Bloody Kansas

Ladies and gentlemen - yeoman - all ships at sea and natives of any stripe ... lets go to press ...

The girl foresaw every-other male butchered in North America, before women got truly fucked again. Scrum imagined something similar, that the worst was coming. I say. “Truly Scrum, you started the rebellion, you split the nation one ambush, one firefight and one hidy-hole after another. Like this!” I'd met militia leaders in worse places, fallbacks more lonesome than a prairie-themed Kansas state park twenty-five miles off contested I-70. Only once do low-flying F-35s drive us into high scrub.

“Once is enough.” Scrum banters about Wyoming rainbow trout. “In this age truth is novelty. So you say control the open land, contest the forests and starve the cities. Banski would agree.” Avoiding 120-mm Federal dirt-rakes we had driven a Jeep backroads from a tiny airport in Lucas, lacing our path with farm trailers and planters only live-sight patrols could decipher as provocative. Only one Federal scout had crossed our path, and Scrum neatly rifled a 30-mm shatter-point through his plexi windshield. Progressive agros died before they whined … and no return fire, no smudgy silhouette of black smoke!

Scrum enjoyed the crossed sword, and his good humor didn't just talk to me it swore and I swore back: “Gawddam Scrum who are you?” I'd vidcamed Scrum before, preparing assault columns for battle in the tall-grass oceans. His favorite weapon? A 35-mm fitted Ford dually with two 50-cal grass-cutters up front. He fucking-A took names.

“Split and spit! The great white notch.” Scrum laughs, his copper-colored face gleaming in late afternoon sun. “Omnivores that we are, humans ecological niche is still quite narrow. So make that notch between globalist emotocents: metro-sexual, rent-seeking, anal SJWs, pro-mega-business, pro-fag, pro-fem, pro-Bantu, pro wetback, pro-feeb, pro-media, pro-snowflake, pro-elite … and the rough-cut citizen militias, or republican constitutional nativists RCN.”

I snark. “Stalinist creeps battling white libertarians for Americas soul - - and 3,000,000 square miles of oil-infested badlands. We both know that, Scrum.” A camoed Ford 350 rumbles though the park gate, chats at the ranger station and flees downwind to the dam. It's been bombed and repaired and the big Ford strapping 25-mm triples steps over the fractured concrete moving from one fill to another and crossing, streaked off to the south.

“Yeah you know that Scranton, but HRI hawed slow-as-molasses to savvy social implications. Most wouldn't know Rand from IRONHORSE. Yet tongue-tied to accept America could not survive half-slave and half-free. You initially treated militia revolt like village wife-stealing in the Congo.” Scrum took a Camel and I smoked the second, blowing a thin stream of curly grey smoke into the wind. “You missed how broadly vendetta ruled; our militia came first at this.”

Spitting - - “remember Scrum we were nice guys!” We puff up the gravel trail, both carrying logs for the firepit. “You came first at vendetta, you or Banski! Who , what, where, how are you Scrum?” I prod him; that's what producing a webzine means: you make people spew, not shit white.

“Who am I? Like this Scranton, if HRI paints backgrounds. My grandfather immigrated from high mountain Peru, a young, bronzed-face copper miner brought into the new Virginia City silver boom until it crapped out. Wild West, really; more Federal tax agents were killed by unemployed prospectors on Silver-Vein Road than died during the rebellions 1st year. A tank battalion finally put them down, but the tankers hated killing their brothers; one not-so-well-known cause of Military neutrality. Anyrate grandfather worked explosives and never lost a finger. After, my family grew potatoes and matte, in a narrow Nevada flood-plain and sold their tea infused with peyote. Sad. His wife died, and grandfather married a full-blood Sioux squaw. Very American, all that. Thus my father is one-half In'jun. He also married an Indian women, a Crow living off-grid named Laughing Bud. As a child I planned scalping whites, fixed radios for pops chop-shop, killed scorpions and rattlesnakes to make tourist bracelets, aced SATS and finished as an engineering prof at USF MED. Gastro department had big grants in newly hot sapphire implant chips. Even young, or because of it I took a republican bent and penchant for rugby and desert racing. I was still a kid then, so it seems now.”

I snipped. “Bad boy, a successful In'jun. Aren't supposed to do that Scrum.” I was looking for Banski, but darknet voices said no Scrum no Banski. One fought one thought. Together they had written the ruthlessly effective war simulator BATTLE MASTER. Together they have teased scattered American militia from nativist crackpots to Viet Min style dealers of vengeance. And now California rumbles pointed to the next-big-thing; “I'm here in Kansas - - - Banski will know.”

“Certainly my friend,” barks Scrum, “Banski imagined our nativist militia, even before Obama and his globalist poodles Pelosi, Ryan and Schumer came after the guns. But, HRI - - - that's you started the shooting. Got right up with scattered nativist fighters, face-to-face. Their rifles smoked blood, but they had little to express except rage. You fed back to them that rage in bitter chips of truth.” His ragged copper chin catches failing sun and grows maps of roughened bright and shadow. “I read HRI stories about basketball playing sappers and zombied redfish; that Federal aircraft carrier is still on the St Johns River bottom. Teaches what a few micro-volts can do when controlling territory is the game.”

