The Hill of the Ravens

by H. A. Covington

  “I didn’t ask you what you did, I asked you what happened?” insisted Eva. “I know that you and Mom and Papa John and Aunt Tori and Uncle Matt and Aunt Heather were all heroes who fought for our race and our freedom, and I respect you for that. But why won’t anyone talk about the Cleanup? We get all these TV shows and books and magazine articles and stories about the early days of the Party,

  and the Old Man, and all that heroic stuff that happened during the revolution. We know all about our space program and the Mars and Luna colonies, and how great our industry is and how we are beating the economic sanctions the Americans put on us, but no one ever talks about that time right at the beginning of the Republic. For years I have been hearing all this whispering about disappearances, torture, killings and mass graves and white women who went with muds being hung in public, about the streets in Seattle and Portland and Spokane running red with blood, real nightmare stuff. Dad, you’ve never lied to me, but I have always known there were things you wouldn’t tell me, things nobody would tell me. Please, what happened? What was it like?”

  “Can I have a minute to chew on that, honey?” asked Redmond. He took a minute, a long minute while he puffed on his cigar and the smoke rose in lazy wreaths about his head. “Okay, Evie, I’ll do my best. I know you have been taught some things about the past in school, but I’m sure they don’t really seem real to you. In a way, that’s good. There’s been a complete transformation of our world since the revolution, and it’s all been infinitely for the better. The most wonderful thing about the War of Independence is you and your brothers and your sister, because if that revolution had not taken place, you wouldn’t exist. Do you know how it all started? I mean the actual shooting bit? This holiday we’re all going to be celebrating in a couple of weeks, do you recall how it originated?”

  “10/22? The Coeur d’Alene uprising? No, Dad, I’ve not got the slightest idea. I’ve only written about two dozen essays and term papers on it since I’ve been in school, like every other school kid in the Republic!” said Eva in some exasperation.

  “Then tell me what started it all,” directed her father.

  “At dawn on the morning of October 22nd, United States Marshalls and the Federal Child Protective Services Bureau, otherwise known as It Takes A Village, conducted a raid on the home

  of Gustav and Margareta Singer on a quiet residential street in Coeur

  d’Alene,” recited Evie from memory out of her textbooks. “They were coming to seize the three Singer children, Swanhilde Singer who was ten, Eric Singer who was two, and Isolde Singer, the baby. It Takes A Village used to come and steal poor white families’ kids because they were religious or they had pride in their own race, and

  sell the kids to rich people called yuppies who were supporters of the government and Politically Correct. The money was called the adoption bond, and sometimes they could get hundreds of thousands of dollars for white children, because in those days there were so few white babies being born. The Federals had adoptive parents selected for the Singer kids, who had already put down a cash deposit. A rich stockbroker in New York, some government bureaucrats in Washington, and Swanhilde was earmarked for two women in California. Why would they give a ten year-old girl to two women, Dad? You’d think they could get married and have children of their own?”

  “Never mind,” said her father grimly. “Go on, honey.”

  “The Singers were Old Believers and somebody had called It Takes A Village and accused the Singers of using their children in black magic rituals and teaching them to be racists by giving them Germanic names and reading them stories about the old gods of Asgard and Valhalla. So the Feds sent their goons to take the children away. Well, this time the yellow hog-jawed doo-doo birds got a surprise!”

  “I gather now you’re telling it your grandpa’s way,” said Don with a smile. Evie giggled.

  “I like his way better than the schoolbooks’ version,” she said merrily.

  “Normally I don’t like to hear that kind of language out of my baby girls, but in this case it’s appropriate. Go on.”

