Retreat, Part 7
The $602 Billion Defeat
Jews Jaws Eight Down
Shark America Two Up
Number of Earthquakes in the Past Seven Days: 193
Virgil's Cell Phone Number: (530) 276-4923
Expect a Profound Act of God Against Israel & USA on June 7, 2008
Expect a Disastrous Earthquake on December 26, 2008
George W. Bush Will Destroy the World
Looking for the Peru-Chile God Event
Today: Tactics of the Smallville Battle: The Secret Story, Retreat (7)
Today's code is "95th Day, Last Year".
It becomes my duty now to prepare you for great horror.
That's not as easy as it sounds. I estimate I have a week or so to do it.
This horror is to come out of the basic Republican American Fascist plan to utilize Christian expectations about the Second Coming and great battle between good and evil known as Armageddon to launch, along with Israel, nuclear war against Islam.
It won't stop there; that is but the first stage; the fascist-elitist end-goal being expected planetary salvation through drastically reducing the human population of this Earth; but right now let's keep our focus on the immediate.
There are many flaws in this plan, but the most critical from the start is the false and erroneous claim that Israel and the United States of America are the chosen of God and will be doing God's bidding in their slaughter of, eventually, over five billion people.
This claim of special relationships with God is what will bring the wrath of God down on Israel and the United States of America on June 7, this year.
So, preparing you for this horror, as you see, is no small undertaking, since you, Dear Reader, unless you have $25 million in your piggy bank and unless your subscribe to the satanic philosophy of Republican American Fascism, are scheduled...repeat, scheduled...to be among the billions exterminated, even if you are white.
That's enough on this for today; and certainly as of today I have not lifted the lid on this stewpot of horror; but mark it on your calendar, this summer is survive or not survive; and likely you will not see next Christmas unless things go really, really well.
Now let's return to our story, Retreat, in which Tea begins to reveal to us the duel in which he killed the far superior fencer, Matsushita Masao, after drawing him into battle as we saw in yesterday's installment.
Retreat, Part 7
Tea made his way up the ridge to the north of his camp.
It was bare of snow but footing was difficult, the ground being composed of loose shale which gave way at each step. The top of the ridge was edged with a sharp spine of shale averaging 20 feet high and generally as impassable as a castle wall. Making his way along it, his boots sinking into the shale fragments, the steep angle rotating his ankles to the maximum, he found a gap and looked through it onto a downward slope heavily pined and covered with deep snow.
No one would be coming in through this door.
He descended back into the sloping valley, reaching its floor about a half mile up from, west of, his camp. He crossed the easy, rolling expanse of granite which made up most of the upper valley in fifteen minutes an began slowly climbing to the south ridge, hitting deep snow but making it to the crest and the well-maintained Forest Service trail running along its spine.
The spine was bare of snow, most the snow at this time of year being on north slopes.
From where he stood on the trail he had a 360 degree view of peaks and ridges for 50 miles, dominated by a massive thought-to-be extinct volcano, Mount Shasta, to the east.
He followed the trail a mile or two west toward the inner lakes of the Marble Mountains before coming to snow too dangerous to attempt to cross without snowshoes. He turned back toward camp, looking forward to a quart of tea.
For perhaps the thousandth time the movie of his killing of Matsushita Masao ran through his thoughts.
Masao had arrived in San Francisco on a Friday, knowing he could approach Tea on Monday when Tea would be practicing Japanese fencing at the San Francisco Kendo Dojo located in the gymnasium of the Buddhist Church at the corner of Pine and Octavia.
Fencer to fencer, there would be no match. Masao was six dan, a champion, Tea was three kyu, a rank commonly held by elementary school children in Japan.
Know thy enemy. Know thyself.
Though Tea had never clearly seen Masao's face he recognized him as a ringer the moment he entered the dojo. Tea's body temperature rose, and a rush of pressure moved up his spine.
Tea had finished his preliminary warm-ups and was sitting formally, knees on the floor, buttocks on his crossed feet, back straight, his two-handed bamboo practice sword, called a "shinai", on the floor to his left, butt end toward the gym's center, hands folded in the meditating Buddha pose, eyes nearly closed.
