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Category: Brigade (novel)

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Brigade (novel) Civil war Harold Covington

The Brigade excerpts, chapter XII

by Harold Covington


“Are You In Or Out?”


Covington in uniform
“I’ve been thinking about it since I watched my sister’s coffin lowered into the ground,” said Annette bitterly.

“We both have,” said Eric soberly. “We’re young, but even we can see that things in America can’t go on this way. I laugh when somebody refers to us kids at Ashdown as privileged. Jan’s death showed us that all our so-called privilege won’t protect us against this—this filth, this madness, this—oh, this whole damned mess. We’re living in a toilet and eventually we’re going down the drain, one way or another. I don’t know what else to call it.”

“Don’t worry,” chuckled Wingo. “Greater minds than any of ours have spent their lives trying to describe the world we live in. Our job is to change it. One thing, though. I’m afraid for security reasons, which I’m sure are obvious to you, we need an answer right away. You say you’ve been thinking about it for a while, so you should be able to look into your hearts and know. Are you in or out?”

“I’m in if Eric’s in,” said Annette, looking at him. “I am willing to do whatever I have to do, but not be separated from him. We can’t have one of us in and one of us out.”

“Ditto,” said Eric firmly. “I’m in if Annette’s in, so I guess that means we’re both in.”

“You understand that if you become Volunteers, you may be separated anyway?” asked Wingo gently. “I mean separated bad, separated by death or prison or the just plain chaos and madness of war?”

“I understand,” said Eric with a nod.

“You will be given certain documents to read, and you will begin a training course that will teach you what you will need to know to fight to secure the existence of our people and a future for white children. Do you recognize that phrase?”

“Uh, no,” said Eric, shaking his head.

“Those are the Fourteen Words of David Lane,” said Schumaker gravely. “From now on, for the rest of your lives however long or short they may be, you will live by those words. And possibly die by them.”


http://northwestfront.org/

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Brigade (novel) Civil war Harold Covington

The Brigade excerpts, chapter XIII

by Harold Covington


“A Mouse In The House”


Covington in uniform
“They’re organizing some kind of special brute squad to invade the Northwest and deal with us hatemongers, Federal Domestic Terrorist Police or something like that. Apparently it will be kind of like the Black and Tans in Ireland a century ago. It’s still in the planning stage, but Mr. Chips was bringing us the word from the Army Council to start preparing tactical and strategic plans to deal with a big increase in fed boots on the street and a lot tougher tactics. I myself was there from Three sec acting for Colonel Redmond, and Tommy Coyle and Harry Hannon both there to brainstorm.”

“You had both brigade commandants and an Army Council member there in the same room?” demanded Bresler. “Jeez Louise, that was risky!”

“I know, but sometimes we just have to put our heads together and work out a tough problem, and this was one of those times. The meeting never actually got started because Harry hadn’t arrived yet.”

♣

“A panel truck sounds like bugging equipment, though,” said Bresler. “They might have had shotgun mikes or some of that weird microwave satellite gear. Did you sweep everybody who came in?”

“Yes, Red came down with those two kids from Dundee he uses a lot, Shane and Rooney, and Tommy had a couple of guys with him. I did them all myself as they came in the door, and nothing popped. I know, they can listen in on people in a basement now from satellites in space these days. They have fiber-optic micro-bugs that are the size of a pin head, bugs that look like cockroaches and even scuttle across the floor, you name it. The old-fashioned wire stuck on some guy’s shaven belly with surgical tape is as outdated as the flintlock. Whatever it was, I can tell you that they didn’t seem prepared to move on us. It looks to me like some kind of observation stakeout. But how the hell did they know where to listen in?” Hill slammed his fist into his palm in frustration.

“So what do we do now?” asked Bresler.

“We take every one of those incidents and we review and analyze the hell out of them,” said Hill. “Once we’ve narrowed it down to a few suspects, then it gets tricky, because we will have to devise some bogus setups to entrap them and see if we can make some Portland cops show up on cue at a certain place and time. These are the kinds of things that you will have to find out, Gary, because I can’t without tipping everybody in the Battalion that there’s a rat around, and you know that whatever else happens, we do not want that to get about. Our morale is high, largely because so far we have been able largely to prevent infiltration of this very kind. Rampaging paranoia and mistrust can destroy the Second Battalion as a fighting unit just as effectively as any mass arrest. It can even seep out of the Second Battalion and infect other units, and we have to prevent that at all costs. This has to be handled quietly, efficiently, and above all quickly, before anyone else dies or ends up in the Justice Center torture chambers.”

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Brigade (novel) Civil war Harold Covington

The Brigade excerpts, chapter XIV

by Harold Covington


“Under New Management”


Covington in uniform
“My God, who are all these people?” Weinstein muttered to himself. “What is all this?” he asked, gesturing to a large map of the greater Portland area on a corkboard studded with black, red, green, blue, orange, and yellow pins, as well as one white pin.

“Black are NVA murders and red are bombings, which I’m sure you can figure out from the locations,” said Chief Hirsch. “Green are suspected arms dumps which we have under intermittent surveillance as much as our manpower allows, and as far as we can do without exciting suspicion and blowing cover. Blue are suspected NVA safe houses. Orange are the addresses of suspected terrorists, although those change all the time and we can’t guarantee their accuracy for more than a day or two. Yellow are reported sightings of the Jack of Diamonds Sniper, Jesse ‘Cat-Eyes’ Lockhart, who is a person of especial interest to us.”

Detective Andy McCafferty walked up to the board, with a sidelong glance at the FBI agents, and moved the white pin to a different spot on the board.

“What’s the white one?” asked Weinstein.

“That’s the present location of Sharkbait, our code name for the undercover,” said Lainie. “Her real name is Kristin McGee, her street name is Kicky, and her Volunteer name is Comrade Jodie. We have a GPI on her all the time, of course, as well as fiber-optic sound and occasional video monitoring, but we find that keeping her marked on the board gives an added perspective.”

“Nice code name for an NVA snitch,” chuckled Farley grimly.

“We like it,” said Lainie neutrally.

“How specific is your intel?” asked Weinstein, shaking his head. “For example, do you have any idea who killed Ambassador Whitman and his wife outside the Nordstrom department store in November?”

Andy looked at Lainie, who sighed and nodded her head. “Yeah, we know,” McCafferty told them. “That was Billy Jackson, Jimmy Wingo, and our girl. Actually, we have the whole hit recorded on digital audio.”

