Hricko
--- a barrier island perv from Charleston I'd once before met in La.
Then he escorted a Charleston shamus on a Hollywood
snuff-firm gig and needed a hand-off. Now, suddenly, a packet of
75-mm airbursts far upstream snap me awake. Shit. Call me
quarterback. I looked around, eyes unable to pierce the misty
rainforest. Swamp and brine pools, native Indian burial and gator
mounds, and something of a wilderness quiet all provided the
preserves salvation from developers machines. Surrounded by city,
woods and swamps seemed empty, as did the road I drove and the pier.
Meant as a rich mans toy, meant for yachts of the wealthy the
mussel-encrusted posts, cross-beams and gray wood docking run long
and straight into the last bend of the St Johns River. Last before
the Atlantic surf; last before the Mayport rock jetty and last before
the navel base and it's newly won carrier.
The
Obama Hussain, named after the last POTUS . His own people put him
down after he dared call out National Guard to suppress fires in
riot-torn Cincinnati. Isis had tried taking over, as in Dearborn.
But Cincinnati hunters banded in leaderless cells, terrorized the
local Bantu into behavior and butchered out drive-in Muzzis by
sniper attacks. It wasn't pretty, but the militia figured gawd would
sort 'em out. Now Jacksonville --- ex-senator Rubios mosquito-boat
Carnival Caravan off-loads a 4-th world Camp of the Saints along
Floridas east coast. NOBs carrier dominates that mongrel pack. It's
known as THE BEAST by Bantu , narco-MEX and Pak-import swabbies who
run it under Admiral Jimbo Carter 4th It's said he wears
an ISIS-controlled explosive belt, but noone have seen it. Viewed
another way that carrier provides Jacksonvilles money,
Jacksonvilles pride and a mayors ticket to another term on the local
gravy-boat. Florida government split into Rubios Cubano mafia and
northern nativists. Blacks were hated by both, tribalized and now
provoking an exceptionalist sub-klan deal to the best offer. The
nativists dug in and Hricko swore those militia were putting-down
the carrier this morning, down to the ever-dredged and ever-silted
river bottom and away from the strafing missions it's F18-Ds run on
those ravening north-Florida militia.
I'm
here to chat-up the man gonna carve a dozen eight-inch holes in the
manganese-steel belly of the beast. To the north, a pair of ducks
rustle up from the marsh; foraging the shallows a fox scared them no
doubt. The ducks skim low across the pier and following the sharp
river curve noisily fly off to the south. Navy F18s follow a similar
course . The fighters stalk militia river pirates who prey on tourist
excursions and torpedo an occasional munitions supply. Federals have
chosen the city center office towers as command posts. In fact they
built another, thirty-fives stories high and covered with low-light
targeting sensors. Constant rocket and 20-mm sniping from surrounding
ghettos has forced an occupation brigade ( 1st Miami
Migrant Marines) and Ft. Bragg ranger battalion into 100,000
shot-a-day response; every corner a bulls-eye for weapons ranged over
2000 yards. Panthers and crocodiles freely roam town center
savaging the remains. So Scranton certified, the bastard, along with
needed tradecraft.
No,
not foxes my ear whispers; I follow approaching boot-steps on my
iNAV. From the east and the sound spectrum suggests boot-soles
are truck-tire rubber so probably worn by the militia picket. The
Go-PRO Viking on my shoulder clicks on. I'm sweating in the cold –
yet another Appalachian hugging Canadian blast – waiting for
either a militia patrol to sweep me under their skirts or to get
Federalized – castrated, gutted and shot dead.
Bad
luck doesn't just talk it swears. A misdirected shell whizzes
overhead and explodes spraying shrapnel near the boxy pier end.
That's a 43-mm; I know the sound from Turk air-tanks flying over
Ramadi, Kurdistan hosing down YPG positions. I glance at my Swiss
Army – then jump from the pick-up walking smartly to the piers
first wooden planks. SEE ME you bastards I think! South, where the
ducks flew an expensive, demanding cross-river firefight breaks
out ; thirty and thirty-seven mm weapons howl across the St Johns.