Arranged on either side of him in order of rank were about a dozen similarly sitting students. All were dressed alike, wearing dark blue, thick cotton practice shirts and dark blue hakama, the extremely broad-legged trousers worn by Japanese men before western clothing came into fashion.
Peering through his eyelashes, Tea watched Masao glance along the line of students, and stop at him.
In front of each student was his or her fencing armor, neatly arranged. It consisted of a thick-barred face mask connected to a thickly woven cotton head and shoulder protector, thick gauntlets, a groin and hip protector made of the same thick cotton, and a chest protector made of enameled, molded fiberglass.
`Masao's look at Tea was brief. He turned and bowed to the spirit of the fencing hall and went to the changing area to dress for the practice session.
Dressed, he introduced himself to the instructors, and was warmly welcomed. Such visitors of high kendo rank were always welcome because their instruction, fresh from Japan, strengthened each member of the fencing club.
Though Tea knew Masao would be planning to kill him after the practice session, custom would require Tea to practice with him. Everyone looked forward to these encounters with visitors, and despite the situation Tea, too, was anxiously awaiting his turn to practice with Masao.
Sitting in meditative pose, Tea mentally explored the immediate future.
Almost certainly Masao would not intend to kill him during the practice. He could do it and it would look to all the world like an accident, but would be too notorious an accident within the world of Japanese fencing, which had perhaps one death a year world-wide, and therefore his name would be part of the permanent record of Tea's death.
No, it would be after the practice and Masao would want to get away clean; and most certainly Masao would want to kill Tea with his hardwood bokken;Tea sensed that in the man. It would be a blow to the top of the head. It would look like a mugging.
Tea loosed himself from the memory of the killing of Masao when he found he was making his way slowly back down the dangerous snow-covered slope toward his camp.
He approached his camp with caution, first finding a place from where he could observe it, then after observing it for five minutes he entered it with his Ruger drawn, held pointed downward from his loosely swinging right arm like a football player bootlegging it.
He first checked the coins. They read tails, tails, tails and heads, the reverse of how he had left them. Had his telepathy failed him?
Anything could happen now. They, the enemy, were at least three. Tea was one. The saving factor was that Matsushita wanted theater, not murder. It was hardly likely he's snipe Tea out a long range. Tea was counting on it.
Tea had accurately counted on ritual in Masao's approach to him in San Francisco, and that calculation had seen him through.
Though there was no conceivable way a novice could fence a person of Masao's rank,Tea knew Masao would set it up as a duel. He would want to kill Tea with one perfect cut with his perfect hardwood sword; and describe that cut over and over to his fencing friends back home.
The novice, such as Tea, had an extremely limited range of attack, the most common targets being the right wrist and the upper forehead. The novice drilled constantly with these basic attacks, gradually broadening the range and variation of attack, but always focusing on the one-two punch of Japanese fencing: wrist-head, wrist-head, wrist-head. Sever the wrist, making the sword useless, then bring the blade down between the hemispheres of the brain.
Tea was genuinely clumsy with these attacks. He used them against Masao when his turn came to spar with him, and used them to the best of his ability, and of course each attack was easily countered by Masao.
As Tea sparred with Masao he found two weaknesses in him. First Masao considered Tea defenseless. Second, Masao did not know Tea had recognized him as an assassin.
It always amazed Tea how stupid people thought him to be. Apparent stupidity and defenselessness were the two best covers for a spy.
The fencing practice ended a little after 10:30 that Monday night. It was the custom when a guest had attended a session to take him to a bar in the Japanese district for drinks until about midnight. Drinking was a tradition within Japanese fencing. Tea, a journalist, could identify with that, booze being the traditional muse of the news.
He went along with the gang, staying for three founds, one of which he bought. Being a kendo novice, Tea spoke little, but listened to the more experienced fencers talking of techniques and tournaments. He stayed long enough to allow Masao to follow him without rudely leaving the party too early.
It was a remarkable case of rabbit trapping wolf.
(To be Continued)
Meanwhile, the USA, unaware it was about to eat the fire, passed through the 95th day of its last year.