  “Gus Singer up early because he was doing overtime at his job, he looked out his window and saw them outside and realized what was happening, and he was able to get to his hidden guns in time. He killed one of the SWAT team when they broke down his front door, and they ran away, but then they surrounded his house and were about to start firing tear gas into the place, never mind that the kids were in there. Then all of a sudden the windows opened in all the houses up and down the street, and all the neighbors who had hidden away their own guns after the Schumer Act stuck the barrels out and opened fire on the Feds. Seems that Gus Singer was quite a well regarded man in the neighborhood because he had saved some old people a few months before when he ran into their burning home and pulled them to safety. The neighbor people who survived later said

  they weren’t Party members, nobody ordered them to do it, but all of a sudden that was just it. They’d had enough.”

  “Yes, and that was the miracle of 10/22,” said Don softly, staring into the fire, after all these years still awed by a feeling of divine presence in that day. “Finally, finally, after all those years of crawling on our bellies and thumping our tails between our legs like whipped dogs, white men finally had enough! Then it got on the news, and while the bullets were still flying the local Party people in Coeur d’Alene got their own guns out of hiding and took over the government offices and television stations downtown. They overran the police headquarters and got more guns, and the Old Man was flown in from Spokane in a stolen police helicopter. He lined up every white man with a weapon, had them raise their right hand and put their hands on the Bible or Mein Kampf as their consciences dictated, and told them they were now the Northwest Volunteer Army. The Party and the NVA proclaimed the Republic, and all of a sudden it was a revolution. The first Republic lasted sixteen days before the uprising was crushed,” Don reminded her, “You remember seeing the last Tricolor that flew in Coeur d’Alene in the Hall of Heroes when you were little, Evie? The one that was all shot up? I think that’s our country’s most sacred relic. That, and the gold cross that was around Melanie Young’s neck when she died. But after that came the guerrilla war, year after bloody year of it, and finally we drove ZOG out and forced them to the table at the Longview peace conference.”

  “And after Longview came the Cleanup,” said Evie pointedly. “Sorry, Dad, you’re not getting off the hook.”

  “I’m not trying to, honey. Do you get the point I’m trying to make? What finally pushed white men over the edge, Evie? It wasn’t the affirmative action that made it impossible for us to get jobs or get our kids into college. It wasn’t the humiliating Diversity Oath that rubbed our noses in the mud every time we took a new job or tried to get a mortgage or needed something from the government. It was when they started coming for our children. I think there is a kind of biological instinct among all living things that demands they protect their young, and which simply will not be denied. Men are intelligent and therefore it is possible for the forces of evil to manipulate mens’ minds, suppress and distort that instinct for a while, but never permanently. Somehow, something just tripped in the minds of those

  people on that street in Coeur d’Alene that morning. Something a whole people had been awaiting for almost a century. They saw those Federal murderers in their arrogant big Bakelite helmets and their body armor and knew that they were coming for children, for their children, for all children. Without one single word of political indoctrination, all of a sudden those ordinary neighbor people got it. In one flash of cosmic consciousness they understood what people like the Old Man had been trying to tell them for decades. They knew what they had to do, and they did it. They took up weapons into their hands and they fought to the death against the Federal government of the United States of America, the fount and wellspring of all that was evil in their time. That’s the real story of the Cleanup, Evie. We knew what we had to do in order to secure the ex
istence of our people and a future for white children, and we finally did it.

  “What you have to understand is that at the beginning of this century our people, our Folk, the white-skinned race that we call Aryan, was on the verge of extinction. Had nothing been done, by this time your mother and I would be among the youngest white people still left alive on this continent, if we were still alive at all, which is doubtful. Just as white people in the United States are now an aging, shrinking minority, many of whom risk their lives every year running the border from the U. S. and from Aztlan in a desperate attempt to reach the Republic. I know that to you these are just words. You can’t imagine what it was like. Thank God for that! That’s what we were fighting for, so that our children would never know just how real and terrible it all was. I can only remember a little of it myself, for which I am grateful. But the danger was real, it was imminent, and it was overwhelming. The powers that ruled the world then and still rule most of it today had condemned the white race to death.

