Vaughn Killian had risen to the top of the candidate class for Black Saber by the end of the first novel in the series. Now he’s ready to graduate…but the Brass isn’t happy with him.
Even in an elite unit like this, there’s an emphasis on by-the-book procedures. Killian is more of a field soldier–hands-on, seat of the pants. While that’s the kind of guy you want in combat, maybe he takes it a bit too far. And it turns out his instinctive warrior ways have backfired on him: because of his disregard for regulations, he’s being held back as cadre to train other candidates while his classmates get deployed. This is the last thing he wanted.
Nonetheless, he’s about to see action anyway. It seems the Carthenogans have somehow discovered the location of Black Saber’s secret training facility, and have dispatched a force of barbaric neandergrunts to capture some personnel and wipe out the rest.
With this second book, the storyline becomes increasingly complex. Murphy bounces around an ensemble cast to weave espionage, political intrigue, combat, and personal drama into the narrative. By book’s end, it’s still a mystery how some of these plot threads will tie together…and where all they will take us before they do. However it all weaves together in the third novel (???), it’s shaping up to be something huge.
It’s probably impossible for any author to write something I can’t nitpick in some way (myself included). But my biggest complaint here has to do with storytelling technique. Specifically: the cliffhanger ending. I think some plot elements could have been tied up a little better…there could have been a bit stronger sense of resolution…and likely we’d still want to read the next book. As is, it kind of feels like a much longer novel that was cut in half.
You may have read military sci-fi with similar elements before (Ender’s Game is one that comes to mind), but chances are you haven’t read a series with as much going on as this one.
In this third novel in the Homeland series, there’s a turning point in Civil War II. Some Americans saw the writing on the wall, and bugged out just before “The Second Founding.” They organized while in hiding, and are now coming out to tangle with the forces of the new regime.
The state governments have been dissolved, and what was once the continental USA has been divided into 10 regions under the totalitarian government of President Tophet. But in Tennessee, there are enough surviving patriots (even in the legislature) that resistance to the takeover is made official. Tennessee will not lay down without a fight.
Sergeant Cole has found the organized resistance–in this instance led by LTC Lee, his old battalion C.O. But concern over his family leads him to undertake his own mission to find them even as the flames of civil war spark to life across the country.
There is significant character development in this book–not just of Cole, either. Eduardo Garcia has quite the interesting character arc, which culminates here.
Author Mathis has masterfully woven a tale of one possible future history of the USA in the Homeland trilogy, which doesn’t bog down in technical details at all, or read like an advertisement for gold, survival supplies, or anything else. What this third novel does deliver is hope. The collapse of the USA as we know it may be inevitable, but it’s comforting to imagine there will be enough people with the wisdom, courage, and competence to mount an effective resistance.
I recommend you read the entire series. And speaking of that: the three novels have been combined into one omnibus edition now.
…Into an internecine squabble amongst the “Alt-Right.”
I’m way behind on everything. There are several overdue reviews I need to post, articles I need to write, books I need to read…not to mention all of my own projects on the backburner. But this development is significant enough that I’m gonna report on it now instead of trying to catch up.
Myself and others have been pointing out for years that we are in a cold civil war, with those who would destroy America (and their legions of useful idiots) on one side, and patriots, members of the Dissident Right, and the “Alternative Right” on the other. This cold war has not turned hot yet because, frankly, we are still too comfortable–even though the diseased system is in obvious decline.
But just when the voting base that put Trump in the White House should be unified, and reminding him of why we sent him there, we are rapidly becoming consumed with infighting instead.
First of all, the most obnoxious of the white tribalists in the “Alt-Right” finally became so annoying with their vain Racial Purity Diatribes and their Jewish Boogeyman Tropes, that even Vox Day grew irritated with them. For the last few years, Day and his followers have been preaching against ideology-based right-wing politics in favor of identity politics (in other words: “throw out that thar lame-ass Constitution and all them thar losers whut cling to it, ’cause all we need is muh white heritage ‘n’ muh Western Civiluzayshun”).
So far as that went, it was a promising development. National Socialists are not right-wing and never have been, and behold, Vox admitted as much.
The Neo-Nazis and other white supremacist groups are composed of angry white nerds who couldn’t find an outlet for their frustrations in gaming, skateboarding, or vampire cosplay, who are not exactly intellectual giants (those who aren’t actually leftist moles role-playing, that is). So when Vox Day called BS on them, they summoned what cognitive acumen they could pool to strike back.
They called him names.