Jews Jaws Eight Down
Shark America Two Up
Number of Earthquakes in the Past Seven Days: 193
Virgil's Cell Phone Number: (530) 276-4923
Expect a Profound Act of God Against Israel & USA on June 7, 2008
Expect a Disastrous Earthquake on December 26, 2008
George W. Bush Will Destroy the World
Looking for the Peru-Chile God Event
Today: Tactics of the Smallville Battle: The Secret Story, Retreat (7)
Today's code is "95th Day, Last Year".
It becomes my duty now to prepare you for great horror.
That's not as easy as it sounds. I estimate I have a week or so to do it.
This horror is to come out of the basic Republican American Fascist plan to utilize Christian expectations about the Second Coming and great battle between good and evil known as Armageddon to launch, along with Israel, nuclear war against Islam.
It won't stop there; that is but the first stage; the fascist-elitist end-goal being expected planetary salvation through drastically reducing the human population of this Earth; but right now let's keep our focus on the immediate.
There are many flaws in this plan, but the most critical from the start is the false and erroneous claim that Israel and the United States of America are the chosen of God and will be doing God's bidding in their slaughter of, eventually, over five billion people.
This claim of special relationships with God is what will bring the wrath of God down on Israel and the United States of America on June 7, this year.
So, preparing you for this horror, as you see, is no small undertaking, since you, Dear Reader, unless you have $25 million in your piggy bank and unless your subscribe to the satanic philosophy of Republican American Fascism, are scheduled...repeat, scheduled...to be among the billions exterminated, even if you are white.
That's enough on this for today; and certainly as of today I have not lifted the lid on this stewpot of horror; but mark it on your calendar, this summer is survive or not survive; and likely you will not see next Christmas unless things go really, really well.
Now let's return to our story, Retreat, in which Tea begins to reveal to us the duel in which he killed the far superior fencer, Matsushita Masao, after drawing him into battle as we saw in yesterday's installment.
Retreat, Part 7
Tea made his way up the ridge to the north of his camp.
It was bare of snow but footing was difficult, the ground being composed of loose shale which gave way at each step. The top of the ridge was edged with a sharp spine of shale averaging 20 feet high and generally as impassable as a castle wall. Making his way along it, his boots sinking into the shale fragments, the steep angle rotating his ankles to the maximum, he found a gap and looked through it onto a downward slope heavily pined and covered with deep snow.
No one would be coming in through this door.
He descended back into the sloping valley, reaching its floor about a half mile up from, west of, his camp. He crossed the easy, rolling expanse of granite which made up most of the upper valley in fifteen minutes an began slowly climbing to the south ridge, hitting deep snow but making it to the crest and the well-maintained Forest Service trail running along its spine.
The spine was bare of snow, most the snow at this time of year being on north slopes.
From where he stood on the trail he had a 360 degree view of peaks and ridges for 50 miles, dominated by a massive thought-to-be extinct volcano, Mount Shasta, to the east.
He followed the trail a mile or two west toward the inner lakes of the Marble Mountains before coming to snow too dangerous to attempt to cross without snowshoes. He turned back toward camp, looking forward to a quart of tea.
For perhaps the thousandth time the movie of his killing of Matsushita Masao ran through his thoughts.
Masao had arrived in San Francisco on a Friday, knowing he could approach Tea on Monday when Tea would be practicing Japanese fencing at the San Francisco Kendo Dojo located in the gymnasium of the Buddhist Church at the corner of Pine and Octavia.
Fencer to fencer, there would be no match. Masao was six dan, a champion, Tea was three kyu, a rank commonly held by elementary school children in Japan.
Know thy enemy. Know thyself.
Though Tea had never clearly seen Masao's face he recognized him as a ringer the moment he entered the dojo. Tea's body temperature rose, and a rush of pressure moved up his spine.
Tea had finished his preliminary warm-ups and was sitting formally, knees on the floor, buttocks on his crossed feet, back straight, his two-handed bamboo practice sword, called a "shinai", on the floor to his left, butt end toward the gym's center, hands folded in the meditating Buddha pose, eyes nearly closed.