Large caliber munitions were to be expected, Hricko had mentioned,
because in Jax even chip-implanted geese zombies wore body armour.
The shells are four-dollars each, bought on the Cubano black market
that runs Miami. SEE ME! Twenty yards out a nervous thin man rises
from the deck his M16 at ready-arms. “You Jackson”?
For
seconds the apparition slaps me speechless. “No I'm the feckin-A
Pillsberry dough-boy and where-the-fuck do you natives get money for
non-linear optical skin?” I've looped the Nikon around my left
shoulder and a Seattle Seahawk patch covers my right knee.
Another
five-round 75-mm clip exploded far overhead. “Here they call
themselves National Organization of Browns - - - NOBs for short. “
He noticed, peals off a synfab helmet exposing a pale unshaven
militia face and raises the M16; it clicks into full-auto mode.
“Who got the first piece of Madonnas tongue?”
1
“A
rabid Negro goldfish.” More tradecraft. Nobody laughs.
“You
armed?” I patted the 357-cal Dan Wesson under my A-2. Gun-barrel
poked into the holster bulge and he seemed satisfied. Two men
rise behind him, one fat one tall. They carry long-barrel 10-gauge
goose-guns. “Scranton, SixPak said you're one lucky nigger.”
Sixpak, Hrickos nom-de-guerre. I jigger out a Camel straight and one
for the closest rifleman. Light them. Thin streams of grey smoke
dance along the pier railing. “I've been worse.” Another shell
whines overhead.
“What
do you want?”
A
Seal would fuck around and type into Bluefish: Want? A Disney whore
and four Cubano Partagas. I'll stop that - - “Want? What any
newsman wants: who, what when , where --- why.”
“Come
a long way for it.” His M16 barrel has never left my face. “You
get tired of the snow?”
“You
ain't so tan yourself, palsy.”
Tall
man taps his body-armour. “Why don't the Federals shut you down?”
Why
indeed. “The SUPREMES still hold to half the 1st
Amendment.” Pure bullshit. “Truth is HRI knows more about the
militia than they do. Gestapo hoping for a break.” It's the best
damned lie I can manage.
Tall
mans face got no satisfaction. “We read about the late snow seasons
along the North-West coast. Doesn't our great white north keep you
busy? It is still ours, eh _ - -?” The second man had stepped
for'ard and ground his 8-gauge on a boot. “You think this is
budding Florida artists night at the Cummer?”
I've
been in Jacksonville three days. First day an ex-girlfriend toured
me the museums. We found a water-stained Morrison and dusty
garage-sale early Remington. The sculpture wouldn't be discovered
for another twenty years. I said nothing. We move now, off the dock
and twenty yards down a worn path into a ragged stand of vines.
Wilderness by the fifty-foot square. I thought of something to say
about lonely trains, about the great white north not all lies.
“Quieter now north of the Rogue River, since the Seattle fagboiz
slaughtered local Muslims.” Three pairs of southron eyes surround
me and don't blink. I story.
“Seattle
ISIS started beheading local GLBT members. ALLAHs dogs knife-weiding
fanatics screamed while the local politicians pissed pants.” The
three men surrounding me nodded. “Easy marks the fagboiz; you
could tell them by their rainbow sweats and Teletubby backpacks.
ISIS killed twenty-seven in one month. Their H1B-programmer agents
screamed for Sharia and the following genocide. Seattle
techno-oligarchy demurred –- for the BIG THREE and SMALL SIX ten
bucks is ten bucks.”
“Fags
got what they asked for,” fat man blubbered. “Keep yo' dick in a
woman!”
“Money mad,
power hungry and status pimping Seattle
women aren't all that entertaining.” I thought about it. “But,
you called it close.” My iNAV lit up as a boat-hull beat upriver
along the channel island. " Police power paralyzed, refusing to admit
that an entire race needs to be put-down. Jewboi legals were no help
as one after another were sniped by Isis terror squads. Yet
dirty-handed wisdom rose amid the sheep-like slaughter. Some Seattle
teens in a wood-working program UTUBED a bit of Greek history, a
NAMBLA project enforced by the school district.”
