Table of Contents
COPYRIGHT    4
DEDICATION    4
BOOK 1    6
CHAPTER 1: THE DAY THE WORLD CHANGED FOREVER    7
CHAPTER 2    52
CHAPTER 3    79
CHAPTER 4    86
CHAPTER 5    115
CHAPTER 6    125
CHAPTER 7    134
CHAPTER 8    180
CHAPTER 9    209
CHAPTER 10    215
CHAPTER 11    228
CHAPTER 12    235
CHAPTER 13    260
CHAPTER 14    274
CHAPTER 15    286
BOOK 2    292
CHAPTER 1    293
CHAPTER 2    306
CHAPTER 3    322
CHAPTER 4    331
CHAPTER 5    336
CHAPTER 6    352
CHAPTER 7    366
CHAPTER 8    378
CHAPTER 9    394
CHAPTER 10    406
CHAPTER 11    449
CHAPTER 12    454
CHAPTER 13    473
CHAPTER 14    501
CHAPTER 15    517
CHAPTER 16    534
CHAPTER 17    543
CHAPTER 18    546
CHAPTER 19    561
CHAPTER 20    569
CHAPTER 21    628
CHAPTER 22    653
CHAPTER 23    657
CHAPTER 24    659
The Devil's Hand    659

COPYRIGHT

Copyright  DCBourone, 2018
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.

PUBLISHER'S NOTE
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

DEDICATION
"A nation can survive its fools, and even the ambitious. But it cannot survive treason from within. An enemy at the gates is less formidable, for he is known and carries his banner openly. But the traitor moves amongst those within the gate freely, his sly whispers rustling through all the alleys, heard in the very halls of government itself. For the traitor appears not a traitor; he speaks in accents familiar to his victims, and he wears their face and their arguments, he appeals to the baseness that lies deep in the hearts of all men. He rots the soul of a nation, he works secretly and unknown in the night to undermine the pillars of the city, he infects the body politic so that it can no longer resist. A murderer is less to fear."

Marcus Tullius Cicero

"The very concept of objective truth is fading out of the world. Lies will pass into history."

George Orwell

"Is not liberty the destruction of all despotism - including, of course, legal despotism?"

Bastiat

"Chaos liberates not only the evil, but the good."

Billy Spears

THE SOLDIER'S SON

BOOK 1

By DCBourone

CHAPTER 1: THE DAY THE WORLD CHANGED FOREVER
~Zero Hour:  The Massacre At The Cantina Tejas
~Words Of His Father
~The Apocalypse Has Already Happened
~A Murderer Recalls a Very Peculiar Killing
~And As They Murdered, So They Are Murdered

~~Somewhere In West Texas

Billy Gehr was a boy on a mission.
A boy?
Or a man.
He wasn't sure.
He had just turned fourteen years old.
And today he was going to kill the men who had killed his father.
Kill as many as he could.
Or be killed himself.
So.
Boy?
Or man.
He would find out soon.
In his right hand Billy carried a Norinco .45 caliber pistol.  The Norincos were Chinese copies of a captured 1943 Remington Rand, or so the rumors went, near perfect duplicates of the original John Moses Browning 1911.  Made out of 5100 series carbon steel, his grandfather had said.  Or maybe scrapped Chinese railroad tracks, his father had mused.  Same steel, Billy's grandfather would murmur.  Billy's father and grandfather had spoken with reverence and sorrow that some Chinese factory had made such a superb copy of John Browning's classic fighting pistol.
It was gunsmith talk.
Soft voices in the dark.
On a Texas porch
Under a Texas sky full of stars  
The Norinco's original sights were copies from that first Remington, so small as to be virtually decorative, but Billy and his father and his grandfather had replaced the original rear sight with a hooked wedge you could use to rack the slide, one-handed, on a boot heel or a belt or a pocket seam or the steering wheel of a car.  They had replaced the front sights with copies of the long ramp found on the Smith and Wesson M28 Highway Patrolman.  His grandfather had machined the new sights one by one on an ancient Pratt and Whitney bench top mill the size of a sewing machine, or a Victorian dollhouse.  They had replaced the guts of the Norincos with all stainless internals from Cylinder and Slide.  Some of the guns had been salt-bath nitrided, making them virtually rustproof and indestructible.
His grandfather had called them Forever Guns.
Because you could build them.
And maintain them.
And use them.
Forever.
Billy had loved being the son, and grandson, of gunsmiths.
His family had been gunsmiths, soldiers, and lawmen, for generations.
So Billy had learned about these essential tools.

And how they were made.

And he had also learned a lot about how these killing tools were used.

Billy had learned a considerable amount about killing, in general.

Killing men is both art, and science, his father had said.

So you will study the science.

And the art will come.

Words of his father

So in his right hand, Billy carried the Norinco .45 caliber pistol.
And in his left hand he carried a yellow Big Gulp cup of gasoline.  
Almost thirty ounces of Chevron 93 octane, mixed with three heaping tablespoons of bacon grease.  The mix had slicked up nicely.  He had practiced.  Flinging the mix onto a department store mannequin propped on a folding chair.  With just a gentle twist of the wrist.  Because Billy wanted his mix to sticknot splash.  And practice makes perfect, his father had said.  Now there were twenty Diamond strike-anywhere matches epoxied together in a bundle sticking out at the base of the Big Gulp cup full of gasoline and bacon grease.  And a foot-long strip of sandpaper carpenter glued down the front of his tattered Vietnam era army jacket.

So.

Toss the contents.

Strike the matches down the vest

Throw the cup

So Billy came around the corner of The Cantina Tejas, a dusty barn turned into a dusty dance hall in a dusty part of west Texas, tossed the contents, struck the matches, and turned Hector Mejor Calinas into a human torch from Hector's knees to his tattooed face.  Billy saw a good dose of his incendiary mix of Chevron 93 and bacon grease go straight into Hector's open mouth.

Hector Calinas, torturer.

Hector Calinas, rapist.

Hector Calinas, soldier for the Cartel.

Hector Calinas was a fairly recent resident of Texas, his rubbery face and thick neck covered with blue tracings of Gothic script and winged angels and crosses and clenched fists with daggers.  Only tracings now because while Hector's tattoos had been very useful for impressing psychopaths in Sinaloa and Jalisco, Mexico, those tattoos seemed to be a disadvantage in Hector's new home of Texas.  Too many contemptuous cashiers, difficult traffic stops, sullen cops meticulously photographing his trademark symbology.  So for several months now Hector had been driving to San Antonio and having his facial tattoos lasered away.

I'll take care of those tattoos for you, Billy thought.

Fire will clean up those tattoos just fine.

Burn, Hector.

No hurry.

Go ahead.

Take your time.

Now Hector rose in a giant swirl of flame.

A man on fire will go for help, Billy had thought.

But Hector lunged forward.  Right hand outstretched.  Cartel torturer and murderer, but Hector was nothing if not courageous.  And then Hector inhaled, mouth open wide, sucked in a big curl of orange flame, and dropped to his knees.

And lunged for the door of The Cantina.

Good enough.

Go for help, Hector.

Because I promise you

Help is not coming.

It's just me:

Billy Gehr.

And clearly?

I'm no help at all.

Billy waited a second or two.

Billy could remember all his father's words.  His father's words were the kettle drums of war, propelling him into the future.  I'm in the soldiering business, his father had said.  Which means I'm in the killing business.  And being a soldier, well, that means I'm also in the dying business.  So if I die someday you will carry on, and you will know that wherever I am, I will always know that you are my son, and now I live through you and only through you, and knowing you were my son was the great triumph of my life.

Honor thy father

So far it was going pretty well.

Now Billy Gehr needed to stand.

Watch.

Listen.

For just a moment.

There were things he needed to see.

Things he needed to hear.

Before the real killing began.

That would be pretty soon now.

He raised the Norinco pistol.

Over-penetration is a problem for civilians, his father had said.  Because when you fight, and you will surely fight someday, because our world is collapsing in upon itself, do you understand, son, you will see the fall of your country the way Romans witnessed the Fall of Rome?  Because our Apocalypse has already happened. Our Apocalypse happened, when we lost our common language. Our Apocalypse happened when we lost our common values, embedded within that language.  Our Apocalypse happened when we lost our honor.  Our Apocalypse happened, when we lost our courage. Do you understand me, son?

So when you fight?

You will be not be fighting as a civilian.

You will be fighting as a soldier.

You will be fighting for whatever is left of your country.

You will be fighting for whatever is left of Texas.

You will be fighting for whatever is left of your family.

And you will be fighting for whatever is left?

Of yourself.

So you will want to see your enemies destroyed.

So when you fire your weapon you will want penetration.  You will want holes in, and bigger holes out.  You will want splatter.  And spray. You will want to see your enemies dismembered.  Deconstructed.  Deleted.  Perhaps a leg here, and a torso there, you will find very reassuring.  You will understand the value of concussive decapitation, because a man without a head is probably no longer a threat.  You will want to see your enemies ground to a rubble of ash and bones.  So you know that your enemies will never rise up, and kill you.