“What?” shouted Weinstein in astonishment.

“You want to hear it go down?” asked McCafferty.

He provided two sets of headphones, and Weinstein and Farley sat with their jaws gaping while they listened to the soundtrack of the double hit and the subsequent ditching and booby trapping of the vehicle.

“My God, you’re years ahead of us!” muttered Weinstein.

“We got our shit together,” agreed Jarvis.

“I would like to point out that the audio clearly indicates the murder of the Ambassador was a crime of opportunity, and we had no chance to intervene…” began Linda Hirsch. “We’ve picked up a buzz that a high-ranking Army Council member is on his way down from the Seattle area, for a sit-down with the local warlords here in Portland to discuss the matter. This is one occasion when we can be reasonably sure that a lot of their heaviest hitters are going to be in the same room together somewhere.”

“Okay, tell you what, let’s just start at the beginning and see what we’ve got, and where we can go with it,” said Weinstein, literally rubbing his hands together in sheer delight at the prospect of hurting the hated anti-Semites and at the same time salvaging his slipping reputation at the Justice Department in Washington.

“We’re going to drop the hammer on these racist bastards. Here and now, tonight.”


http://northwestfront.org/

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Brigade (novel) Civil war Harold Covington

The Brigade excerpts, chapter XV

by Harold Covington


“Ragnarok On Flanders Street”


Covington in uniform
“COPS!” screamed Kicky at the top of her voice. “Cops! It’s a trap! They’re all around us!” She reversed the Escalade, hit the gas and roared back into the street tailgate first. Wing looked up to see the armored personnel carrier for Delta One team turning into Flanders Street from Twelfth Avenue.

“Shit!” he shouted. He yelled into the phone, “They’re onto us! Ambush on Flanders! Beat feet! Kicky, go down 13th and head back toward the interstate, not toward the river, so we can try to lose them! Cat, heads up, see if you can spot any copters overhead!”

The street was full of screaming people, and 13th Avenue was now blocked going both ways by lunch-hour traffic, cars that were simply abandoned and left standing by their drivers who jumped out and fled for cover.

“I’ll do more than keep their damned heads down, I’ll blow a few of ’em off!” Cat-Eyes Lockhart yelled back. He was out the back of the SUV and he swung himself up onto the roof of the vehicle in one smooth motion, snapped down the bipod on the .50-caliber Barrett, and sighted in. He pulled the trigger, flame vomited from the Barrett’s muzzle, a mighty roar echoed from the buildings, and up the street a SWAT man went flying back through the air, his feet leaving the ground. Lainie Martinez and Jamal Jarvis had struggled into their body armor and were now out on the street. Lainie kneeled and fired her M-16 and Jarvis stood over her, blazing away with his. Chief Linda Hirsch [Chechar’s interpolated note: the police chief was a coveted affirmative action three-fer, being simultaneously female, Jewish, and lesbian] was jumping up and down for a bit, then leveling her Armalite and firing a wild burst, then jumping up and down some more while she screamed dementedly in Yiddish. The street sounded like the inside of a garbage can or a metal locker that was being beaten with sticks by a troop of demented monkeys.

Wingo had ducked around behind the Escalade for more cover while he slapped another magazine into the Kalashnikov, another of the taped-together clips. He slung the weapon, pulled a hand grenade off his belt, and then winding up like a baseball pitcher he hurled it up the street where it bounced off several car roofs and rolled down into the street, the blast hurling shrapnel and shaking the street. Then he did the same with a second grenade. The police all hit the ground or dove for cover. Wingo then recovered the Kalashnikov and started firing again. On the roof, Cat Lockhart also slammed a new magazine into the .50-cal rifle, rose calmly into a kneeling position oblivious to the police bullets whizzing around him like electrons, and resumed firing. Just then the CNN crew, who had been cowering behind the overturned UPS truck, decided that it was time to do their jobs.

They ran along Flanders Street and turned right into 13th Avenue, the cameraman braced his camera on top of a parked car, and Cassie Ransome started shouting a disjointed narration into her microphone, trying to explain to the satellite-uplinked studio and worldwide audience what was happening in front of her on a Portland street. The next twenty seconds of film footage eventually won Cassie and the cameraman Pulitzer Prizes. The video clip was shown all over the world for weeks, it became an integral part of the visual history of the Northwest War of Independence, and is still shown today in virtually every documentary made on the subject.

Linda Hirsch was hiding behind the Oak Harbor moving van, but every few seconds she would lean out, gibber, fire a one-handed burst with her M-16 that she held like a pistol, and vanish again. Lockhart had no idea who the fat babbling target was, but it annoyed him, and he was determined to hit it.

Kicky McGee was dazed, disoriented, and by now she was completely out of her mind with pain from her wound and from incandescent rage at the destruction of her whole life by these people. She staggered up the street, screaming wordlessly in a hoarse voice, her left arm and side soaked with bright red blood, her honey blonde hair streaming behind her. In her mindless rage she held the Glock pistol at arm’s length in her right hand, firing it blindly in the general direction of her tormentors, hitting nothing.

It was a confused scene, and actually pretty pointless and ineffectual. Nobody was hitting anything, and no one besides Lockhart was even aiming. But it looked cool as hell on TV, and in America, that was what mattered. By sheer fortuitous accident, what the CNN camera caught for twenty seconds—and twenty seconds is a long sound byte on TV news—was a perfectly blocked shot of stunning dramatic impact. In the far center right of the screen Kicky seemed to stalk up the street. She was firing blindly, howling like an animal in an unthinking spasm of rage and madness, but what the world saw was a wounded Valkyrie screaming her war cry and charging the enemy machine guns that splattered in round strikes all around her.

Cat Lockhart fired one last .50-caliber round, the one that smashed Linda Hirsch’s skull to fragments like an exploding melon, and then he whirled and made a spectacular Zorro-like leap from the back of the Escalade into the flatbed of the Chevrolet. Jimmy Wingo ran forward, grabbed the berserk Kicky around her waist and lifted her over his shoulder, then ran back and tossed her into the back of the pickup like a sack of potatoes, before jumping in himself. Thing One leaped back into the cab and the blue Chevy then roared off down Flanders Street on the sidewalk, knocking over sandwich-board shop signs and sending an espresso cart flying. At 14th Avenue they were joined by the Grand Prix, and both vehicles floored it out along Highway 30.

