Other Worlds: The Turner Diares, Chapter 18

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.