Or even worse: kill your friends.

Now Billy saw what he needed to see.

Heard what he needed to hear.

And Billy fired.

The rounds from his Norinco pistol penetrated just fine.

They were his first shots in what Billy knew would be a very long war.

And he fully intended to carry on his family traditions.

He was, after all?

A Soldier's Son.

~A MURDERER RECALLS A VERY PECULIAR KILLING~

Gabriel Louis Martinez leaned forward on the long board porch of The Cantina Tejas and studied the flaming apparition that had been his friend and fellow Cartel Soldier, a man named Hector Calinas.  Gabriel Louis Martinez was propped against the boards of The Cantina in a chair made out of metal tubing and plastic.  Gabriel figured he might have about three seconds to live.  This odd creature with the big square pistol and that cup full of gasoline and that hideous mask was going to kill him.

Kill him soon, just like he had killed Hector.

Gabriel's thoughts flickered like heat lightning.

Just flashes of light on images, very fast.

So you did not review your life in the seconds before death

You just had random thoughts.

Images, flashing

Pocket litter

Sifting through fingers.

Gabriel was drunk on mescal.

He was so drunk his body could only move very slowly.

But oddly, in these last seconds, his thoughts could move very fast

In the seconds before his friend Hector burst into a tower of flame, Gabriel's random thoughts had concerned a momentous and very puzzling question: a Texas Deputy Sheriff had been killed just a few days ago.  But nothing had changed after the Texas Deputy Sheriff was killed.  Street lights still turned on.  Cash registers beeped and hummed and chimed, most of the time.  The Cantina Tejas was not raided.  The trailers full of young Mexican girls who entertained at The Cantina Tejas were not raided.  No police showed up at The Cantina Tejas.  No other deputy Sheriffs.  No state troopers.  No Justice Department investigators.  There must have been an investigation, surely, but that investigation had never reached The Cantina Tejas, which should have been the target of any intelligent inquiry into the Deputy's murder.

It was all very strange.

In Gabriel's mind this strangeness was only somewhat associated with another kind of recent strangeness over the last year or so: a slow decline in business, in how often they got paid, the number of days when his ATM card didn't work at Bank of America over sixty miles away in Waco, or Western Union offices were closed, and he could not send any money home.

The lines were shorter at Walmart.

The lines were longer at the health clinics.

There had been three bank holidays, when no money could be moved.

The economy was fine, the news would say.

The economy was fantastic, the news would say.

Employment was up, the news would say.

And then there would be a bank holiday.

And riots.

Lots of riots.

It was very confusing.

Gabriel had recently become accustomed to hearing the words 'severe depression' and 'currency crisis' and 'banking crisis' and even 'worldwide economic collapse' from normally sunny faces on television when he strayed away from his sports and Spanish language Univision broadcasts.

Even though the economy was just so very fantastic.

It made no sense at all.

And even stranger things were happening.

Gabriel knew nothing about American politics.

But two attempts on the American President's life was very strange.

Somebody desperately wanted to kill the American President.

And had almost succeeded.

Twice.

Which meant they would surely try to kill him again.

Assassination was a common tool of politics in many countries.

But not here, not in the United States of America.

Not for decades.

It was all very strange.

The whole world was becoming very strange.

Strange small wars in distant countries were becoming larger wars, in big countries that even Gabriel could name.  When he watched television this last year, the screen was filled with foreign cities on fire, and skies full of smoke.  Gabriel was a creature of instincts, and his instincts told him that a great dark wave was coming.  He had a dim sense that the world was changing, and would never be the same, that the world had become like bright and shiny and glittering bubbles of light, drifting on an ocean of filth. And the very strange economy, up and then down, up and then down, that could help explain why the Deputy's murder was not properly investigated.  Just not enough money.  Good law enforcement was very expensive.

But if the old world was dying, and if the U.S. economy had problems, very severe problems, the Cartels mostly saw opportunity.  The Cartels could provide many essential services: organized violence and intimidation, women, drugs, cash, anything stolen because anything stolen could be sold at a discount.  A dying economy and a dying nation and a dying world by definition becomes a kind of black market.

And the Cartels were the ultimate black market.

The Cartels would swim freely, in this ocean of filth.

Gabriel was the farthest thing from an intellectual.

But Gabriel had an animal's instinct for the future.

And he was sure the future was very dark.

And in a dark future?

He knew the world would be ruled by gangs.

And he was a member of one of the world's most ruthless gangs.

The Sheriff's Deputy had been killed several days ago because in just the last year he had shot, run over, or beaten to death at least seven Cartel soldiers, seven of Gabriel's associates and friends.  And maybe two more men who had disappeared, two stone cold professionals, Los Zetas contract killers from Nuevo Laredo who had never shown up, never called in, but had simply

Disappeared.

Vanished.

The job of the Los Zetas men had been to kill The Deputy.

They had been sent to kill him because The Deputy had been the last functional law enforcement in Cochise County, Texas.  All the other deputies had quit, or been persuaded to leave, or been persuaded to park themselves in the shade and look the other way.

This Deputy had been the last one really working.

He had been working for free, it was said.

The Deputy had once been some kind of soldier, it was said.

Some kind of very special soldier.

Back from all these wars the gringos fought.
The Deputy had been a very unusual man.

Gabriel had seen The Deputy kill before, just once.

Gabriel had been at The Cantina when The Deputy had killed Luis.

The Deputy had killed Luis in a very dramatic and peculiar way.

Luis, mostly called just Luis, but sometimes very quietly and respectfully, Luis The Foot, and even Luis The Foot-Cutter, had been responsible for disciplining the girls at The Cantina Tejas.  Keeping those girls in line.  And on their backs.  When they arrived across the border, soft plump girls with hope in their eyes because they had been promised jobs as waitresses or motel cleaners or nannies, Luis tattooed their left feet with a small star.  Or sometimes, a flower. About the size of a dime.  Just inside their little toe.

That way when the girls ran away and Luis The Foot tracked them down, and he almost always tracked them down, the truth was the girls rarely got as far as San Antonio or the border, Luis did not have to bring back their bodies to show the other girls.  Moving whole bodies was difficult, and messy.  The closest mesquite thicket was good enough for girl bodies cut into pieces and folded into Hefty garbage bags, and west Texas was one big mesquite thicket.  So Luis just chopped off that left foot with the little tattooed star, or flower.  And then he would show that foot to the other girls in the trailers behind The Cantina Tejas.  You could fit a young girl's foot in a jacket pocket, rolled up in a Ziploc bag, Luis The Foot used to say

The Deputy had killed Luis on a Friday night.

At one o'clock in the morning.

Almost a year ago.

On Friday nights The Cantina Tejas was very busy, very loud, very bright.  As many as two hundred patrons might be dancing on the barn floor, boards creaking and dust in the air, another ten or twelve patrons down in the trailers with the girls.

The Deputy had come in by himself.

With a big bright picture on his phone.

A picture of a girl's foot.

With a small flower tattooed by the little toe.

The Deputy had shown his picture of a girl's foot to many people in the bar, and on the dance floor.

The Deputy had been very polite.

Just one week before, two girls had got away

Luis and Gabriel had caught one of the girls.

That girl had been punished.

She had not survived her punishment.

The Deputy's picture must have been of the other girl, the only one who ever truly got away, because the foot in the picture was still attached to an ankle.   The deputy had finally walked to the bar and shown the picture to Luis, who was tapping a keg of beer.  Then the Deputy had walked Luis outside to a truck.  An old Dodge Adventurer, four-wheel drive, lifted, painted the dull grey of primer paint.  The Deputy was using his own vehicle, because the county had so little money.

The Deputy had been slow and casual.

Luis The Foot had been slow and casual.

Gabriel had been sitting in this very same chair of steel tubes and plastic on that night almost one year ago.  Drunk on mescal.  Gabriel had been thinking about Luis and the soft brown girls, and how much fun he and Luis had with those girls when they tracked them down.  Luis always rented a motel room first.  The girls were so terrified that they would do anything.

Anything at all.

It had been a lot of fun for Luis and Gabriel, not so long ago

About forty patrons had gathered on the porch of The Cantina Tejas.

Another ten or so on the gravel lot in front of The Cantina.

They were all waiting for Luis to kill the new Deputy.

They all knew in the deep dark Texas scrubland?

Such a crime would never be solved.

Of course there might be an investigation.

Flashing lights, police cars, road blocks.

But then the investigation would disappear.

Because no one who saw anything would speak.

Nobody would ever speak against the Cartels.

So, one more Texas deputy, down in the dark.

Gabriel knew of three dead deputies in just the last year

The Deputy had propped Luis up against his Chevy truck.

