web analytics
Categories
Brigade (novel) Civil war 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.

Categories
Arcadia Art My pinacoteca

Dream of Arcadia

Dream of Acadia

Painting of the day:

Thomas Cole
Dream of Arcadia ~ 1838
Denver Art Museum

Categories
Brigade (novel) Civil war

The Brigade excerpts, chapter XXII

by Harold Covington


“Send Off The Clowns”


Covington in uniform
Hillary concluded by announcing that “the patience of the American people with racism and terrorism is at an end, and we are going to crush these evil men like the insects they are.” She announced that a new paramilitary force, the Federal Anti-Terrorist Police Organization (FATPO) would be immediately deployed into the Pacific Northwest and that they would operate under “special rules of engagement” that would allow for the “complete eradication of terror, and at long last mete out the condign punishment that should long ago have been applied to every manifestation of racism, anti-Semitism, homophobia, nativism, and sexism.”

An obviously twitchy and nervous Arnold Blaustein, who had taken over Paradigm on the demise of Sid Glick, announced the establishment of a special private “justice fund” by the movie industry, which offered a reward of five million dollars per head for information leading to the apprehension alive of any terrorist who could be shown to have participated in the events of Oscar Night in any way.

Movie stars and B actors, rappers and rock stars, television personalities and newscasters, studio moguls, directors and producers, screenwriters, executives and attorneys, and all manner of lesser fry began to flee the city.

“I wouldn’t have believed it,” Brewer reported back. “Hollywood has become a ghost town in a week! Most of the major enemy assets on our hit list are gone now, scattered all across hell’s creation. You guys may run out of targets.”

“Oh, they’ll be back,” said Hill with a shrug.

The hits continued, despite the paucity of targets:

* A massive car bomb was smuggled onto the DreamWorks-Disney back lot and leveled an entire Santa’s Village set, totally derailing a major Christmas movie and costing DW-D about 40 million dollars in losses.

* Foul-mouthed standup comic Marta Moskowitz, whose shtick consisted almost entirely of obscenities, references to excrement and snooty flaunting of her Jewish heritage, was found tied with duct tape to a chair in her apartment’s kitchen, strangled with a garrote, and a bar of soap jammed into her mouth.

Within thirty days, the Northwest Volunteer Army had effectively shut down the entire American movie-making industry and over half of the television production. Studio budgets were snapping like sticks. Ratings were in the toilet because the whole country was glued 24/7 to the cable news waiting to see which Hollywood celebrity was next on the hit parade, in a runaway reality show from hell.

 

LynchCoverChechar’s note:

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

Thank you!

Categories
Brigade (novel) Civil war

The Brigade excerpts, chapter XXIII

by Harold Covington


“Into The Lion’s Den”


Covington in uniform
“They’re goyim, David,” said Shulman. “What’s the first lesson you and I both learned in yeshiva school? Never, ever trust a goy, for they are beasts without souls. All of the sons of Esau hate us unto death, because our blessed forefather Jacob stole their birthright and left them with nothing but a mess of pottage. They’ve never really resigned themselves and accepted that as a done deal. No matter how often we keep filling up their bowls with pottage, they secretly want their birthright back. I’m convinced I’m right. One of the people on that list betrayed our friends and our elders to their death, and they’re still doing it as we speak, still helping these animals to kill us.”

“Yeah,” said Danziger bitterly. “Tell me about it. Before I came down, I heard on the news that the sons of bitches murdered Herschel Rabinowitz from MGM this morning. They got past his cameras, the guards, everything, and they shot him through the window at his own breakfast table in Malibu.”

“Fuck me, Hesh is dead?” exclaimed Shulman.

“Deader than a dog turd in the road, mine friend,” confirmed Danziger with a grim nod. “The day before that they rammed a car bomb into the main office of Fox News and damned near leveled the building, killed everybody in the lobby. The day before that, somehow they found where Shelley Klein was hiding in Santa Barbara. They tied her up in a chair and then took her out back and dropped her into the swimming pool and watched her drown. As of this week it’s official, the movie industry and the television business are paying more for security costs than they’re paying in salaries for working employees, which isn’t hard since almost no one is working anymore. They’re all in hiding and wondering who will be the next to die? This can’t go on, Marty!”