I listen patient and silent to Canadien wind rustling long-grass and sweeping fall into Kansas prairie. Air had cooled, before a southroning Jet Stream. Walking weather still comfortable at six-PM after a grueling days drive. We had pitched tent, showered and are returning to our camp. I say, remembering Jacksonville. “But raiders can't control the thickets, not for long.” I was surprised Scrum, an open land fighter had got so out-of that loop. “Federal M2As stormed the fishpond, with F-18s overhead; they found Vietnam era claymore mines instead of militia dorks; … songbirds tell me the girl still raises wicked fish, but it's no longer at Reddy Point.”

We sit at a wooden park table, under a grove of birch. Curved concrete shower-stalls seem crowding 50 yards away, and concrete tent bases scatter among the trees. Scrum is at ease. “Where were conservative politicos, the white Republican leadership when time came to negotiate?” He walked to our woodpile, rummaged the pile and firepit tossing on a log. “SJWs screamed self-righteous tyranny, Bantu Obama kissed their ass. Leadership of free men grew from the bottom. We killed as many neo-Stalinist media people as needed and hounded wanna-bees into hiding. Sure hard to scare a Jew away from money; sure hard to scare a white Swarthmore bitch away from guilt. And what happened to American Catholics? Matrix has no pull with them. The Pope cut off their balls or Mother Teresa wants more faithful failure?” Scrums mouth curves a cynical grin. Our firepit glowed kindling, warming the perkco and we under the iron grate slip in logs. Coffee bangs on the glass top and Scrum fills two boiling tin cups. It's Haitian and better than white. “I kill people Scranton, butcher a vague enemy and teach that to others. Some want to give names to who gets killed. What's important rebels keep firing after they fight! Before you and HRI the battle formations were not long dense fire-lines; when HRI published pictures of men standing against machine-guns with Winchester hunting rifles the militia lines got much thicker and resistance stubborn.”

Those thin ready-to-run firing lines I remembered. Generations might pass, before the revolts deep causes were identified. I pitched back. “Story about thick slabs of long-guns and walls of full-metal-jacket bullets, but militia and Federals manned battle-lines before HRI published a word. Individual thoughtful citizens knew the America of Hamilton, Washington and Jefferson had being thieved! Governance, money and culture had split.”

Scrum nodded. “The states had split, Michigan, Ohio and Illinois belong to Bantu and invading Muzzi-wog ISIS. Bloodied Federals own splotches east of the Mississippi; the river itself has become practically a separate nation. Nobody cared when the levees broke, so river-folk united to control the water-flow and floods. That and make a living with soybeans and corn and weed. Now, their councils and gunboats patrol from Cincinnati to Natchez - - pure Creole! Among other states and festering cities, most migrant bangerboiz chose whatever Fed-controlled city would take them, while mercantile Jews relocated to New York City.”

“Any issue there?" I pulled the vidcam in for a close-up. Scrum spit. "Not with Navy chiefs running those patrol boats; armed with Model 1912 45-cal semis they are very peaceful men."

“HRI tried to get Federal interviews in the beginning. They spit us out.” They demanded 'who is Will Scranton?' Yeah, crown of creation; I had watched the Yankees be super-human in New York City. Too sad to remember and I slide away. “I photographed in new Israel just after Saudi take-over. You couldn't shit in an alley for fear of snipers.”

“Before your turn I fought in Kuwait, a tanker - - learned to shoot and run - - out longer than you before Israel went down. But, New Israel came back hard, scratching at anyone close.” Scrum seems to understand. “They got new Jews when the Nordic pogroms started, but needed weapons. Hard to believe French and Russian factories would save their pigskin. But, now New Israel has recovered Haifa and Beirut from Saudi ISIS , and with those ports and gifted Russian frigates IDF had blasted through thin-skinned US Navy littorals and grabbed the Jersey/Manhattan/LongIsland ansatz. Claimed the original Dutch owners of Manhattan were Jews and did not get fair value for the property! You know what they say: fear a German with a Mauser_98, an Italian with a switchblade and … and a Jew with a law book. Well they owned Manhattan anyway, but most transplanted American Jews waited there under IDF nuclear protection. Scattered patriots of-course and some gone darkland, but those few hating other Jews now fight alongside Peshis gathering scraps of what had been Palestine and Syria.”

“Militia talked to those same Federals. Arrogance then, and envy; in California and Oregon they hung unarmed envoys. Enough! HRI interviewed original militia leaders, most retired engineers at their first socalled TABACCI, held at Esalon on Big Sur. Very angry white men. Obama was still POTUS and still alive then, and got his Kenyon social-worker guts ripped out. Before Banski the orgs were all 9-men cells, yet refused surrender. Militia suggested local police stay off the fight; most did! Then Federal judges, managers , politicos and gestapo were systematically assassinated. Driven into the sewers. Hanged from yew trees. Even with mercenary Brit protection they were attacked by hardened Viet Nam, Afgan and Iraq veterans and died soft. Brit commandos ended up in Vancouver fighting dockside battles with Chinese opium traders. In smaller American towns Obamas gestapo started to take casualties. They ran. HRI showed patriots armed with iron pikes bleeding-out progressives. Lucky ones fled into Canadian refuge or to eastern cities and wealth-bounded enclaves. Santa Barbara is still Federal; so are Squaw Valley, Big Bear and much of Palm Springs! ”

Scrum is laughing. “HRI get all of its bleeding leads from California progressives?”