  “Then, in this one incredible starburst of wonder and glory, the revolution happened. You know that I am a National Socialist myself, but that doesn’t mean that I do not believe in God. I do, and I will always be convinced that the Party, the revolution, and the War of Independence that made that revolution a reality were the result of divine, cosmic intervention. God finally raised His hand to save his most beloved children from death. He didn’t do it with a thunderclap or a Biblical flood. He didn’t do it with Jeeeee-zus coming down and touching his toe on the Mount of Olives in Jerusalem and rapturing

  the faithful and sending 144,000 righteous Jews running into a chasm. Somehow God lifted the clouds from our minds and enabled a few of us, men like George Lincoln Rockwell, Richard Butler, Bob Matthews, Robert Miles, the Old Man and your own grandfather, to shake the Zionist poison from their minds and recover their courage and fight back. It is said that the Old Man has spent his entire life wondering why we did not fight. I have spent mine wondering why we did. It’s always fascinated me.

  “Eva, you know that video they play every night at midnight when the television broadcasting day signs off? That scene at the end of the Longview peace conference, when Cathy Frost walks out of the town hall with a Tricolor under her arm? In dead silence, surrounded by media and dignitaries and bureaucrats and the President of the United States? No speeches, no word of warning, just all of a sudden they all came out and walked up to the flagpole outside the hotel. She steps forward, this woman whom everyone watching knows has lost her husband and her children to the Zionist murderers. This proud and quiet woman who was so hideously tortured and degraded in prison. She calmly hauls down the American flag, hands it to the American President, and then runs up the Tricolor, and the loudspeaker system suddenly bursts forth with A Mighty Fortress Is Our God? No other words were necessary. All of a sudden every white man and woman watching, reporters, soldiers, diplomats, no matter which side they are on, bursts out cheering and crying, jumping and shouting and laughing and pounding one another on the back? In that moment all the world knew that from that day on, there was a new nation on the face of the earth. The world also knew that from now until the end of time, somewhere on the planet there would be men and women with white skins and fair hair like yours and beautiful green eyes like your mother’s. You may have noticed that whenever I’m home, I always go to bed before the nightly sign-off, no matter what’s on? It’s because I cannot bear to look at that tape even today, without weeping.”

  “I cry when I see it, too,” admitted Eva softly. “Sometimes.” “I’m glad, Evie, because that tells me you understand a little

  of what it means every time you look up and see that green, white and blue flying in the sky. Okay, I know I’m beating around the bush here, so I’ll tell you what I can about the Cleanup. That day at

  Longview was a wonderful, great historical moment, but like all such moments, it passed and the Party had to get down to the hard business of making a state and governing. It was months before the details of the treaty could be worked out, and more before the last Federal troops and police were pulled out, and they were bad months. There were constant clashes even after the signing of the treaty. The NVA had just become the Northwest Defense Force, and we moved out of the forests and the mountains into the towns and cities. Sometimes the Feds and the local ruling élite, the lefty liberals and the Chamber of Commerce business types who had grown fat and wealthy under American rule, didn’t feel like giving up power to the Party. They tried to resist and we had to administer a very sharp lesson so that everyone would know that things had changed. Those were very edgy times. I actually saw more street fighting in Seattle after the treaty was signed than I had done before, during the rebellion. But one day, appropriately on October 22nd, five years after Gus Singer and his family died in their burning home, the last Federal soldier withdrew and the Homeland was ours. And then, we had some cleaning up to do.”

  “Was that when you killed all the Jews and the people with dark skins?” asked Eva.

  “Actually, no,” said Don with a smile. “I know that’s a common rumor, but I do remember enough to tell you that’s not true. We actually didn’t catch many Jews. They almost all ran away during the revolution, as soon as they saw they wouldn’t be able to contain it. The few who were dumb enough to stay and try to play macho man didn’t make it, but there weren’t many of them. They all spoke enough Hebrew to understand Mene, mene, tekel upharsin. The various non-white minorities who lived in the Northwest under American rule were also more or less driven out of the Homeland during the revolution itself. After all, many of them had fled their own countries to get away from men with guns and they were no more

  willing to stand and fight here than they were in Roachistan or

  wherever. The most effective way we found to persuade the muds to go elsewhere was not to kill them, but to apply economic pressure. Oh, sure, there were a lot of instances where NVA people attacked and killed non-whites, usually in retaliation for their attacks against white people. But we never made a practice of killing them for its

  own sake. There were simply too many of them. We could have slaughtered muds until we rotted, and we would have accomplished nothing. They weren’t the problem. The Federal government of the United States was the problem, and beyond them the super-wealthy men who owned America.