“After the bloodbath in the Kodak on Awards night, and then all these murders, and finally this incredible revelation about Erica Collingwood, the Big Boys are going completely batshit paranoid about everybody with a pale skin. They don’t know who they can trust. Neither does the FBI. They’re seeing Jerry Rebs under every bed. They’re lashing out in all directions. Hell, they were in here the other day giving me and all my white staff the third degree, not as bad as you because I’ve got a name in this town. Or had one, anyway. The rumor mill is roaring like a blast furnace. After Erica the bosses are supposed to be considering a complete ban on anyone of European descent working in movies or in TV who can’t document at least one gay or interracial sexual relationship.”

Categories
Brigade (novel) Civil war

The Brigade excerpts, chapter XXIV

by Harold Covington


“One If By Land, Two If By Sea”


Covington in uniform
“Back when there were still Mexicans along that stretch of 101, he used to chop them up and go fishing using the bits and pieces as bait. No more Mexicans around, though. Once it all started up they got the message real fast. You won’t hear any Spanish outside Portland now.”

“Well, that will be a change from L.A.,” said Julia.

“I imagine so,” agreed Post. “Every mother’s son and daughter of the NVA [Northwest Volunteer Army] has a basic $50,000 DT on his or her head, that’s domestic terrorist bounty, and from there it goes up depending on how naughty the individual Volunteer has been. I think Hatfield’s up to over half a million now. Astoria has become almost a kind of liberated zone, where white people can live safely and peacefully among their own kind. The United States can’t allow that.”

Eric Sellars and Annette Ridgeway were seated together in a lecture hall on the Portland State University campus when Jackson’s call came in. Eric had his NVA special throwaway phone on vibrate, so it didn’t ring out loud and he was able to conduct a sotto voce conversation without anyone other than his immediate neighbors knowing he was on the phone, and without disturbing the desiccated professor who was droning on about the vital importance of the Native American tradition in American history…

Jackson sighed. “Okay, guys have a seat,” he said. “Tom [a code name for Eric], you will be part of the extraction team, and after the pickup your job will be getting Becky out of the area. Becky [a code name for Annette], you are going to be risking your life and your freedom tonight for our new country in the most dangerous task you have yet undertaken. You both have a right to know why this is necessary, and why it’s such a rush. We will have two vehicles, a van for the extraction and a second car for backup and interference if necessary. You and Tom will have to exit the area on foot, and make it to a third vehicle, your own, during which time you must remove your disguise and resume your own identity, with some suitable reason for being downtown in case you’re stopped and questioned. Do not be caught with Stiggsy’s false ID on you; possession of false identification is now a Class A terrorism offense and can expose you to the death penalty”…

Jackson walked around the table and grabbed Zucchino by the collar. He leaned down to the wounded man’s right ear. “You need that mouth to speak with, but you only need one ear to hear with. Now you listen to me. Our female Volunteers are the jewels in the crown of the Aryan race. We never speak disrespectfully of them, and garbage like you damned sure never does! Zack Hatfield is another jewel in our crown, one of the finest and bravest men I’ve ever known, and the Volunteers with him are our Flowers of the Forest. They are men. You are not. You are a rodent. I will not allow you to harm them by withholding information about this evil tyranny’s plots against them. You are going to tell me now, tell it all.”

“We did that, Julia,” said Hatfield with grim satisfaction. “Congress didn’t do it. Elections didn’t do it. Democracy didn’t do it. Signing petitions and marching in the streets and babbling on the internet didn’t do it. We did it, with bullets, not ballots. And everyone in this town is better off for it. Ask Ted.”

“In what way?” asked Julia suspiciously.

“The Hollywood entertainment industry, including television, is arguably the most potent weapon in the hands of ZOG,” [Zionist Occupied Government] said Morehouse. “To be blunt, it is possibly the only one that might defeat us in the end. The NVA has already demonstrated that we can survive anything Amurrica throws at us by way of police, military, or other armed force. We’re already killing these FATPO [Federal Anti-Terrorist Police Organization] thugs Hillary sent, and it’s pretty obvious they won’t be able to beat us either. But if we allow the Jews who control Hollywood and the media to shape the minds and attitudes and perceptions of the American people about us, especially young white people—well, we can’t allow that. We won’t allow it. Our primary condition is basically that Hollywood adopts a position of neutrality and balance regarding The Trouble here in the Northwest.”