“Bleeding lead is not novelty, but HRI takes credit reporting the Southern Cal water wars, destruction of Federals canals, piping and aquifers drying out La. , Long Beach and San Diego. That Federal center of migrant infestation became unlivable for zombi-moderns. Were they all progressives or mostly do-gooders done wrong? What DID replace them were professional agitprop and mercenaries from Obama.husains bangerboiz, LaRasa cunt, Mexican infantry and narco.MEX cartels invading from Tijuana. You wouldn't think La whites would battle over anything , but a French cut suit. Yet in street-firefights Hollywood Militia took everything north of the one-ten freeway except Santa Monica and Oxnard. Neighborhoods produce their own security, like supplying their own food and water. Almost impossible for Federals to gets snipers back into those bergs.” Of this interview I think that way also - - I'll never get back in if I blow the intro so agree with Scrum. Rap stays light and the aura casual. We have cover if nothing is cover.

“Like the Slovaks did in the five-city Lackawanna Valley battle.”

“I was there - - - for the 2nd round at Avoca Airport. A bloody hi-tek mess.”

Scrum gives me a long, hard, penetrating look. “The militia used Makarov 9-mm rifles.”

Testing me, the bastard! “Yeah, when they were taking a shit the 9-mm kept them warm. Otherwise Slovak girls prefered HK-G3s. When I flew into that battle I was issued an FN-minimi to hide under my A4-vest. Armed reporters get shot by both sides. ”

Evening ventures, and growing twilight carries quiet uneasy. “Federals can't bugger you from under a leaf, I say to no-one particular. The girl and park ranger have split, running digicam of the lakes migrating geese. They can be trained to carry messages into sloppy mudflat lake boundaries. It's shrunken now, the lake and only trickles run in from a green-edged stream. An older couple in an Airstream Clipper have parked three-hundred yards away on a hill beside the ranger station. Between, one guard in cargo pants and a cowboy hat stands shouldering his Remington 300-cal on a rise just before the spring and water-pump. Barely see him against the sunset, except for glowing of his cigar. Yes I carry a Dan Wesson 357-cal, but a surprise fly-low Federal paraglide platoon would have surrounded and cut us down in five minutes.

We watch a blue sky turn purple. I watch him, Scrum. He's considered by the militias - - fifty-million republican white men with guns - - the military father of the revolt. Worshiped the American Constitution; enraged by deep-seeded moral corruption in progressive vanities and the political rot in its bureaucratic governance. Words just slip out. “ Like Detroit ,” I heckle.” He looks at me puzzled, perhaps trying to imagine what I must have been thinking. This summer he led a prairie armored regiment of Ford duallies, RAM-454s and Russian supplied Siberia-tested ATVs that had swept free of entrenched Federals most of Kansas, Nebraska, South Dakota and Oklahoma He seemed immune to Federal assassins, knew all the Matrix leaders - - if a matrix may have a leader - - and was privy to at least one “deep throat” in the Federals camp. Yes I know this, HRI does.

“Speak softly Scranton. I get most six-wheel light armor from old Ford auto factories run by renegade engineers of every political stripe. 'RATTLERS' they get called, for the mounter, mini-gun weapons. Show them the money, Detroit wants a slice and are not sure at ends point that Feds can deliver. Militia pays cash, and the Feds pay with midnight raids. Ask me who gets the gravy?” I say nothing. “ Icing the cake, most Military, and all of the high command seeing the chaos retired to their larger bases and ports declaring themselves, troops and their weapons neutral.”

I knew most of that, but not Detroit 454-cruisers, framed for desert racing , but now loaded with 25-mm gatling guns. Scrum stands on our park table and waves to the lone cowboy sentry. “Does the Jacksonville kid still have cover?”

“After the attack Federal F-18s picked up heat signatures real quick.”

“But, you made it out ...”

“Crawling under the golf course boardwalk!” I no longer can see the sentry. “But, yeah kid's still breathing and still building weaponized animals. PETA hates him. Right after the carrier attack he flashed to a private pier, slipping from mansion to mansion along Arlington waterways, always trailed and always escaping till the Feds got tired of loosing white men to Black snipers.”

“Black Jacksonville snipers with the militia?”

How parochial are we all, I thought, in this 2nd American revolution and necessarily bound to the local fog-of-war. “ 'Course mileage varies from one side of JAX to another.” I bolted another slug of water, on this dusty dry Kansas plain. Strange taking about the soaking southeast jungle. “Social networks are crazy along that Florida northern edge, Mayport side of the St Johns. Snowbirds, rednecks, Cubanos come north from the Miami butchers-block and Bantu …. by neighborhood Bantus catch-on with the least hateful prepper-cell or warband. Federals lost Arlington by hanging two local Black Panthers for smuggling Cuban cigars. Unlike Gainesville and Tallahassee, Jacksonville is contested; it's one of the few Naval Bases still under Federal control, and the F-18s come along for free. Constant ground attacks are mounted even with loss of the carrier, yet nobody wants the city power-plant wrecked since you can't tolerate Jacksonville summers without AC.”

“Miami does.”