  “Even though he was in prison, the Old Man had the brilliant idea of cutting off the mud people’s cash flow from the taxpayer and from the wealthy men and corporations who brought them here in the first place. He was able to get the order out from his isolator cell, and we followed it. Employers who hired Mexicans or Chinese or Somalis came in to work one morning and found their establishments burned to the ground. We did the same to hundreds of the little corner shop and convenient stores and motels owned by Koreans and Indians and whatnot. We didn’t have to kill anyone. The rich men got the message very quickly and much more effectively. If we’d killed their mud labor they would simply have brought in more, but burn down their buildings and their equipment? Their means of production? That hit the rich men where it hurt. They became sudden converts to the many benefits of hiring white labor, and all of a sudden the pastures for Third Worlders got very much greener elsewhere than the Pacific Northwest. After Jerry Reb burned or blew up all the welfare offices, destroyed the records, and publicly flogged, tarred and feathered some state and Federal bureaucrats, the welfare system broke down and there was a massive flight of blacks and browns and yellows out of the Homeland. After the first year of the war the United States government never got a penny in taxes out of the Pacific Northwest. That’s how colonial wars are won, Eva. How we won. The generals never surrender. The accountants do. The Pacific Northwest became a luxury that the Americans couldn’t afford. I helped torch the IRS office in Olympia myself. Your grandfather let me strike the match,” chuckled Don reminiscently. “But yes, when the muds declined to take the hint and leave our land, they were killed. It was race war, honey, and yo
ur uniform was the color of your skin. I make no apology for that. We were doing what we had to do to ensure the continued existence of our own people. By the time the Cleanup came, the non-whites and the Jews were almost all gone, some dead, but most of them fled back to the States.

  “But there were a lot of problematic white people who were still around. You have to bear in mind that there were some people in the Homeland who had a vested interest in the old order, who had done well and made piles of money under the Americans. There were also those who either could not or would not adapt to living in a country based on racial foundations, or any moral foundations. Like the non-whites, most of them had sense enough to understand what would happen to them without the Federal authority to protect them, and they ran. A minority of them didn’t. The stupid ones, the arrogant ones, the ones filled with hubris who thought they were John Wayne waving the Amurrican flag and who simply could not comprehend the type of total transformation that had taken place within the souls of an entire race of people. So they stayed and they gave trouble. They got one warning, because we knew that in some cases they genuinely, honest to God could not understand that things had changed. We weren’t punishing them, we were simply explaining the new reality to them in a way most calculated to make sure they got it. Usually that one warning came in the form of a very brutal public beating.”

  “The Biff Boys!” said Evie.

  “Yes, that’s one of my favorite TV shows as well,” chuckled Redmond. “They were also called Thumper Squads. The boys didn’t just beat people up, though. Their purpose was to accomplish a specific psychological and political goal, not just beat people for the hell of it. When it was appropriate, they also did funny stuff like grabbing Christian preachers who talked sh…who, uh, preached against the Party from the pulpit, stripping them naked and chasing them down the street with flowers sticking out of their butts.” Evie giggled. “That was actually a lot more effective than killing the idiots, you know. Kill them and you make martyrs out of them. But it’s kind of hard to take someone seriously when you’ve seen them doing a River Dance on a leash, butt nekkid with a flower sticking out of their ass. There were all kinds of merry little japes like that, not fatal or even painful, just humiliating and ridiculous. Then there was my absolute favorite of all time. There was the Kitty Call.”