Here’s where the positive development nosedives into Sewerville, because it was on Gab that they desperately slung their poo at him.
Unlike nearly all social media, Gab is a place where free speech is actually welcomed and encouraged. Specifically, it is an alternative to Twitter. I don’t have much time for any social media, but have enjoyed my Gab experience to date. I try not to follow back idiots, trolls, leftists (forgive the redundancy) or Alt-Retard Stormfront blowhards. So I read news links frequently, post occasionally, live and let live. Identity politics still aggravate me, and I don’t get along with those who blame the Jews for every problem under the sun, up to and including the condition of their parents’ basements. But they are free to spout their sophomoric rhetoric on Gab, just as the leftards spew their sophomoric America-hate and anti-male, anti-white rhetoric on Twatter, Faceborg, and everywhere else, blaming “racist” America for every problem under the sun, up to and including the condition of their parents’ basements. I don’t have to read their posts, and they don’t have to read mine.
Vox Day has been called names before. Just since I’ve become aware of him, I’ve seen a lot of that–and I’m certain that’s just a drop in the bucket. But for whatever reason, he decided that the accusation of pedophilia by some of these moronic cowards required legal countermeasures. He wanted the names of his accusers. Despite Vox Day being an ally and supporter, Gab did not cooperate. They not only refused to moderate the threads in question, but at some point decided to take/make the whole affair personal, as well.
Now Vox Day (AKA Theodore Beale) comes from money, and like many individuals raised with wealth, he can be a pompous ass at times. I wouldn’t be surprised at all if he was arrogant with the Gab staff when making his demands. But it seems Gab responded in the worst possible way, insulting him, belittling his complaints, etc.
Day may or may not live up to his own estimation of his evil genius, but he does have a network. That network is comprised of competent men from many professions who can (and have) get stuff done for him. Some of those professionals are lawyers.
Both Day and Gab founder Andrew Torba are adamant that the law is on their side. Both can’t be right. But pride can cause even the most intelligent men to underestimate their opponents, overestimate themselves, and act a fool. I’m not an expert in the law, so I don’t know who is right, here. Neither can I predict who will prevail in the pending legal battle. What I can say is, the only people who will benefit from this internecine warfare are the enemies of both Torba and Day.
Meanwhile, Gab has chosen this time to take on the Goolag monopoly. Vox Day is doing the Google lawyers’ work for them by gathering and posting evidence of Gab’s moderation (or lack thereof), while Torba seems to believe it’s a contest to prove he is more of an alpha male than Day is.
The comment threads at Vox Popoli are populated by a few folks so savvy and perceptive I wish there were “like” buttons; some obvious and pathetic leftist trolls; and a whole lot of folks who are little more than denizens of a cult of personality. You would think the Gabbers who naturally support Torba in this conflict would be more inclined toward independent thought, on average.
You would be disappointed.
In junior high and high school, arguments were almost never won by using facts or logic, but by coming up with insults against your adversary to cause the inevitable crowd of onlookers to ooh, ahh, laugh or jeer. I’m sad to observe that little has changed since then. Gabbers are taking this opportunity to trash talk and launch ad hominem attacks against Day, as if ridiculing everything they think they know about him proves that he will lose this battle. Of course the “Dread Ilk” and VFM (Vox’s “Vile, Faceless minions”) are also trash-talking as if the matter will be decided by bluster alone…but that’s to be expected from them.
And while this was going on, two much-needed debates took place: Vox Day against, in turn, Greg Johnson and someone claiming to be Andrew Anglin, arguing whether or not the National Socialists belong in the “Alt-Right,” or anywhere on the right at all.
They don’t, which is easily proven.
The cultural svengalis have spent 70+ years brainwashing people on every side that the Nazis, Fascists, and other collectivist movements (sometimes even including Stalin’s USSR!) were/are from the right, so this is a worthwhile debate. And Vox Day is a sharp enough speaker to punch holes through the typical assumptions, even when he refuses to use some of the relevant arguments in the arsenal of info at his disposal.
Neither Johnson nor Anglin had much in the way of an argument, it turns out, though Johnson’s slick rhetoric likely had some goose-stepping halfwits mesmerized for a while. Anglin’s “argument” consisted mainly of asking Day questions and immediately interrupting before he could answer; to declare his ignorance as to the purpose of the debate; to blame “hook-nosed Jews” for all the evil in world history; to whine about personal attacks; and to make personal attacks of his own (for which there was no retaliation). To his credit, Vox Day tried to stay on topic. For whatever reason, I don’t think he was as effective as he could have been, but even by presenting only minimal evidence, he won easily.