“South Florida belongs to a hundred West-Indie warlords, and head-hunting Seminoles. Heat is their beat! Those and Rubios Cubios who have set up a kind of feudal theocracy with the TaTau Macoo.”

“So does yours!”

“My what,” and I laugh! “Banski will show up. Right?”

“Can't believe you never met before.”

“HRI is a lot like you, Scrum. Interview and run, hit the hot spots or make something hot, then be anywhere else before the SNEEZERS retaliate. Be dared or be square. Banski never made much noise, couldn't provide the bleed, so HRI never could give him the lead.”

“You learn that in school?” Scrum laughed. “SNEEZERS, eh, that's an HRI invention based on the ACHU laws, the sneeze laws requiring citizen empathy with feebs and parasites.” Leaf-crunching footsteps muffle in the tall grass, and the cowboy hat appears. There's no lunging for assault rifles - - either you're safe or dead. Cowboy no longer provides our lone sentry. “Cold up there on the hill?” Cowboy nods and looks me over. “We were just talking about how never to waste a crises.” Cowboy had brought a cudgel of logs, bread and a rick of bacon that the firepit quickly toasted. He pours himself a coffee and sits cross-leg on his chaps. Crisper now; jackets turn out and to the East, Capella and the moon rise together.

“Well yes, I saw it that way. Many did. It all started so fast. One week only the seers have unpacked their Remington and Winchesters; the American yeomanry act like sheep.”

Cowboy cuts in, uninvited. “We acted as if Sparta, Genoa and Bebbensberg , stella of our white western culture never existed and only Semite lubricity and Bantu savagery oversaw the human condition. No Pythagoras, no Archimedes, no Newton, no Gauss, no Hilbert, no Godel, no ...” Cowboy passes over a silver flask and I hit it hard. “End of the civilized world, if you're not Chinese or Russian.”

Scrum hunches closer the firepit, broke and resting on a knee pitches some kindling. He was here, but also another place. He remembers. “Was a Wednesday in October, Dr. Banski gives that WESTERN MAN IS GODS MAN speech in Berkeley Forum; he held the DIRAC Chair as University Professor of Physics and formally could lecture on any-damned-thing he wanted. Web publishers argue if he picked the right day. Funny beginning words also, morning the cultural loss of gifting Redmen, begging their return. 'Beside their genocide,' he said 'only String Theory was a bigger American mistake.' Then he trashed as parasites mercantile Wall Street, Hollywood Babylon and blingfest Bantu. Bashed self-serving faggots, ridiculing pussy “gays” for rejecting their 10,000 year-old culture of government and military service. Bitch-slapped the women too advising they ought return to kitchens and re-learn how to fuck. Femi-Nazi and Dykes screeched like storks-in-labor, if you believe cellphone recording.”

Revolt was older, I remind him. “Hetch-Hetchy had already been sabotaged, with turbine blades carved-up by titanium stars fed to the inputs.”

Hitch in the wind, rustle to the trees, dry moan below earth: the cowboy smolders, voice brisk and low and confident, and academics voice in crisp American diction, carved clean. “Hetch-Hetchy smoldered like a dozen other emotional expressions; this Berkeley event created an explosion! More than enough excuse for a progressive ratpack trying to stop any Constitutional argument. Initially they murrured about the fringe; half-way through Banskis lecture they chuffed-up, cloned a “boarshead” formation and charged. You know boarshead, Scranton?”

“Yeah, fools in the snout, cowards in the belly.”

Cowboy spit. “It will burst through a forming shield-wall, or disorganized pickets. But, not here! A spontaneous yeoman defense formed, from surrounding students. Defend the wings and from the center a column raged of steel toed, steel balled and helmeted ex-military smash-facing head-to-head the libcom leaders. Maybe Banski had foreseen the explosion, cause he had 60-mm cameras in place. And 335-cal snipers for identified Federal agitators. An ex-galpal cell-phoned the battle to me in real time, since I was boxed in, managing security near the flagpole. Waring sides grew by instinct, naturally fast and mean, but she understood some Mex punk got smashed down bloody-faced, then clawed up to an overturned table giving away American flags; from there force gathered and he led student yeomen in a flag-waving charge.”

“Not so expected, eh?”

“Berkeley students are smart, very smart. No surprise one of them - - imagine just one - - one of them suddenly woke up to the Niggerized , Semitized nightmare progressives shill on the American Paradise. Whites regressed from aware if careless masters of an evil world, to rats eating their slaves garbage. Just think Scranton, a Web-vid childs story named GO THE FUCK TO SLEEP pimped on American viewers by a famous Negro actor, and a cheap HIV anti-viral is bought out, it's price increased by factor-of-100 by a jewboi huckster whoring the concept **what it costs is what it's worth. I determine the cost so I determine the worth of those humans it might cure.** Unspeakable. Two horrors naturally picked-up and vomited out by manhood of Spanish-Amerindian blood.”

“Mex? You know lots! Which one? Azteca, Olmec, Norte-Chico, Inca, Maya, Apache … .”

“Consider them one race, bonded to Semite slaughtering Spanish blood, butchering Muzzi-wogs out of Spain single-handed; no different that day at Berkeley. They carried all enemies before the flood, as the wild melee ensued. Swarms self-structured and blew across campus breaking bones and crushing faces. The Mex swearing American hell on the cholos and snowflakes, he chopped open some heads with a metal stop-sign, and crossing Piedmont to reform the attack was shot dead by a campus cop.”