A
man spit -”NAMBLA!”
I
fished out another Camel and Zippoed the end burning red. Laughed
bitter. “Ya wouldn't guess it, huh? Ancient history – 470 BC!
Seems Spartan hoplite lovers fought together, au' pair, fearing a
partners shame if they retreated! Practical too. One sliced at an
enemies head while the other drove a spear-point through his groin.
Hell on Persians! Hell of a story pair. I picked it up and HRI ran
full banner pages with ad-support from a Bulgarian AK-47 factory
worked by Greek Orthodox Christians.” A rain gust swept through
the copse and I raised my head to breath it. “First the fagots
tried marching and got picked-off like drunk pussy at a fern-bar.”
Crackling
leaves and a deep degraded voice behind me. “Amazing ISIS
didn't put you down. What did Seattle straights do?”
Startled.
“ISIS tried; I shot two and the galpal shot the other. Now I hire
four ex-Seals for legwork and to write copy; one gal's gonna win a
Pulitzer if she sticks around. Since we rent the entire second
floor of the Victorian, 50-cal sniper posts come easy.” I started
to turn, but paws held me steady. “Straights? They did Jack shit.”
Fat
man. “We heard you've killed before. That's good. But --- but straights crapping out, that's us!”
The
man had his M16 pointed straight at my head. Hrickos last email
said he had already paid me out of purgatory. “Not them. Seattle
lib.com straights at first begged for tolerance, for understanding,
for mercy, for – “ I hit deep on the straight. “ They even took
up a collection to build a new mosque ; tolerance ya know, not a
blojob.” I spit out a piece of Turk-blend tobacco. “But,
something brewed backstage cause the fagboiz struck. First night
they butchered twelve known ISIS killer-perps that liberal Seattle
courts and police nancyboiz had released for good-hehavior. One
dozen killaz and two-dozen Muzzi-wog fellow travelers, apologists,
financiers, body-runners. Whole families were machine-gunned and
burned. Some say scattered Seattle police provided computer records,
but the Muzzi-wog H1-B import programmers shut-down those computers
fast as Allah fucks a dog.”
“Then
case closed,” says the rough voice from behind.
“Case
just started. Sunday next was a rest day; NAMBLA snipers got nine
ISIS belly-bombers and four suicide trucks before they could hit
churches, but one explosion took out the new cross-town tunnel. On
Monday morning GLBT sappers blew-up BIG THREE offices housing the
Muzzi-wog H1-B code-monkeys. Those still living were gut-shot
leaving the collapsed burning buildings. Wounded screamed for Allah
or their mothers tit --- and pleaded Constitutional and human
rights. By then it was a mixed militia: straight, trans, fag, white,
black, brown, red and yellow. During a melee some tall bloody-faced
black man stood for'ard, jumped to a truck-hood and started
bellowing. “You Muzzi bastards haven't acted human and Americans
haven't had a Constitution since Andrew Jackson. Mr Jefferson be
shamed.” He then shot a black-robed ISIS teen in the belly.
“Allah akbar bitch!”
“A
start and start only”, rapped the man behind.
“Certain
of it”, I responded. “HRI ran spreads of the bloody
street-corners. Isis fighters were well armed and determined to kill.
Few surrendered, but those captured were everywhere shot in the
head. Three turncoat whites were hung jiggling from pine trees.
Four-hundred ISIS were eliminated within the city, plus another
two-hundred that missed airport buses.”
“So
the buses escaped to Saudi passenger planes? We heard - - -”
“You
heard wrong. Four 747s took TOWS up the azzwhole. But, they were
half-empty. Six transit cars and the buses were cut-off. Feds ran
those buses and a couple FBI turned sides, the buses cornered by a
local Eagle-Scout unit with mini-14s; steel point 50-caliber
auto-fires finished the job. Those FBI and some Treasury agents
chose field commissions in the militia; armed with 335-cal sniper
rifles. Call themselves the GRINGO FEDERALES now and fight
together.”
