It was vitally necessary to the whole thrust of the revolution that we not only gain support among white Northwesters in fact and in practice, but that this support should be perceived. The public façade of consent of the governed had to be brought crashing down and the world made to understand that we were not just a gang of terrorists but a legitimate armed force for a new nation demanding freedom. This meant that any public criticism against the NVA or the revolution, any public support of the old order, could not be allowed. Our claim to represent the white people of the Homeland must be clear and unchallenged, because eventually we were going to have to sit down at the conference table with the occupying power and our demand for our people’s Homeland had to have that legitimacy behind it. ZOG understood this as well, and during the early days of the war they ran all kinds of agitprop to the effect that most white Northwesters were good loyal Amurricans and we were only a tiny gang of terrorists with no popular backing, etc. etc. If we were ever to gain international recognition as a bona fide national and racial liberation movement and accorded the right to speak at the settlement table, that crap had to end, and fast.
The government and their various private support groups counterattacked on the propaganda front. Initially they tried staging so-called Marches Against Racism and Terrorism, Rallies for The American Way, Rainbow Rallies, and such-like big media extravaganzas with acres of red, white and blue waving. There would be a coalition of politicians and so-called community leaders from all the minority groups denouncing the NVA and hugging each other on the platform. In one case they even led in a sing-song of Michael, Row the Boat Ashore as well as the usual America the Beautiful. It was suggested by some of our more vigorous comrades, myself among them, that we creep up on one of these little three-minute hates and stage a firepower demonstration. “This business of a bunch of white assholes with shit for brains marching in the streets waving red, white, and blue and shouting stupid liberal crap about racism has just naturally got to stop,” I said in irritation. “Why not just hose down the whole crowd and see if they can River Dance?”
Tank vetoed that. “Our comrades in Idaho have done that once,” he said dryly, referring to Oglevy’s crew and the so-called Sandpoint Massacre, which the media were still shrieking about months later. “That has made the point sufficiently, I think, that we can do such things if we choose. I’d like to try the scalpel rather than the axe in Lewis County, boys. We need to identify the people behind this kind of anti-white activity and reason with them. I agree, there must be no more of this assisting the Zionist Occupation Government in their propaganda against the Republic. No more red, white and blue Masonic dishrags on people’s front porches, no more pro-government bumper stickers on cars and trucks. Shane, could you and Captain Morehouse between you provide us with a list of the fifty or so top loyal Amurricans in Lewis County, the ones you deem most in need of an attitude adjustment? They are our wayward brothers and sisters and they must be admonished to mend their ways, but wherever possible I’d like to chastise them more in sadness than in anger, rather than cut off their heads. Remember the lines from Henry the Fifth: ‘ When lenity and cruelty play for a kingdom, the gentler gamester is the soonest winner. ‘” Tank was a Shakespeare aficionado like myself, another thing I always liked about him. “Also, next supply run could you pick us up a couple of spools of fishing line? I think Commandant Oglevy goes over the top sometimes, but I do like that idea he came up with about sewing informers’ lips together to stop them from flapping. There’s something positively elegant there. It makes an eloquent statement and yet it’s non-fatal.” That was the difference between a CO like Tank and one like Oglevy. We sewed up a few lips and gave the tattletales a good scolding with blunt instruments, the word got around, and all of a sudden the FBI couldn’t get so much as a whisper out of Lewis County. Oglevy did the same thing to informers, but then he shot them. Why bother to sew if you’re just going to kill the rat anyway? Okay, yeah, we did both lip-sew and nail old Walter’s Amurrican flag hard hat to his head that one time. But the man ratted out a Wingfield. He pissed me off.