“How exactly would this work?” asked Julia, fascinated in spite of the fact that she knew Morehouse wasn’t joking about the Jew head reference. “How will the industry know what will get them killed and what will slip under the wire?”

“I think they’ll know,” said Morehouse. “As I said, a large part of this hate-whitey shtick out of Hollywood has always been far more deliberate than most people realize. The Jews inadvertently stumbled upon the most perfect vehicle imaginable for expressing their ancient hatred of all non-Jewish life and all non-Talmudic values, and taking their revenge on the hated goyim by destroying everything we hold sacred and valuable, including our own children. There was indeed once much that was good in America, Ms. Lear, the Old America before the Jews got their hands on Hollywood. But get hold of it they did, and for almost a hundred years they have used it as a weapon to spit on that Old America, and the race that for thousands of years has refused to accept their self-proclaimed status as the Chosen People of God.”

Zack’s wireless phone bleeped. He opened it and listened for almost a minute, then closed it. A grim expression was on his face. “Damn,” he said softly. He looked up at Lear. “Ted, you and I need to talk. It looks like our luck has run out.”

“What do you mean?” demanded Lear.

“That was brigade,” Hatfield told them. “They’ve confirmed that we’re about to get some unwelcome tourists here in Astoria. Fattie’s [the Feds] coming, in force.”

Sheriff Ted Lear was the first to speak. “I didn’t hear anything about that!” he protested.

“I know you didn’t, Ted, or you wouldn’t have let Julia come up here,” replied Hatfield.

Morehouse spoke up. “That means that you weren’t told anything by either the Oregon State Attorney General, or by the feds or anyone else, which is bad news for you. That means that the federals consider your department to be compromised, which of course it is, from their point of view. That in turn means that the FATPO aren’t coming just for us. They’re coming for you, and most likely for your family as well, and for anyone they consider to be on your team. FATPO always enters an area with two lists in their pockets, Sheriff. One is a list of alleged Nationalist or NVA sympathizers. Sometimes those lists are accurate, sometimes they’re not. I think you can assume that you’re on that list, and maybe your mom and Julia here if the left hand doesn’t know what the right hand is doing, which is the case more often than not with this government. The second list is one of potential Unionist collaborators, or loyal Americans as they would say, people who can be relied on to rat out any of their neighbors with Nationalist inclinations, anybody with NVA-connected family members, so forth and so on. Above all, insofar as it is at all humanly possible, save the children.”


http://northwestfront.org/

Categories
Art Aryan beauty My pinacoteca

The Accolade (detail)

Der Ritterschlag

Painting of the day:

Edmund Blair Leighton
The Accolade
(detail) ~ 1901
Private collection

Categories
Brigade (novel) Civil war

The Brigade excerpts, chapter XXV

by Harold Covington


“ Comes The Dawn”


Covington in uniform
“The Battle Hymn I can see,” responded Posner. “Congressman Rollins, er, General Rollins I mean, is trying to expand his base beyond the South Side of Chicago, and that means appealing to the blue-haired country club set in both parties. Very symbolic and American and all that, and of course the fact that Roland is the descendant of slaves who were freed in the war the song was written to glorify will add a bit of poignancy. Okay, that part I get. But has anyone seriously tried to talk him out of the MacArthur impersonation with the hat and the shades and the corncob pipe? Does he really not understand that he will be making himself look damned ridiculous? Anyway, it’s been done before.”

“Like most Americans will even remember who Douglas MacArthur was,” snorted Hastings. “Most of our wonderful viewers have difficulty remembering what they had for breakfast yesterday.”

“That’s Rolly’s whole life,” said Sue with a shrug. “He’s always been out to prove that anything a white man can do, a black man can do better and Rolly Rollins can do better still. It’s gotten him re-elected for six terms in Chicago, until he resigned to take over FATPO [Federal Anti-Terrorist Police Organization]. Now he wants to add anti-racist war hero to his resumé.”

“This is not a war, Ms. Loomis,” Posner corrected her. “This is a law enforcement action against hate criminals.”