“And
the straights?”
“Who's
doing this interview pal?” He said nothing. “Near eight-thousand
so-called breeders took arms and swore honor to the Constitution;
both men and women. HRI webzine had a million-hit day with the
sob-stories and excuses. A couple ex-Pesmerga women flew in to train
the gals; they're killers ya know.”
“So
I've heard. We have two east of the Inter-coastal working with female
sniper squads. Men in the field say they fuck you so hard your ass
turns to jelly.” No he didn't sound like that, smooth and
determined, but sounded like a rusted iron radiator that steam ate
through.
I
continued. “After one weeks discipline with automatic rifles ,
straights are off fighting imported narco-MEX Federals near Mt.
Rainier. Killing one-for-one some say. Amtrac takes narco bodies
directly back to Mexico. Other straights ran for Spokane; maybe they
figured Sand Point Nazis would have mercy on them.” I spit and
filled a lung with Camel poison. “HRI did a two-day special on
their greeting by our eastern militia. The rest milled about Seattle
for two days, then mixed with disguised ISIS fighters headed for San
Fran via Portland. 'Brown Americans are good Americans ' they chanted
pleading for transit. But, the rail bridge refused to open … seems
there are fags everywhere armed to the teeth. ISIS butchered a
thousand of the straights fleeing with them. A night of screams
followed before cross-river rangers put down the last of ISIS
fanatics. Living straights were given a choice: arm and fight or
swim the winter river and die. Seattle, land of the yellow-belly
wobbly. Fucking cunt about half chose to swim; two made it.”
“Must
be the cattle hormones.” I said nothing. The man behind touched my
shoulder; we moved into the clearing; he took off the black mask. A
kid, a kids face and scag hair, a kids thin arms, a kids soul that
looked wound out as ginned cotton. A healing scar on his throat
talked plenty. He was smoking Reds and I said no thanks. Then he
rasped. “No fancy talk here, Scranton; Adams, Paine, Franklin,
Jefferson, Hamilton and Madison done that already. We're mostly
straight white Christian, fully intent on butchering off the
anti-Constitutional globalist enemy. Whoever that may be where-ever
we are. That or send them away by steamboat.” There was a silence.
“Gulags are too expensive and degrade everyone concerned.”
I
stuttered ..”Bu better to kill than imprison?”
“Damn
straight,” he exclaims! “Florida is citizen land. We butchered
it from the Seminoles fair and square - - - their fighting with us
now, ya know?” I didn't. “Our main force fights to liberate
Jacksonville inside the St Johns River curve. Plenty of ranger-men
west and north of the river; Federal hi-rises site on the west bank
so in time we'll expand. East and west.” He thought some and said
bitterly, “Amelia Island and Georgia tidewater is Federal by
wealth.”
“You
got lots of moves, lots of energy.” I held back for a second.
“Getting anywhere?”
Tall
man squeaky voice. “Anywhere? We control half the daytime river,
ninety-percent at night, half the land area and two hospitals.
Medicine we buy from Canada; the Post Office hurts for business and
ships half-price. Thinks they go to a migrant camp outside Tampa.”
He spit. “ Most local docs chose us over the NOBs. After we
captured two Treasury cutters and could pay them!”
“You
have no air cover that I see.”
“You
ain't supposed to see nothin'! Upriver airbase is wrecked, but our
territory, our concrete landing strips for launching drones, cruise
missiles and prop night-fighters; we control all the beaches toward
St Augustine except , well except for Mayport Navel Base.”
“Getting
that base will be tough. You consider moving to Texas? It's open
range.”
Tall
man. “We're Florida men, born and bred.
“Don't
fuck with Texas palsy. Air-bases immediately locked down or went
militia. National Guard shot pandering officers and went native.
