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.

UPDATE FOLLOWS COMMENTS--

GENERAL NOTE: much thanks patience, and apologies in advance.  All is well.  Just split/divided/not always present.  Generally avoid
cross posting from other place, but in case of general notes, much information can be duplicated.  When time available try to catch
up on one forum, or another, still behind.  Continuing:

GENERAL NOTE (copy paste)-- all will have book well before you, or I, die. I am very sorry for delays. There are many reasons, some personal, some exogenous,
some values driven--for instance, a slow grind internal delay:

GENERAL NOTE: do not anticipate any proximate absences, but yea I did not predict the last, either. But. Should be on forum regularly for a while. Not making
any more predictions ( not for a week or two ) but please observe
99.9999 percent number. I need to make time now to get back to other
forum as well.

GENERAL NOTE: looking like I might have some control time shortly. That would be good. Also--have a Master Class proof reader who is a very senior web
developer/coder/Fortune 500 guru. Only intermittently available for
proofing/formatting/etc. Co-ordination an issue.  Might just skip it.  Many many mistakes/typos have been caught here.  I see a new voice /re "Sic Semper T." and yes entirely correct--but tilting to the bastardized "common" meaning--for the forensic language/historians, yes now a small look at choices made many many times: verisimilitude, or comprehension?  Accuracy,
or design/appearance on the page?  Lots of pain.

GENERAL NOTE: for elements of design/strategy a very close read on Tony/Sylvia should be revealing. Tony is a master class designer himself, but in a
different domain. Now he is/will be/adopted as/ a Librarian. This will
be shown in expanded book/final update this last scene. If I were a
faster/better writer, many of these characters would/should have their
own books/series: Maria, Brian, Byron York, Tony, even Binary. I have a
big chunk of Binary that "does not fit" the lay-out/meter/timing of this
story. Really ****es me off. Hopefully I can find a place for it
someday.

GENERAL NOTE: should have an expanded VERSION OF ( meaning with timing, activity, witnesses, expansion ) to last update fairly shortly. Expanded version
not formatted, therefore not finalized.

COMMENTS ON COMMENTS, then update:

--mnmiv--and all--very much appreciate patience.  Feels like time distortion. Two months past felt like a week.  Here.  Not a week.  Just FFF.

--PFfunk, purple, that is some funny shit.  Yes, lotta lotta testing.  Grim stuff.  No right answer.  All comments here very carefully studied .re cover.
PF ok looks like I will be....um....a few months past Christmas, yah?  But will happen.

--Designated, will try your changes.  Cover gave me/will give me fits.

--armstrong, very good to see you, no need to lurk, absent voices here and certainty of some like minds, this would have been a poem,
or a wood carving, or dialogue with friends of many years, and then forgotten.  Have a few friends who are watching this process closely.
Much amusement.  Some considerable alarm.  The general consensus is that I/we should just shut the fuck up.....ah.....not gonna do that.
Not yet, anyway.

--greyguy much thanks on cover and yes, this is much more professional--tech guru girl/wizard has pro-photoshop--I took the pic, my hand
my tool ( a Norinco, yep ), then drew/painted/colors/fonts and etc.--back seat driving--for many many hours.  I drew the bones in the hand.  Very difficult, many trials.  Very patient lovely girl to put up with the amateur: me.

--tigglesworth, have I missed you before? If so very sorry.  If not, good to see you.  Your comments are on point.  I have a kind of file of tech
comments .re cover--your note on audience expectation is a big deal--did you see posts on writing "against the genre..."?  Yes, this is not "normal"
PAW fiction.  Very significantly a "thriller" and not a "who" but a "why"dunnit/did it.  The series of reveals at the end, setting up, paying off, is very
very hard to do, and actually REQUIRES a long established genre convention(s), so that I can "flip"/reverse them.  I do not see any other opportunities
to do this in future stories/genres.