However, when both Anglin and Day were finished, the host was absent, so they continued talking. Having abandoned the subject of the debate, Anglin proceeded to ask Day questions about the legal conflict with Gab. Anglin brought up the point that Day had, in the past, advised his followers to answer defamatory rhetoric in kind (his “punch back twice as hard” philosophy, which I believe is a good one in today’s political climate). In fact, Day had once advised them to call someone a pedophile in certain circumstances. In between the ceaseless interruptions, Day attempted to admit that he now understood that to be wrong, and bad advice. But in any event, just before the host reappeared to close the show, Day said, “I may be a hypocrite. You can accuse me of hypocrisy, but that doesn’t change anything.”
I haven’t attempted to comment on these forums for quite a while, but one person made the observation that I would have made: that of everything said during the entire recording, that last statement by Vox Day would be the only remark the Alt-Retards would repeat or remember. That one statement would comprise their entire summary, and it would replace the debate itself in their narrative.
Sure enough: I witnessed that exact prophecy fulfilled in the days following. With all the reasoning quotient of a Common-Core-educated 6th Grader, the trash-talking armchair pundits have conclusively proved that the Stealth-Left (#FakeRight) LARPing socialists are a legitimate part of the right-wing, because Vox Day admitted to hypocrisy regarding a separate issue.
Several Gabbers who support Andrew Torba and Gab (an admirable motivation, separate from the means) have dogpiled on, assuming not only that the statement caused Anglin to win the debate (which concluded before the statement was made), but that Vox Day’s “loss” of the debate somehow guarantees that Torba will prevail in the impending legal conflict.
It was thanks to Vox Day that I learned about the Aristotlian concept of rhetoric, and the fallacy of using dialectic when debating with those for whom emotion trumps reason. This helped me understand my frustrating history of futile arguments with halfwits, midwits and dimwits. I also peruse his blog regularly. That is not to say I agree with him on everything, or even most things. But I do have a fairly good grasp on his personality. He would undoubtedly deny that his strategy has backfired on him, but it’s hard to deny that some of his own tactics are being used against him.
As for Torba, I’d love to see him win against Goolag, and Twatter. And I’d like to see more social media rise up to challenge the ones controlled by the SJW hive mind. This squabble between allies is unfortunate at best, and I wish the parties involved would just drop it. But judging by the egos engaged, that’s just not going to happen. It’s becoming one more obstacle to ever winning the culture back.
Why on Earth was the British Expeditionary Force allowed to escape in 1940?
That is the question everyone with a modicum of military savvy has to ask when examining the story of Dunkirk. (Well at least after coming down from your outrage due to underrepresentation in the film of Pygmy hermaphrodites, transgender unicorns, and Badass Warrior Womyn in front-line combat formations.) One positive side effect of the recent movie I’ve noticed is that some folks are indeed asking that question.
The Wermacht steamrolled over Poland and France despite the disparity of numbers, displaying a functional combined arms doctrine the world had never seen before… and yet allowed Britain’s army a second chance to fight them (when they inevitably returned with a more powerful ally), despite being poised to cut them off from the sea and destroy their ability to fight.
Not every fan of history knows the reason Dunkirk was allowed to succeed. Historians usually explain it away with one dubious claim or another. When I found out the truth, I just had to shake my head. And yet…it made sense.
A British historian spent the post war period interviewing the German high command, and its field marshals. The book he wrote clears up this and many other curiosities about WWII in the European Theater. I highly recommend it.
An added bonus is the reactions you’ll receive just toting the paperback around. On the cover is an image of a Nazi-era German flag, which happens to have a swastika on it. Rabid SJW thought police will be triggered, while public-educated FaceBorg junkies will often just run away. It’s Wolfenstein 3D all over again–but without intrusion into your gaming fun!
The sequel to Mission Veritas is finally out. I haven’t yet had a chance to start this dystopian military sci-fi novel (my categorization–not necessarily the author’s), but will post a review once I’ve consumed it. Meanwhile, here’s the skinny:
The good news is he’s completed the elite Black Saber training and is ready to deploy. The bad news is he’s being held back from assignment due to a technicality. When disaster strikes, he helps plan a counterattack, only to wind up adrift in space, stranded half a galaxy away from Earth, where his skills are needed most.