There was no pursuit. Almost all the mobile police in the city were surrounding Waterfront Park [defending the US Vice President] and no one was available or willing to organize any response. No one had even bothered to radio Delta Two team or any other police and tell them what was going on. From the time Kicky McGee slammed the Escalade into Andy McCafferty until the time the blue Chevy pickup departed the area with all five Volunteers, exactly seventy seconds elapsed.

♣

“You saw?” asked Cat in surprise.

“You were on live, my man. You’re all over CNN and every other damned channel. I got to tell you, if that little gun bunny (*) in there ever wants a transfer, you send her down our way,” he said admiringly, nodding into the living room toward Kicky. “Looked like she was ready to take on the whole Portland police force single-handedly.”

“They ambushed us on Flanders Street, sir,” said Lockhart. “The whole thing stinks. I think they knew we were coming.”


_______________________

(*) Gun Bunny—Adolescent female Northwest Volunteer or associate of the NVA. A number of these young women distinguished themselves in combat, intelligence, and support roles during the War of Independence.

Chechar’s note: Every time I reread the lines of this blonde woman firing at her tormentors they move me almost on the verge of tears…

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Brigade (novel) Civil war Harold Covington Homosexuality

The Brigade excerpts, chapter XVI

by Harold Covington


“Things That Go Boom In The Night”


Covington in uniform
“The NVA [Northwest Volunteer Army] uses explosives in three basic situations. First off, when there is an economic or strategic or propaganda-related target that has to be physically destroyed, sometimes loudly and visibly in order to set an example.

The second instance in which we use bombing is against enemy armor and fortifications, like when we toss these primitive rockets and mortar shells here over the Bremer walls (*) and razor wire and give Daddy a kiss. This is where the good old IED or Improvised Explosive Device, otherwise known as the Baghdad Banger, comes into its own. Like some other NVA guys who are vets, I have the unusual experience of having been on both ends of an IED, and between the Muslims and ourselves, we have refined them down to an art form. Through the use of IEDs we make enemy troop movements dangerous and difficult to plan and execute, and in some areas of the Northwest, we have succeeded in more or less driving the police and the military off the highways completely, forcing them to fall back on helicopters. If we ever succeed in obtaining any shoulder-fired missiles or some other way to bring those birds down, Uncle Slime is going to be really fucked. I imagine that some of you guys are already familiar with the third way in which the NVA uses explosives. Anyone?”

“Booby-traps!” said Annette.

“You got it,” confirmed Pascarella. “Whenever it is physically possible, the NVA always booby-traps the scene of an operation before un-assing the area. Pascarella chuckled. “Okay, now, as to the practical aspect of assembling and detonating ordnance. Every explosive device consists of three basic components. There is the main charge, the dynamite or Semtex or whatever will provide the main blast. The key to blowing the enemy into smithereens and not yourselves is simple: you keep these three components disconnected until the last possible minute.

“The champagne of all insurrectionary explosives is still Semtex, which is now manufactured in a dozen countries as well as the Czech Republic where it was invented,” the lieutenant continued. Semtex is the charge of choice for big jobs when we can lay hands on it. It’s just about the most potent stuff available for our purposes. A pound of it can take down a good-sized house, a briefcase full can decapitate an office building, and in the rare cases where we want to go that distance, a car trunk full of Semtex can send an entire city block to the moon. Gelignite, jellied nitroglycerine, is actually a bit more powerful, but it’s not manufactured anymore and like I mentioned, the bathtub variety is dangerous to work with.”

“How about C-4, sir?” asked Eric Sellars.

“We do still get hold of some, but it’s actually a lot easier and simpler and more cost effective for us to load up on dynamite and TNT. Now—delivery. This is where you guys come in.”

The young Volunteers leaned forward. “There are car and truck bombs, of course,” Pascarella told them. “Sometimes that’s the only way. We do not want the streets of Northwest cities turned into Baghdad or the Gaza Strip. Our sharp-eyed lads in the sniper companies inflict more physical and psychological harm on the enemy than a hundred carbombs could do, and they do it surgically and with a panache that excites admiration among whites, not fear and loathing.

“Most bombing is specifically targeted against indoor installations, the object being to slip inside their defensive perimeters and hit them where they think they’re safe. Have any of you been asked to deliver a package yet?”

“I have,” said Kicky. “It was my first solo tickle. That faggot bookstore and sex shop downtown with the big cartoon character sign, Homer Erotica. The Red Baron himself made up my package. I was given a fake student ID, and I brought in a shoulder bag full of books on the poems of Sappho and the Joy of Lesbian Sex and all that crap. Each book was cut out, and it had a stick or two of dynamite inside.”

“Good job, comrade, and a typical day’s work for our parcel post,” responded Pascarella with a nod, impressed. “It is entirely likely that you other three will at one stage or other be asked to deliver a package. There is no mission in the Army that requires more courage, more cool-headedness, and more just plain balls, as well as the ability to think on your feet and be a better actor or actress than anyone in Hollywood, which this classy lady here seems to have. Each one of these missions is unique, and I can’t really prepare you for them except to say that you will be given full training in everything you are to carry, its risks and how to handle and use it.”

_______________

(*) Bremer Wall—Heavy concrete berm, portable and lowered into place by a crane, used by the Americans to fortify police stations, FATPO (Federal Anti-Terrorist Police Organization) barracks, Green Zones (federal headquarters), etc. Also used extensively by American occupation forces in conquered Middle Eastern countries.

Chechar’s note:

Just compare Covington’s views about homosexualism to Counter Currents’ constant promotion of an author that likes to post images like this one… and demand tolerance from the pro-white community!

