The Brigade

by H. A. Covington

  “I wasn’t judging you, it’s just that I find all of this so hard to understand,” said Julia, shaking her head.

  “So what the hell is this you’ve gotten involved in?” demanded Ted.

  “Maybe something like what you’re doing up here,” Julia told him. “I’m here to try and stop some of the killing, if I can. You’ve heard what’s happening down in Los Angeles to the film and entertainment community?”

  “I’ve heard,” said Lear grimly. “The media says some of that’s Cat Lockhart’s doing. They found his calling card on Oscar night.”

  “So I gather. I have selfish reasons for being here, Ted, I admit that. They blacklisted me and made it so I could never work again.”

  “Who’s they, Julia?” asked Hatfield quietly. “I know, you know, Ted knows, but I’m really curious to see if you can bring yourself to say the word.”

  “All right, if you insist, the Jews blacklisted me!” snapped Julia. “And I would never ever have said that if you guys hadn’t forced the whole issue to, with your guns and your bombs!”

  “Bingo!” chuckled Zack. “That is exactly one of the reasons we revolted. Even if we lose and we’re all wiped out, the Jews won’t ever be able to hide and pretend they’re just like other people, ever again. We’ve outed the bastards for good and all.”

  She turned back to her brother. “But as corny as this sounds, Ted, I really do want to stop the killing and save as much of Hollywood as I can. Yes, I have doubts about some of the content. A lot of us do, although we haven’t dared to say it for a long time. Maybe we’ll dare to stand up now. Who knows, maybe these terrible things that have happened will finally have the effect of putting a brake on a lot of the really filthy stuff they’re putting out, and if so I can’t say I’ll be unhappy. I do a lot of children’s programming, and I really can’t see the point in a group of bright little six year-olds singing a song about human genitalia on kiddie shows. But we shouldn’t throw out the baby with the bath water! Maybe if these people—oh, all right, the Jews—maybe if they’re physically scared to put out a constant stream of garbage, then they’ll let some of the rest of us have a crack at it, and create some decent programming.”

  “Bingo again,” said Zack with an approving nod. “You call us terrorists, Julia, but historically, terrorism is the weapon of the weak against the strong, and as you are learning, it works. We are actually changing the behavior of people with power, changing how they use power and against whom. We are making them stop doing what they were doing. You remember what this town was like when you left, Jules. How many Mexicans did you see on your drive up here to the house?”

  “None,” admitted Julia.

  “We did that, Julia,” said Hatfield with grim satisfaction. “Congress didn’t do it. Elections didn’t do it. Democracy didn’t do it. Signing petitions and marching in the streets and babbling on the internet didn’t do it. We did it, with bullets, not ballots. And everyone in this town is better off for it. Ask Ted.”

  “I have to admit, Zack and his crowd have almost put us out of a job,” admitted Lear with a sigh. “Other than NVA stuff, violence and ordinary crime is now almost unheard of here. The Clatsop County jail used to be so overcrowded with Mexicans, drug-related arrests, hatecriminals and people who said the wrong word, weird sex stuff, thieving drunks and psychos, that we had prisoners sleeping on mattresses in the corridors. Now there are whole weeks at a time when the jail is completely empty. All the Mexicans and non-whites and junkies and other bad actors have gotten the hell out rather than face the NVA, and everybody else has a job and a paycheck and much more stable lives. The hairiest stuff we deal with now is mostly traffic accidents and the odd drunken scuffle in a tavern. We even have time to rescue little girls’ kittens stuck in trees again. There are those who would say that the price we have paid for this tranquility and prosperity is too high, that it’s wrong. Maybe it is. But I know the people in Clatsop County don’t think so. And I know what I thought when I heard what those two sons of bitches from the FBI did to you, Julie,” he concluded, his voice beginning to tremble with rage. “That went a long way in pushing me toward Zack’s way of thinking.”