--highstepper good to see you and understood on tiggleworth's comments--further note: the "post apocalyptic" designation is very much a "placement"/visibility issue--Amazon arbitrarily places books in pre-existing genres--so one is forced to adapt/stretch meanings in the case
of a story like this.  There is no "pre-apocalyptic" genre, or a "how some smart motherfuckers manipulated their part of the apocalypse" genre, and so on.  On kindle store graphics/fingernails, agreed, would like/hope to fix/make it better.  A time/tech issue.

--mnmiv--obviously I am defficient at predicting my own schedule.  But the number 99.999 percent done WITH THE BOOK/STORY ITSELF is accurate.
Hang in there.

--GreenGiant thank you and yes I benefit from prompts.  Pretty irritated with myself.  If it makes you feel any better, this story is now about 163,000 words--about 10,000 more than "Salem's Lot" or I think...Firestarter?

--DFArm much thanks patience and hang in there.  Yes, STJ.  More knives!!!!!

--yearly FAL match....dude. Pics?  Then knives.  Ok.

--Timing0 very good to see you, and yes on Sic Semper, and....I think off of your comment I should probably make note of this in text.  Brian would look it up, off of Maria's coin, and note the transition from accuracy to common meaning.  This story is already long/dense enough.  Good call.

--greyguy, funny funny.  Yep.  When I look at this thing, I can finally understand how people can eventually build like....an aircraft carrier.

--PFfunk, kill me dude.  "bang out another quickly" oh shit.  What I am pretty sure about: progress.  Stepping VERY LIGHTLY: it is in the realm of the POSSIBLE, depending on some ok maybe some unwelcome phone calls/other shit nagging--this could get published in 'weeks' but I suck at predicting my own future, obv., WHAT I CAN SAY IS THAT I SHOULD BE REGULARLY PRESENT ON THIS/AND OTHER FORUM, at least once a week, until done.
A very minor recent distraction: I just loaded three tons of metal and tools into someone's vehicle.  Personally.  Because reasons.  That was nothing...
except my feet hurt.  And so on.

--Coontrapper good to see you here and everywhere.  "They."  Yes they do exist.  And they hate our fucking guts.  Nuff said at this time.

--zoe17 much thanks dude and I have you and your son on my mind.  Have not forgotten for one second.

--Coontrapper much thanks and yes way too much going on.

--mnmiv much thanks--

--Former11b much thanks as well--

--Pffunk ah jeez no harm no foul and....and....yeah I should stop here.

--StimpsonJ understood and water under the bridge.  And funny.  Now.  Sort of.

--Coontrapper much thanks and as I get up to speed consider that I have "a design" in mind for Gehr Waffen, and have for many
years.  Knives fit into/are a part of that design, and many other tools/talismans/artifacts.  Things that maintain value.  Endure.
I am very much looking forward to STJ's artifacts.

--BigDam good to see you and don't worry this story will continue/get done/and then more.  I'm just FFFFing slow, and not full time,
and juggling related issues/concerns/bullshit.

--STJ....grail tool!!!!!!  Please post promptly.  Eventually this thread as subtext should have dozens/hundreds of grail tools.  Time allowing
I intend to post....many.  Have stuff I rotate on and off my desk.  Pack rats can end up with some cool stuff....even by accident.

--PFfunk hang in there.

--STJ a freaking power hammer!!!!!!!!  Awesomeness is thine!!!!!!  Details please: how found, where, age, etc., when appropriate.

--dfarm oh yep power hammer.  Looks older than Moses.  Stj teasing us now.

--STJ more details please?  Age?  Looks freaking Victorian.

--Stj I see it, how much concrete/depth for that slab?  Hammer weight?

--GreenGiant, exactly.  Beautiful enduring artifacts.  That do stuff.  Forever.

--texasshark--I think a new voice?  Yes, much will happen.  Just...slower than anyone would like.  Including me.
Good to see you.

--Dfarm, yes, interesting, always, for many many years, Amazon not yet.

--Former11b, understand all concerns, I share them.  I know that publication is a big "tell"/confirmation.  But as a reader you can
see that the story, even as posted here, MUST BE at the very very end.  It is.

--PFfunk yeah the force is all FFFFed up.  Very.  Bigly.  Has been for decades.  Very astute 'poem' PFfunk.

--zOe17, status check, A/Ok.