The Deputy was going to read Luis his rights.

Then The Deputy stepped back about three feet.

And The Deputy did not read Luis his rights.

Instead he reached into the right-hand pocket of his vest.

Found some gloves and pulled them on.

The Deputy was fairly tall, but mostly he was wide.  Wide shoulders, long arms, sinew and bone.  When he had passed Gabriel and stepped into The Cantina Gabriel had noticed mostly his neck.  The Deputy's neck was very thick, deep, and wide.  Gabriel had always liked small details like that.  He had always thought men with thick muscular necks deserved special attention.

And leaning back in this very same chair almost one year ago, Gabriel had recognized The Deputy's gloves.  Black.  A logo on the wrist strap: Mechanix.  Gabriel knew lots of people who used those gloves.  You could buy them at Home Depot.  But The Deputy's gloves had been changed.  Painted across wrist and knuckles were the bones of a hand, bright and white, like a skeleton.

The Deputy was wearing the hands of Dia De Muertos.

Bones of the Dead, to celebrate the Day of the Dead.

And The Deputy waited.

Still, but poised, maybe swaying just a tiny bit.

Like a soccer goalie, waiting to receive a penalty kick.

Gabriel had known that Luis would kill The Deputy.

Now he was not so sure.

Luis was a blade man, as well as a gunman.

Luis The Foot always carried two knives, filed down from French chef's knives.  Never stainless, always carbon steel.  Luis was very particular about his knives.  He carried one blade tilted right in the small of his back like an Argentine gaucho's facon, the other knife in a shoulder harness under his bright yellow bartender's vest.  At his right hip Luis carried a Colt Presidential .38 Super, a very shiny gun with a gold-plated trigger and hammer.

The Deputy had not handcuffed Luis.

The Deputy had not searched or disarmed Luis.

It was all very strange and interesting.
.    Gabriel had been waiting for Luis to show one of his knife tricks.

Luis The Foot was always playing with his knives.

Once Gabriel had insulted Luis "Chinga tu madre" he had said, which meant "fuck your mother," Gabriel had been trying to be tough and friendly in the manner of men, and Luis had turned with a smile on his face and kept turning, so fast it was like a strobe light and shown Gabriel a gold earring on the tip of his knife.

It was Gabriel's own gold earring, torn out of his right ear.

Gabriel had never again insulted Luis The Foot

So The Deputy had talked, head down low, relaxed.

Then Luis talked, his hands moving, lots of movement, like he was telling a joke.  Then Luis turned to his left.  Looked over his left shoulder with that big 'I'm your friend and you're my friend' smile on his face.

And like a bird twisting in flight

Luis turned the other way.

Just a glance of light on the knife in his hand.

And then

The Deputy was holding Luis' knife.

The Deputy's right hand up, like he was saying, "Halt."

And there was the knife in The Deputy's skeleton glove.

Gabriel was not quite sure how it was done.

And now very quickly they were both on their knees, The Deputy still behind Luis and holding Luis' right wrist in both gloved hands and now The Deputy was somehow up over Luis' back in a blur of quick-kicking dust and motion, The Deputy riding very high on Luis' back, and The Deputy spun twice, two complete turns, as fast as hands clapping, still holding Luis' wrist and arm.  The Deputy spun around Luis' wrist and arm like the girls in The Cantina spun around their poles.

Even over The Cantina music Gabriel was sure he heard a liquid pop.

Like a drumstick twisted out of a chicken.

The Deputy had pretty much torn Luis' arm out of his shoulder.

Maybe there was still some skin holding everything together.

Gabriel saw The Deputy was wearing cowboy boots with low heels.

Ropers, they were called.

But The Deputy's ropers had black rubber soles with those small crosses like Gabriel had seen on rich peoples' hiking boots, when he went up to Plano in Dallas to see how the rich people lived, and thought about robbing them and raping their vain blonde whores with the plastic faces and plastic smiles.

Gabriel had never seen cowboy boots with those black crosses.

As The Deputy spun Luis had screamed like a very young girl.

And now The Deputy and Luis were both back on their knees, Luis still screaming, and now finally The Deputy searched and disarmed Luis, the knife like the Argentinean facon removed and laid in the gravel next to the first knife from under Luis' vest, and then the Presidential .38 Super, all carefully laid on the gravel.  Luis was still screaming and The Deputy put his right hand on Luis' neck and slammed Luis' face and head into the door pillar of his truck, directly behind the cab.

Once.

And then again.

Maybe ten seconds had passed.

By now Gabriel was very intrigued.

Gabriel realized he was being mesmerized.

Like a snake, being charmed by the deliberate movements of a flute.

Gabriel knew he should have moved, somebody should have moved.

But everybody was watching.

Stunned.

And disbelieving.

And most of all: curious.

What would The Deputy do next?

Luis had fallen over, as limp as a wet cloth.

The Deputy carefully laid Luis down on the gravel, face up.

Then he reached into the bed of his truck, and removed a horse blanket.  The horse blanket was folded very thick, about the size of a phone book.

The Deputy carefully laid the blanket on the center of Luis' chest.

Then The Deputy swiveled lightly up into the bed of his truck.

The Deputy was very graceful for such a big man.

The whole thing had reminded Gabriel of a rodeo.

Like when the calf-ropers were tossing the calves.

And then twirling their hands around the calves' ankles with rope.

Gabriel wondered if maybe The Deputy was once a rodeo cowboy.

The Deputy was somewhat bow-legged

And then The Deputy jumped off the edge of his truck.

Lifted his knees high to his chest as he jumped.

And stomped both feet into the folded horse blanket as he landed.

Stomped both feet practically into the ground through Luis' chest.

It was a very unusual way to kill a man, Gabriel had thought.

It suggested disgust.

And contempt.

And a very deep and calculating mind.

The way The Deputy had laid Luis out so carefully.

The horse blanket, already folded to the perfect size.

And The Deputy's timing:

His timing was brilliant.

Just fast enough to startle

Just slow enough to enchant

Like a dream.

Or a flawless seduction.

It had seemed like The Deputy was dancing with a willing partner.

Or it was a kind of ceremony, like the Aztecs on their stone pyramids.

Killing with their obsidian knives.

Holding hearts to the sky.

I am killing with great deliberation here, The Deputy was saying.

Because I can kill you, I can kill all of you, all of you who are like this man, this man Luis The Foot-Cutter?  I can kill you whenever I want.  Wherever I want.  However, I want.  Do you see me?  Because I see you.

Gabriel knew that is what that elaborate killing meant.

Then The Deputy reached down for the folded horse blanket.

And tossed it back into the bed of his truck.

And a spark lit to fire in Gabriel's mind:

Maybe The Deputy did not care about witnesses.

But maybe The Deputy cared about evidence: those boots.

Those boots would have engraved Luis forever with those hiking soles.

Engraved Luis with those little crosses, stamped into his chest.

Then the same hand that tossed the horse blanket came back.

With a very large rifle.

Scarred and silvered with use.

A big fat square magazine.

Gabriel had spent two years in the Mexican Army.

Gabriel had been instructed by the Cartel to join the army.

So he could learn about weapons, and learn how to fight.

They had been issued a German gun, the G3, and the Deputy's gun had a magazine exactly the same size.  So, 7.62 NATO, they had been taught.  Very powerful.  A car killer, a truck killer, a penetrator of buildings and people in a row, big holes that went all the way into the future.

But the magazine was not the only thing that interested Gabriel.

There was a small handle, a stub, really, attached to the forend of the Deputy's rifle.  And above the handle and to the left was a light, a dull bronze color, about the size of a 7-ounce Coca-Cola bottle.  And as soon as he brought the rifle out of the truck bed The Deputy switched the light on and swept the crowd of watchers and witnesses.  Gabriel immediately closed his eyes but it was too late.  He had seen such lights before, you could buy small ones at Walmart, about the size of a roll of quarters, but this was the brightest ever, it was like staring into the sun, and Gabriel was blinded even through his closed eyes.

Through his closed eyes Gabriel could feel this shattering light bouncing around him, high, and low, and for a two-second period of darkness in which Gabriel assumed The Deputy had turned all the way around.  Or aimed up. To blind anyone who might have been watching from darkness.  Or from the three windows on the second floor of The Cantina Tejas.

For the first time Gabriel was afraid.

This Deputy was no longer interesting.

This Deputy was terrifying.

Gabriel kept his eyes closed.

He didn't want to see anymore.

He wanted The Deputy to go away.

To disappear like the spirits of the dead.

But closing his eyes did not work at all.

Gabriel could hear a few shouts, a few women screaming.

And footsteps on gravel.

And the sound of something being dragged.

The light got brighter and brighter through his closed eyelids.

And he felt something sharp at his throat, his right eye, his left cheek.

The light dimmed but he could still feel it pulsing to his left.