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Brigade (novel) Civil war Harold Covington

The Brigade excerpts, chapter XVII

by Harold Covington


“Taking Down Tinsel Town”


Covington in uniform
“Gentlemen, I don’t have to tell you that ever since the invention of the motion picture over a century ago, the movie industry has been the most completely Jewish field of private enterprise in the world, with the exception of international banking and the stock exchange. Even today, Yiddish is considered to be Hollywood’s second language. Literally so. It is spoken regularly on movie lots and sound sets, and in every office and casting department and boardroom. The senior executive office complex of every major production studio contains a private synagogue or chapel called a mincha, with one or more rabbis attached, as well as special glatt kosher catering facilities and kitchens. Entire boards of directors in Hollywood and also at their parent companies in New York sometimes hold Jewish religious services prior to meetings. Every crucial, non-technical job on the business and creative end of any major movie is either held by a Jew or is in the power of a Jew, from the studio heads, the producers and the directors, down to the scriptwriters, the casting directors, the agents, the accountants, and anything to do with the money. Even in areas that seem to be controlled by Gentiles, you will find that somewhere along the line during the process, Jews have crucial input and veto power. This control by the Tribe is pervasive and complete, and it extends into television as well, with the exception of two of the major cable networks, which are heavily Jewish in their senior personnel but are owned by consortiums of super-wealthy Protestant evangelical Christians of the Israel-worshipping persuasion, who are in their own way even more poisonous in their evil than the Jews themselves, because they have no excuse for turning on their own blood.

“I do not need to tell you of the terrible and largely irreversible damage that Hollywood has done to the white race and to Western civilization over the past century. For four generations, the international bankers and the corrupt politicians have committed unspeakable crimes against humanity, especially the war after war after bloody war they have plunged our people into for Jewry’s sake, but it is Hollywood and Hollywood’s mutant bastard spawn television that has made the white people of America and the world swallow these atrocities and actually support them with enthusiasm. It is Hollywood that has spent the past 50 years pushing every conceivable kind of perversion of body and mind down the throats of white people. It is Hollywood that has turned the loathsome practice of homosexuality into something cute and trendy, the subject for silly jokes, when it is in fact a poison of the very soul. It is Hollywood that has turned white women as portrayed on film into either mindless sex objects, or else degendered, masculinized, man-hating neurotics. It is Hollywood that has poisoned the minds and broken the spirits of generation after generation of white children who are now beyond recovery, and turned them into whiggers. The bankers have stolen our money. The federal government of the United States has stolen our lives and our freedom and soaked the earth with Aryan blood, spilled to save a filthy race of Asiatic parasites. But Hollywood has stolen our peoples’ minds and souls, and in some ways that makes Hollywood more evil to my mind even than the sinks of iniquity centered in New York and Washington, D.C. Comrades, we will go down to southern California, we will grip this monster by the throat, and we will cut its heart out!”

There was a cheer from around the table; the men found the project to their liking. “At this point I’ll turn the floor over to Lieutenant Hill,” said Morehouse.

“Thank you, Red, and isn’t this a great audience in our studio tonight?” There was a chuckle from the assembled men. “I need to begin by explaining just what has precipitated this operation, which by the way, has been designated Operation We Are Not Amused,” said Hill. There was more laughter. “Obviously, any revolutionary movement within North America has to deal with the Hollywood problem at some point or other. It’s pretty obvious that barring some catastrophic event, the NVA [Northwest Volunteer Army] is here to stay as a permanent feature of Northwest life, and for us, to survive is eventually to win. The time has come for us to take our offensive for balance in the media right into the belly of the Beast.”

“Now we are about to start…” Harry Hannon interjected.

“But it’s not just simple fear that’s made Hollywood go a little easy on us so far,” Red Morehouse said. “I don’t want to get metaphysical, but Hollywood has always been the American ruling establishment with its heart on its sleeve, and southern California has always taken point in the culture wars, openly and brazenly, so you can read them like a book. And I can sense a deep and definite malaise. The Jewish and liberal establishment down there is not just afraid, they’re puzzled, disturbed, confused. They don’t know what to make of us quite yet. They’ve never seen white men act like this before—hell, no one in living memory has seen white men act like this before. Comrades, even if we were all wiped out tomorrow, the NVA has managed to achieve one incredible accomplishment, and something that for the entire century, no one ever thought was possible. We have reintroduced the gun into American politics, the ultimate fount of all law and political power.”

Morehouse smiled and shook his head in admiration. “For the first time since the Civil War, the United States of America no longer has a credible monopoly of armed force, and that fact has thrown the whole ruling élite in this country for a loop, unbalanced them. We’ve taken a hundred years of this shit from these people. No more! It ends now!”

“Who gets to be the hammer?” asked Tommy Coyle eagerly.

“Sorry, Tom,” said Morehouse, genuinely commiserating. “You and Harry are too badly needed up here with your brigades, and that goes for you battalion commanders as well. I’m afraid the reason you are here is because we’re going to need your help and your concurrence to cherry-pick your units. The actual hammering will be planned and organized by the Third Section, but the nails will be from Portland and the North Shore.”

“What will be your plan of attack, Lieutenant Randall?” asked Hatfield.

“The main strategic objective here is to neutralize the Hollywood movie and television apparatus as an effective weapon of enemy propaganda,” said Randall. “It is now such a weapon because of the Jewish control of these industries. We have to get the Jews’ hands off the levers of power and creative control down there as much as possible, not only by terminating individual hebes, but by establishing a credible deterrent sufficient to prevent those reptiles from producing dingo doo like those things there.”

Randall pointed to the scripts on the coffee table. “They have to know that even to contemplate producing an anti-NVA movie or television episode means bloody near certain death. We won’t be so much going after movie stars or actors themselves as we will be taking down the Jews who actually decide what movies and shows are made, and what their contents will be—studio heads, producers, directors, and screenwriters, and the moneymen. We have several objectives. First, to physically prevent these Jews from doing the dirty. A dead Jew can’t make an anti-white movie. Secondly, to create a psychological disincentive to make propaganda movies and telly for the Americans, since live Jews and liberals don’t wish to become dead ones. Finally, and this is a long-term goal, we want to demonstrate to the extensive Gentile community in the movie and television world down there that Jewish control of their industry, their money, their speech, and their creative talents is not some kind of perpetual, God ordained inevitability. We want to show them and the whole world that Jewish power can be broken, right in the heart of their own oldest and most cherished empire in this country.”

“In a way, we’re trying to show the stars and the genuine film artists down there the same thing we’re trying to show our own people here in the Homeland—that it is possible to resist, and that the enemy is not invincible.”


Chechar’s note:

Just compare Covington’s views about Hollywood to Counter Currents’ opposite views and leave a comment: either below, or in a recent thread.