--kOW, status check, A/Ok.

--GreenGiant, no, they have not got me.  Let's see how far I can go someday about they.  They have been creeping
into the light a bit lately.  We shall see.

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

Are we there yet? Are we there yet?

(contented sigh)

Glad to know you've not been disappeared, DCB!

We were becoming . . . concerned.

  --grywlf--damned close.  Very seriously hoping I have a block of ( relatively ) uninterrupted time.

--Former11b, much much thanks hanging in there.  Exogenous/other events.  Massively fucked up, obv.
Yes we are the maximum un-good parties in this evolving world.  Also a bunch of shit kind of under the radar--
watch Africa.  I know that continental shithole pretty well.  Has always been a potential Afghanistan cubed.
Ooops.  Now it is.  Not fixable/managable culturally/economically/geographically and never has been and never
will be.  And just FFFFFing HUGE.

GENERAL NOTE: Gehr Waffen has a "Codex"--an explanation of first principles.  It will explain quite a bit.
First principles must by their very nature be "testable"/provable by "the layman"--meaning anyone with common sense.
I hope I have the time to write it someday.

Very much appreciate everyone hanging in on this.  Just huge.

Thank you.

DCB

This project has suspended knife work though...sorry about that.  I had to remove every tool from the shed to do the install, and that yielded lots of things that needed maintenance and could be redone better than before.  I have only the die fitting left on the hammer and then I will FINALLY pour a base for my anvil and bolt it down, and then back on knives.

The update was like an awesome beer in too small of a bottle.

I know we aren't supposed to quote the text, so I'll just comment that the line about imagining people dissapearing at this very moment (and regarding rumors) is possibly the best line revealed thus far.

DC, glad to see that you are still around.

Great update.  It's entertaining to try to figure out who is having this conversation.

I'm excited for the discussion that I imagine will take place here after we can read the whole book.


Stimpy, what are the chances of you making a thread in another section about the upgrades to your shop and your work?

Glad to see you are okay DC. Thanks for the update. Enjoy the summer and good luck with Amazon.

Sure thing...where?

There is still a raging argument over making a metalworking sub-forum going on in GD.        

I've been keeping up with that thread. I imagine it'd be welcomed in the blade section of the armory.

Wow just wow, by chance on another forum i found a reference to your book/story and i jumped on the thread to see what is it about. From the first paragraph i was hooked and in the last 48h i read almost all the updates you posted stopping on page 42 where you said there are massive spoilers. Now i can hardly contain myself but i want to buy the book so i can read it all in one sitting(in whatever form you decide to put it on amazon). Also after the first update i immediately bought "Injured reserves" and i cannot wait for the Soldier's Son.

I just had to register on the forum to tell you that you Sir have real skill in storytelling and i hope you will continue to write.

p.s. Please let the book be available soon ;)

Don't forget to leave a review of IR on Amazon...it really helps get DCB exposure.

GENERAL NOTE: lots of housekeeping/formatting/titling/chaptering tech stuff.  "words on repeat": the pure size complexity
of this thing a bit humbling.  WARNING: for many reasons (see blog within...months?) THIS STORY DESIGN CANNOT BE
REPEATED IN THIS GENRE.  This is not a matter of "talent"--but the structures/expectations/design of the genre itself.
See "The Sixth Sense"--can there be another ghost movie, in which the protagonist is a ghost?  No.  Not for at least one generation.

GENERAL NOTE: Beginning of June every year, forum posts/clicks/looks plummet.  School is out.  Vacations begin.  Spring and summer,
the sun and wind call to us all.  Only somewhat relevant.  This book, and all others, will live or die on their merits.  I think they will live....
with how much vigor I do not know.

--STJ--"remove every tool from shed"--ouch.  I just moved a friend.  One of us.  Many many tons of stuff.  Two shipping containers.
It was quite the chore.  I admonish all who believe in some level of preparation to maintain the maximum level of fitness.  It would be absurd
for two ( normal ) people our age to do what the two of us did per day.  Simply not possible.  Friend has a fitbit/digital gizmo.  We both walked about 14 miles.  A day.  Carrying and stacking shit.  Very fffing heavy shit.  It was ridiculous.  STJ I see from your videos that you are
scrupulously attending to this issue.  Good FFFing job, dude.