Arranged on either side of him in order of rank were about a dozen similarly sitting students. All were dressed alike, wearing dark blue, thick cotton practice shirts and dark blue hakama, the extremely broad-legged trousers worn by Japanese men before western clothing came into fashion.
Peering through his eyelashes, Tea watched Masao glance along the line of students, and stop at him.
In front of each student was his or her fencing armor, neatly arranged. It consisted of a thick-barred face mask connected to a thickly woven cotton head and shoulder protector, thick gauntlets, a groin and hip protector made of the same thick cotton, and a chest protector made of enameled, molded fiberglass.
`Masao's look at Tea was brief. He turned and bowed to the spirit of the fencing hall and went to the changing area to dress for the practice session.
Dressed, he introduced himself to the instructors, and was warmly welcomed. Such visitors of high kendo rank were always welcome because their instruction, fresh from Japan, strengthened each member of the fencing club.
Though Tea knew Masao would be planning to kill him after the practice session, custom would require Tea to practice with him. Everyone looked forward to these encounters with visitors, and despite the situation Tea, too, was anxiously awaiting his turn to practice with Masao.
Sitting in meditative pose, Tea mentally explored the immediate future.
Almost certainly Masao would not intend to kill him during the practice. He could do it and it would look to all the world like an accident, but would be too notorious an accident within the world of Japanese fencing, which had perhaps one death a year world-wide, and therefore his name would be part of the permanent record of Tea's death.
No, it would be after the practice and Masao would want to get away clean; and most certainly Masao would want to kill Tea with his hardwood bokken;Tea sensed that in the man. It would be a blow to the top of the head. It would look like a mugging.
Tea loosed himself from the memory of the killing of Masao when he found he was making his way slowly back down the dangerous snow-covered slope toward his camp.
He approached his camp with caution, first finding a place from where he could observe it, then after observing it for five minutes he entered it with his Ruger drawn, held pointed downward from his loosely swinging right arm like a football player bootlegging it.
He first checked the coins. They read tails, tails, tails and heads, the reverse of how he had left them. Had his telepathy failed him?
Anything could happen now. They, the enemy, were at least three. Tea was one. The saving factor was that Matsushita wanted theater, not murder. It was hardly likely he's snipe Tea out a long range. Tea was counting on it.
Tea had accurately counted on ritual in Masao's approach to him in San Francisco, and that calculation had seen him through.
Though there was no conceivable way a novice could fence a person of Masao's rank,Tea knew Masao would set it up as a duel. He would want to kill Tea with one perfect cut with his perfect hardwood sword; and describe that cut over and over to his fencing friends back home.
The novice, such as Tea, had an extremely limited range of attack, the most common targets being the right wrist and the upper forehead. The novice drilled constantly with these basic attacks, gradually broadening the range and variation of attack, but always focusing on the one-two punch of Japanese fencing: wrist-head, wrist-head, wrist-head. Sever the wrist, making the sword useless, then bring the blade down between the hemispheres of the brain.
Tea was genuinely clumsy with these attacks. He used them against Masao when his turn came to spar with him, and used them to the best of his ability, and of course each attack was easily countered by Masao.
As Tea sparred with Masao he found two weaknesses in him. First Masao considered Tea defenseless. Second, Masao did not know Tea had recognized him as an assassin.
It always amazed Tea how stupid people thought him to be. Apparent stupidity and defenselessness were the two best covers for a spy.
The fencing practice ended a little after 10:30 that Monday night. It was the custom when a guest had attended a session to take him to a bar in the Japanese district for drinks until about midnight. Drinking was a tradition within Japanese fencing. Tea, a journalist, could identify with that, booze being the traditional muse of the news.
He went along with the gang, staying for three founds, one of which he bought. Being a kendo novice, Tea spoke little, but listened to the more experienced fencers talking of techniques and tournaments. He stayed long enough to allow Masao to follow him without rudely leaving the party too early.
It was a remarkable case of rabbit trapping wolf.
(To be Continued)
Meanwhile, the USA, unaware it was about to eat the fire, passed through the 95th day of its last year.
posted by Virgil Kret at 5:44 PM
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