Categories
Brigade (novel) Civil war Harold Covington

The Brigade excerpts, chapter XVIII

by Harold Covington


“All The World’s A Stage”


Covington in uniform
“This will be the most significant mass assault on a Zionist target that the Northwest Volunteer Army has yet attempted,” said Hill. “It will also send an indelible message to the enemy and to the world, one that Hollywood is particularly able to understand. Do you remember the famous scene in The Godfather where the big Jew movie producer wakes up in the dawn, in his big mansion and his big bed with the silk sheets, and he looks over and he sees the severed head of his million-dollar race horse lying next to him in a bloody mess, and he screams and screams and screams and screams as the camera fades? That is the effect we are looking for in every sense of the word.”

“I remember the producer caved in and gave the Godfather what he wanted,” said Christina.

“Exactly. And why?” asked Hill. “The big kike, the Burger King, caved because he suddenly understood that he was dealing with people to whom his power, his money, his influence and his personal viciousness meant nothing. For possibly the first time in his life, the big Jew was dealing with men who weren’t afraid of him and all he could command, and who would accept nothing less from him than total compliance and submission. That is the message we want to send, not only to the big Jews who rule Hollywood, but also to the whole world. The power of these people is at an end. This tickle is going to be our equivalent of a big bloody horse’s head in the Jews’ beds. But there is more to the message we are sending even than that. We want all of white America to see, and to think: If ZOG cannot protect the cream of Hollywood’s élite, then they can’t protect anybody. If ZOG can’t protect the powerful Jews of Hollywood, then maybe it’s time we got onto the winning side. That is why it is imperative that we hit the Oscar ceremony itself, live and on camera.”

“Right, thanks to The Talented Mr. Ripley here, we have been able to score a few intelligence coups,” said Randall.

Hill sighed. “I want this to be as surgical as we can make it, and take out as many major influentials as we can, crippling the Dream Machine by decapitating its leadership and management. I don’t just want all these glitterati shitting in their pants when they hear machine guns as their bodyguards are hustling them out the emergency exits, I want them on the floor bleeding.”

 

LynchCoverChechar’s note:

Just compare Covington’s views about Hollywood to Greg Johnson’s opposite views and leave a comment: either below, or in a recent thread.

Categories
Brigade (novel) Free speech / Free press Harold Covington

The Brigade excerpts, chapter XIX

by Harold Covington


“A Star Is Suborned”


Covington in uniform
In the meantime Hill and Randall took the liberty of examining the bookshelves that lined the wall of the living rooms, containing not only books but an extensive collection of music CDs and movie DVDs. Hill always did this whenever he had the chance, since nothing helped better in his assessment of someone’s character than learning what that person read and watched and listened to. The woman’s literary taste ran toward the classics of drama, and weighty novels such as no one actually read anymore. The plays ran from the Elizabethan and Restoration dramatists such as Dryden, Webster, Ben Jonson, and of course the complete works of Shakespeare, on to the nineteenth century masters such as Chekhov, Strindberg, Ibsen, and Gilbert and Sullivan, with a couple of slim volumes of Eugene O’Neill, a tag end of modernity.

There were writers such as Dickens, Hawthorne, Trollope, Wilkie Collins, Thomas Hardy, Robert Louis Stevenson, and Balzac. Hill was delighted to see collections of Jules Verne and Arthur Conan Doyle’s historicals as well, his boyhood favorites. Her poetry library boasted Walt Whitman, Tennyson, and T.S. Eliot, but verged closely enough on political incorrectness so that Hill wondered why it hadn’t gotten her into trouble, since she also owned the legal but frowned-upon works of Rudyard Kipling and Ezra Pound. He was further surprised to see the outright legally banned works of the Australian poet laureate Henry Lawson, published by one of the pre-10/22 covert Party imprints, which might well have gotten her arrested if anyone had noticed it. The conspicuous absence of anything gay, lesbian, multicultural, and psychobabble-ish was almost as telling a point in her favor as was what was there. Her musical tastes were wide-ranging. There were CDs of Wagner, Mozart, Verdi, Tchaikovsky, Handel, numerous operas, Gregorian chants, the motets of Gesualdo, Celtic music collections, Russian chorals, Doc Watson and Appalachian shape-note singing. Randall looked at Hill oddly, both of them sharing an unspoken thought: a young white female with this kind of taste and education was almost completely unknown in their experience.

“Henry Lawson?” asked Charlie Randall, holding up the volume. She blushed. “I really need to put that away where no one can see it.”

Randall opened the book and found a passage, and quoted sadly,

“And it is our fate that we’ll wake too late
To the truth that we were blind,
With a foreign foe at our harbour gate
And a blazing drought behind!”

“Hard to believe that was written well over a century ago,” Randall sighed.

“Lawson had it too right, mate. Not knocking the Northwest Homeland, but it’s my own land I’d be fighting for if our people had listened to Lawson, or even possessed two brain cells to rub together.”


http://northwestfront.org/

Categories
Brigade (novel) Civil war Harold Covington Homosexuality

The Brigade excerpts, chapter XX

by Harold Covington


“Setting The Scene”


Covington in uniform
On the day before the Oscars, for the first time, Task Force Director’s Cut was all gathered in one place, a large private home with a green lawn and hissing sprinklers on 20th Street in Santa Monica. It was very risky, and some of the crew were on sentry duty and would be briefed later by their team leaders, but this was the most important operation that the Northwest Volunteer Army had undertaken to date.

“I’ll run the operation down for you from beginning to end,” said Hill. “Hit the lights please, somebody.” The lights dimmed and one overhead projector cast a floor plan of the Kodak Theater onto the wall, while a second showed the plan of the Hollywood Royale hotel. “The actual infiltration of the theater and the assault will be carried out by seven personnel. Red fire team will consist of Volunteers Lockhart, Wingo, and McGee. Gold team will consist of Volunteers Kolchak, Gauss, and Washburn. As always, comrades, the gods favor us. I’ve noticed that happens a lot since we decided to quit running around street corners holding signs and wearing silly costumes, and took up the gun.”

“Amen,” spoke up one of the Volunteers.

“We want a Mad Minute of Shock and Awe,” said Hill. “The maddest ever, because remember, this is going to be on live nationwide TV. Cat, you and Ron will both fire twenty well-aimed rounds apiece, and remember, after those two initial faggots for camera effect, you’re going for the Burger Kings, the Big Kikes. The grenadiers will throw both their grenades, one each as soon as the firing begins, and a second after approximately thirty seconds. They will also open fire on full automatic, into what will almost certainly be a screaming vortex of sheer madness, concentrating on the VIP circle in front of the orchestra pit. There will be no innocent parties down there. Anyone who rates a seat in that section is Hollywood up to their eyeballs, and guilty as sin. Ideally not one glitterati pig or bitch who sits down at one of those little Parisian café tables to pose for us unwashed masses in all their haute couture glory should make it out of that theater alive. But especially not Jews. Bear in mind what all this is in aid of, comrades.