“Mex? You know lots!”

Banski sipped from his tin. “Man just swore his citizenship after three years in the Army. Made Sargent in Afghanistan where it's tough living six months! Other students knew him, so after that murder no rules-of-war restrained physical terror. Blood boul sent the growing yeoman contingent of students into a frenzy; they butchered their way from Oxford, where the flagpole raised to Piedmont, at the end cutting green-hugger trees to burn bodies of their dead compatriots.; paeon singing covered fires like an Athenian polis might have done! Finished the job, too by throwing 600 dead progressive corpse into a ravine where the dogs and raccoons ate them. Next day, when the University President and California Governor declared the campus pro-ACHU and a no-republican zone they were shot dead by a couple of plant biologists from Tule.”

“POTUS Hillary declared long-gun confiscation the next day.”

“Yes, that calamity-duo, coupled to the SNEEZE-laws became flash-over American culture had been preparing since … been waiting for since Teddy Roosevelt.” He looked at Cowboy and the cowboy shrugged. “Then firefights between Obama gestapo and yeoman scouts - - soon called the militia flashed across the country.”

“And Federals won, pushed back the scattered militia until you called for sterilization. That call was ballsy, Scrum and risky. The Jews screamed genocide, and pumped a media frenzy against the militia.”

Scrum shrugged his shoulders. “Sterilization? I would have been satisfied to float them away on steamships.” Scrum stood, to grab a cellphone message, mumbled, then waved his paw at the camping trailer and turned back to our firepit.

“Something like that. Greens blame GMO corn-meal.” I got up and sat on the bench-top. “You called for a battle of cultures, for the slaughter of all progressive collectivist whores.”

“I called for battle; that was my position, to generate a whorlwind of battles before the Federal monies and whores regrouped and reorganized. But truly, I put down only the worst: active ISIS, cartel hitmen, special force chem-addicts and Federal judges can't keep their hands off liberty ….. and hypocritical cowardly native snowflake whites ... the biggest waste. The Matrix considers imported Muzzis and wetbak Mexs people a republican American government can load on boats.”

I had run a mini-digicam every second; Scrum and cowboys faces now crisp and unwavering - - pre-battle faces I'd seen before - - would be fuzzed over. “All true , but the name SNEEZE. Fact is it's a wet rag from the girl I work with, poked into the battles voice-over. Girl runs vidcams, sound and data intercept; snags damned-straight hot shots that might blow off her face. So guts too! She claims every time I see her bare ass I've got to fuck it … 'sneeze' she says and I deny everything.” We all laugh.

“I'm Banski.”

Count to five. “Don't look like much.”

“Helps staying alive.”

“Long way from Berkley.”

“I'm going back soon.”

“How do you win?”

“Like you record, Scranton. The militia kills Federals. Put down enough of them, and the Military declares your political structure a legal Government.”

Few ripples, but a big wave. “Didn't know the militia had a political structure. State governors run most things now. How did you plan to kill Obama? Most militia leaders, and some lone eagles said they could tear-gas the Virginia Mountain compound - - - with 5-th column infiltration , and give POTUS and FLOTUS a wall, blindfolds, fags … and five minutes. ”

“Some would, yes, Obama, huh ...” Banski kicks roving, spitting charcoal back into the pit. “We … I had no such plans. There's a strong militia faction that rejects regicide on principle; they wouldn't have shot Czar Nicholas in 1917, nor hung Hitler had he been putsched in 1943. Obama and his traitorous war council fall into that group.” Banski gets up and walks round the table, He's muttering. “We have Utah gulags … 10'x10' cage-farms won from the Federals where progressive leaders can be mulched. If they can't spew agitprop, then they mush like rotten peaches. By contrast, all armed foreigners of any stripe or position , like the Brit Paras in DC, Norfolk and Charleston get butchered off.”

“Hail to the King! Tyranny to republic to democracy to chaos to council to oligarch to King.”

“That list gets tiring ...” Banski stiffens. “By agreement of successful militia leaders, I'm the militia political structure. All communications are stored in air-gaped local clouds. It's public … for our public. I don't control one M-14. You can see my Remington 300-mag?”

“Nice weapon. Lenin owned one. But, you control Scrum, the strongest of the warlords! Local militia leaders might wonder for their future.”

“We have no future, Scranton. The republic once established will send us back to our farms and workbenches.”

“Yeah, well nice thought! Any countries around trying to pawn off a billionaires daughter to the American king? ”

Banski red-faced in the dancing fire. “Sorry Scranton. You wanna see control? I'm married twenty-one years to a Catholic girl. Slovak. Two of my four daughters were killed in Britain by a Kfir car bombing.” Inhuman horror gone common; I can't laugh at him.

Scrum growls. “You talk a lot, Scranton, but America will not talk its way back to a Constitutional republic. Too many people got too much tit in the game. Our revolt must win on the battlefield, not get butt-fucked in negotiations with twenty of the worlds wealthiest azzwholes.” It's darker now with the moon coming up in a misty, twilight horizon. I think very, very hard about asking, but reporters brain-buzz says 'not now pad're'. Scrum has started toasting some nuts in the fire. “Yes indeed we hit-and-run, but I think of it more like an evangelist starting churches. The hopeless abound. Find a street-corner, preach the gospel, assemble a parish, build a church, drag in a young fire-breathing minister and … and move on. I do that. Banski is Berkley and different.”