"Hello Gabriel.  Open your eyes," The Deputy had said.

And Gabriel had opened his eyes.

He considered himself a brave man.

But his guts were boiling, he was clenching himself.

And still he knew he was leaking a thin stream of shit.

When he opened his eyes he saw the tip of The Deputy's rifle.

It had been sharpened somehow.

Tiny sharp triangles.

Like a fish scaling knife.

The Deputy's rifle tapped him over his left eye.

Gabriel's left eye was immediately filled with blood.

Tap, tap, tap, more blood in his eye.

Gabriel could just barely see Luis The Foot below him.

Luis had one eye looking this way, one eye looking that way.

Luis The Foot exhaled a last clotted breath, full of snot and blood.

A jet of blood out of Luis' nose had coated his chest bright crimson.

"Look at me, Gabriel.  Look at me now."

Gabriel had looked.

Seen calm grey eyes.

A wide, weathered face.

A broad, ragged mustache.

A short-brimmed grey Stetson.

The eyes very clear behind glasses with yellow lenses.

Then the Deputy laid his rifle on Luis' bloody chest.

Shifted his gun belt with the big square pistol.

Slid an old tape-wrapped framing hammer from the gun belt.

And a six-inch nail from inside his vest.

And nailed Gabriel's left foot to the porch.

The nail going in just inside Gabriel's little toe.

Exactly where Luis had tattooed The Cantina girls' left feet.

Then the Deputy held up his right hand, showed the palm of his glove.

Gabriel was going numb with terror, but he saw a pattern of fabric.

Glued or stitched somehow into the palm and fingers of the glove.

"Kevlar.  Go home, Gabriel.  Keep the nail," The Deputy said.

And then The Deputy spun away behind the light on his rifle.

The Deputy's truck engine roared to life.

And as he left, his truck would stop, and idle.

Stop, and idle.

Stop, and idle.

Because The Deputy was doing one last thing.

When the patrons of The Cantina Tejas finally made it to their cars and trucks and drove down the access road to the farm road and to their homes, they stared straight ahead.  They did not want to look or talk or think about anything.  They had already seen enough.

And because every fifty feet down the service road.

They had to pass a lit candle.

In the shape of a skull.

Candles of Dia de Muertos.

Lighting a day, and a night, of the dead.

Business at The Cantina was not so good for a while...

~
Leaning back on his porch chair Gabriel could tell his time was over.

He had remembered what he could about The Deputy.

It had only taken a second, or two

The pocket litter had sifted through his fingers.

And now his hands, and his mind, were empty.

Gabriel's last seconds were almost up.

And he knew it.

He knew he should try and move, very soon.

But he was numb with alcohol, and fear, and sorrow.

And he knew it would not make any difference, if he moved.

He could hear Hector thumping and burning to his right.

Gabriel could smell chicharron, the smell of fried pork rinds.

Gabriel had burned people before, and knew this smell.

He could also see the face and hands of Dia de Muertos.

This figure before him, who had just lit Hector on fire, this figure which now swayed gently behind a heavy square pistol, swayed and twitched just like a praying mantis, this figure was wearing the skeleton gloves of Dia de Muertos.  And a mask painted with a perfect skull, the face of Dia de Muertos.

The face of the Day of the Dead.

So this would be Gabriel's day of the dead.

Gabriel studied the skeleton gloves.

And the big square pistol.

Of course, he had seen them before.

When speaking of The Deputy amongst themselves, Gabriel and his friends had just called him "The Deputy."  But everyone had known The Deputy must have been some kind of soldier.  A very good soldier.  In private, many people thought of the Deputy just as, "The Soldier."

And this was exactly the same figure now.

Standing before him.

Maybe a bit shorter, and thinner.

But otherwise almost exactly the same.

The delicate precision of the painted skull mask.

It reminded Hector of the perfectly folded blanket.

That perfect leap into the air.

The Deputy with his knees up high on his chest.

Before he dropped down and stomped Luis The Foot to death.

The skeleton gloves, the poise, even the same heavy square pistol

Gabriel was deeply superstitious and felt he was having a premonition.

Gabriel was quite sure he could only be looking at one person.

That person could only be The Soldier's Son.

I just finished JL Bourne's book, "Tomorrow War". Good book, I recommend it. I paid $13.99 for the kindle version ... "the Soldiers Son" is better, quite a bit better.

Very anxious for the final version, the complete book.

DCB, you may find this thread interesting!!

http://www.ar15.com/forums/t_1_5/1764257_Amazon_is_changing_how_they_weight_the_reviews_on_their_site_.html

Texas was an independent country at one time... and perhaps will be again...

Why do you think that is? And I'm not trying to be snarky.  But I haven't seen much that tells me that Texas is any different than any other state.  It seems that some of the more liberal crap holes are better at thumbing their nose at the federal government than Texas.  See the states that "legalized" marijuana.  Up until recently Washington had better gun laws, and is still friendlier to carrying a pistol than Texas. (Except for the 30.06 signs. I wish wa would standardize signs).

I really want to believe that there is something that sets some place apart from the rest, as I'm entertaining the idea of relocating to a place that is more in line with my own ideals.  What is special about the "L" shape that follows the Rocky mountains and east that was mentioned a while ago in this thread?

DC, the mood and tone of this latest installment was palpable. I felt Brian's fear, hope, and liberation.

I'm an avid reader; after reading this latest installment, I've concluded you are unparalleled in your ability to communicate tone and emotion. You convey, and cause the reader to feel and understand, the inner feelings, struggles, and motivation of psycopaths, heroes, narcissists, reluctant heroes.... anyone. It's simply amazing.

All of us are hoping for more updates as soon as possible, and a finished product yesterday. Please, don't rush this. I don't know if Michelangelo's statue of David took 6 months or 20 years; nor I don't care. The end result justified however long it took. This story is more than a Mac Bolan paperback. Take whatever time is necessary to create your message.

On the message; I've mentioned my occupation in past posts. The lines are being drawn as we speak; I don't think the artists realize the full potential of those they ostracize. I fear they soon will.

Is there any way we, as readers and supporters can help you? I've bought Injured, and recommended that others do the same. Beyond that anything?

If we are going to go down that line of thought, then one thing absolutely must happen.  For that to happen and stick, Texas would have to acquire

 

nuclear weapons (at least 20) and medium range ballistic missiles to deploy them.  I'm not sure if an independent Texas would face more threat from


Mexico, or the United States (whatever is left of it.).  Either way, Texas would need its own final option to offset any manpower differences.

General Note: as a partial solution to the "posting equals an update" disappointment,



which makes perfect sense, now and in the future when comments stack quickly



I will post a reply as rapidly as possible, under the common assumption ( correct )



that I am unlikely to be posting a new update withing 24-48 hours.  Historically,



once a week seems to be about the best I have managed.  Nevertheless--we are



at 120,000 words, about 400 plus pages, aiming for 130k-135k, approximated



500 pages by Kindle e-book count.  Getting closer, now.
So, Comments on Comments:
--45Pro good to see you, and I promise you I will not disappoint on Maria.



She has a fairly spectacular part to play in the denouement, and will be suitably



attired.  Spectacular charms can be spectacularly used, let's say.
--armstrong much thanks on typos/corrections.  The have been incorporated.



The collective here is undoubtedly saving my proof reader some work.  She



will be astonished.
--same same Greyguy and good to see you.  On Fernando--probably not the



place for technical dissertation on 'writing'--but ideally, all objects/ideas/persons



should have multiple utility/meaning--or the story is not worth telling compared



to other stories that could be told.  It is the job of the writer to scan his entire



universe and select those characters and issues which have the 'most' meaning--



if the story is to have any meaning at all, because of course many do not.
--zoe17, yes our timing is briefly out of sync, but I suspect that is because we



are both on the same clock, which is no clock at all.  Very accustomed to different



time zones, I suspect.  Historically I prefer the night shift but am pretty much



indifferent/adaptable.
--Currently, always pleased to see the early adopters.  Getting close to the end



of this 'story'--but only as defined by the demarcation of publishing conventions.



The story picks up at the same time, as in immediately, as a Gehr Librarian associate



performs a huge task for the Libraries, due north/northeast in Dallas and then



working south.  Book three is a Gehr Librarian associate in Africa.  He will be



the first to meet Billy Spears of Injured Reserves.
--Trapshooter I pretty much threw a rod when I saw your comment and went



back and looked at the text.  Sinai "Nude" had been sitting there for a couple



of months now, waiting for a last pass.  Just ffffffff.  And same same on your



next catch.  Constant problem for me, because I read/see 'blocks' of text.