Hollywood is possibly the greatest weapon the Jews have against our race, maybe even more powerful and dangerous in some ways than their control of the federal government and of international banking. Hollywood is the biggest leg of that unholy tripod, and we have to knock it out from under them.”

 

LynchCoverChechar’s note:

Just compare Covington’s views about Hollywood to Greg Johnson’s opposite views and leave a comment: either below, or in a recent thread.

Categories
Brigade (novel) Civil war Harold Covington Homosexuality Justice / revenge Real men

The Brigade excerpts, chapter XXI

by Harold Covington


“ Must-See TV”


Covington in uniform
“No matter what happens to us, tonight or from now on, we have written indelibly into the history books that at least some white men finally revolted after a century of oppression and insult, and that our race did not go gentle into that good night. We’ve shattered so many politically correct myths over the past two years I can’t even count’em. And I’ll tell you this much, Erica. We may not have the power to remake the world in our image, or even to grab back the small part of it we’re demanding of these bastards. But we can make bloody well sure they can’t create their Brave New World either, with no race, no culture, no God, no identity, nothing to live and die for except bloody money and mindless recreation. If it can’t be the white man’s world ever again, by God, it will never belong to the Jews!” He saw she was looking at him strangely. “Sorry. Got up on me soapbox there for a bit.”

“No, I’m riveted, actually,” she said earnestly. “Look, Mr. Dundee, or Mick, or whatever your name really is, I have to admit, all this is a bit freaky for me, but not in a bad way. I was listening to you just then, and all of a sudden it hit me that in all my life, I’ve never known a man, a real man, of my own race.”

“What about Chase?” he asked her.

“Chase was kind, and gentle, and supportive, and creative, and funny, and a great kisser, among other things.”

“Those aren’t at all bad qualities for a man to have, you know,” Randall reminded her gently. “Sounds to me like you could have done a lot worse.”

“Yes, I know, but that’s all he was,” said Erica. “It’s like that with so many otherwise fine white males today. It’s like half of them is missing. The hard half, the strong half, that once led our race to conquer almost all the world, to make the world the way it is today. The strength, the courage, the ruggedness, the will to power and to overcome obstacles that our people once had is gone now.”

“The Old Man calls it the alpha gene,” said Randall.

“Yeah, well, it seems to have gone missing in white males these days. It’s like we’ve just given up and accepted our own end.”

♣

“I’m in place,” he told the rest of them.

In the Hollywood Royale’s Suite 1401, Cat-Eyes Lockhart said, “We’re on our way,” and slipped the radio into his back pocket. “Right, let’s go.” The six Volunteers left the suite, all wearing identical black and white tuxedos and wearing festive costume party masks, each lugging a heavy canvas gym bag.

“We’re set,” he told Randall in a tense voice.

Cat took up a position on the right side of the projector, and Kicky to the left. Cat took out an extra 20-round magazine for his M-21, containing normal copper-jacketed rounds, and checked to make sure that the magazine in his weapon indeed contained the special exploding lead bullets. There was a delay of ten seconds or so, which seemed very long, and then he heard Kolchak’s voice say, “Gold Team set.”

“Red Team Leader, fire at will,” came Randall’s voice.

On stage the pudgy Martin Rudin and the tall, slim mulatto Nat Turner Thomas, elegant in their tuxedos, approached the podium, hand in hand. They each embraced a smiling Erica and gave her a kiss on the cheek as she handed them the gold Oscar statuette. Marty Rudin began to speak. “It’s no secret that The Color of Love is largely autobiographical, the story of how my beloved partner Nat and myself were able to overcome a racist society’s hurdles, not just one, but the triple prejudices of racism, anti-Semitism, and homophobia…”

“Nat, I couldn’t have done it without you,” blubbered an overcome Rudin down on the stage. “I couldn’t have done any of it without you.” The two men leaned over and gave each other a long, tongue-slurping French kiss. There was a sigh of “Awwww…” and a scattering of applause from the audience.

The two kissing men’s heads exploded like watermelons, a single bullet virtually decapitating both of them. Erica Collingwood’s mouth opened in a single long scream of pure terror, a scream heard around the world and immortalized for all time. She seemed to faint and dropped to the floor. Then all hell broke loose.

The Kodak Theater was originally designed as an operatic and concert house, and the acoustics were widely and justly acclaimed to be the best in the world, second only to the Sydney Opera House. The ribbed and shaped steel bands running from floor to high domed ceiling along the oval walls could magnify and reverberate the sound of a coin being dropped on stage.

The noise that filled the theater now passed any description that might convey the reality of it to anyone who was not there. The subsequent millions of replays of the videos from all angles were filled with the madness and the terror and the death and the blood, but could never adequately convey the sound of the gunfire that roared down from the sky, rolling in waves from the ceiling and the walls. One survivor described it as being “trapped inside an endless clap of thunder.” The first grenades flew down from the projection booths, bounced and rolled along the floor, then detonated and hurtled fragments of wood and metal from chairs and tables, and human body parts. Several people were blown into the air, whirling like rag dolls in a tornado. Men and women screamed and scrambled and ran and hid, trampled and fought one another to get to the exits while a rain of death poured among them, rifle and submachine-gun fire, cutting them down and sending them flopping and gushing blood down to the floor.

After maybe ten seconds, Kicky and Cat heard pops from the theater floor and heard the slap of pistol bullets slamming into the wall around the projection booth. The security guards, the bodyguards, and the cops were firing back at them. One bullet shattered the lens of the projector, showering them with powdered glass. A second clanged into the metal body of the projector and rang deafeningly. “The bells, the bells!” moaned Lockhart in a Hunchback of Notre Dame imitation, grinning maniacally at Kicky, who screamed with adrenalin-fueled laughter, blazing away with her submachine gun. Still firing, Cat yelled “Grenade!” and Kicky threw her second one, then returned to spraying bullets at anything that moved, slapping empty magazines out onto the floor and full ones into the weapon. The grenade exploded with a whump that made the building shake, and maybe five seconds later the fourth grenade from the other projection booth detonated as well.