The people of Earth are still under the Carthenogens’ utopian delusion. The Global Alliance does their bidding, carving up city after city in a grand relocation plan, but most relocated people never arrive. Instead, they’re disappearing somewhere by the interstellar boatload. But the media mentions none of that. The population is kept in the dark, and the only ones who can stop them are all but vanquished. How can one isolated fighter help his fellow citizens from the cold vacuum of space?
This book is a prequel to The Vandals. As such, it has inspired me to go back and read it again. And although classified “Y.A.,” I consider My Lonely Room a fine, worthwhile read for men or boys of any age.
The setting is Queens, New York, at the dawn of the rock & roll era. A young outcast lives in partially self-imposed exile due to selfish parents; a sadistic landlady; cliquish kids doing what kids do (only worse, in the big city); and social ineptitude deriving from arrested development.
You don’t have to be Polish, a baby-boomer, or from the Big Apple, to relate to Jimmy Yadenik. Those details merge to form a fascinating backdrop for this tale of a boy becoming a young man, and learning to play the cards he was dealt.
I should clear something up: 1950s street gangs are not to be confused with biker gangs. The latter began as clubs made up of drunken, brawling WWII vets out to have fun and abuse their newly attained civilian freedoms. Later they evolved into something uglier, but that’s another story.
Nor are 1950s street gangs to be confused with later gangs, which were more like fiefdoms in the feudal drug trade, where life is a perpetual nightmare for everyone involved–or even just in proximity.
The gang members of the 1950s were teenagers, mostly. A gang was comprised of kids from the same neighborhood, and was not envisioned as a criminal enterprise by the founders. The members often shared interests (rock & roll, for instance; girls; maybe cars), but what united them was a mutual need for protection. Protection from what? Other kids, mostly.
It’s amazing to me, but a lot of big city folks spend their entire lives in a single neighborhood. It’s been that way for a while. Kids like Jimmy Yadenik didn’t look for trouble; but when they strayed into a different ‘hood, they often found it.
Kids behave like pack animals anywhere, but stack them like sardines in tenaments, and the violence multiplies. Faced with this situation, it’s only natural kids would seek safety in numbers. Or, as the Jets sang in West Side Story:
When you’re a Jet let ‘em do what they can
You got brothers around; you’re a family man.
You’re never alone; you’re never disconnected.
You’re home with your own when company’s expected.
You’re well protected.
Sometimes a gang from the next ‘hood would invade yours. Sometimes there were two gangs in the same ‘hood. This is how turf wars got started.
Also, don’t confuse this subculture with the pampered Baby Boomer generation as a whole. Yes, midwestern James Dean wannabes dressed like thugs and tried to act tough during these years, but their “rebellion” came from petulance. No other generation in history had it so easy; had been given everything on a silver platter (except discipline); or had so little to be angry about. “Rebel without a cause” is an apt description for most of them. Or, as Marlon Brando’s character put it in The Wild One when asked what he was rebelling against: “What have ya got?”
But in the asphalt jungle, teenagers weren’t coddled, and didn’t enjoy lives of largesse. Jimmy Yadenik has a father who never bothered to teach him anything at all, much less how to be a man. The father is absent physically and emotionally. The only worth he recognizes in his son is the labor potential, so Jimmy can contribute to the weekly beer fund and the parties at the Polish Club. Jimmy’s mother is a little more humane, but still a lot more take than give. Case in point: they put Jimmy in a foster home so he wouldn’t be an inconvenience to them. As the story begins, Jimmy has just recently come to live with them again.
Perhaps the saddest part of Jimmy’s story is the way he latches onto some advice from a teacher. She gives him a truly underwhelming sample of generic, non-commital social worker talk, and it motivates him. It’s evidently the most encouragement he’s ever received from any adult in his life.
Not especially charismatic or athletic, how is Jimmy supposed to make friends with angry, messed-up kids from other dysfuntional families at school or in the neighborhood?
He acquires a girlfriend who does most of the heavy lifting for him in Love’s Learning Curve, for one thing. (If only all girlfriends could be so straightforward and accomodating.)
Secondly, he finds brotherhood (of sorts) via some streetwise boys who take him under their wings, and help him along in his journey. (If only all de facto orphans could find this kind of peer support.)
It’s certainly not the best path to manhood a boy could take, but it beats the azimuth set for him by his parents and teachers.
If you were born some time within the last half-century, you will probably find something in My Lonely Room that resonates with you.
I almost didn’t even give this series a chance. Hollywood and television have me so gunshy, I doubted they could produce anything that won’t nauseate me. And the BBC, from what little I know, is brimming over with cultural Marxixts just like every other long-established media/entertainment organization. To trust them with anything even remotely historical? Forget it.