Very large blocks.  This is not helpful when it comes to proofing my own



stuff.
--11C/Abn, much thanks.  Huge huge problem for many here: both the rural/city



divide, and the 'much traveled' divide.  I don't know which is worse.  There is



essentially no way to communicate with someone who has never killed their



own food, visited a slaughterhouse...Same same never seen, let's say, a casual



beat down of a wailing woman by a dude who is also intermittently conversing



with his friends.  Even seen a few nice chats with some Doctors Without Borders



types long ago who had absolutely no idea that some fairly serious people had



been around for months making sure their environment was stable enough so they



would look good on the news.  They thought everybody just liked them.  



Sure, dude.  ( And no harm no foul Medecins Sans Frontieres--in the large,



they are total saints )
--Call2Arms, much thanks.  The tablet high left/right or just in field of view is



common way to confirm image quality/light/FOV/other from a wi-fi connected



'other device', in this case the Go-Pro on Camo-Man's helmet.  About a zillion iterations of



this tech now.  As cameras and data storage become continually cheaper/better--



well, let's just say we're just getting started.  Another tech deal which will show



up at the grand finale is...ok, let's wait on that.  Not a big deal, everything here



is public domain, but not always commonly referred to.
--FieldMP, much thanks always.  Length of updates real problem here, trying



to time updates so as not to disappoint, but also set up a 'pulse' before



publication.  Everything but about the last...ah, 5-10,000 words will appear



on this forum.  So we're getting close.  I have to finish/edit/proof/shoot cover



etc. in sync with expectations here.  So far my timing is sub-optimal, because



not a full time writer yet, no full control timing.  We shall see.
--2T2/Crash always good to see you.  Yep intimacy/scene/big world hard to



co-ordinate.  Complex.  If this doesn't work out, I will probably have to do



something 'less complex'--let's hope not.
--grywlf52, good to see you and understand your concern Brian.  On the other



hand, he is accommodating the idea that his world is irrevocably changed,



safety is gone.  At some point you have to not only triage your environment(s)/



associates/all choices, you have to triage your 'stressors'--and he is assuming,



properly in this case, that this road/environment has been pretty well swept/observed



by Camo Man and his crew(s).
--ny15, good to see you.  My new job is compel you to write a short paragraph.



About anything at all.  Remember there are no thread-killers here (so far, anyway)...
--Trapshooter, excellent observation on .22 panic.  Wish I could write a book



about conscious/subconscious/memes and related issues.  The .22 issue is



a perfect instance, in my opinion, of a subcon 'meme' infecting a huge



population.  Briefly, the .22 is not being bought to shoot.  It is being recognized



as a universal 'currency'--nuff said at this time.  Good call, Trap.  On the other hand,



The Hand That Steers may want us alienated and stressed and divided



and terrified and cowed and chipped as tax slaves--but it probably doesn't



want us to burn the house down.  Watch them try to split the difference.



Hope they don't fuck it up.  And hope is not a plan...And if they do FFFF



it up, .22 currency will be traded in vacuum sealed strips for...everything.



Carry a roll around, peel of one.  Five.  Ten....
--airsix, huge thanks air.  On quoting--understood.  Long Deep Game there,



I'm watching a ton of issues there.  Nuff said at this time.  If you would



like/need/find essential, a paraphrase is certainly appropriate.  And I have



no doubt in most/maybe all cases here, if a correction were requested, it



would be made.  I haven't checked back, but I have seen only one instance



of a full block text quote, and I think it was almost certainly innocent/an



oversight.  And I very much respect everyone's respect on this issue.



Thanks guys.
--DFarm, understood on Texas.  You will see a huge number of survival/prepper



stories with a Texas bias.  I suspect another con/subcon 'meme'--with a hard



base in reality.  Texas actually is 'unique' in a number of respects.  The most



important is that of all states it has the largest percentage of 'private' property.



Approaching 99 percent.  In other words, very hard/impossible to 'foreclose'



on by let's say, a bankrupt super-state.  Also centrally located, Dallas is



the largest trans-shipping co-ordination hub in U.S. I believe.  Also 6-8th



largest economy in world, depending on who is counting.  Also Texas



centric power grid.  Full spectrum economy: ag, fuels, tech, etc.  Very



high or highest percentage ex-mil.  I intend to beat these facts in over



quite a few books, without sounding like an academic.  Culturally, Texas



probably has a sufficient 'core' of non-statists to make a pretty serious



fuss about impending 'foreclosure'--but so does the "L" shape to which



you/I/others refer to in your later post here.  L being the rocky mountain



states and then across the south.  There's some folks out in the bayous I would



probably not want to hassle too much, and so on.  Fecund triple canopy swamps



are super survivable if you can handle the skeeters, etc.  Nutria, anyone?



I hope this begins to answer your question, DFarm.  
GENERAL NOTE: I am not a Mad Maxer.  Super Doomer.  Absent exogenous/



random/black swan--nuclear war, digital super hack, super plague, EMP, etc.



Problem of course is that none of those are impossible.  At all.  Most likely



scenario is 'economic' but please understand the THE EFFECT of all/other



catastrophes will be measured by 'economic' effect(s).  I think we are going



to grind along, with some grim ups and downs, for about two decades.



Twenty years.  There will be repeated 'foreclosure' attempts through legislation



and taxation and subversion.  But assuming non-random/exo/black swan



does not occur, the big catastrophe will be 'the end of work'--I think what



we are seeing now is The Hand That Steers preparing for this certainty.



Nuff said at this time.  Because the end of work is an absolute certainty.



There is no economic model whatsoever for the distribution of wealth



when people with an IQ of let's say 140 plus own/invent everything, etc.



Somebody is going to own the first Artificial Intelligence.  Now watch



this: the first quasi AI's are being used right now: in the markets.



Study High Frequency Trading.  You will be horrified.
--Warhawk, very good to see you.  Just read sample of Tomorrow War.



Very pro product.  I very much like the preamble.  The idea that stories



like this are 'thought crimes'--not yet.  But probably someday.  On his



price, just...WOW.  $13.99.  Wow.  Yeah I won't be doing/be able to do



that.  Hopefully I will be a decent value at less than half.  Wow.
--Piddler, tapping your coin on my desk.  Yes, I follow a few writer's forums.



The amount of information on selling/promoting/pricing/reviews/blogs/etc.



is numbing.  And also must be noted.  The sabotage/drive by reviews have



been a huge problem for Amazon.  The only real solution so far has been



pricing as high as possible.  Sabotage campaigns/hate reviews/drive-byes



drop off hugely at around 4-6 dollars a purchase.  The non-Amazon buyer



reviews do lower ranking but have never been considered as credible as those



by purchasers.
--heron163, yes indeed on past history of Texas. Part of a deep subcon meme



that may play a part someday.
--DFarm, agree on many point .re Texas.  Hope I answered some of your



questions in previous post.  Stepping lightly, I hope: there is no possible



way to express my 'concern' about the purposeful division of 'tribes' in



the U.S.A.  Hence my concentration on the 1st, 2nd, and 4th amendments.



We keep those intact, we have centuries to sort out the other stuff.



Centuries.  ALL the other stuff.  We lose those, any self-defined power



structure will be able. To. Make. You. Do. Anything. They Want.



Anything. Means Anything.





--FormerGrunt94, just saw your post while I was composing this reply,


first, thank you for posting.  On your comment .re Texas--at the point


of division where Texas might be prepping for max weapons, pretty much


all will have been lost.  That would be a Mad Max scenario.


Not impossible, but almost impossible to anticipate/prepare for.


My assumption ( dangerous to assume anything, yes ) is that


these divisions will be resolved regionally, and short of 'war.'


The big one we are all going to see is The End of Work.
--PFfunk, very much thanks, PF.  The timing just is what it is.  I actually have



to accustom myself to writing faster than I would prefer.  As an 'indie' writer,



I simply don't have the luxury of polishing every comma.  I am not



'displeased' with the work here, and in fact modern reading styles (present



company excepted ) would almost certainly prefer a less complex version



of even this.  So in a way, time pressure is probably not only necessary,



but actually might force me to create a more accessible product.
--PFfunk, on ostracizing/separation/division, etc.  Yes, all tribes are



rapidly devolving into a state where "they cannot know what they



are incapable of knowing, and are losing the tools ( shared language



being the first and most important tool ) to know the unknown"  --ok,



clumsy writing, but accurate.  The Super State wants us at each others



throats, and assumes It/They will benefit from every conflict.  We shall see.



I have a few contacts in the hard libertarian/computer science community.



They are very receptive to much of what I say.  They are also very busy,



and assume they will profit, hugely, from a perpetual information age.



A lot I wish I could say here, but...nuff said at this time.
--PFfunk and all, off PFfunk's comment .re 'any further assistance for



this effort: the first and most important is to post here.  So any lurkers,



the briefest comment assists this process.  Second, Injured Reserves



has sold about 700 copies over the last year.  That is a huge accomplishment



for an experimental/non-accessible/hyper-dense/not 'fun' text.  So, repeating



myself, Injured Reserves, relative to modern reading styles, might as well



have been written in Latin.  But if you are curious at all, please buy Injured



Reserves.  I will make 1.30 cents.  I have zero problem with people buying,



and returning withing seven days money back Amazon guarantee.  Injured



is truly not for everyone. It is truly not particularly 'enjoyable."  Third, and



most important: follow this thread and buy Soldier's Son when it is published.