“Why the passive verb?”

“Passive you say ...” Scrum thought long on that sliver of confusion, as I had. Banski had drifted to about the same place. “Passive verb … cause I don't quite know what Banski does. He talks, he fights, he reports, he organizes , he makes maps, did you know that? For the militia he grows and packages food on shit land, he ...” Scrum shuffles a few toasted Chestnuts to a flat-stone beside my Chippewas. I crush one, hot and it tastes good. “While you, my friend and I stick our nose into a firefight and pray our dick doesn't get shot off.”

“Every tribe chooses a war-chief before going into battle. Only moderns see that he doesn't get killed.” I turn toward Banski. “Where does the militia go from here?”

Banski chews the nub of an frayed, fuming, blunt Partegas. “California south and north wobble - - thus the entire Pacific coast ripens for militia control. When Mexico invaded native farmers of all klans out-shot the Inca wannabees. Military sterilized Mexican F-20s, and leveled both Tijuana and San Diego, except for the Navy Base. Pendleton Marines swept the area clean. La. got starved into submission, and all 400,000 armed zooters and bangerbois exterminated - - couldn't feed them anyway. More complex del-Norte, you know that Scranton, ever since Seattle faggots Amtracked south, and butchered-off flanking Fed Ranger and narco.Mex main-force units in the battle of Goose Lake. Bloody mess; the Rangers used weaponized anthrax, but we were clued. Immunization shots hurt like a bitch! But, the Federals . . . they weren't ready for spray-release Jacobs-Ladder and got to slaughtering each-other at crucial points in maneuver. After their use of a biological our company commanders took a vote; no further enemy prisoners were taken – Federals lost 30,000 trained infantry. All that could stand headed back to Mexico; few made it! That victory also protected SanFran following Seattle into the militia council. They were stiff butt-fuckers in negotiations with the Evangelist crowd, but the Constitution won out. Makes you believe in G*d 'eh Scranton?”

Sure, when the girl gives a straight fuck. “So a battle is planned for California ?”

“Mums the word till bullets fly.” I nod. Scrum and Banski share a glance, then uncase a plastic-faced map of California and roll it 'cross the table. Both men find the same region. “Near Ragged Point, along Big Sur there's a National Guard base still held by main force Federals. Concrete bunkers; hard men. A fortress! SanFran progressive leaders planned to refuge here, after any republican uprising. Careful men. With two natural springs and 20,000 acres they pastured cattle, storaged foods and meds; concentrated spare armour from SanFran and Sacramento … a very sophisticated security. Many fanatic irregulars also found haven there so no painless maneuver will prod them out. That base 155-mm artillery controls both PCH and Highway One, effectively splitting the militia forces all the way to I-5. We take that base and the west coast from Vancouver to the tip of Baja becomes republican militia territory.”

“Will you then take Vancouver?”

“Ever drink Moose Drool?” No! A bottle smashes somewhere among the beeches. “Besides, the Canadians need to oppose Russian scouting probes along the Alaskan coast, not battle a newly coined American government.”


“After spring, when coastal cliffs aren't slick with rain.”

“Cliffs ….?” I look at the map, and fortress and recall Big Sur rock walls I've climbed. Attack formations jump out. Easy to imagine gun emplacements. Hard to identify scraps of landing beach. Got to sit back on my worn Chippewa heels.

“Damn, Banski your main attack gonna come in by sea! Scrums shoot-N-scoot firewagons provide lethal distraction on I-15, PCH and Route One!”

“Have another coffee, Scranton.” Sure. I've got an HRI lead story, for sometime … if they shoot me in the head I can't blame them. “We'll put 57-mm cannon on some of the big Chevys for 10-mile range.” Scrum and Banski sip coffee. “Too bad you have busted ear-drums.”

Touchy, eh? They want HRI coverage and good will; they want a secret. “Militia rangers prolly go in an hour early, but the girl and I don't mind flogging second wave. We can swim ...” Banski sucks a last gasp from the Partegas and nods his head.

“Another thing.” By fair play I know something, small and private and obscure. I pipe it out. “Well known that National Guard does not control the Nukes.” I chew another chestnut and it burns. “Only nuclear weapon ever used, happened when the Baltimore Bantu, high on krak and looted bank lockers tried storming the Baltimore naval shipyard. Some ISIS and LaRaza among them; professionals! But Navy Chiefs were pissed and their Admirals not pleased. Three 20-KT Hellfire missiles and a flotilla of gatling-guns killed 100,000 rioters in three days. About 500 were Federal trained Turkish assault troops and another 200 Brit MI-6. Perfideous Albion can't keep its paws off the crown jewel! Another 100,000 marauders died that month, from radiation, starvation, pillage and naval gunfire - - to teach a lessondon't fuck with the Navy. HRI did cover the battle, from a cruiser and helicopter. Hot shots! We were filming negotiations between Banski and Jeh Johnson held on that navy cruiser over infrastructure immunity. When the battle started our vidcams just pointed out, while Johnson tried running back to his Bantu. He paid for optimism when a hostile Bantu bangerboi made him eat both barrels of a stolen 460-cal express. ISIS elements actually floated out on inflated tires, with explosive-slabs around their necks, kinda the same technique camel-fuckers used for 1st-wave success on Israeli nuclear storage.”