Anyway, given Tank’s policy of being the gentlest gamester, the result was that a lot of our tickles were thumpings, or sometimes we called them attitude adjustments, i.e. disciplinary beatings that were meant to send a message. A lot of the wavers of red, white and blue were just following lifelong habits of conformity and honest to God didn’t know any better, or else they were practical people, opportunists with an eye to the main chance who could appreciate a practical demonstration of the fact that the United States government no longer had a credible monopoly of armed force, modify their behavior accordingly, and be seen to modify it. Them we corrected gentle and artistic with the caress of baseball bat on carcass. It wasn’t simply whaling the tar out of someone at random to spread terror. I agree now, with the benefit of hindsight, that despite the heedless exuberance of my youth indiscriminate terror is about as useful as a prairie fire, causing nothing but mindless destruction. Everything that the NVA did served a purpose, specifically the independence of the Northwest as sovereign Aryan nation. You didn’t just beat the crap out of somebody for the sake of beating him. A thumping was intended not only to explain the new paradigm to the misguided soul in terms he could not possibly fail to understand, but to make a political statement, a statement that had to be heard and understood by the community as a whole. First, we made it obvious that we could have killed him but we didn’t, and so we weren’t such bad guys after all. The NVA believed in rehabilitation, up to a point. Second, everyone in the Homeland had to know that the Party was in charge now, and ZOG wasn’t, and that there were certain kinds of behavior that we would not tolerate, like white assholes with shit for brains and Amurrican flags running their mouths loud and disrespectful against the Party and the NVA in public.
There was a definite art to thumpings. The whole thing took about thirty seconds, and then we were done and outta there. If it lasted longer than that, then we’d screwed up somewhere. There was a definite procedure to be followed. You needed two cars and four men, two batters, and two driver/gunners for backup. You clocked your target for several days beforehand, watched his home and his job and everything he did. This was usually done by a separate surveillance team who didn’t carry out the actual corrective discipline, and I came to sympathize with cops who have to spend long, boring hours on stakeouts, although sometimes I got to go on these gigs with Rooney, and any time I could snatch with her was always a plus. Once you had the target’s schedule quantified you tried to take him down in a secluded place (obviously) but one where he couldn’t get his back to the wall. Home invasions were allowed, but you had to make sure the guy’s living room had enough space for your thumpers to swing their bats, or else drag him out in the back yard. Myself, I didn’t like home invasions because sometimes you had to kill the guy’s dog or dogs, and to me that was way out of line. The dogs never did anything against the Republic and they didn’t deserve to die just for defending the person they were supposed to defend.
The two drivers kept the engines running and got out, doors open, with weapons at the ready to prevent any interference. The two thumpers also de-bussed with their baseball bats or lead pipes or steel rebar or whatever was to be used to chastise the errant individual. Each thumper struck eight blows, so the target ideally received sixteen carefully placed whacks, no more and no less, although of course it real life it didn’t always work out that way. There was no conversation. The target was assumed to know what all this was about. One thumper went for the target head on, in order to distract his attention from the second member of the team who would do the real damage. The target usually threw his arms up in a panic and attempted to engage in conversation, which was ignored. The front thumper’s first two blows broke the target’s arms, after which point he went for the knees, the ankles, one to the left collarbone and the left jaw. In the meantime the rear thumper came in from behind with two in the kidneys, one right-hand and one back hand, to
make the target piss like Leon Sorels made me piss when he beat me with his nightstick in the guidance counselor’s office. Then two more to the lower part of the ribcage to break the lowest rib on either side, one to the right collarbone and one to the right jaw, and two to the hips. No upper head shots. No groin; we wanted the word to get out that we were chivalrous in that respect. Once our friend had received his sixteen licks and was in a suitably dismantled condition, we jumped in our cars and took off leaving him a broken mess on the ground to contemplate the error of his ways. We never had to come back again and repeat the lesson. After he got out of the hospital the target either left the county or else he cleaned up his act and took down the Masonic dishrag from his porch. We never ever actually stole or ripped down Amurrican flags in those sitches. It was vitally important from a psychological standpoint that the person concerned or his family take it down themselves.