--airsix very good to see you and yes thank you on the disappearing/rumors issue.  There are several deep/additional themes/issues which
were "buried" in the subtext, four years ago, and now have been elevated in the final text.  They will be easily recognized.  Also: it is quite clear at this point ( SEE BUT DO NOT QUOTE SPOILERS ), that the Gehr Waffen resources/game/data-sets are very very 'deep.'  How deep will be a final reveal/spoiler.  Truism: "To resist a state, one must have the resources of a state.  To have the resources of a state, one must lie within the state."
It is not commonly known that a certain Republic, before and during inception, had an exceptionally sophisticated and robust intelligence apparatus.
We have illuminated a failure: Nathan Hale.  There were many successes.

--DFarm, good to see you as always, and yes the discussion here should be interesting.  I am imagining a constant hysterical wail from myself on the issue of spoilers.  And the deletion of proper names/party names/faction names.  But yes, it will be a lot of fun.

GENERAL NOTE: of STJ/stimpy shop and blades: STJ's shop and blades deserve MAXIMUM DISTRIBUTION/VISIBILITY/PRESENCE.  Everywhere and anywhere.  I only beg STJ to maintain some presence here, for the shop and blades.  I love shops.  I love the fabrication will/talent/tools.  I love artifacts.  Knives are the first artifact.  Please keep us in the loop, STJ.  Oh.  And I have plans....

--zoe17 good to see you and well....summer is no different than anything in my zone, just a little bit hotter, depending on where I am.  This book is going to dominate pretty much everything, and the next everything, and 'promoting' it ( just FFFF me...), and starting the next one, and a bunch of postponed major fffing chores, for a very very long time.  Maybe I will get to splash around in a puddle, or something.

--LaRue I dig the sombrero dude.  What is he smoking?  And another fabricator/engineer.  Color me surprised.  Not.  Nice tools, engineer.  I bet Pop Gehr owns some of your gear.  In fact, I guarantee it.

--STJ, shop/tools/knives--Anywhere and Everywhere.  As long as some of it can be seen here!!!!!!!!

--DFArm/Coontrapper==blade section armoury, yep. Plus more.

--lohi, very good to see you, and thank you.  Can you tell me where you saw reference to this/any story?  If SBoards, understood, some cross pollination inevitable but I want to support and eventually refer to both forums.  Understood on spoilers.  Very sorry for delay.  Complicated life, complicated story, and etc.  Have been in the 99 percent and over end=game for many months.  Have some free time in June, looking good so far.
And yes, if possible and appropriate please post a review of Injured.  The reviews help for many many reasons: particularly the future, when this stuff is seen by others and will piss them the FFFF off.  Very nice beaches and cliffs and history you have, Lohi.

--STJ thank you for the prompt on review.

GENERAL NOTE: next up, expanded version of last update.  Still juggling a few things.  If/when I blog about this, people will be fried when
they understand how much has to be tossed/thrown away/deleted for formatting/pacing/timing/appearance on page issues.  And titling.  And setting up next book/s. And and and and....

Ok back to work.

"Combat is the control of your adversary in the three dimensions of space, across the fourth dimension, of time."
DCBourone Injured Reserves.  And thank you, DesignatedMarksman.

As requested then...




And I got the basic brake bent up and installed tonight, seems to work fine.

--STJ JUST WATCHED your video--like watching white magic.  "And a sword shall be made, and it shall be called...."
"And then I got to thinking..." oh yeah I'm just going to pour some brass"--just FFF--Ok, the jeans and running shoes,
you will leather up at some point, yes?  Now I have to look up Little Giant, and try and figure out how you can be
buying brand new dies and chatting on the phone with some company that made power hammers for Queen Victoria.
Maximum cool, STJ.

Captain's log, June 7th 2017.

By all accounts, the thread's creator has resurfaced.

Judging on timing, content, and inflection, it does not appear to be an imposter.