There will be a 2.99 price point, forum special limited time only etc.,



promoted here.  I will float the prices from high to low, and low to high,



with the specific intention of "pay what you can afford/think is worth, etc."



Also, it may be returned.  In the realm of fantasy: I will have a blog at some



point.  It will have a Paypal/other button: Browning Automatic Rifle Fund,



Donations Accepted.  That will be for the billionaires amongst us.  The Koch



Brothers, and so on.  Appreciated, PF.



GENERAL NOTE:  If you have read Injured Reserves, and 'liked' it--please

write a review.  Five star reviews are the only defense Injured will have

when the not-us show up, and they will, because Injured will enrage them,

as will Soldier's Son.  As stated, Injured has sold about 800 copies in the

last fourteen months, which has resulted in about 40 new reviews.  That

is actually exceptional: normal ratio purchase/review is 3-500/1.  But it

also means I have approx. 760 readers who 1. did not appreciate text--

2. Are not comfortable/other reason writing a review. So.  The reviews

are a HUGE HELP, particularly in the case of these stories, for defending

ranking, thus visibility, thus sales.  Do what you can.
GENERAL NOTE: on Injured Reserves, see above.
"Combat is the control of your adversary in the three dimensions of space,



across the fourth dimension, of time..." search ( Amazon Kindle Single



Injured Reserves ) Thank you, DesignatedMarksman
Ok, back to work.
DCBourone


 

DCB - thank you once again....as always, updates are eagerly anticipated and appreciated.

Comments re: .22lr as currency are spot on.  I've "joked" for several years that my ammo stash has appreciated quite a bit faster than my 401k.  People who aren't "in the business" don't understand, but occasionally there is a knowing nod and momentary eye contact as we recognize each other.

Brian's interactions with Mildred and Camo Man are an educational point that we all need to consider....some lifeboats are bigger than others, but they all have a finite capacity.

My compliments on the interview scene. Your adaptation of the classic literary device draws the reader into the scene beautifully.  When you can change a persons heart rate with words on a page, you have reached a stage that few writers even know exists.


“’Twas only by favour of mine,” quoth he, “ye rode so long alive:
“There was not a rock for twenty mile, there was not a clump of tree,
“But covered a man of my own men with his rifle cocked on his knee.
“If I had raised my bridle-hand, as I have held it low,
“The little jackals that flee so fast were feasting all in a row.
“If I had bowed my head on my breast, as I have held it high,
“The kite that whistles above us now were gorged till she could not fly.”


Sooner or later we will all face the Interview.

speculation about what the "end of work" as you aptly call it will actually look like is one of my favorite intellectual exercises...

I expect some new class of luddites to arise that will violently resist AI and all its applications - we are already seeing its beginnings with some of the "occupy" types... A strategy to actively "correct" the worlds population may be required...

imagine this scenario: a population of feral humans that remains after the first "correction" now must survive the attempts at eradication from a class that views them as little more than vermin.... scary stuff

Happy 239th My American Friends! You are good people, kith, kin and solid hearted.



DC, 20 years on the grind down? Unintended consequences I fear will make it a bit less.....

Well we do build them here outside Amarillo, tx.  It is a primary target.
http://www.pantex.com/Pages/default.aspx

Ahh, DCB  you give us Brian and scare the piss out of him to boot, and again you tease us with Marie Elizabeth, ( I know, been absent for awhile, have to make a living too), Camo Man, and the midnight truck. Excellent !!!

   BLG

DC has said that IR is a grand-complication.

I have had a similar feeling of a clock ticking in the more delicate scenes that have played out.  The imagery might not work perfectly in a book, but DC, if you ever do a movie (there, I said it) the use of a grand complication at accelerated and more often reduced speeds would be a very cool transition image for scenes.

DC.

I liked this last one a lot.  You're in your workspace again, describing the actions of deliberate men and women.

All of the States were countries at one time, else how to make the contract that bound them?

read the Texas state constitution and compare it with those of the original 13... as for the rest: territories purchases, and manifest destiny... with the possible exception of Hawaii, not independent countries

for your reference:

http://www.texassecede.com/faq.php

Finally got around to reading Injured Reserves.

Words fail me.  

Stunning.

Beautiful.

A song from a warriors' heart.


Have to go sit in the dark and think for a while .......


Thank you DCB.

General Note: in the spirit of posting as quickly as possible when relevant

comments stack, this post:



--in the future ( for the next month or two, because

even at this rate, extremely unlikely that will not be 'finished' with THIS story

in 1-2 month period ) I WILL POST UPDATES ONLY ON FRIDAYS, FROM NOW

ON.  IF I DO NOT HAVE A FULL UPDATE, I WILL POST WHATEVER I HAVE,

HOWEVER BRIEF, with relevant notes. Or an abject apology for my continuing

tardiness.  And so on.



--in other words, all posts of mine THAT ARE NOT ON A FRIDAY will be comments,

or general notes, random speculation, screeds, rants, and irrelevant minutiae,

let's say, on astrological permutations of our fragile orbit around the sun.



Now, COMMENTS on Comments:



--kermit, very pleased to see you.  "Knowing nod" on .22/currency/other.  Other

being the key here.  And a big yes, Kermit.  Hope the nods and etc. never needed,

and hope is not a...and so on.  On lifeboats, oh how hard this could get.  Example: some

pretty interesting studies on infantry, under duress, triaging talent.  Who is willing

to risk their life, for, and with, who.  Fascinating, grim stuff.



--on the interview, well yes, a future key to...everything.  Already well established

here that character is everything.  Almost anything else can be trained/coached,

within physiological/psyche limitations.  And now K., as you are well down this

path--Injured Reserves?  Is an interview.  Can you see how, and why?  I don't doubt

it for a second. Keep pulling on that string, actually no it's a fffing anchor chain.

And more Kipling I see.  Brilliant stuff.  And Freaking Librarians, everywhere.



--heron163, the end of work stuff is a true freak-out.  Can't open a news source

without seeing some real 'concern' ( actually, panic ) from Hawking/ElonMush/Robert

Reich/others/all.  They are not speculating.  They are looking at hard data.  On luddites,

yes, but try this: the first 'robots' as a labor-saving mechanism were...the Chinese.

I'm not sure that really worked out very well.  There are many arguments about

capitalism/socialism here.  A compelling argument that we have neither.  We have

a bizarre hybrid of residual capitalism in a state of complete regulatory capture.

Nuff said at this time.  And as to luddites--absent another book/1000 page essay,

I must remain an agnostic.  As I see no just mechanism to tax/control/deprive the

first A.I. inventor/owner his profits, I see no mechanism by which the hundreds

of millions put out of work can be compensated, nor do I see them accepting a

life as irrelevant.  Wait til the auto-drive vehicles are up to speed.  Ten years at

the outside.  Ten million or so Americans make their modest living in a direct

line from commercial transportation: not just the drivers--the gas stations, quickmarts,

hotels, drive-throughs, weighing stations, supervisors,--the auto-trucks will be

auto-fueled.  They will never stop.  No driver needs to eat, sleep, rest...and so on...



--RadioHack, beautiful picture, just beautiful.  Looks like candlelight.  Or whale oil.

On 20 years?  And now you see: I am an optimist!  Based on just one quasi-certainty:

no one want the entire plant burned to the ground.  The capital infrastructure must

remain 'largely' intact.  Oddly, a bet on serious destruction, capital destruction, is

a perverse bet on a continuing future very much like the past: WW2 has some

very ugly antecedents, nuff said at this time, many epic and actual villains of the

most detestable kind, but it also had the Marshall Plan, the reconstruction of the

German war machine as an industrial powerhouse, likewise Japan...somebody

made a shit-load of money.  Nuff said at this time.  Those 75-110 million dead,

Auschwitz and Dachau, perhaps somebody's cost of business?  Ah my tinfoil hat

is too tight, I see...



--dcboyd very good to see you and I see an eye for detail very much like my own.

The Gehriverse is a big place, let's say, and they have their digits everywhere.

A big reveal on the 'size' of the Gehriverse at the conclusion of this story, then.



--BLG, very good to see you back.  Lot's more Brian and a considerable amount

of Maria in the future.  Have a pretty good general note on the midnight truck(s)

and other resources--still trying to figure out where to put it in--briefly, the

Gehrs are just a 'hyper'/extreme version of resources/skills that are still available

to us all.  Particularly the social engineering/skills.  Ok, a clue: everybody remember

Binary?  She's on her way to Gehr Waffen--and Gehr Waffen already knows who

she is.  Dropped a few hints, they will pay off at the end.