The media were a different kettle of fish. There we had to be a bit more bloody.
Control of the newspapers and television, and control of the Hollywood dream machine itself, was arguably the most powerful weapon in ZOG’s arsenal, and we had to strip them of it. This was difficult, because few centers of media activity were located in the Pacific Northwest. There was little point in our forcing the Seattle Post-Intelligencer to an agreement to provide balanced coverage of the war if we could not enforce the same balance on the New York Times, if you see what I mean. There was some dispute in the Army Council and the Political Bureau over how we were to handle the media problem. Some wanted to simply write them all off, declare all news media to be legitimate military targets and shoot reporters and TV crews on sight just as quickly as we would an FBI agent. I must admit I always rather favored this idea myself. Reporters were reptiles who fed on the blood of human misery, in my book almost as bad as lawyers. They were almost without exception either Jews or ideological liberals and leftists. Their subservience to ZOG had been legendary for three generations, and they were the establishment’s strongest prop. Why not just simply cut down the whole rotten tree rather than attempt to prune it?
But once again other and more compassionate counsels prevailed, or perhaps more subtle counsels. The NVA adopted a policy of holding individual reporters personally responsible for especially egregious coverage, no excuses accepted about “No no don’t hurt me it wasn’t my fault my editor did it.” Reporters who knew that their finished product might well come back to bite them got real careful about what they wrote and said on the air, and that cut down the raw material liberal editors and managers had to work with from the start when they were trying to shape and mold public opinion against us. GHQ actually drew up a kind of code of conduct and a style manual for both print and electronic media reporters covering the conflict in the Northwest, and we made sure all media people got a copy e-mailed or snail-mailed to them, which I understand unnerved them in itself. It was pretty simple. Reporters and media were to tell only the truth about us, and were not to manipulate words or images to imply untruth, which was always the basis of all left-wing propaganda. The liberal media very seldom outright lied, because they understood that they had to maintain a certain basic credibility in order to carry out their mission of mind control. They were just very selective about what they reported and how they reported it. Restrict the media to the Four Ws they used to teach in journalism school, Who What When and Where, and forbid them to play games with weasel words and sound bytes, and their teeth were pulled. If we planted a bomb or killed someone, then fair enough, that’s news. They were to write up their story or go on the air saying “The Northwest Volunteer Army did this, did it there, did it at such and such a time, etc.”
We also emphasized that in their reportage, we expected balance. We understood that they more or less had to quote and cover official government statements and press releases and that a large part of their content was going to be ZOG propaganda. But the media and their spokesmen were also made to understand that we required them to report why the NVA had done whatever we’d done, and the substance of all NVA press releases or statements on the subject were to be quoted verbatim in time and proportion equal to government press releases, or else we might call upon them at some inconvenient time to express our concerns. Personal opinions were to be confined to the editorial page where they belonged, and not disguised as news or features. Coverage of the war was to be straightforward and factual. There were to be no soppy features or so-called human interest stories whining about the wicked NVA and oh these evil racists done killed such and such a wonderful hooman bean blah blah, no attempts to incite or inflame or paint us as some kind of devils from hell while our opponents were plaster saints. Government propaganda was to be subjected to critical, factual examination. In short, they were to report the news, not take sides.
A tall order indeed for an industry whose whole raison d’être was to side with ZOG. Some of them didn’t have sense enough to take us seriously, at least not at first, and some of them we knew were beyond reasonable approach anyway. The publisher of the Dundee Advertiser at that time was a Judœo-Christian religious rightist named Don Wagram, whose editorial policy was simple: Islam was a false religion and Muslims must be converted at gunpoint if need be, Israel was the fulfillment of Biblical prophecy, Amurrica was the greatest country in the world and never wrong, and George W. Bush had been on a first name basis with God. We didn’t bother to thump him, but simply charged into the newspaper building, kicked in the door to his office, and shot him down as he screamed in terror and tried to climb out the window. That was the first kill I ever made with that beautiful Webley revolver Carter gave me; when Wagram was half in and half out of the window I administered a .455-caliber enema before I dragged him back inside and gave him two more in the head.