“You know that!”

“I saw that, from a overlooking hill, with a mixed Hezbollah / Christian scout company. We were there with 106-MM rifles to make sure no Israel nukes were removed from the compound. An un-needed fear –- all were sterilized by Pak neutron bombs. Now in Baltimore Harbor, only attacks were by boats. US Marines who shot-them-up called them *firecrackers*. HRI had shown everything , but the nukes, the three-out-of-six that actually detonated!”

There's a bit of silence. Banski cowboy boots kick at the fire. “Three of six ! So you say … if Federal columns can be queered into attacking Military bases, then Air Force and Navy units respond harshly, sensitive to their erratic, weakened nuclear deterrent and the 2nd Civil War war has come and gone.”

“Seems like something RCN would have considered already.” I shake my head. “We shot at 1080-p through a borrowed naval 200x vidscope. Ain't pretty.”

“Still have quality vidcam copies?”

“When the girl gets back from being fucked I'll have her give you a code. You can suck them off the Web! So mebby I was the first reporter Federals targeted. Should have died early, returning to Spokane , but Federal liberated sex-criminal pervert troops had already been massacred, freeing the Interstate and losing Spokane to the farmers militia. HRI continued on the WWW ; those pipes were negotiated as protected communication, an equally important cybernet to both sides and a path for propaganda.”

“The Girl … she like you much?”

“Depends on what she wears.”

“Well shit she hasn't shot you yet; you certainly are not dead. So you first on the list of reporters? NO. John Lockman was first,”

“I knew him, and know he was murdered. I wrote two articles on GWN rebellion for his zine, before I started HRI.”

“Then you know he was an intense libertarian, editor for the Springfield Crier - - Missouri - - and got put down by Clinton people two years ago.”

“Clinton? I thought ...”

“Yes, it looked like an ISIS attack, with a suicide motorcycle. Might have been Muzzi-wogs paying their childrens rent! But our informer, Queer Goat, a turned Federal deep in their org-charts tells us the check was written by a Saudi research foundation, blo-jobbed by Bill and Hill-babe!”

“Has HRI told that story 10 or 20 times.”

“Keep you knickers on, Scranton, Queer Goat claimed lots more. John had discovered who Hillary picked to arrange Jody Fosters murder, the fool lover of both the Libyan Ambassador Stevens killed at Bengazi and Hill-babes Muslim confidant, and secretary. Important gal, that Sunni fanatic; she was Hillarys connection to ISIS and Saudi monies. Foster knew it; the Ambassador knew even more, that the Saudis were paying off Republican leaders to blo-job Obama immigrant policy, allow lots of ISIS assissins into America. John never got to print that! You see, it goes two ways, to the money and to social control! Hillary had lots of laundry too dirty to breath. After the Black Panthers put down Obama - - tribal warfare really and one problem less - - Hillary still never would have become President if she hadn't already bought a vacant Senate seat in Missouri and was appointed VP after Bidden had a convenient heart attack.”

“So who did the arranging?”

“You need a postcard, Scranton? What untouchable Negro Congress-critter loves coke, four Bahama condos has a big dick and Teflon balls?”

“Okey, 2nd. First person present: killer swims with the fish I imagine.”

“Actually not,” Banski smiles ruefully. Smart money considers him Hill-babes current lover!” He shows a couple grainy cellphone pics. “She trusts him madly. Not like her previous squeeze Ambassador Stevens. He confided too much with his boyfriends, and Hillary got her ISIS pals to put him down, while she lost track of time. Queer Goat and smart money makes those bets.”

I found a notepad to scribble. “First person sources for that rap?”

“Some may still be alive.”

“Where's Bill?”

“Right now?” Banski scans his vidphone. “Butt-nekked with a 1st-term bitch DemoRat Congresswomen, in a Peking opium den.”

Speaking stops. Someplace far to the west a high-sky rumble tunnels into our long-grass camp. One, one rumble or snap or explosion a young mans ear might worry. “Thunder,” queries Scrum? Nobody can say; no fragment of light escapes toward us. Instinct makes a simmering pot boil. “You say Matrix.”

“Just a word ...”

“Any Matrix circuit has loads, and loads need external power.”

“So pick your load. What about Bantus and Redmen?”

“I'm red as a barn!” Scrum thinks too long about that, but it's crazy times, when you must force sanity upon yourself twice-a-day. “Like Neanderthal or aborigines.” He leans back against an elm clicking the coffee mug against his teeth. “Think about it, Scranton. My genetics are Spanish and Amerind, two of the snarkest bastard populations that ever inhabited a habitable part of earth. Then yet more Redman. Call us races; cruelty-feasting Spaniards who butchered out Spains Islamic tribes without aide and Aztec/Inca Amerinds, true cannibal corsairs whose feeding behavior and human parts markets so enraged Inquisition stained Spain we were nearly exterminated by conquistadors.”