“No, those assholes have no idea we know they’re coming.” Zack made it a point to sound a lot more confident than he felt. “I was in Iraq, God damn it all, and I’ve seen what happens when anybody tries that shit! We’re guerrillas, remember? If we go head on against the Americans we’ll be wiped out and lose everything we’ve spent years building here! We’re trying to free our people and create a new country, not go to Paradise with seventy virgins, and not play Rambo! One driver per team who knows where the vehicle is parked, and he or she stays with that team and guides them back to the vehicle when we disperse, which we’ll have to do fast, because we’re going to have helicopter gunships chasing us.”

“They think this is Iraq in 2003,” said Len.

“Why should they?” asked Washburn flatly. “Until three years ago, white men never resisted before. I still don’t think they can wrap their minds around it. When the shit hits the fan, kill those media lice. All of them.” He got a brief chorus of “Roger that.”

The sea wind tousled his hair, he looked rugged and relaxed, and his voice was deep and authoritative. “I am standing here on a deserted beach somewhere on the Oregon coast, where in a few minutes General Roland Rollins, officer commanding of the Federal Anti-Terrorist Police Organization, will be landing with a large force of highly trained and motivated men and women who are determined to take a big bite out of racist terror today. In a stunning and daring move, General Rollins has taken to the high seas in a brilliant flanking movement in order to insert some major American muscle right into the heart of NVA [Northwest Volunteer Army] bandit country, a part of the United States that has seen little law and less order for the past several years. It’s a part of our country where people of color, Latino people, gay people, and anyone whose heart isn’t filled with hate have been afraid to set foot for a long time.”

While the media party waited idly for the fast approaching Ventura, Seth Goldstein was growing increasingly uncomfortable. “Hey man, I got to drain the snake,” he said to Hastings. “If I take a whizz in the surf here will you promise not to film it?”

“No promises,” laughed Hastings. “We are already working on our outtakes and bloopers reel for this shoot. Go up behind the dunes.”

On the bridge of the Higby Lieutenant JG Day told Executive Officer Lieutenant Hacker, “One of the shore party is leaving the group, sir.”

Goldstein trudged up the apparently empty beach toward the roadway, looking for a nice concealed spot to urinate where his merry colleagues wouldn’t film him and preserve it for the ages. He saw a low rise of sand and sea oats at the base of the right-hand berm that looked promising. He reached the mound, unzipped his trousers and unlimbered his circumcised schwanze, and stepped around the mound of sea oats preparatory to emptying his bladder.

One of the men slapped his hand over Seth’s mouth and the third grabbed and pinioned his arms. Goldstein tried to shriek in pain and terror. He recognized Hatfield, who leaned over him, studying Goldstein’s camel face, his acned skin and fleshy nose and frizzy hair. “A Jew,” Hatfield said. Hatfield leaned over and cupped Goldstein’s roundhead in his hands, and whispered the single word “Dresden!” in his ear before snapping his necklike a pretzel.

“Great, now we have to stand on a dead Jew with shit in his pants,” groused Charlie.

Charlie Washburn stared at this apparition through his binoculars. “What on earth? Is that Idi Amin or Douglas MacArthur?” he asked, fascinated.

Rollins strode forth energetically through the surf, which reached up to his knees as he stepped off the ramp. His FATPO escorts slogged soggily along with him on either side. The rousing chorus of The Battle Hymn of the Republic thundered overhead. “Ready!” snapped Hatfield into the radio. To the surprise of both Ekstrom and Washburn, Hatfield stepped up out of the dug out and walked several paces toward the beach, upright, totally visible.

Higher up on Sunset Beach, Zack Hatfield raised his radio to his lips and shouted into the handset the command to fire. “Freedom!”

200 million viewers around the globe saw the body of Roland Rollins torn to pieces as five .50-caliber slugs smashed into him, and sent him twirling and whirling head over heels high into the air like a popped balloon, knocking him into the sea where he floated like a sack of gaudy, dirty laundry.

Roland Rollins died at 5:45 a.m. exactly, or 0545 hours to use military time, just as the golden sunrise flooded the beach with glowing amber light. Among the 200 million viewers who saw him die were Captain Meryl Sandoval and Lieutenant Donald Hacker, who were monitoring the raw feed transmission on the bridge of the Higby. Both of them stared at the screen as Rollins whirled away into the air flapping like a scarecrow in the wind.