--StimpsonJ, on Grand Complication/watch ticking, that is an awesome visual, and

while it is a common trope in films, I am not sure I HAVE EVER SEEN THE CLOCK

TICKING FASTER...let's say, a digital, moving right on the scale from tenths to hundredths

to thousandths--Ok, if it hasn't been done, somebody will steal it promptly.



--StimpsonJ, yes, deliberate, very much so, as in planned/practiced/composed/trialed.

Not that hard to do, and absolutely essential.  Best analogy is pilots and ER medical.

Have a very good friend, surgeon, used to watch him practice tying knots with two

and then three sets of gloves on, and thread/needles/tools coated with olive oil.

He's pretty good.



--StimpsonJ/heron163, as in all cases here, I see no way we cannot split the difference.

The first 13 colonies were completely independent, and their agreement, under duress,

to combine as a Republic was a vicious furious long contest which took years.  Another

part of our history which is too complex to be taught, and now largely obscured.

I bet Radiohack can tell us exactly which states were responsible for exactly which

amendments to the Constitution, and the Bill of Rights, before the Republic full jelled.



--heron163, on Texas, yep their is some very novel language, and the residue of

a different 'spirit'--unfortunately I don't see anything but lip service at the top.

I recall a somewhat popular governor whose donor list includes an ocean of

statist untraceable money, said governor being very enthused with the Trans-whatever

corridor, sixteen lanes of pure F-you to Texans, and financed by a -------- group who

were 'not from around here.'--That corridor was stopped by a bunch of old Texans

with stained hats and sagging bellies who got kind of cranky at the idea of their

family ranches being eminent domained.  A small victory in an ocean of losses.



--kermit, very much thanks on Injured Reserves.  Please see your IM's.

And yes Injured was intended to be many things, especially a 'sit in the

dark and think for awhile' text.  Thank you, K.



"Combat is the control of your adversary in the three dimensions of space, across

the fourth dimension, of time...." ( Amazon Kindle Single Injured Reserves )

Thank you, DesignatedMarksman--



Ok, back to work.



Update on Friday, and no sooner.



DCBourone

Thanks DC. You got me all excited  when I saw the thread bump.

A case could be made that IR is more than an interview.  It is also a Testimony.

PM read and returned....

Dear Lord as pedantic as I can be, striving to wrap my "thick as a brick" brains cells around a simple fact...that subject is worth a multi-volume set of dense books. One titbit I shall leave here is - that if it wasn't for Massachusetts's efforts, the bill of rights would not have made it into the Constitution (imagine the world without that?)  Please, please delve into the deep history of the Rebellion, it wasn't just a rabble seeking revenge like the French Revolution, it was men of principle extorting their neighbours to be better, become better, it was an evolution and elevation of the human condition unseen before and since. A perfect storm of the soul of man and it's ability to emulate it's creator in pure audacity.

Once again I recommendhttp://www.amazon.com/The-Long-Fuse-American-1760-1785/dp/0871136619 To give perspective.


ETA:in the picture last posted, its an old 1930's Parker Dunhill Petrol lighter I found in my Aunt's kitchen drawer in Stanmore, NW London, about a decade ago as I closed her estate. Every day I strike it and smell the evocative smell of an empire winding down.

One typo that I found.

Deleted

Friday and no update...

As one's fortunes are reduced, one's spirit must expand to fill the void.

Winston Churchill

--Radio, I'm going to put up whatever I have by 11:50 Central Standard.

Got about....fourteen hundred words, not tied off, or proofed ( like my

proofing makes a difference ), I almost put it up last night, but not

up to standard.



--blue--much appreciated on typo.  Hell of a typo!



--jrtatonka, much thanks, dude.  Very very grateful.



Ok, back to work, and at 11:50 I will cut it off mid word if I have to.



DCBourone

Good... Royals are in the 4th and I'll be up watching it and waiting patiently.....



Hurry up....

DC'

You have a way of helping me see things that have been on the peripheral that snap things into focus.  The recent comment you posted concerning driverless cars in 10 years is amazing on how fast you were able to communicate in a clear and factual manner what the media dares refrain from is rather humbling....You have skills to see things and articulate them to us on this board.

The little snippet you dropped about robotics' and China is something I would greatly appreciate if you would follow-up with the same clarity and finesse you showed when you wrote the paragraph about driverless cars.

Again your  writing and clarity of thought is amazing!  

One hour and ten minutes .......  not that I'm counting or anything.

I have kin in Texas - perhaps someday I'll be able to host a Lone Star with DCB.

UPDATE FOLLOWS COMMENTS:

General Note: want to beat the deadline, so I clipped this in half.  This

will be a much longer scene.  Considering this is a non-linear/multi-

character/multi-domain story, we have multiple opportunities to digress

on our favorite subjects.  The second half of this 'chapter' will have such

a digression.  As it is largely written, not finished, I might post it

on Tues/Wed. this coming week.

--KC215, good to see you and update below.

--11c-ABN, good to see you as always--

driver-less transport, near A.I. automata voices/interpreters/assistants will be

ubiquitous within ten years, you got that, and many other equivalents.

Short form on China/robots: capital seeks to reduce all expenses. Largest

expense historically has always been labor.  Absent actual robots, capital

searched/found the most 'robot-like' population: the Chinese.  Command

economy: the people-bots will do what they are told, no redress/appeal,

no argument, same as a machine, check.

Infinite number of people-bots ( same as factory product, all replaceable ),

check.  Zero concern long term affects environment/welfare/etc., same as

a machine, check.  And so on.  Big subject.  Big problem.  No solution as

yet within present economic/social/legal structure.  We will be revisiting

and observing this subject here on this forum, for years.

--kermit good to see you and a handshake from Texas.  I have some numbers

and a timeline in mind. I am hoping that beer is a strong possibility.  I will

know a lot more in six months to a year.

-----TEXT REMOVED .RE EPUB TOS----------

Masks.

What a fantastic topic.

Sometimes the mask lets you hide from others.  

Sometimes it lets you hide from yourself.

Thank you DCB.

Good read. Glad you made the Friday dead line. Keep up the work, thanks.

Thanks for the update.  If you're any good at sketching or have any sloppy diagrams of what some of the objects in the story look like in your mind, I'd love to see them.  I'm trying to picture what the shoot house would look like and can't see it in my mind.

One error I caught: Drones or overflight, pretty much the only was way to get a good look at this property.

More good stuff... minor typo in that Lou should be "losing"

The pace was unimaginable, he slept at best five hours a night, he was sure he was loosing pounds a day

Kermit I'm not sure if you ever followed up on your question about the Trapshooters in Nevada.  I had a pm titled ATA but all it had was Arfcom rules. So if that was you I didn't ignore you.

DC the two problems I had with this chapter.  One the un-friendly works but doesn't in my opinion your style usually flows but to me that was like hitting white water in a rafting trip.

The second problem is you have led us to believe that the Gehr have many resources and ability that none of us mortals can have.  So wouldn't you think they would have something in place to detect Drone over flights especially since they have surrounded themselves with an enormous amount of talent.

One day your going to have to pick a point and end this book so that it is published and then pick it up againin the next followup book.

DC,

I feel some massive Catholic guilt for my last post, please do not feel rushed to make a deadline. Especially one as arbitrary as a self imposed one. One of the delights of this thread are your comment on OUR comments, very few crafted works come with an insight into the artists mindset. I feel that the last update (even though it was superb) was "rushed", your own admission  pointed out that you "cut out" some of it to make the self-imposed deadline. Respectfully reconsider, when it's done, it's done, we are patient ( just like in any green machine that any country has fielded, the Army's pastime during downtime is to grumble and complain).

You've set a high standard, we expect you to do your duty, let not our need for constant comfort of our adopted (suspected) worldview contravene your due diligence to the creation.

Comments:



--kermit, on masks, yes max interesting.  Culturally, psyche,

art, etc.  I picked up a few, Benin, South Sudan, other, many years ago.

Deeply spooky and evocative and...different.  Let them go because

I always assumed they could be replaced, had no place to keep/store.

Big mistake.  A few of them, put on a pole at a remote camp site

and guaranteed you will be left alone.  On the other hand, someone

might just burn your truck to the ground and you as a witch.

Strange stuff, those masks.



--zoe17, much thanks and I am trying to regulate/time updates.

An experiment.



--Field/MP--I am a reasonably good dimensional/representational

sketch--not an artist by any means, but useful.  The cover of this

book will include the mask described here, "head dipped in plaster"

which will appear in the last scenes in the story.  Pretty much a

visual writer: I watch, or properly "have seen" the movie of the

book an almost infinite number of times, pretty granular, could

count Maria's eye lashes, problem is distilling/choosing from

what has been seen, and describing in words/sentence/para/structure

et al.  Big problem.  This one story could be pretty much...endless.

