edgar, and two years after that a baby died at birth. A few paragraphs from a letter written by Mrs. Marx indicates the amazing loyalty of this woman who saw her half- The Founders of Communism fed children dying around her while their father spent days and nights in the British Museum library. “Let me describe only one day of this life, as it actually was. . . . Since wet-nurses are exceedingly expensive here, I made up my mind, despite terrible pains in the breasts and the back, to nurse the baby myself. But the poor little angel drank in so much sorrow with the milk that he was continually fretting, in violent pain day and night. Since he has been in the world, he has not slept a single night through, at most two or three hours. Of late, there have been violent spasms, so that the child is continually betwixt life and death. When thus afflicted, he sucked so vigorously that my nipple became sore, and bled ; often the blood streamed into his little mouth. One day I was sitting like this when our landlady suddenly appeared. . . . Since we could not pay this sum (of five pounds) instantly, two brokers came into the house, and took posses- sion of all my belongings — bedding, clothes, everything, even the baby’s cradle and the little girls’ toys, so that the children wept bitterly. They threatened to take everything away in two hours. (Fortunately they did not.) If this had happened I should have had to lie on the floor with my freezing children beside me. . . . “Next day we had to leave. It was cold and rainy. My husband tried to find lodging, but as soon as he said he had four children no one would take us. At length a friend helped us. We paid what was owing, and I quickly sold all my beds and bedding in order to settle accounts with the chemist, the baker, and the milkman. Thus the years passed. Literally hundreds of letters were exchanged between Engels and Marx and nearly all of them refer in one place or another to money. Engels’ letters char- acteristically contain this phrase: “Enclosed is a post office order for five pounds,” while Marx’s epistles are shot through with exasperated passages such as : “My mother has positively assured me that she will protest any bill drawn on her.” “For ten days we have been without a sou in the house.” “ Richie, Otto, “KARL MARX,” pp. 202-204. The Naked Communist “You will agree that I am dipped up to my ears in petty- bourgeois pickle.” At one point in this bitter existence there seemed to be a sudden ray of hope. During a particularly desperate period when Engels could give no relief, Marx made a trip to Hol- land where a prosperous uncle generously handed him one hun- dred and sixty pounds. This was enough to put Marx on his financial feet, pay off his debts and give him a new start. But with money in his pocket, Marx decided to take a tour of Ger- many. He visited his mother in Treves, proceeded to Ber- lin, undertook a number of drinking excursions with his old friends, had himself photographed and generally played the role of a gentleman of leisure. Two months later he returned home. Frau Marx welcomed her tourist husband thinking that now bills could be paid, clothing and furniture could be purchased and better rooms rented. She was horrified to learn that practically nothing remained of the hundred and sixty pounds. The Founding of the First International In 1862 a great international exhibition was held in Lon- don to proudly parade the industrial achievements of nine- teenth century capitalism. The promoters of the exhibition were desirous of creating an atmosphere of international good will and therefore invited all countries to not only submit dis- plays but also to send representatives of their workers to exchange ideas and good will with the workers of other countries who would be in attendance. The British labor leaders, who had been gaining strength since 1860, considered this an excellent time to set up an inter- national workers’ organization. They therefore took every opportunity to make firm friends with labor leaders from Italy, Germany, France, Poland and Holland. In due time they were able to establish a permanent “International” with headquarters in London. One of the leaders of this move- ment was a tailor named Eccarius who had formerly been a The Founders of Communism right hand man to Marx during the days of the Communist League. As soon as the new movement began to catch on, Marx was invited by Eccarius to participate. Immediately Marx began to assert himself — but within bounds. This was the lesson he had partially learned from the failure of the Communist League. The new organization was called the International Workingmen’s Association and is frequently referred to as the First International. As long as Marx restrained himself he was able to exercise consider- able influence among the labor leaders from the various coun- tries. By careful maneuvering behind the scenes he was able to get nearly all of his ideas adopted in preference to weaker, more peaceful programs suggested by “social-minded reform- ers.” But all of this