Then I found out it was based on Bernard Cornwell’s Saxon Tales. I’ve read some of Cornwell’s fiction (Agincourt and a few of the Sharpe novels). He’s a competent storyteller and he doesn’t butcher historical flow or details enough for me to take exception. So, “Once more into the breach,” sez I.
I guess you could say I semi-binge-watched the first two seasons on Netflix–finishing them in about a week or so.
In the late 9th Century, a Saxon noble and his heir are slain by a band of Danes a’viking through Bebbanburg in Northumbria. The lone surviving son was baptized and named Uhtred before being captured by the Danes.
Earl Ragnar spares the boy’s life, respecting his courage and truculence, and raises him as a Dane along with a Saxon girl named Brita. After growing into a man, and losing his adopted family (via treachery from other Danes), he becomes a vassal of Alfred, king of Wessex…”the last kingdom.” (Vikings have run roughshod over all other kingdoms in the British isles.)
With all the current brouhaha by the “alt-right” about race, immigration/invasion and “Magic Dirt” vs. “Magic DNA,” this series couldn’t be more timely. Genetically, Uhtred is a Saxon; yet his attitude, disposition, customs, etc. are decidedly Danish. This duality makes him an outsider in both worlds (not because everyone on both sides reject him out-of-hand, but because his ambition to rule Beddanburg causes him to side against the invaders; while his Danish weltanshuang motivates a contemptuous disdain for the Saxons and their ways.) Though he wields completely different weapons for a completely different type of warfare, Uhtred during the viking expeditions is not unlike Thomas Sowell during the USA’s present Cold Civil War, in that they are both slogging through similar conundrums–their demographic profile contradicting their deeply-rooted belief system.
The Religious Aspect:
Although Islam and other religions get a pass, Christianity is universally hated by the string-pullers with the monopoly on resources in the entertainment industry. It would be foolish to assume Christianity would get a fair shake in this series–especially given the behavior of the Roman Catholic Church through history. And, the historical backdrop for Last Kingdom smacks of religious conflict. The peoples of present-day Great Britain were Catholic during the period depicted, while the Northmen were still unmitigated pagans. How could you tell a story in this setting that ignored the religious aspect?
So of course the series takes cheap shots at Christianity, through the nominally Christian characters. But it is usually understated enough to ignore.
Alfred of Wessex and some other characters are real historical figures, while Uhtred and many others are fictional. Historians know a lot about Alfred because his life is very well-documented for the time. But as for the rest…well, it was the Dark Ages, folks. We are familiar with some generalities of the period…that the Vikings were raising hell in western Europe, for instance (and allegedly are the culprits who made London Bridge fall down); that the Catholic Church was growing in power; that the traditions of Roman civilization had given way to the early stages of feudalism…but there are just too many big, gaping holes in the historical record to ascertain specifics about much of what went on.
It wasn’t a question of if, but when the creative team would unleash their arsenal of ludicrous Grrrl Power tropes in the series. Surprisingly, the obligatory butt-kicking Womyn Warriors didn’t rear their preposterous heads until late in the First Season. Even more surprising: this revisionist hogwash was dialed down quickly enough to prevent me from giving up on the series. I truly am curious what caused the correction, but relieved nonetheless.
The series creators brought a technique to the screen I consider ingenious: When revealing geographic locations via subtitles, the ancient name is displayed first, then it transforms into the name it is known by today. As someone fascinated by the evolution of language, I really appreciate this gimmick.
I’m not an expert on Dark Ages melee techniques, but it seems to me when you have a shield and your enemy is swinging a sword or axe at you, you would use the shield to block or deflect the blow. Evidently, though, the shield is just an ornament, and you block a swinging sword with your own sword. Nevermind that banging two metal blades together repeatedly converts both of them to crude, dull saws–this is what BBC fight correographers have decided is the logical tactic.
It’s easy to identify the important characters on this show, because they don’t wear helmets, even in combat. I’ve remarked before about the wisdom of refusing to protect your head when weapons will be streaking toward it, so I won’t completely rehash it here.
Suffice it to say that Uhtred’s brain usually operates like somebody’s who has fought in many a melee without a helmet. Watching him navigate the ethno-political waters of 9th Century Britain is like watching the Johnson Administration navigate through the Vietnam conflict…in slow motion. For the entire first season, it’s a safe bet that in any given situation, Uhtred will choose the most idiotic course of action possible, then follow-up with a rash decision to make matters even worse. In the second season he seems to have learned a little self-discipline, thankfully, and dramatic conflict is generated in other ways.