  Before Julia could respond the doorbell rang. Zack opened it. “Good evening, sir,” he said. A lean and dapper man in late middle age stepped into the room, wearing a light green cardigan. A larger man in blue jeans followed him in, wearing a large automatic openly in a shoulder holster over his khaki work shirt. “Hey, Dex.”

  “Good evening, Captain,” said the man. “Good evening, Sheriff. And you, Mrs. Lear.”

  “It’s nice to see you again, Henry,” said Julia’s mother.

  “Again?” said Julia, arching her eyebrows.

  “I’ve conferred with the sheriff and Captain Hatfield here several times previously, and your mother has favored us with an excellent meal or two,” said the man. He extended his hand to Julia. “You must be Julia Lear. I’m Henry Morehouse. I understand you have a message for me from the Burger Kings down there in Tinsel Town.”

  “Burger Kings?” asked Julia, puzzled.

  “BKs,” said Zack. “Big Kikes.”

  “How many new ethnic slurs have you guys invented since all this started?” inquired Julia curiously.

  “Being a Nazi means never having to say you’re sorry,” chuckled Morehouse. “You can call me Red, by the way. Everyone does. You too, Zack, this isn’t exactly a formal setting.”

  “Come and sit down in the living room,” spoke up Julia’s mother. “Do you want something to eat, Henry? How about you, Dexter? I can warm up some meat loaf, put it in a sandwich if you like.”

  “Nothing for me, thanks,” said Morehouse. “Dex?”

  “A meat loaf sandwich sounds pretty good, ma’am,” said Dexter. “I’ll be around and about outside.”

  They went into the living room, and Ted Lear moved to the sideboard and poured himself a stiff Scotch. “This is one area where we’ve got it all over you Jerry Rebs,” he said with a grim chuckle as he downed it. “We don’t have your General Order Number Ten hanging around our necks. Julia, do you want me to stay, or is this top secret conspiracy stuff that I really don’t want to know about?”

  “Uh . . .” She wasn’t sure how to answer.

  “By all means, Sheriff, stick around,” said Morehouse genially. “I suspect Julia will feel more comfortable with you here.” Julia’s mother brought in a tray of canned soft drinks and coffee, set it down on the center table and left. Hatfield leaned his Winchester in a corner and stuck his hat on the muzzle.

  “I’ve been meaning to ask you, what’s with the hat and the antique gun?” said Julia.

  “They’re legitimate, in that I like the hat and I like the lever action,” said Hatfield. “The media picked up on it, and all of a sudden it kind of became my uniform, or costume would probably be a better word. Like Batman’s cape. Obviously if I’m doing something where I don’t want to be noticed, I dress down.” They all sat down, but not before Julia also made herself a Scotch and soda.

  “Zack tells me you’re the go-to guy I need to be talking to, uh, Red?” she asked Morehouse. “You actually have the authority to make a deal and put a stop to that bloodbath down in Los Angeles?”

  “More or less,” Morehouse told her. “I represent the NVA Army Council, which is kind of our general staff and the de facto governing body in the Republic, until we can remove the occupation forces and establish a government under the provisions of our Northwest Constitution. This is just preliminary. The Army Council will have to sign off on any eventual deal, but you can take it that what I tell you tonight is the goods. We have already discussed among ourselves a set of acceptable conditions for our terminating Operation We Are Not Amused. Actually, we formulated those conditions before we sent the active service unit down to Los Angeles, so we’ve thought it all out. We have always known what we want to achieve. Under those conditions we are prepared to suspend activity against your industry. Suspend, not terminate. To put it blun
tly, if those kikes down there try to screw us, then we start dumping them in their swimming pools again, face down. I have an authorized exemption from General Order Number Nine issued by the Army Council to negotiate with you, or more accurately with the cartel of studio executives who sent you up here. I understand that your presence here is purely for the purpose of making contact, Ms. Lear, which you’ve done. I’ll give you a general outline of what we want, but once you go down and report back, as far as we’re concerned you’re out of it. We will appoint someone else to conduct any further dealings along these lines with the entertainment industry.”