seemed mealy-mouthed and unnatural to Marx. He admitted to Engels he had been forced to make compromises in order to keep peace : “My proposals were all adopted by the sub-committee. Only one thing, I had to pledge myself to insert in the pre- amble to the rules two phrases about ‘duty’ and ‘right’ ; also about truth, morality and justice — but they are all so placed that they cannot do any harm. ... It will be some time before the reawakened movement will permit the old boldness of speech. We must be strong in the substance, but moderate in the form.” 7 In spite of this determination to be “moderate,” how- ever, it was not long before the true feeling of Marx rumbled to the surface. He was concerned about two things: first, the need to create a hard core of disciplined revolutionists who could inflame the workers of the major industries in all coun- tries with a will to act, and secondly, the need to eliminate any who might threaten Marx’s leadership in this new movement. What Marx was contemplating was a party purge. The first to feel the force of the new campaign was the German labor leader, Herr von Schweitzer. All students of Marx and Engels seem to agree that both of them were completely without mercy when it came to dealing with a 7 Ruhle, Otto, “karl marx,” pp. 248-2i9. The Naked Communist comrade who was marked for party liquidation. The broad- side of propaganda which they launched against Schweitzer alleged that he was working for Bismarck, the Iron Man of Germany. Although this was pure fabrication, nothing would have been more devastating to Schweitzer’s reputation. Even today some historians use Marx’s charges as a basis for the claim that Schweitzer was a traitor to the cause of labor. Another party pillar to fall under the purge was Mikhail Bakunin, the first Russian to become interested in revolutionary activities. He escaped from a Russian prison and had taken up residence in Geneva. Bakunin be- came so enthusiastic in advocating Marx’s principles that certain elements of the labor movement began gravitating to- ward his leadership. This was fatal. Marx immediately set out to destroy him. The technique was the same as that used against Schweitzer except that Marx and Engels charged Bakunin with being an agent of the Russian Czar. This had a ruinous effect for awhile. Then they spread a charge which later proved to be completely false — that Bakunin had embez- zled 25,000 francs. Finally, to administer the coup de grace, Marx succeeded in getting the International to oust Bakunin from the Association. By this act Marx secretly felt he had destroyed the last man who might seriously threaten his leadership. What Marx did not know was the fact that in spite of this abuse, Bakunin would remain loyal to Marx’s precepts, even translate Marx’s books into Russian and thereby plant seeds which would ultimately bring the first nation in the modern world under a Communist dictatorship. However, Mark’s anxiety to purge the International of all his personal enemies created such violent suspicion, distrust and party dissension that it brought about the organization’s total destruction. In fact, the end of the First International came close on the heels of Bakunin’s expulsion. The trade unions in England began to abandon the cause of international revolution and the workers’ groups on the Continent began ignoring the mandates of the Association. Finally, on Septem- ber 8, 1873, the last congress of the International Working- men’s Association was held at Geneva and Marx found that The Founders off Communism the thirteen delegates who finally agreed to attend had to be practically “dug up out of the ground.” For all practical intents and purpose, the First International was dead. Marx Writes a Book to Change the World Much of Marx’s motivation in trying to make the Inter- national Workingmen’s Association a great world movement was his desire to put into practice the very theories he was struggling to put down on paper. For several years he had pampered his two pet projects — the International and his “book.” Both projects drained him of his normal physical strength. This permitted an old liver ailment to flare up again and before long he was suffering from a rash of boils which threatened to cover his entire body. Ill health was to plague him the remainder of his days. In a letter to Engels he poured out his complaints against the pain and disappointment he was suffering : “To my extreme disgust, after being unable to sleep all night I discovered two more first-class boils on my chest.” Later he wrote, “I am working now like a drayhorse, seeing that I must make the best use of all the time available for work, and the carbuncles are still there, though they are now giving me only local trouble, and are not interfering with my brain.” After a particularly severe attack he wrote: “This time it was really serious — the family did not know how serious. If it recurs three or four times more, it will be all up with me. I have wasted amazingly, and am still damnably weak, not in the head, but in the trunk