In one way it was an endless time, and in another way it was but the flash of a moment until Cat ripped the empty magazine out of his M-21, slapped in the next one, and laid it on the bullet-scarred ledge, and yelled, “That’s twenty rounds, and we’re outta here!” Kolchak and Washburn were still firing into the shrieking, undulating mass of bodies down in the theater. Out in the corridor, heavy-set Jewish men, some in yarmulkes, all in tuxedos, had come charging out the doors of the private boxes dragging women in expensive gowns, mostly young and blonde, as they tried to escape. Jimmy Wingowas waiting for them, crouching behind the corner of the entranceway, and with short, well aimed bursts he cut them all down. Not one made it to the stairs. Cat and Kicky came out of the projection room. “Let me go first,” said Wingo, and they pelted down the corridor after him. Just as they reached the stairwell the door opened and a Centurion guard popped out, pistol in his hand. Wingo chopped him down with the AK. A bullet screamed by them and slapped into the wall. Kicky turned and blazed away with the HK at a couple of guards who were stumbling along the corridor behind them, hitting one of them and dropping him. The other turned and fled. They crashed down the stairs and Wingo machine gunned another Centurion guard who was on his way up.

A woman screamed as the Volunteers came out of the stairwell in their ski masks. Wingo spotted a Mexican security guard and splattered him against the wall with a burst of the Kalashnikov.

♣

The day after the Oscar Night Massacre, the following casualty list appeared on the front page of a black-bordered edition of the Los Angeles Times. In addition to the dead listed here, over two hundred people were wounded by bullets and flying shrapnel, and also from being trampled in the stampede to escape. The L.A. Times list was subsequently posted to the internet on a satiric Web site called insidetinseltown.com, with certain pointed and irreverent commentary added. The day after it was posted, the site was shut down and the webmaster arrested under the Patriot Act. He has never been seen since. But this did not occur before the site was mirrored all across the World Wide Web:

Adelstein, Jeremy (34)—Jewish. Scriptwriter for six major television sitcoms on two networks. Faked mental illness to evade draft.

Adler, Allen (41)—Jewish. Senior vice president in charge of marketing, Paradigm Studios. Gothis start making porno in Mexico.

Baylor, Amber (30)—White. Nominated for Best Supporting Actress for portrayal of tough female FBI agent hunting evil white racists in the Pacific Northwest. Married to Israeli independent producer and director Avrohom Stern.

Bernstein, Arthur (45)—Jewish. Prominent director, recipient of two Lifetime Achievement Academy Awards and two Best Directors. Slated to direct Great White North for World Artists. Indicted for insurance fraud and tax evasion. Charges dropped.

Borenstein, Albert (50)—Jewish. Senior Vice President In Charge of Production, World Artists. Several complaints of physical and sexual abuse by multiple wives dropped through unknown influence.

Cochran, Mark (44)—White. Married, no children. Nominee for Best Special Effects for The Return of the Zoid.

Cohen, Harry (23)—Jewish. Actor. Star of television sitcom The Rabbi and Me wherein Cohen plays feckless high school kid who solves mysteries with the help of a wise old rabbi, crimes that always originate with evil white racists or Muslims. Charges of obtaining a false medical exemption from the draft dropped, influence of Sid Glick.

Cohen, Todd (36)—Jewish. Casting director, Paradigm Studios. Subject of repeated sexual harassment suits from aspiring actresses and studio employees.

Colbert, Kaneisha (24)—Mulatto. Actress. Nominated for Best Supporting Actress for her role as a Strong Womyn African-American freedom fighter in the epic Southern anti-slavery movie Eagleton Plantation, for which she had already received the Best Actress award from the Black Film Actors’ Guild. Ms. Colbert was not shot, but trampled to death by her fellow glitterati trying to escape.

Concasseur, Ti-Jean (35)—Black. Centurion security officer. Former UN-trained Haitian police officer, former Port-au-Prince gangster and enforcer for outlawed Lavalas party.

Daniels, Ray (42)—White. Actor. Nominated for Best Actor for Let’s Go Home, wherein Vietnam vet returns to reunite with his Saigon bar-girl lover and his mixed-race child and fights against the Communists and then wicked racist American immigration law to bring them into the United States.

Dickstein, Morris (39)—Jewish. Golden Globe award-winning actor and stand-up comedian. Chairman of the Hollywood-Israel Friendship Society.

Fiegenbaum, Yossele (70)—Jewish. President, MGM Studios. Member of Anti-Defamation League’s national Board of Directors.

Franken, Andrea (38)—Jewish. Co-scriptwriter for Great White North.

Galvez, Ramon (28)—Hispanic. Centurion security officer.

Ganz, Allen (32)—Jewish. Head of script department at FoxFlix Productions.

Gelblum, Emmanuel (54) –Jewish. Chairman of the Board of Directors of World Artists Studios. Approved recent project Great White North. Son heroin addict. Gelblum was a shochet, a kosher slaughter man, not out of religious obligation but because he simply enjoyed killing animals.

Glick, Shlomo (53)—Jewish. Head of Mammoth Productions. Scheduled producer of Homeland.

Glick, Sidney (58)—Jewish. President, Paradigm Studios. Known as “Mr. Hollywood,” Glickwas renowned as the most powerful Jew in the motion picture industry since Louis B. Mayer’s time. Driving force behind Homeland project.

Goldblum, Ari (56)—Jewish. Israeli-born head of largest talent agency in Hollywood. Famed as first Hollywood manager actually to write a casting couch clause for actresses into his contracts, known as the “personal services” clause.

Goldblume, Jerry (42)—Jewish. Actor-director. Arrests for rape and stock fraud, all suppressed through the influence of Sid Glick.

Goram, Rafi (31)—Jewish. Bodyguard to Sid Glick. Ex-Israeli Mossad. Goram was wanted by the United Nations War Crimes Committee for the murder of over 100 elderly Palestinians in a nursing home burned to the ground during an Israeli army incursion into Ramallah.

Greenwood, Michelle (25)—White. “Aspiring actress” actually employed by escort service, accompanying Saul Steinberg of Twenty-First Century Fox to ceremonies that night.

Gunderson, Robert (43)—White. Bodyguard to Sid Glick. Former FBI agent. Dismissed from Bureau for selling information to Colombian drug lords.