  “That suits me just fine!” said Julia. “Look, before you lay out your conditions, you need to know that the men who sent me here have a few of their own, necessary ones because the industry can’t operate otherwise. To begin with, movies and television employ hundreds of thousands of people directly and indirectly, and a lot of those are Jewish, and black, and Hispanic, and gay, and every other minority you can think of. It would not only be illegal under federal law to fire all those people based on their race or sexual preference, it would simply be impossible. The industry can’t operate without them. These men want to get back to work, not commit economic suicide, and they’re not going to commit suicide. If they can’t work out a deal with you people, then they’re talking about upping stakes and moving the whole entertainment industry out of the country, God knows where, but somewhere they can make movies without being murdered and blown up. They don’t want to do it, but you have to understand they’re not going to open their veins as the price of peace.”

  “We understand that,” said Morehouse with a nod. “In essence, you have just stated the whole rationale behind our strategy of taking back only a small piece of what was once the patrimony of our race. We know perfectly well that the power structure in the United States is not going to just hand over the entire kit and kaboodle to us from sea to shining sea, toss us the keys to the apparatus of power and then toddle off and jump in the ocean. They will, however, eventually be convinced to cut their losses and relinquish to us the Northwest territory we ask for, once it becomes clear that if they persist in trying to keep the whole loaf for themselves, they may lose everything because they simply won’t be able to hold themselves together, and the entire edifice they’ve built over the past century will come crashing down around their ears. We see this in a microcosm with your film and television industry. We’re not asking these big Jews to commit Hebrew hara-kiri. Before you ask, we’ve decided we’re not even going to ask for any money, as tempting as that was. No, what we want is a generous helping of what I believe you call creative control.”

  “In what way?” asked Julia suspiciously.

  “The Hollywood entertainment industry, including television, is arguably the most potent weapon in the hands of ZOG,” said Morehouse. “To be blunt, it is possibly the only one that might defeat us in the end. The NVA has already demonstrated that we can survive anything Amurrica throws at us by way of police, military, or other armed force. We’re already killing these FATPO thugs Hillary sent, and it’s pretty obvious they won’t be able to beat us either. But if we allow the Jews who control Hollywood and the media to shape the minds and attitudes and perceptions of the American people about us, especially young white people—well, we can’t allow that. We won’t allow it. Our primary condition is basically that Hollywood adopt a position of neutrality and balance regarding The Trouble here in the Northwest.

  “If your industry wants to survive, it must disarm. It must no longer take sides with the government and make itself an arm of the American effort to suppress the Northwest independence movement. That means no vile movies like those Homeland and Great White North abortions, movies made purely to heap contempt and vilification on our people. No more incitement to oppression by glorifying the murderers and torturers of the FBI and other federal agencies as heroes. I assure you, they are not. They are shit that mankind needs to scrape off our shoe, as I understand you have learned from your personal experience.” Julia winced, remembering the FBI taser on her neck. “No more snide and sneering jokes by late-night talk show hosts. No more spewing of hatred by talking heads on cable news shows. None of this subtle needling here, there, and everywhere in television programming. No more of these stereotypes portraying racially aware white men as cowards and bullies, as stupid misogynists and abusers of women, as dirty and ugly people with black teeth. No more portraying Confederate soldiers and German soldiers as cruel and wicked perpetrators of atrocities against poor defenseless niggers and Jews. No more portraying white fathers as Homer Simpson-like clowns or evil perverts who sexually molest their children. No more constant regurgitation of old propaganda from World War Two. No more goddamned lying Holocaust crap purveying vicious and evil lies about things that never happened! The Jews have milked that wicked fantasy long enough, and it’s time they packed it in and found another cash cow.” Morehouse leaned forward. “But I don’t need to go on, Ms. Lear. Your Jewish bosses know perfectly well what they’ve been doing down there for the past 100 years, because they’ve been doing it deliberately. Now they’re going to stop it. Or else they will pay with their lives.”