and limbs. . . . There is no question of being able to sit up, but, while lying, I have been able, at intervals, to keep digging away at my work.”" The “work” to which Marx refers was the research and preparation of the first volume of Capital. Marx was con- vinced that a revolution would never succeed unless the work- ing masses had a revolutionary philosophy of history, s RuMe, Otto, "KARL MARX,” p. 2112. The Naked Communist 26 economics and social progress. He wrote Capital in order to show why the violent overthrow of the present order was not only justified but inescapable. Elsewhere, we shall examine the theories of Marx, but at this point it is sufficient to point out that Marx looked upon the writing of this book as an unpleasant mission which had to be completed before in- ternational communism could germinate and flourish. During 1865, when Marx was striving to prepare a final copy of his first volume for the printer, he told Engels he wanted to “finish it off quickly, for the thing has become a perfect nightmare to me.” He occasionally enjoyed periods of respite from his illness and finally wrote to Engels: “As regards the damned book, this is how the matter stands. It was finished in the end of December.” Engels assured Marx that the pain and suspense of getting the book completed were as great a trial to him as they were to Marx. He wrote : “The day the manuscript goes to press, I shall get gloriously drunk!” It was not until March, 1867, that all the revisions were finally completed and Marx set out for Germany to have the book published in his native tongue. In a short time it began to be distributed. But when Capital appeared in the book stalls it was far from the literary triumph which Marx and Engels had both expected. Its line of reasoning was entirely too finely drawn for the working masses and far from persuasive among in- tellectual reformers. It remained for the intellectuals of an-

Final Chapters of Gravitation, by Misner, Thorne and Wheeler

Misner Thorne and Wheeler, "Gravitation", Chapters 36 to 40.

Chapter Seventeen. April 20, 1993. A beautiful day, a day of rest and peace, after a hectic week. Katherine and I drove to the mountains early this morning and spent the day walking in the woods. It was cool and bright and clear. After a picnic lunch we made love in a little meadow under the open sky. We talked of many things, and we were both happy and carefree. The only shadow which fell on our happiness was Katherine's complaint about the number of out-of-town trips the Organization has sent me on recently, even though I have been out of prison for less than a month. I didn't have the courage to tell her that in the future we will have even less time together. I only found that out myself yesterday. When I reported to Major Williams last night after returning from Florida, he told me that I'll be traveling a lot in the next few months. I didn't get all the details from him, but he hinted that the Organization is preparing for an all-out, nationwide offensive this summer, and I am to be a sort of roving military engineer. But today I put that out of my mind and just enjoyed being alive and free and alone with a lovely girl in the midst of Nature's beauty. As we were driving home this evening, we heard the news on the radio which capped a perfect day: the Organization hit the Israeli embassy in Washington this afternoon. No better date in the year could have been chosen for such an actions For months an Israeli murder squad, working out of their embassy, has been picking off our people around the country. Today we settled the score-for the moment. We struck with heavy mortars while the Israelis were throwing a cocktail party for their obedient servants in the U.S. Senate. A number of Israeli officials had flown in for the occasion, and there must have been more than 300 people in the embassy when our 4.2inch mortars began raining TNT and phosphorus onto their heads through the roof. The attack only lasted two or three minutes, according to the news report, but more than 40 projectiles struck the embassy, leaving nothing but a burned-out heap of wreckage-and only a handful of survivors! So, we must have had at least two mortars firing. That confirms what I was told last week about our new weapons acquisitions. One fascinating incident in the news story, which the censors somehow failed to cut before it was broadcast, was the murder of a group of tourists by an embassy guard. During the attack an Israeli came running out of the crumbling building with a submachine gun, his clothing in flames. He spotted a group of a dozen tourists, all women and small children, gawking at the scene of destruction from across the street. Shrieking out his hatred in guttural Hebrew, the Jew opened fire on them, killing nine on the spot and critically wounding three others. Of course, he was not charged by the police. Your day is coming, Jews, your day is coming! I should be getting to bed early tonight in order to be ready for a long day tomorrow, but the excitement of our achievement this afternoon