What would a comma hammer cyborg sound like?

Could it keep the voice of the original man, while yet being partly machine?

Would the metallic heart beat of the machine pollute the voice of the original man, thus making his true voice impossible to counterfeit?

Rations are now plentiful.

It appears moral has been temporarily restored.

Hello?

Is there anybody in there?

Just nod if you can hear me.

Is there any one home?

Has the constant movement of the finish line affected mental constitution?

For I have promises to keep, and miles to go before I sleep.

Miles to go, before I sleep.

End of report.

It was maybe half a cup of brass.  If it was a quart it would have frightened me and I would have put on boots and an apron.  The face shield is off camera.  You could see the gloves, but not that they are elbow length.

The wife had a similar reaction.
"Isn't that dangerous?"
...stimp destroys 2x4 with power hammer...
"Oh, I see."

I *do* try to keep the most dangerous threat in front of me.  It just seems to vary a lot.


After the OK R-n-G    

-PFfunk, killing me dude.  No not a machine.  Not yet.  Not really. I promise.  Rations restored, yes.
Constitution unaffected by moving finish line....debatable.  There is a 165,000 word version.  And
a 173,000 word version.  Many versions, in other words.  Will discuss in future.  The....stressors...
of this process are not "the story"--they are CHOOSING from infinite options how to tell the story,
down to the placement
of commas.  And so on.  Good to see you, PF.

--STJ destroys a 2x4 for wife, oh man...yes, dangerous.  Dying here.  What a brilliant image.  Briliant.
The run and gun number is outrageous.  Outrageous.  Let me sort through my knee braces and other
augmentations and see if I could manage....half of that.  I can limp/sprint/lift/push.  Sustained pounding...
that is another deal.  Outrageous, ST.

Thanks for the update D.C. It looks like we're moving up the chain...

--Hang in there, greyguy.  This thing is longer than "Salem's Lot" or "Firestarter" or a number of other King books.
A huge machine, clock, device, with many many tiny gears. 

OK, I'm hooked and just finished page one of a 47 page and counting thread!

Don't forget to read your scripture

Most of us envy you getting to read all of this without the wait(s).

That's the truth!  Getting to read it all in one shot up to this point would be awesome.

--fp1201 thank you and the story here, while largely complete, benefits hugely from the attendant posts/expansions, and
the mass quantities of forum member "illuminations"--my/"The Plan" here is largely intact, with the notable exception of my
inability to predict/manage/write on a timely basis--it was very much my intention long ago for this thread to be/contain the
index/footnotes/expansion of what was already going to be a very very long book.

--STJ thank you on Injured--it also was/is my intention to drive readers "back" to Injured in this and all following books,
Injured is the condensed "master document"/mission statement for this story's generation of Librarians.

--DFarm thank you, and soon.

GENERAL NOTE: I wish there were a mechanism to print/e-book "before and after"/and--or/multiple versions of Soldier's--there is
not, as yet.  But the published version is both "exactly the same story"--and also massively altered/expanded/re-tooled--particularly
for "clarity"--if I observe the story through the eye of a new reader, I understand that my taste for "puzzles/mysteries" is not normal.
The 'reveals' of the last 100 pages will now be crystal clear, less obscure, less uncertain.

GENERAL NOTE: my formatter will be here this weekend.  (Actually, she is moving in....lucky me!) That should move things along, a bit.
I think.  Yes.  Hopefully.

GENERAL NOTE: there will eventually be a "real book"--the formatting issue, relating to titling/chaptering/headers/relevant quotes is
proving a monstrous obstacle for kindle/e-book pagination/lay-out.  I will have much more latitude to 'GET IT THE WAY IT IS SUPPOSED
TO BE" in an old style print book.  Even fonts can be highly relevant, for enhancing meaning.

The entire point of having disciples is that you don't have to explain yourself again.

So shaddup...I'm working here.

STJ Ok pretty damn funny keep working please post work product/process.  I will shut up for tonight.

Got some grinding work in today, and started on the swedge bevels...those are always annoying at first.

The camel bone scales showed up and I really like them and think they will work great with this design.