  “Uh . . . I’m not sure how I can convey that to them, sir, uh Red,” said Julia carefully. “Are you going to set up some kind of Hays Office like they used to have back in the old days, with some kind of code of what’s acceptable and what isn’t? Like the rule they used to have about even married couples being portrayed always in twin beds and always with at least one foot on the floor? Or some kind of vetting board like the House Committee on Un-American Activities set up in the 1950s to try and keep Communists out of the industry?”

  “Neither of those were overly successful, if I recall,” remarked Morehouse in a dry voice.

  “No, they weren’t,” agreed Julia. “Creative people don’t like censorship of any kind. You know it’s going to become kind of a game with some of these guys, writers and directors and actors alike. Living dangerously. Trying to see how far they can go without being murdered.”

  “I imagine so,” agreed Morehouse with a wry chuckle. “It won’t be a perfect arrangement, and I suspect that periodically some of your big shots are still going to wake up with a horse’s head in their bed. Or a Jew head.”

  “How exactly would this work?” asked Julia, fascinated in spite of the fact that she knew Morehouse wasn’t joking about the Jew head reference. “How will the industry know what will get them killed and what will slip under the wire?”

  “I think they’ll know,” said Morehouse. “As I said, a large part of this hate-whitey shtick out of Hollywood has always been far more deliberate than most people realize. The Jews inadvertently stumbled upon the most perfect vehicle imaginable for expressing their ancient hatred of all non-Jewish life and all non-Talmudic values, and taking their revenge on the hated goyim by destroying everything we hold sacred and valuable, including our own children. There was indeed once much that was good in America, Ms. Lear, the Old America before the Jews got their hands on Hollywood. But get hold of it they did, and for almost a hundred years they have used it as a weapon to spit on that Old America, and the race that for thousands of years has refused to accept their self-proclaimed status as the Chosen People of God. I think your bosses will know perfectly well what I am talking about, and they will know that we know. They know what they’ve been doing, and now they must stop or perish. But you won’t be involved in that part of things, ma’am,” he went on. “What I want you to do is to go back down there and speak with whoever sent you here—was it Blaustein?”

  “Arnold Blaustein, yes, but there’s a kind of committee or cartel as you put it,” said Julia. “They all gave me my marching orders, so to speak.”

  “Okay, you go back and give Blaustein the general outline of what I’ve just told you. I also want you to give those kikes a name, the name of a man whom we would like for him to hire on as a kind of consultant. If this is going to work, first and foremost
this man is to maintain a low, low profile. No gossip in Variety, no chatter on the internet celebrity sites, none of that crap. It will be the studio executives’ responsibility to see that his privacy and identity is protected. He is to be known only to the very top people in the industry, as small a group as possible. They will understand that this is to everyone’s advantage. He is to enjoy complete immunity from arrest, interrogation, investigation, surveillance, threats, bribe attempts, assassination, attempted seduction by luscious starlets to compromise him, poison in his soup, malicious and baseless lawsuits, and harassment of every kind. All Jew tricks are to be kept in the bag. This gentleman is not a member of the NVA, and he will have no contact with the NVA, so there is no point in their following him around or tapping his phone or going through his garbage. There is no way he can lead anyone to the NVA, or there won’t be. He is simply someone whom we feel we can trust adequately to express our views. All he will ever give these studio moguls will be his opinions as to how he thinks we might react to a given situation. An educated guess. But his opinion will be a very informed one, and his guesses will be very educated indeed. We suggest in the strongest possible terms that Mr. Blaustein and his people listen to this man and comply with his suggestions. Have you got all this?”

  “Yes,” said Julia. “The envelope, please.”

  “I beg your pardon?” asked Morehouse.

  “The name,” said Julia. “Don’t you watch the Oscars? Sorry, it was a tasteless joke in view of the circumstances.”