makes it impossible for me to sleep yet. The Organization has demonstrated once again what an incomparable weapon the mortar is for guerrilla warfare. I am much more enthusiastic now about our new plan for Evanston, and I'll be better braced for overcoming any more balkiness on the part of our professor in Florida. Last Saturday, when I was discussing my plan for getting radioactive material into the Evanston plant with Henry and Ed Sanders, they convinced me that a mortar could do the job better, and that we are now well supplied in that department. So I redesigned the delivery package, changing it from a walking cane to a 4.2-inch mortar projectile. We will replace the phosphorus in three WP rounds with our radioactive contaminant. After we have zeroed in the target with conventional rounds, we'll fire our three modified projectiles, which will be adjusted to exactly the same weight, of course. This way of doing it has three advantages over my original plan. First, it is surer; there is much less chance of something going wrong. Second, we will be delivering approximately 10 times as much contaminant, and the bursting charges in the projectiles will disperse it better than anything we could hope for with a loaded walking cane. And third, it need not be a suicide mission. We can keep the "hot" projectiles shielded until the moment they are to be fired, so the mortar crew will not be exposed to a lethal dose of radiation. My big worry was whether we would be able to get our projectiles inside the power station, instead of just on the roof The building is so heavily constructed that I doubt that they would penetrate, even with delayed-action fuses. Ed Sanders convinced me, though, that once a 4.2-incher is zeroed in and firmly seated it will deliver rounds with sufficient accuracy and a low enough trajectory so that we will have an excellent hit probability on the side of the generator building facing the shore, which is practically one, huge window, 10 stories high and more than 200 yards wide. Armed with this new plan, I went to talk to Harrison, our Florida chemist. I explained to him that his part of the job is to procure a suitable radioactive material and then, using his special facilities, safely load it into the mortar projectiles I will bring him. Harrison had a fit. He complained that he had only offered to supply the Organization with small quantities of radionuclides and other hard-to-obtain materials. He did not want to become involved in actually handling any ordnance, and he especially objected to the quantity of material required by our plan. Not many people in the country have access to so much radioactive material, and he is afraid it will be traced to him. I tried reasoning with him. I explained that if we try to load the projectiles ourselves, without the shielded handling facilities he has, one or more of our people will surely be exposed to a lethal dose of radiation. And I told him that he is free to choose a radionuclide, or a mixture of radionuclides, which will cast the least suspicion on him-so long as it is suitable for our purpose. But he flatly refused. "It's out of the question," he said. "It would jeopardize my entire career." "Dr. Harrison," I replied, "I am afraid you do not understand the situation. We are at war. The future of our race depends upon the outcome of this war. As a member of the Organization you are obliged to put your responsibility to our common effort ahead of all personal considerations. You are subject to the Organization's discipline." Harrison turned white and began stammering, but I continued relentlessly: "If you continue to refuse my request, I am prepared to kill you on the spot." As a matter of fact, I was unarmed, because I had flown down on a commercial airliner, but Harrison didn't know that. He swallowed a couple of times, found his voice, and said he will do what he can. We went over our figures and our requirements again and settled on an approximate timetable. Before I left I assured Harrison that if he feels this operation will place him in too much jeopardy to continue as a "legal" we can bring him underground after it is completed. He is obviously still very nervous and unhappy, but I don't think he will try to betray us. The Organization has established a very high degree of credibility for its threats. Just to be on the safe side, however, we will use another courier when the time comes to drive the modified projectiles down to Florida to be loaded and brought back. No technical knowledge is required for that. I don't like to act like a "tough guy" and threaten people; that is an unnatural role for me. But I have very little sympathy for people like Harrison, and I am sure that if he had not agreed to cooperate, I would have leaped on him and strangled him with my bare hands. I guess there are a lot of other people who think they are playing it smart by looking out for themselves and letting us take all the risks and do all the dirty work. They figure they will reap the benefits with us if we win, and they won't lose anything