That was really all the example the local print reporters needed, and they henceforth were quite restrained. The television news crews were somewhat harder to reach, since they had less basis in the community, and the big-name ones from the major cable and broadcast networks came into the Northwest from elsewhere and were always well guarded by Feebs or private security goons when they were here. In Tacoma, Mike Koltsov’s Don Cossacks wiped out one hotshot media celebrity from Fox News with a LAWS rocket. Lurch shot down a news helicopter, and eventually my crew from Dundee and Bob Corrigan’s boys from Lacey staged an elaborate snatch up in Olympia. We kneecapped the cameraman and the news van driver from a Seattle station, trussed up the female reporter in the Barbie doll suit and took her for a ride in the country. Jeannie Vandenberg, I think her name was. Or Vanderberg, something like that. In a suitably pastoral setting, we tied her into a chair and systematically drove her out of her mind with terror for about a day. We let Ajax play Russian roulette with her. We staged a phoney hanging in a barn where we dropped her but didn’t tie off the rope at the other end, so she fell into horse shit. Rooney did a great psycho bitch act and showed her a gas can and told her we were going to burn her alive for telling lies, that kind of thing. To crown it all we brought in Smackwater Jack, and we held her down while he pulled down her panties and tattooed “NVA Slut” on her butt. Then we took her back gibbering to Olympia and kicked her loose with a note to her station manager that we found a distinct lack of balance in their coverage of the revolt, and we strongly suggested they re-evaluate their guidelines. This and similar incidents elsewhere around the Northwest certainly were responsible for a much more balanced approach by the media on the ground, although those who weren’t in the Northwest itself continued to smear us right, left, and center and howl for our blood. Third Section operatives were able to slip into New York and Hollywood and Atlanta and D.C. and take out some of the worst offenders, and by the end of the war the mediahad more or less been neutralized as a Zionist weapon.
* * *
I suppose now is as good a time as any to address the standard liberal accusation leveled against the NVA, at the time and ever since, that we were wicked and horrible and evil and just plain not nice people.
&
nbsp; Well, we weren’t. You know what they say about nice guys. They finish last, and for the sake of an entire race of mankind, finishing last simply wasn’t an option. All right, what we did to that newshen Jeannie from Seattle was mean and cruel, and I’m not proud of it. I wasn’t proud of it then. But what we did with her was better than really murdering the silly bimbo like some of our comrade crews would have done. Once again, the word got around, and that terrified woman recounting her ordeal to her colleagues did more for our goals than finding her dead body swinging from a railroad trestle would have done. I repeat to you: terrorism is the weapon of the weak against the strong, and the weak need never apologize for using it if the strong won’t lay off. Bobby Fernandez was about twice my size and I damned sure needed that concrete block I hit him with.
There was a vital principle at stake that we had to enforce as a matter of life and death. Collaboration with the United States government was not allowed. Period. End of story. If our own people were more afraid of ZOG than they were of us, we were all dead. So we had to make them more afraid of us and worry about hearts and minds as a secondary consideration, although for a lot of officers like Tank it was an important consideration. There were strong precedents for this. We now know, for example, that the entire Iraqi resistance plan was organized by Saddam Hussein many years before the 2003 invasion, and it concentrated above all on attacking and neutralizing those Iraqis who collaborated with the invading American forces. The Iraqi resistance could actually have killed a lot more American invaders than it did, but the object was not to kill American soldiers per se, it was to liberate Iraq from the tyranny of Zion, and the Arabs recognized something it took white Americans almost a century to understand, that it is the collaborator of your own kind who is the most deadly threat to the liberty of a nation or the survival of a race.
A DISTANT THUNDER Page 35