0548 hours: On the beach most of the media party had gone down in the first hail of NVA bullets, as per Hatfield’s orders, and were now either lying very still on the sand in sodden red puddles or crawling along blindly like squashed and bleeding beetles.

Leonard Posner, to give him fair due, died while trying to do his job. He jerked the camera back up into a standing position on its tripod, leveled it and made sure it was on, and then stepped in front of it with a microphone, his face ghastly. “This is Leonard Posner on Sunset Beach in Oregon. Just now the world was shocked and horrified to witness the death of General Roland Rollins at the hand of the fascist beasts, who are now firing at the men and women of the FATPO and the S. S. Ventura from entrenched positions along the beach here. Somehow or other we have been lured into a bloody ambush. There are bullets flying all around me, but the brave men and women of FATPO are resisting and preparing to…” The world would never know what Posner claimed the brave men and women of FATPO were about to do, because at that moment a .50-caliber BMG slug decapitated him, and his headless blood-gushing corpse slid down out of the camera’s view like a special effect from a zombie movie.

0550:30 hours: “Madre de Dios, what’s that?” screamed Meryl Sandoval on the bridge of the Higby.

Hacker for once was at a loss for a snappy retort. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “But something big as hell just went up on board Ventura.”

“Captain Mulvaney, do you read?” Hacker spoke urgently into his radio. “Are you all right? What the hell happened, Derek?”

“Damned if I know,” came Mulvaney’s reply, his voice shaky and dazed. “If I didn’t know better I’d say we were torpedoed, or hit a mine. Whatever it was blew the ship’s bow into the air and we landed on our side. We’re listing to port, almost twenty degrees, God damn it!”

“What the hell happened with that gun turret of yours blowing up?” asked Zack curiously. “I don’t think that was us.”

Hacker scowled. “Our bird-brained excuse for a captain was an affirmative action quota promotion, a mami who couldn’t sail a rubber duck in a bathtub.”


http://northwestfront.org/

Categories
Chess Judeo-reductionism Kali Yuga

Botvinnik’s advice

Kasparov 2

After finishing the first volume, I have started to read Volume II of Garry Kasparov’s My Great Predecessors, especially the long chapter devoted to Mikhail Botvinnik, the world champion of chess from 1948 to 1963 (second from left to right on the book cover).

While reading Kasparov’s lead paragraphs to that chapter some of his sentences struck me. Botvinnik had called chess “an inexact problem,” just as the problems of the living. “To solve inexact problems,” maintained Botvinnik, “it is very important to limit the scale of the problem to avoid getting bogged down. Only then could one hope to solve it satisfactorily.” For this champion chess reflected objective reality and what a person thought, and every problem should be reduced to manageable analysis and thought.

Since in the past I was an amateur chess player, these passages immediately brought my mind to my recent discussions in this blog with those who want to reduce the incredibly complex problem of the West’s darkest hour to the Jewish Question.

This is what I thought while reading that page of Kasparov’s magnum opus: “It is true that, in practical terms, people like Alex Linder are right in that the masses would not grasp something too complex and that, in order to explain the problem to them once pro-white politics becomes possible, we should focus on the subversive tribe.”

I have no problem with that pragmatic approach. Politically, I am on the same page of Hitler, Goebbles, and Linder on this issue. The problem starts when we abandon pragmatic politics and enter into the more subtle terrains of academic discussions.

If whites survive the current crisis, even after a final solution to all non-white problems is achieved future intellectuals will surely try to ponder what exactly happened in the 20th and 21st centuries. In that futuristic scenario it is unlikely that they will navigate forever inside the strait waters of Judeo reductionism. Sooner or later they will probably expand their point of view into a bigger picture, an all-encompassing meta-perspective, perhaps like the one barely sketched in my “Witches’ brew.”

Presently even those who are not Judeo reductionists, like Brad Griffin at Occidental Dissent, acknowledge that—rephrasing Botvinnik’s language—solving the Jewish problem would reduce the West’s darkest hour to manageable proportions. But even so the question will remain open: Why the West, unlike the Muslim world, became so Judaized after Napoleon emancipated the tribe? Why every Western nation started to imitate Napoleon’s lead in the 19th century? What was the primary cause of the empowerment of Jewry in the first place, always keeping in mind that they never wielded such power in the Muslim world?