The larger hammer marks are not going to come out of the blade, so I am going to have to decide what to do to try to clean them up a bit.

Next up will be quenching, as any more grinding will be undone by scale formation during the heat/quench.  I plan to do several heats/quenches in increasing temps until I get the edge 'hard enough' as I have no idea how this stuff is going to behave.

--leave hammer marks, very cool, many iterations to come.  Needs stamp STJ Musso 1.
--Can see scales please?

I'll try to get a pic of the scales next time the knife gets work done.  They are exceptionally pale, and will take polishing and scrimshaw well I think.

I think I will claim a side and dedicate the other side to the Gehrs.

Congratulations man, just don't get too "busy".

--STJ you have karmic permission to etch/scribe/stamp any Gehr Waffen derivative/text/logo anywhere on knife.  If appropriate
please include an STJ reference/stamp/signature/logo for future 'reference' and to provide a link between you and Gehr Waffen.
Gehr ~ Sohne Waffenfabrik ~ Design kind of cumbersome...I have a bunch of sketches/compressed versions same same for later,
meanwhile, ahem, yeah, holy FFFF get moving DCBourone....

--STJ it will be abundantly clear that Gehr Waffen subcontracts/enlists/incorporates contractors for any/all technologies in future
books--one title specifically refers same same--saving that title--hope nobody else grabs it, ouch--Gehr Waffen is after all a "design"
house--any and all artifacts "made to last/made to last....forever" and so on.  I have a plan.  Many.  We shall see.


--Designated/M good to see you and no won't get too busy, that stage passed several years ago,
although there are distractions, this is a very serious lady and does have some modest but peculiar
requests ( personal hygiene, wearing shoes in public, intelligible speech, air-conditioning, something called
"a bed" and then something called "a table" and also something called "some chairs" and also something
called "a washer and a dryer" and so on).  I have reviewed these requests and a few seem reasonable,
and even innovative.  There will be some adjustments.  I will adapt.

Jeez, you give some people and inch and they take a mile. 

--Designated, I fully agree, although I am anticipating some compensating rewards for my compliance.  And I
am particularly intrigued by this automated cleansing of garments.  Fortunately in her relatively short life
she has managed to acquire all of these revolutionary technologies.  So the expense will be minimal. I am
however supposed to contribute some relevant manual labor.  This will be negotiated shortly.  We have some
experience at this: she suggested I wear more ( shoes, and socks, and so on ) and I recommended that in
exchange, she might wear less.  The discussion was amicable.

@DCBourone

Thy inbox overfloweth...

--I see you, STj.  Knives.  Many many knives?

Check out DC getting all domesticated...

In all seriousness though moving in is a big deal.  Congrats buddy, I hope the two of you have a long and happy life together. I learned about the difference between a "mattress" and a "bed," a "trunk" and a "coffee table," and the importance of not cleaning guns on the island in the kitchen when my wife moved in.

A 15 year old promise takes a lurching step.

It's a teaser, if you are subscribed to my channel something really cool will be up before dawn.

It's hard to explain how much I love this stuff.  It's just 'practice', of course, but dang it feels good to learn things so long forgotten.

--greyguy, I am afraid any appearances of domestication will be brief, and entirely cosmetic in nature.  I am historically
disinclined to remain in one place.   So/But a large step,
rarely taken, for many reasons.  And as everyone knows, incorporating a new life form into an otherwise stable environment
can create many challenges.  I am, for instance, considering various kinds of fencing, motion sensors, possibly a moat.
She in turn has only another very modest request: that I accustom myself to some kind of collar, and a leash.  Particularly
when we venture among the public.  As always, the discussion has been amicable.  Because this strange creature happens
to be highly symmetrical and  very photogenic, at some point a picture might be in order.  Another challenge then: she is also
agile, shy, and most active at night.

--Ctrapper, I see you have a keen eye for all the difficulties of managing a relationship between often incompatible species.
Imagine, for instance, living with a crow.  That is always trying to hide your favorite shiny things.  At least this creature
already speaks, quite brilliantly.  Not always the case, as everyone knows.