Analogy: a day in the life.  All thoughts/images/references/views

described in....words.  Would be millions of words. Ah, The Doughnut

Shoothouse--imagine an igloo.  Or a wigwam.  Top cut off, or flattened.

50 feet minimum at the base.  20-30 feet high.  

I've seen two: one about forty feet ( small ) one fifty-five

feet.  Walls are two layers of tractor tires filled with sand. Sloped

inward, obv.  Top open to elements, or not.  One entry big enough

for Humvee/lifted truck/large flatbed.  Lots of possibilities 3D/front/back/

high/low.  I watch some of the shooting/pro/school videos on youtube.

They seem generally geared to/and instructed by ( quite reasonably )

ex. mil. with a bias towards ( quite reasonably ) safety, one way/front only

threat assessment/reduction, and entertainment/fun ( making a living )--

so, stepping a bit out of my comfort zone, there might be some good

reasons to distinguish between conflict as individuals in a squad/group--

on known/familiar terrain--reasonable to watch 'your' sector/zone, etc.

--and one person, or two, moving through an unfamiliar and unfriendly

place--better watch everything.  I am pretty curious about the 'shoot'

then 'glance over the shoulder' deal, other than as a neural cue to break

concentration/focus/refocus.  Maybe might be reasonable to be moving

really really fast somewhere else, and paying lots/most/all attention to the

grid directly off/past/behind points of shoulders.  Long subject, obv.

Typos/drones etc. good catch yep never saw it never will.



--Piddler, much thanks on typo, your coin is on my desk.



--Trapshooter--un-friends/pacing/rushed etc....yep.  In fourteen months there

have been...ah, three...? Notes on hmmm let's say discrepancies.  Every time

the noter/observer has been correct.  Usually they/you and here, Trapshooter

are catching 'off-tones'--almost always they are when I am 'in a hurry.'

Trap will fix to best of my ability.  There are a bunch of things you are seeing

here, one of which is compounded by fact that this scene is not 'resolved' as

ninety plus percent of other scenes are.  It has been cut in half.  On the other

hand, I have been seriously deficient in being 'predictable' as to timing of

updates.  Unprofessional.  Trying to fix this.  Let's call this 'a rough patch.'

On the drones/Gehr tech, I think I will have an answer for you, either here,

or in a rewrite.  You are correct that drone tech is very low tech by Gehr tech

standards.



--Radiohack no harm no foul.  Trapshooter is correct.  I am going to have to

adjust to deadlines/more predictable performance.  At this point have no

full control time/writing time/concentration.  Using comma hammers instead

of comma scalpels.  My natural pace would be....a six or seven hundred page

book every two years, maybe even three.  Donna Tartt (sic) took ah, fifteen

years to write The Goldfinch?  I will never have that kind of time, obviously.

On the high standard, yes that's a two edged blade.  Like opera, or ballet,

compared to jazz.  If I drop a note, it is noticed immediately.



Good to see everyone.  Will try to comment more often.  Aiming for update/

continuation/maybe a full rewrite this 'block' from start to finish, by Wednesday?



Ok, back to work.



DCB



"Combat is the control of your adversary in the three dimensions of space,

across the fourth dimension, of time..." ( DCBourone Injured Reserves Amazon )

Thank you, Designated Marksman

I'm in.  Hook, line, and sinker.

excellent update!!

I got in on page 10 and have been following along just haven't had anything to add. Just checking in keep up the amazing work and stay safe!!

Nice to find out what Billy and Maria have been up to. Many of the characters remind me of people I met while stationed in the great state of Texas. Unfortunately the story also seems telling of what is on the horizon for this once proud country. Lack of leadership and failure to respect the past is what has brought us to this point. Just my 2 cents. Read Injured Reserves this week. Excellent work.

more than just a deception or decoy, the village is a  lure... the use of masks and other increase the confusion/doubt/fear in the opposing force
but can also impact the other side (lou for example) if they aren't familiarized with their use.

I almost visualize this like the town in "high plains drifter" painted red, appearing from nowhere out in the desert...

Wow!  I just found this thread Friday night.  Already on page 46.  

The kicker?  My name is Tim.  I live with my girlfriend Sylvia.

Thanks for the update.

I like the change of pace from Brian's voyage. The preparation and build up seem more meaningful after experiencing Brian's fear and apprehension after it hit the fan.

There was one thing that was unclear to me:
"He’ll be invisible. Or rounds out. Or both, the whole way."
I'm assuming "rounds out" mean shooting? I'm unfamiliar with the term.
The addition of the word "sending," or "firing" would clarify the idea for the simpler of us.

Great work, keep on.

Nice.

I use the sobriquet 'goblins' when describing the 'bad guys' in my classes.

It gets the point across.  They're evil, and not human.

DC, as usual another great update with the anticipation of the impending final? confrontation.  On the issue of the shoot and look over your shoulder, people involved in shootings often suffer from tunnel vision or "condition black" where they are solely focused on the threat in front of them.  The drill is designed to defeat that and prepare you to engage other threats. "Shoot, scan, reset" so your assessment is correct.

The Bitch found her resting place.
The shadows are the shepherds.


The cats are dancing.


The rough beast slouches towards Bethlehem.


 

Comments and General Update: have most of this scene dialed in.


If I can lock it in by tomorrow night, will post.  Otherwise will wait


until Friday, as promised.





--BMCbreeder, very pleased to see you.  A wise man here just sent


me a correction, very courteously, so as to avoid embarrassing me,


noting that I wrote "tea shirt" instead of "T-shirt"--I think I will leave


it as is for awhile, as a recurring prompt to...ah, not do stuff like


that.  Point being: any comment here is welcome, there are no


thread splitters, and I make mistakes.





--Mongo7382 much thanks, been a long time now, getting into


the end zone of this story, and setting up the next. Over a year


already?  Yep.





--LukeDuke thank you for checking in.  Every post here gives me


momentum.  Recall I will always post Something, short of injury,


even if a single word, on Fridays.





--ny15, yes and yes and yes, we all have some version of this story


in our head, or it would have no appeal.  Also if you are comfortable


doing so please post a review, however brief, on Injured. At some


point the positive reviews will be demolished by our not friends.


Your reviews are armor.





--heron163 I am tempted to admonish you for the accuracy of your


speculation, as you creep into spoiler territory.  But I can't.  Very


good eye, heron163.  Everybody else, please ignore heron's insight,


and my response.  Gehr Waffen no. 6 is actually a luxury spa, specializing


in water cures, weight reduction, pumice exfoliation, sizzle baths,


mud baths, bath baths (with real water!), natural emetics, and massage


therapy.





--golfroot, pleased to meet you, Tim and Sylvia.  Page 46, you're almost


caught up.  If you've missed some comments: this will be done at about


450-500 pages, in maybe 40 days ( it's been 40 days for the last 180 days,


but take heart, Rome wasn't built in a day, took weeks, or so I am told )


we are now at about 120k words, aiming for 130kplussomeunknownfraction,


and this story is intended to be the first of oh, ten?  Twenty?--in the


extended world of the Gehriverse.





--PFfunk much thanks on noting 'change of pace'--purposeful, that.  On


rounds out, you are exactly correct on meaning of the abbreviation. May


well have to modify on edit.  Might leave, as the jargon is appropriate


for Maria. Idioms are difficult.  Authenticity may be rewarded. Not good


if comprehension diminished.  Will think about this.





--StimpsonJ, very pleased to see you.  Goblins yes they are, entirely


different code in their brains.  Goblins...a Jeff Cooper phrasing, I think?


Marvelous.





--seelbo, understood on tunnel vision/associated issues.





--Designated always good to see you, as you know.  Now rough beast, yes


indeed, and the shadow men/women are lurking, and will soon catch a little


light.  But I need some expansion on the cats dancing, if you have a moment.





--On Injured Reserves, guessing most everyone has seen the spiel already.


Short version: (Kindle Single Injured Reserves) was written by a key member


of the Gehriverse.  He will be a late reveal, many books from now.  The events


in Injured will be referred to in Soldier's Son for...years.








"Combat is the control of your adversary in the three dimensions of space,



across the fourth dimension, of time..." ( DCBourone Injured Reserves Amazon )



Thank you, Designated Marksman





Ok, good to see everyone.





And...back to work.





DCBourone








 

Another excellent update.  

I've not had the time to comment recently, but be assured that I've kept up with every update, DCB!

Lovin' it!

The cats turned as one, in perfect symmetry, then began an odd prance. Front feet high and lifting, held up, then down. Their display preposterous, grotesque, chilling. Sterling couldn’t imagine something so completely and utterly un-catlike. And that was the point, wasn’t it? He finally recognized the dance of Lipizzaner stallions, and he struggled to understand the significance . Then he remembered, the dancing white stallions of Spain were still and always renowned for one thing above all else. The control their masters could exert. From a distance.