Ranchers and Christian biker gangs cleaned out remaining Federals.
One two three. Most locals knew cowboy machinists, so redneck oilmen
and RUST programmers all armed with uranium-tipped micro-rockets.
They swept away attack helicopters, fire-bombed a few M1-As and
shredded invading Mexican Gatling-gun trucks. Damn – lucky those
narcos drove Ford 250s and most engines overheated. Built Ford
tough! Christian ranchers drove Dodge 454-hemis whose 37-mm pairs
whipped bangerboy asswhole.”
“You
know a lot Mr Scranton.” We had started walking deeper into the
preserve where a live oak canopy starved out swamp grass. “Do
you know how we love the Constitution and love our land?”
“True
story, kid and gave HRI nineteen-million hits in September. But,
love didn't save Jeff Davis … or New Israel.” I was thinking
about a Norwegian blood farmer with no tongue.
“You
know the Pak and narco-MEX crew can't take the carrier out to sea.
Not blue water with thirty foot swells. Don't know how to control
ballast, so the steel duck swims around Mayport Jetties, spitting
off F18s and Apaches, and spewing radioactive oil from a bust
lubrication value. Another six months and the rear propeller stops
turning.”
“Radioactive,
huh. Remind me not to eat the local fish. Sounds like Paks may sink
the carrier trying to turn 'round a bouy. So why not wait, like
Gen. Lee ought to have waited in mountains west of the Shenandoah.
Those Bantu-piloted F18s do any real damage?”
The
kid touched his neck. “Bantu can shoot just fine. Boers taught
the Auzzis that in South Africa 1900; we remember and excepting
snipers and long-barrel 25-mm gunners keep our head tucked into our
belly. If you need quants I won't give them; we do lose
supply-running swiftboats to the planes and raider formations to
helicopters. Not many, but enough to hurt morale. We don't give
mini-14s to 10 year olds, but they take them anyway and march to the
sound of fighting. It's hard to see one torn up by shrapnel.“
My
back sweat cold. The carrier ploy had suicide mission written all
over it. “Now you shoot for the big-time with popguns. Like I said
Gen Lee ought to have known better.”
The
kid with a scared neck took a long slow drag on his Red. “Courage
yes, we have that, but besides, Gen Lee didn't have neuro-controlled
weaponized redfish!”
“You
weaponized the damned redfish?” That stopped me cold. My head
spinning as I guessed odds and debated HRIs morning headline. “Ha!
Think you can sink a carrier with fish?”
Tall
man. “Jonah harbored in a whale,”
“Not
the same thing, pad're. In fact kinda … ”
“Jonah
carried a message for Nineveh, so patience, Scranton. One mans
pogie is anothers bluefish.” Nonsense, more nonsense. Yet I'd
hooked a big blue yesterday and - - - “We released a school of
60-lb mercurial.thermite loaded spot-tails on the outgoing tide,
forty minutes ago. He held up an iWatch whose face sparkled
twenty-five pinpricks of blue light. A finger-swipe produced river
bottom topography and he smiled. Those spot-tails, that's Donnas
work.”
Brushing
aside tangled undergrowth we approached a pool-sized low,
camouflaged concrete holding tank. A screen and pieces of netting
rolled away. Leaves dripped as a film of rain sifted through the
trees, shimmering clear water. Fish fins roiled the surface. Across
the tank a fresh faced girl stood watching us, her Nor'easter hanging
loose and bowed amusingly. “Fish are smart,” she giggled.
A
smirk from the kid. “Fish mostly follow the tide; we stimulate
them to find large steel objects attractive. Find, approach and suck
on the metal skin. “ He puffed a bit. “That's my neural
micro-circuit work at uni! Really, a fish-brain isn't all that big;
they sense, swim and deliver. The three-lb squirt of 3000-degree
liquid copper traveling 350 meters-per-second takes about
four-tenths seconds to bubble-out and penetrate a seven-inch thick
hull. And after penetration the first space inside the hull is
ravaged beyond repair. ”
Who,
what, when, where --- “Isn't this preserve the first place
Federals would sweep?”