if we lose. That's the way it has been in most other wars and revolutions, but I don't believe it will work out that way this time. Our attitude is that those whose only concern is to enjoy life in these times of trial for our race do not deserve life. Let them die. In the conduct of this war we certainly will not concern ourselves with looking out for their welfare. More and more it will be a case of either being for us, all the way, or against us. April 25. Off to New York tomorrow for at least a week. Several things cooking up there which require my attention. The business down in Florida should have been taken care of by the time I return, and, if so, it'll be another trip to Chicago for me, this time by car. The Yids are really screaming about the attack on their embassy. They are giving far more emphasis in the news media to this attack than they did to either the attack on the Capitol or the bombing of the FBI building. Each day on TV it gets worse, with more and more of the old "gas chamber" propaganda that has worked so well for them in the past. They are really pulling their hair and rending their garments: "Oy, veh, how we are suffering! How we are persecuted! Why did you let it happen to us? Weren't six million enough?" What an act of outraged innocence! They are so good at it that they almost have me weeping along with them. But, strangely, there has not been another mention of the murder of those nine tourists by the Israeli guard. Ah, well, they were only Gentiles! One unexpected benefit to us from the embassy action has been a major quarrel between the Blacks and their Jewish patrons. Purely by coincidence the attack came three days before the date which had been set for a nationwide "strike for equality"- another of those giant media affairs to be stage-managed by the Human Relations Councils, in which "spontaneous" demonstrations were to be held simultaneously in a number of large cities, with Black and White citizens joining together in a call for the government to break down the last of the barriers between the races and assure the Blacks of "full equality." But then last Thursday, the day after we hit the Israelis, the big boys in the Councils-Jews, of course-called it all off. They decided they can't afford to share the media spotlight with the Blacks until they have finished milking their own "martyrdom" in the embassy raid for all it is worth. A few of the more militant Black leaders, who spent a long time working on the preparations for the equality strike, didn't see it that way. They have long resented the high-handed way in which the Jews manipulate and exploit the entire "equality" movement for their own ends, and this was the last straw for some of them. There were angry accusations and counteraccusations, which culminated Saturday in the Jews' number-one liberal, the nominal "chairman" of the National Association of Human Relations Councils, giving a press interview at which he denounced his Jewish masters. From now on, he said, the Human Relations Councils will not recognize the Jewish claim to minority status. They will be treated just like the White majority and will no longer be exempt from investigation and punishment for "racism." He was out on his ear before he knew what happened, of course, and his place has been taken by a better-housebroken Black, but the fat is already in the fire. On the streets the roving bands of Black "deputies" have gotten the word, and woe betide any member of the self-chosen tribe who falls into their hands. Several have already died while being "questioned," just in the last two days. The "Toms" will eventually get their more militant and ' resentful brethren back into line, but meanwhile Izzy and Sambo are really at one another's throats, tooth and nail, and it is a joy to behold. May 6. It's nice to be home again, even if only for a day. But New York was interesting! I saw more ordnance up there than I ever imagined we'd have at our disposal. One of our specialized units in New York has been acquiring military materiel of all sorts and stockpiling it. The purpose of my visit was to survey the types of military gadgets available which might be useful to me in designing and building special weapons and sabotage devices, so that I can make recommendations for future procurement priorities. I was met at the airport by a girl, who drove me to a wholesale plumbing supply store in an incredibly filthy industrial and warehouse area in Queens, near the East River. Garbage, old newspapers, and empty liquor bottles were strewn all over. We had to navigate around the stripped and rusting hulks of several abandoned autos which nearly blocked the narrow street before the girl finally pulled into a small, muddy parking area behind a tall, chain-link fence. She knocked at a steel door marked "employees only," and we were quickly admitted to a gloomy, dusty storeroom filled with bins of pipe fittings. There she turned me over to a cheerful young man, about 25 years old, dressed in greasy coveralls and carrying a clipboard. He introduced himself