These honest, commonsensical questions won’t go away even if a final solution to the problem is historically achieved.

Categories
Brigade (novel) Civil war

The Brigade excerpts, chapter XXVI

by Harold Covington


“ The Producers”


Covington in uniform
All were Jewish, and at least half were wearing yarmulkes. The air was frigid as ice, and not just from the air conditioning that rumbled full blast from the air vents. The eyes of the Jews at the table bored into Brewer with a concentrated, pure hatred that was almost radioactive; Brewer knew full well that every man there wanted him dead, and they were all thinking of ways that might be accomplished, preferably tonight, right here in this room, and as bloodily as possible. For him there was no offer of refreshment, no schmoozing, no polite small talk, not even a water pitcher and glass on the table. Brewer walked to the far end of the table and without a word sat down, opened his briefcase, and took out the yellow legal pad and pen, which he placed before him.

“Why?” grated Arnold Blaustein, his voice like metal scraping on metal. “This town made you. We made you. All your life we have put every crumb of food on your table, bought every mai tai you ever drank in Trader Vic’s, bought every car you ever drove, paid every penny of your mortgage, and for this you have spat the blood of God’s Chosen People in our faces. Why have you done this, Barry?”

“And that’s all you see, isn’t it?” said Brewer. “Money. Material things. Life as a balance sheet drawn up with double-entry bookkeeping, profit and loss. It’s all any of you can see, isn’t it? Never mind. I have done it because it had to be done, and no one else would. Beyond that I won’t be making any speeches or harangues, and I recommend the same course to you. We have business to settle. Now can we get on with this? I assure you gentlemen that your company is just as distasteful to me as mine is to you, so the sooner we get done the sooner we can depart.”

“I agree. Get on with it,” snarled Moshe Feinstein from DreamWorks-Disney. He lit a huge cigar, his hands trembling so bad in impotent rage he could barely flick the $4,500 platinum Zippo lighter into a flame.

“There is a war going on in the Pacific Northwest,” said Brewer. “Up until now Hollywood and the entertainment industry as a whole have supported one side in that war, the United States of America and its government. That support ends tonight, and Hollywood will become neutral. Not openly, just in practice. No one expects you to make any public declarations or dramatic announcements.”

“And this neutrality that you speak of involves our doing what, exactly?” demanded Dave Danziger coldly.

“Not much, but it does entail an extensive list of things which you will not do,” said Brewer. “We’re realistic. We understand that we can’t bring back the Hayes Office and stop you from spewing forth the kind of perverted filth and mindless rubbish that you always have. You have spent the past three generations creating a market for that sewage, it’s what the brain-dead public now wants, and it sells. This also applies to such personages as wise-ass late night talk show hosts, potty-mouthed stand-up comedians, and cable news show talking heads. There will be no more snide little needling jokes, no more vilification and insulting portrayals of Northwest Volunteers as psychos and cretins and generally bad people.”

Walt Wexler from World Artists spoke up. “Uh, sorry, Barry, I’ve got to ask. Did you actually see what you and your—your friends did on Oscar night? I did, because I was there, although by the grace of God all I got was a slight wound. How in the name of God can you say that the perpetrators of that horror are not bad people? What would you call that unspeakable slaughter if not psychopathic?”

“I would call it an act of war just as much as any engagement between soldiers. In case you’ve missed the past century, Walt, that’s how wars have been fought since 1914,” said Brewer in a level voice. “Anti-white incitement and group defamation from Hollywood and the television industry, directed against Gentile people of European ancestry, will cease forthwith. This isn’t just a matter of common decency or fairness; we wouldn’t be so naïve. It’s so you can’t sneak in anti-NVA [Northwest Volunteer Army] propaganda in the guise of historical films or apparently unrelated plot lines in TV series, etcetera. There are to be no more fat Southern sheriffs beating on poor defenseless white liberals. There are to be no more evil Nazis acting as clownish foils for your infantile action heroes. There are to be no more evil Confederates flogging black women, no more Ku Klux Klansmen raping and lynching, no more stereotyped redneck villains getting beaten up by clever wisecracking niggers, no more equating a woman having blond hair with being an idiot and a slut. No more racial or cultural stereotyping of any kind directed against white people. I don’t have to spell this out for you, gentlemen. You all know damned well what you’ve been doing for the past century, and please do not insult my intelligence by trying to deny that you don’t understand me perfectly well.”