--STJ I can imagine how much you like this stuff.  See inbox.  And very nice watching the steam rise off your FAL.  And that business
in the cave run, loud, was it?

Ha!  Failure conditions training...almost a success.

"Strange FALs, lying in pools, distributing bullets is no basis for a good match placement..."

Cave was shockingly quiet and crazy fun.

The aforementioned 'more impressive' video  Just look at the heat coming off that billet!

Here's hoping I look this good in 130 years. 

--STJ, very pleasing to see the FAL assert itself.  A perfect Librarian weapon--archaic, overbuilt,
graceful, brutal.  Cave/quiet cave/not loud--what kind earpro/other?  Also wet/humid, or you
would have been blind by dust/crap from walls/roof.  Maybe you have done so, fire the FAL
in that cave and you will feel it in your lungs/heart/throat, even with your mouth open.

--Heat off of steel: more please.

--Designated/M, another Librarian tool, we collect these things, and save them for the future.
Beautiful.

Looking forward to a book.

I like good books.

I think The Soldier's Son is a great story, and that it would be an excellent book.

If ever, it were offered as a book, I'd buy it. Because I like a great story, especially a story that would make an excellent book.

Finish the book, and let us read said book.

Hurry up.

I'd really like to exchange my money for your book.

Hurry up.

Edit: spelling

--crack me up, PF.  You will have your book.  And books.  And coins.  And many other things.

Today I "helped" move two cats into a house with a dog.  The dog's wishful identity for many years
has been "Chief Assassin of Cats, Exterminator, Master Deleter of All Things Feline"....
But this dog is also insanely obedient, affectionate, trustworthy.  Now she crouches
several feet away from said cats, who are quite fierce, and very well clawed, whining,
whining for permission to put the universe into a proper balance: without cats.
And the answer is "no."
Hysterical.

The End must be Nigh!! Cats and Good Dogs TOGETHER under a Communal Roof?  What will happen next?  Will the Good Dog be Good and Obey or will the Good Dog be Great and find a way to Obey whilst "Deleting" said felines?  Or will the Good Dog simply CSS? (Chomp, Swallow, Shut up)?  Or will TSS just finally appear fully formed and Correct?  Nobody Truly Knows!!

We wait with baited (Dog) breath.

GENERAL NOTE: crawling forward, one letter, one quote, one indentation at a time. THERE SHOULD BE TWO MORE UPDATES. AFTER THE UPDATES there
should be a brief period while I wait for this thread to be modified per Amazon TOS and
test
the upload on Amazon. Nuff said at this time.

GENERAL NOTE: interesting to watch the seasonal "timing" of
reads/posts--this thread forum "very slow" since early June. Imagine the
databases other entities are building. They are. Most of them are not
our friends. By definition, no database of this/that nature is "our
friend" simply by the very nature of its existence.

GENERAL NOTE: I assume that everyone who has made it this far is a
diligent reader/skeptic/parser of public news feeds. Recent events over
the last six months are slowly, very slowly, forcing a kind of clarity
on the who/why/when/where/what. A titanic contest. This contest will not
end, or resolve, in our lifetimes. Nuff said at this time. No proper
names please. Just observe in private.  We are witnessing a version of 'the madness of crowds'--the madness very carefully arranged/steered/altered as needed.  Nothing new under the sun.  Has everyone here seen Mel Gibson's "Apocalypto"?  Not entertaining at all.  Not intended to be.  Gibson might be mad as a hatter, but he sure nailed that story.

--GreenGiant--yes, this book will materialize, a monolith in the fog.  The dog is behaving properly although with much whining and consternation.  Two of the cats are burly rescue streetfighters, and quite cheerfully warned the doggie of the severest consequences if they were molested.  Hysterical. Chomp Swallow Shut Up, awesome, GG.

DCB - Just putting in my .02 worth. I've been mostly a lurker, but have been following this story for a long time. Your imagination, technical knowledge, attention to detail, and reference to reality is amazing!  When the book comes out, you can be sure that I will buy it, to make sure that you get some return on the great investment that you've made in this effort.

This is not an update...I made a mistake.