Gutierrez, Pablo (32)—Hispanic. Hotel Royale control room guard.

Halter, Yossi (34)—Jewish. Just appointed youngest studio Vice President in history at Mammoth Productions. Reputedly blackmailed entire board of directors with six months’ worth of secret surveillance tapes of their assorted sexual and financial peccadilloes. “This young man will go far,” said Mammoth on announcing his appointment in the media.

Hirschfield, Albert (50)—Jewish. Editor of Variety Online.

Horowitz, Joshua (30)—Jewish. Script writer for Great White North. Had bribery arrangement with California Department of Corrections wherein he was occasionally admitted to correctional institutions and left alone with “white supremacist” inmates who were handcuffed and restrained, and allowed to beat them with a baton. It is not known whether he was ever allowed to flagellate his co-writer Andrea Franken (see above).

Hudson, Mary Anne (27)—White. “Aspiring actress” actually employed by escort agency. Accompanied Irving Kirschbaum to the ceremonies that night.

Jones, Lamont (29)—Black. Bodyguard to Yossele Fiegenbaum. Karate black belt, ex-Marine Corps. Cocaine addict.

Katz, David (52)—Jewish. Director and independent producer. Producer of Great White North. Two counts of rape dismissed through influence of persons unknown.

Kirschbaum, Irving (58)—Jewish. Producer of over seventy major motion pictures, including four Academy Awards for Best Picture and one personally for Lifetime Achievement.

Kirschner, Marion (56)—Jewish. Specialized in wise and salty Jewish mother roles, including her latest television series where she portrayed a wise-cracking Yiddishe mama who was also a federal judge, sentencing evil white racists and Muslims to prison every week. Found dead at her VIP table, face down in a bowl of her own trademark chicken soup.

Landauer, Hyman (49)—Jewish. Senior Vice President in charge of Production, World Artists studios, in charge of proposed film Great White North. Arrested in legal Nevada brothel. No charges filed.

Mandel, Peter (75)—Jewish. President of Global Studios. A raging sex maniac who once engaged in coitus with two dozen aspiring starlets in one twenty-four hour period to win a bet, one per hour, after which he fired them all and had them hounded out of town by the LAPD because “Nobody nails my leftovers.”

Martinez, Rafael (26)—Hispanic. Centurion security officer.

Nussbaum, Philip (48)—Jewish. Producer and director, mostly for Paradigm. Killed three members of the Riordan family of San Diego, including two children, while driving the wrong way up an exit ramp on Interstate Five at eighty miles an hour in his Maserati, with a blood alcohol level of .16. Charges reduced to straight DUI, license suspended for ninety days.

Padilla, Juan (30)—Hispanic. Centurion security officer.

Pechter, Rabbi Leo (48)—Jewish. Southern California regional director, Anti-Defamation League of B’nai B’rith. Served as interrogator in U.S. Army, investigated by JAG for torture of Arab prisoners going even beyond the Dershowitz Protocols, quietly discharged, and immediately employed by ADL.

Ratner, Lew (54)—Jewish. “Attorney to the Stars.” Main legal troubleshooter for Hollywood establishment under Generalissimo Sid Glick. Fowler was nominated for this year’s awards as Best Supporting Actor for Blood on the Basket.

Robertson, Frederick (40)—White. Centurion security officer. Married, two children.

Rodriguez, Manuel (22)—Hispanic. Centurion security officer.

Rosenberg, Abe (45)—Jewish. Senior in-house legal counsel to Paradigm Studios. Found with almost a full gigabyte of child pornography on his company computer and a whole secret viewing room full of such material in his Carmel, California home. No charges filed.

Rubinstein, Jennifer (40)—Jewish. Gossip columnist and reviewer for Variety. Alleged to have driven actresses Jenny Kraft and Mila Bellarov to suicide after ruining their careers.

Rudin, Marty (36)—Jewish. Homosexual. Joint winner of Best Screenplay award for The Color of Love.

Salazar, Ramon (27)—Hispanic. Centurion security officer.

Shmulevitz, Rabbi Samuel (62)—Jewish. Director of the Simon Wiesenthal Center in Los Angeles. Personal friend of Hillary Clinton.

Stanford, Jenna (26)—White. Actress. Star of several interracial films including a Mafia version of Othello, the consensual incest movie Brother Beloved wherein a teenaged Stanford seduces her ten year-old brother, as well as engaging in one of the grottiest lesbian scenes ever filmed during the movie version of Sappho.

Steinberg, Saul (59)—Jewish. Executive vice president, Twenty-First Century Fox. Known associate of organized crime figures, suspected of money laundering, reputed to be unofficial Mossad station chief for Hollywood.

Steinfeld, Bert (43)—Jewish. Actor. Specialized in macho martial arts roles beating up on Arabs, Nazis, Frenchmen, and other villainous characters. Rifle bullet entered anus while he was crawling on floor and exited his brain.

Stern, Avrohom (63)—Jewish. Israeli independent director and producer. Imported over ten thousand black Africans from Guinea-Bissau and Senegal into Florida to use as extras for an African war movie he was making. Movie lost financing, and so Stern simply opened the compound one morning and turned the Africans loose, resulting in several dozen murders and over two hundred rapes of local residents, as well as over a thousand separate lawsuits, all of which were dismissed due to unknown influence.

Thomas, Nathan Turner (31)—Black. Homosexual. Joint winner of Best Screenplay award for The Color of Love.

Tostigsdottir, Ingrid (21)—White. Icelandic supermodel, escorting Hyman Landauer to the Oscar ceremonies.

Washington, Bo-Bo (47)—Black. Centurion security officer.

Weinberg, Bruce (54)—President, Star Crown Motion Pictures, Inc. Investigated by the SEC for securities fraud and by the DEA for allegedly arranging “in-house” narcotics supplies to his actors and executives, and collecting cut of the profits. No charges filed.

Weinstein, Abe (60)—Jewish. Senior vice president for Finance for Universe Studios. Investigated for “creatively financing” many films with laundered drug money and for statutory rape of a minor. No charges filed.

Woltz, Louis (70)—Jewish. CEO of Excelsior Studios. Multi-millionaire. In his younger days as an agent he was charged with embezzling clients’ money, mail fraud, drug trafficking, and suspicion of murder when actress Jill Considine died under mysterious circumstances in her home just after filing a multi-million dollar lawsuit against Woltz to recover money he stole from her over a five-year period.