only as "Richard" and offered me a cup of coffee from a disreputable-looking electric urn at one end of a long counter near the door. Then we took an old and rickety freight elevator to the second floor of the building. When we stepped out of the elevator, I gasped in surprise. In a huge, low-ceilinged room, more than a hundred feet on a side, there were immense heaps of every sort of military weaponry imaginable: automatic rifles, machine guns, flame throwers, mortars, and literally thousands of cases of ammunition, grenades, explosives, detonators, boosters, and spare parts. I don't know how the floor supported it all. In one corner of the room four men and a woman worked at two long benches under fluorescent lights. One man was grinding the serial numbers off automatic rifles, which he took one at a time from a stack of approximately 50, while the others oiled and reassembled the rifles and then carefully packed them inside a large hot-water heater from which the top had been removed. I saw a dozen large cartons nearby which contained other water heaters. "That's the way we store and ship the weapons," Richard explained. "We remove the serial numbers just to make it harder for the authorities to figure out where we're getting the stuff, in case they ever find any of it. And once the water heaters leave here, there's no way they can be traced back to us. The phony shipping tags we put on the cartons are coded to tell us what the contents are. You'll find that our rather special water heaters have been installed in the headquarters of quite a few of our combat units along the east coast, but we ship them everywhere in the country." Almost in a daze, I wandered among the heaps of weaponry. I stopped beside a ceiling-high stack of large, olive-drab crates. Stenciled on each crate were the words: "Mortar, 4.2 inch, M 30, Complete," and under that, "Gross Wt. 700 lbs." "Where did you get these?" I asked. I remembered all the work we had done a year and a half ago modifying just one mortar of ancient vintage. "Those came in last week from Fort Dix," Richard answered. "The people in one of our units just outside Trenton paid a dumb liberal supply sergeant on the base $10,000 to swipe a truck with those things on it and deliver it to them. Then they brought them up here two at a time in the back of a pickup. "We receive materiel here from more than a dozen bases and arsenals in New York, New Jersey, and Pennsylvania. Look what we got last month from Picatinny Arsenal," he said, throwing back a tarpaulin covering a nearby stack of cylindrical objects. I leaned over to examine them. They were fiberboard tubes about two feet long and five inches in diameter. Each one contained an M329 high-explosive mortar projectile. There must have been at least 300 of them in that one pile. Richard continued his explanation: "It used to be that most of our new weapons were smuggled off military bases one at a time, by our own people who were stationed there. But lately we've switched to hiring Liberal service personnel to hijack the stuff for us by the truckload. We don't always get exactly what we want that way, but we get a lot more of it. "We've set up a couple of phony fronts posing as Mafia buyers for the illegal weapons-exporting business. Our people on the bases steer the buyers to Blacks in charge of the weapons storage areas. For enough money they'll walk off with the whole base for us. They just have to share some of the money we give them with a few of their 'soul brothers' on guard duty. "There are several advantages for us. First, it's easier for the Blacks to swipe the stuff without getting caught. The political police aren't watching them as closely as they are the White service personnel, and the Blacks already have organized networks on all the bases for siphoning off and selling tires, gasoline, PX supplies, and other things for which there is a civilian demand. And it allows our people in the service to concentrate on their main task, which is recruiting other White servicemen and building our strength inside the military." I spent the rest of the day going through everything in the room and mentally cataloguing it. When I left I took samples of a couple dozen different types of high-explosive fuses, igniters, and other odds and ends I wanted to experiment with. Which meant I had to come back on the train. The situation in the military is double-edged. With more than 40 per cent Blacks in the Army and nearly that many in the other services, morale, discipline, and efficiency are shockingly low. That makes it enormously easier for us to steal weapons and also to recruit, especially among the career personnel, who resent what has been done to their services. But it also poses a fearful danger in the long run, because the day will come when we must make our move inside the military. With so many Blacks under arms, there is bound to be a bloody shambles. While we are cleaning out the Liberals and reorganizing the services, the country will be virtually defenseless. Well, I guess it has been planned that way.