Both Scrum and Banski are scanning the evening sky. “Expect something gents?” Far far far to the west a scatter of fireworks and blue streaks light up, a roaming Nebula out-of-place on a peaceful night. My Leicas reach out and make it a war among stars.

“Pickets intercepting raiders.” Then Scrum very alone. “We or they or I … That's my blood family, Mr Scranton. Bona-petite?” Scrum walked over and sat next to me. “Bantus and Red-man aborigines you say. I'd leave the Red-man alone to deal with his old territory; reclaim prairie and re-form a non-Semite gifting society. Given a few hundred years who knows? The Bantu - - hopeless, like floods of Neoliths; Matrix will consider saving the few humanly.”

His face still the color and severity of copper ingot. I ask: “Save humans, that's how you met Banski?” High pitched buzzing turns into shrieks filling the air and light-sabre slashes of jet engines ripple the sky. “More of us, I hope.” Two more armored firewagons cruise into the park and lights yellow rumble toward our camp. One jet, then another banking low break-up the western horizon.

I have this cred, to function under fire. Banski pours another tin of coffee and points out pairs of sky-lights to Scrum. “That's a new F-20E against an F-35. Fancy quick the F-20 without one-pound of metal or electronics; it's invisible. The F-35s can't fight worth dogshit; of-course … they have no human pilot! They use a hawk-brain for optical decoding.” Then turns to me by the light of our firepit. “A bit testy having this Infra-red source” … then : “Funny, that, we met at a LRC. When only two people in a room of militia calculate Lagrangians they stick quick. Facts Will, only facts. I posted Bantu rape-vids and LaRaza infant-abuse speeches. I heard mercantile media giants demanding censorship of speech. I heard Black Panthers demonize white devil engineers, because the niggers were too stupid to learn complex variable theory. No doctors grow out of those weedy bastards only witch-doctors . Most white folks reached their own conclusion and anyrate had to butcher-off before they could organize thousands of Obama.husains HS gestapo. Obama tried wedging them into malls and churches and football stadium, and casinos. Probably what got him killed, when he wedged in against a krak-master with more balls than brains.”

Just north, a six-wheel fire-wagon shreds sheets of 37-mm AA against a looping, sliding F-35 and sparkles of struck metal dance along both dark images. It's screaming right overhead, close enough to see a line of rivets along its port side. and see one of two engines dark and smoking. The firewagon engine is burning, but three men flip outside dashing downhill.

“Lucky sons-a-bitches” mutters Banski. None of us move, cold blooded, all frozen by binoculars peering into the sky-battle. “Always was bloody work, that to defend life against local-bred savages.” A jeep picks up the three men and races for a dark ravine. “But, now as in the beginning, finished yeoman were ready to form klans able defend their families against foreign invasion. I fought small unit ambush-style with them. And won. Between firefights what better hidy-hole than a med-school lab?”

“You did all that!” My heart thumps watching the fighters. “Now you're King.”

The black sky shows rocket traces and explosions, and streamers of 25-mm gatling guns used by the F-20s. Three aircraft have already been shot down, before my eyes. “Us or them?”

“Multiple loops are Federal show-boys. You can follow the double-stream of exhaust from F-35s. Our F-20Es still have only one engine. All three destroyed aircraft are Federal!” The pair of armored land-cruisers pull up beside us. “Taxi,” comes the womans shout?

At tree-top level, over the lake two aircraft collide head-on. I had watched them dive over water together, then one turned up and one left and when rolling over for attack the F-35 and F-20 came out nose-to-nose. Hopeless. There are no parachutes, no flailing wings no bits of anything bigger than a meatball. The flare of brightness reflected by water turns night into day and a fog of burning kerosene splotches the surface.

Dark shapes around us, carrying night-vision scoped M-16s freeze to watch. “You tell pilots to fight and live another day. Some won't do that when the enemy bears for'ard.”

From the cruiser another voice. “Our chef advises steak, at the cross-town bar and grill! Move fast and prosper!”

The dogfight has gone higher and out of clear visual. I can see faint laser-streaks against a purple-black star-field. Two more aircraft tumble toward earth in flames. “We have a couple plastic F-106s at 55,000 feet. Their Sparrows are very hot! You will join us, Scranton.”

It's dreamlike - - sun, moon, stars. “Did they know you were coming here?”

Banski dodges low, as a ripple of 25-mm slugs slashes the far end of our birches, making dead branches and live sparks which glow like fireflies. “No doubt the Federal F-35s knew where they were going. What makes you think they were looking for me?” Banski is stuffing an old Sony recorder into a pocket. “I'd consider very clearly everything you did since yesterday.” Banski off the ground and brushing his denim jacket. “Please understand this, because it's a hard truth. There is only one America in space, but the times lean first one-way then another. With two times there can only be first and last and except for webzines everybody will always know everything.”

Bullshit. “The girl?” I'm thinking of the girl.

“That 1st truck got her and the ranger.” Scrum checks his watch. “Will be looping the lakes west end where we rejoin them. Good man, Lumas, the driver. Was a Federal until he got an arm blown off. Then rough-cut he was sent to an organ-donor warehouse. Escaped, came to us with two shotguns and a gangrened elbow. We cut out the rot.”

Bet you did. “I'm with you.”

We're home with another HRI. Returning to port, Ladies and gentlemen good night. .