I almost titled this post Mascara Kingdom because, for a few episodes, several of the male actors were painted with black eye shadow. It stuck out like a mosh pit at a royal ball. Seems like one character in Game of Thrones was made up that way too, if I remember correctly. Don’t know what the purpose is, but I’m glad they seem to have given up on that effort–it looked pretty stupid.
I might watch a third season of Daredevil if it comes to Netflix, but no other TV show has proven worth my time in several years. This show I plan to watch more of–and might even read the books it was based on, if that tells you anything.
When we last left Master Sergeant Mahoney and Corporal Cranepool, Patton had tried to force Eisenhower’s hand to get the war blazing along the Moselle River, so he could drive on to Berlin. But Ike called his bluff and the 33rd “Hammerhead” Division was left caught between Perdition and the deep blue sea.
Well, a deep river, anyway, and more brown than blue. With no artillery support or air cover and little in the way of supplies, the Hammerheads were thrown back across the river even though the defenders are hardly Germany’s finest.
But now, Patton has scrounged up some support, and is driving his boot into the 4th points of his subordinates to make the attack work this time.
Here’s an excerpt from a scene where Patton comes to motivate the troops personally, down at company level:
“Now listen here, men,” Patton growled, “I know what you went through last night. A lot of your buddies were killed, and all of you nearly got killed yourselves. Now we all know that it’s no fun to lose a battle because Americans aren’t losers. By nature, we are winners. Given half a chance, we will win any battle in which we are placed. That’s because we’re tough and strong and because we love to fight. Yes, by God, we love to fight.”
Patton made a fist and held it up in the air. “We love to beat the shit out of our enemies and step on his face afterwards. We love to rip open his belly and tear his guts out. We pray for the chance to kick him in the balls and split his head open. Is there any man out here who doesn’t feel that way?”
Nobody said a word, just as Patton knew they wouldn’t.
“Good,” Patton said. “I knew there weren’t any cowards or queers in this company. I knew because you’re all good, red-blooded Americans. I know you’re just itching to get across that river over there and lay your hands on those Germans. By God, I feel sorry for those Germans when I just think about it. I really do because I can imagine what you’re going to do to them.”
Patton pointed to the Moselle River. “You’re going to make that river over there run red with their blood for what they did to you last night. There’ll be so many dead Germans over there you won’t be able to put your foot down without stepping on one of their noses. I feel bad that I have to hold you back until midnight because I know you want to go over there right now. But you have to wait just a little while longer, and I want you to use that extra time to clean your weapons and cover them with a light film of oil so they won’t get rusty. If you have some extra time after that, you can sharpen your bayonets so they’ll cut deeper into those Hun bastards over there. You might want to make sure your canteens are filled with water because you’re gonna get thirsty while you’re killing all those bastards. And as we all know, tonight is going to be much different from last night because tonight you’ll have plenty of artillery preparation and support. By the time you get across that river, those g****mn kraut-eating bastards won’t know where the hell they are. Their eardrums will be bleeding, and their brains will be upside-down in their heads. The poor bastards will probably try to run away from you, but I want you to go right after them and kill them like the dogs that they are. And I don’t want you to shoot over their heads or at their legs. I want you to aim directly for the center of their backs and bring them down. We’re not going to play with them after what they did to us last night. And they probably know it. I’ll bet they’re shitting their pants over there right now because they know they’ve made us mad, and a mad American soldier is a fearsome thing.”
There’s a lot else happening in this book, including an SS death squad using a seductress to kill GIs; a panty-raid at a USO show; both Mahoney and once-innocent farmboy Cranepool wounded in action; shooting a locomotive with bazookas, and some down & dirty urban house-to-house combat.
After a relatively slow-paced departure in the last book, Len Levinson is back on the offensive in Slaughter City, and in fine blood-splattered form.
Alex Jones interviews Mike Cernovich, who reports that Trump is about to fall via frame-up if he doesn’t act fast.
I don’t know that much about the minutia of everyday details at the White House, but I did wish Trump had fired all the Deep State operatives on Day One.
Certain voices have been calling for his impeachment since before he even took office. Once he is completely surrounded by backstabbers, all that is needed is the manufacture of some sort of new scandal to take him down, if Cernovich is right.
Red-Blooded American Men Examine Pop-Culture and the World