“We get it,” said Blaustein with a nod.

“Thank you. The third point may be the hardest for you to swallow, but I need to emphasize that these terms are a complete package, not a buffet. It’s all or nothing.” Brewer took a deep breath. “All Holocaust propaganda comes to a screeching halt. Now, and that includes that piece of dreck your people are over in Poland filming now, Mr. Feinstein.”

“What? Ashes of Auschwitz? You’re telling me I can’t commemorate the Shoah, where one hundred and thirty-seven of mine family vas gassed by Hitler? How dare you? Chillul Ha Shem!” shrieked Feinstein, turning purple and waving his fists in the air, spittle flying from his lips as the burning cigar fell down into his lap unheeded.

“Crap,” said Brewer succinctly. “It’s crap, it was always crap, and you’ve milked it long enough. For three generations you people have squeezed an endless river of gold out of something that never happened, at least not in any way, shape, or form resembling your official version. Now you are going to stop it, just like you’re going to stop insulting and degrading white people as a whole. Germans are white people and they are most distinctly covered in the no-defamation and no-lying clauses of our little entente here. No one expects you to admit that you’ve been defrauding the world for 75 years. Like I’ve said, we’re realistic. But you’ve already got enough of that horseshit in circulation to keep you rolling in royalties for the next 75 years. You’re going to shut down the Holocaust sector of the entertainment industry now, as much as that’s possible. No more movies, no more TV specials, no more long moans in black and white with cellos in the background, and your palms out for money and sympathy you don’t deserve. No more of that crap! My God, the FBI already arrests anyone who questions the official version anyway under the hatecrime laws, and sends them off to re-education camps to have their brains washed squeaky clean like Winston Smith in 1984. Isn’t that enough for you? We understand that the mountain of Holocaust shit already reaches to the sky, and it’s going to take generations to undo the damage you’ve done to humanity’s psyche with your lies, but you’re not going to be allowed to throw one more shovel-load of shit on the heap. Hear what I say, gentlemen, or by God, we will show you a Holocaust, and we have demonstrated that we have the capability to do just that.”


http://northwestfront.org/

Categories
Brigade (novel) Civil war

The Brigade excerpts, chapter XXVII

by Harold Covington


“ Two On The Bounce” (*)


Covington in uniform
It was difficult to believe that not thirty miles to the west one entered the Third Battalion’s Bandit Country, a liberated zone where not a dark skin or a federal badge was to be seen. But Portland itself remained a left-liberal stronghold, one of the few real bastions of government support remaining in the Northwest, and Portland State University was a hotbed of political correctness and anti-racist hysteria.

“Boy, that was quick. They must be after us hot and heavy to get it on the air so fast. Us First Brigade boys are really photogenic,” said Eric dryly. “First those guys on Flanders Street, then Cat leading the band on Oscar night, then Cap Hatfield and the Wild Bunch on Sunset Beach, now us. We’re giving the media all kinds of exciting footage.”

“Hopefully these new threads will disguise us until we can get picked up,” said Annette. They turned and walked on. “Well, this is it. Our old lives are gone now. Any regrets?”

“Not a one,” Eric told her.

“Me neither.”

“Annette, I want you to listen to me and not give me any feminist bullshit or backtalk,” Eric continued, quietly but firmly. “If things break bad, I will hold off whoever it is and draw them off onto me. I want you to run, run like hell, and don’t look back.”

“You did pretty good with nothing but this laptop back there in the student union,” she reminded him.

“I was lucky, and there was only one of them. We won’t have that kind of luck again. I mean it, Annette. You’re a woman, and your life is more important to the future of the race than mine, as pompous as that sounds. You can give life to those who will come after. Like you said, we’re supposed to split up anyway. If anything goes down I want you to run.”

______________

(*) “On the Bounce” — Northwest Volunteer Army slang term for being on the run from the American police and military.



http://northwestfront.org/