“Arlington
belong to the militia. Federals control only the southern half of
University Boulevard. Any rolling column gets shredded east of the
bridge, four miles from here.”
“And
ranger or para-fighter bands?”
“Perhaps,”
he allowed,”but only in winter. Donna also breeds snakes and to
snark back here in summer, without a full-body anti-strike suit is
to die. Not much help for a silent ranger attack. ”
Why?
“You too?”
Fat
man laughed. “Not we too! Kid here built an electronic unit ---
high-frequency sonic snake repellant. Acts on their infrared sensors
and makes their fangs fall out.” Fat man laughed again. “Carry it
backpack style and not a rattlesnake or moccasin will approach for
fifty yards. Shut-down. And if one is buzzed and you step on it the
viper just yawns and slithers away.”
Kid
was breathing hard - - the throat - - - “Do the Feds have such a
unit? Militia Green malwared a homoerotic sex site favored by
Federal geeks. The load was slippery, transferred on a key and
crashed, then stuxxed their Miami design computers. Hardware needs
replacing so not yet! ”
Why?
“Militia Green, that a fifth column unit?” Fat man tall man
says nothing. “How much time do I have?”
The
kids got jumpy, his iWatch roiled numbers. “Fifteen minutes , say,
until Fed computer deconvolute satellite IR through the rain-squalls.
Militia units put up lots of heat noise for this operation.” He
thought a bit. “You wear a vest?”
Why?
“A-2 vest and knickers, steel cup. How much time ---?” It's
quiet, so quiet. I think of so many thin faced militia on
riverbanks, icefalls and third story warrens. And of the nuclear
weapons Airforce generals have locked down, sequestered, refused yet
releasing to the Federals. It's not like this militia uprising locks
together perfectly, like a maths proof in sophomore lecture.
Everyone stiffens. Dreamlike, ricochet sounds fly upriver. You need
to know they're coming I think, but the clever iNAV sound shows a
blast spectrum; muffled blast one through thirteen could have been a
drum-roll, could have been an infantry salute, could have been
backfires at a dirt track stock car race, could a' been lots.
“Bingo.
Move people,” says tall man clamping shut his smart phone. Legs
frozen by anticipation churn. Except Donna who stood stroking and
cooing a cold paralyzed water moccasin we all crashed through
vines and as a column dashed into a grassy area beside the parking
lot. Upstream the high-caliber firefight had gone ballistic, and
tracer streams forged pathways bright and simpering across the river.
Alone! Rain has stiffened with the north-east wind. Only my green
painted pick-up holds a place.
Kid
had older mans eyes. “Now publish the damned story, Scranton.
Don't need to be slick to walk free. Drive out and across
University Rd., wind around to the Fish and Game building. Park,
get out your fishing pole and move. You have time and a stupid
face, striding up the boardwalk, toward Arlingtons golf club and
fishing pier. Might even have company; university students come to
the boardwalk and fuck when the shooting starts. Privacy you know and
Federal helicopters never shoot golfers.”
I
hit the pick-up seat running. Behind us, beyond the pier two
Federal gunboats raced down the deeper channel. Their three Yamaha
250s screamed and bows carved a twenty-foot high wall of spray. By
now trapped men were screaming on the carriers lower decks; sure of
it. My engine fired right off. I had popped into first gear already,
tires dug deep in mud-skim and my shout-out was only a tangent.
”What about you?”
“We're
home,” mouthed the kid with a ripped-out throat. He, fat man, tall
man and the M16 gunman turned and walked slowly onto the pier. They
all carried fishing poles and someone had hauled up a bucket - - -
live finger-mullet I was guessing as I followed them in the oversized
rearview. Half-way to the cross-docks they stopped and baited rigs.
I should'a guessed that, cause the redfish were running.
We're
home with another HRI. Returning to port, Ladies and gentlemen good
night.
_