he missions were getting heavier and heavier each day. By that, I mean, more extreme measures had to be undertaken in order to realize "Mission Accomplished." The stakes were going up drastically.
The missions were deadlier. The marks were much more heavily protected and were hunkered down in extremely and heavily guarded complexes. The lists of marks to be executed were actually growing instead of shrinking. It seemed as if, when a crooked scumbag who had caused this nation so much grief was eradicated three worse than before would take their place.
The level of cruelty of the thug gangs was increasing. Especially since the Muslim influence was coming to bear. There was no end to the savagery they brought. The dragging of bodies long dead through the streets. It had become a popular style to have two or three dead bodies dragging behind your vehicle. The riper they were, the better they liked it.
The Muslims were into torture as well. It did not matter if one had converted, you were lower than the blood of the born Muslim. And if you conceded to conversion to that damnable cult of pig worship, you were now their slave and they thought even less of you. A dhimmi was to be scorned, to be beaten, mutilated and killed at the slightest whim of the owner.
Category of slave did not enjoy any privileges. If you were a convert, you were a dhimmi. A dhimmi did their work, paid them for the right to live, and was the lowest kind of slave. Male or female, old or young, you were ALWAYS a sex slave to boot.
Any Muslim that came along could have their way with you. To abuse you sexually, physically, verbally or mentally was their job. For the slightest infraction, if they were offended in you for any reason, they could chop off you fingers, a hand, an arm, or your head. If for some reason they did not see a profit in allowing you to live, they would torture you, behead you, or many were just plain crucified. Literally. Hung on a cross alive to die one of the most miserable deaths ever invented.
Many were simply thrust through from the rectum up and out their back and left there to die. After one had suffered through a long death, they would cut the body down, and sometimes chop it up with meat cleavers, machete or axe. Or, they might just behead the body and drag it behind vehicles until it was no more. The Muslims did not like dead bodies with heads.
But the most famous act for which the Muslim was known was to simply stick a knife into the side of your throat and rip out your jugular vein. Viewing a video taken of these acts of violence allows the watcher to hear the lungs sucking air through the blood and severed windpipe. Of course within a few of seconds the brain would cease to function due to starvation of oxygen rich blood. So the pain was over very quickly.
But the shame of being sexually violated prior to death they longed to see. Poles used in rectum of men, genitals crushed and removed, being beaten and stoned. Sometimes they would leave off persecution of a person before death and they were allowed to get up and escape any way they could, only to die a slow and painful death. Many would have entrails hanging out of their rectum, and the poisons from the large intestine would spread through the body.
Gangrene poisoning would set in. Death was usually just a matter of hours but many have been known to live for days, some years in this manner. But the suffering was horrendous. It was in this manner that the greatest use of what was at hand to make a hit on a mark was exploited. It was a huge win for right. Let me relate the story.
An old gentleman sent in a response to the ad for recruits. How it ever was delivered to the mailbox was anyone's guess, but, it is suspected the short letter was delivered to the only working Post Office in the whole area. Although it was serving an area with a fifty mile radius, it had little business, and, even fewer letters. Since the box to which the letter addressed was in that particular Post Office location, it was promptly received.
The letter was short but extremely touching, and it rated heeding. It simply said:
A chill ran up the spine of William as he read the letter to the Four. The number of the Four had grown to almost fifty men by this point. All above fifty-five, some as old as seventy, one was seventy six. When he finished reading the letter, he dropped it on the table in front of him. He walked to the center of the room and stepped behind the lectern where he just leaned over it.
He didn't know if it was the sign off of the letter or not. It was almost as if Old Joe was speaking from beyond the grave. The words of the man in this little letter rang true to the goal of the Four. He would personally make sure this man had a chance to serve his country. He was thinking of a certain blackblood that needed to be eradicated, and that, soon. He believed this man could and would do the job, even at peril to his own life. Old Joe would get his chance.
Momentarily, words were lost to him. He stood and studied the faces, knowing each one personally, knowing the integrity, the depth of love for their country, the will to give of everything they owned including the blood running through their veins. He was proud of this group of men, and he loved them as his own flesh and blood. These men were Truebloods. Commrades. And they were in a battle to save their beloved country.
The Muslim faction had ramped up the fighting and the attacks against the civility of America. It escalated daily, and they seemed to be able to operate their lawless Sharia acts against anything American with impunity. Since the proclaiming of Martial Law by Obama, the regulations were enforced; but by his rent-a-cops. The lawlessness increased. Many acts of murder, rape, robbery, fraud, blackmail, were performed by Obamas' rent-a-cops.
The rules and laws took away freedoms and rights, and anyone that objected to the forced movement into the FEMA camps (for their own protection of course), would be harshly dealt with. Many times local gangs would be called in to unite and overwhelm a castle or other force bent on surviving no matter what. The outside forces would do the dirty work. Many times the standoffs fought admirably, but in the end would just be burned out. Survivors went to the FEMA camps.
Few were able to resist an organized attack for very long. Obama meant to make Sharia the law of the land.
There were groups fighting long hard battles, winning some, losing some. The numbers on both sides falling due to natural attrition from the ways of war. But the push to the capitol was the goal. And the Truebloods were gaining, even though the UN brought in numbers of foreign soldiers who would not hesitate to fire on American citizens as well as military.
Another force to be reckoned with was the numbers of rogue Mexican nationals coming across the borders where breaches in the wall had occurred. But God was with the Truebloods, and they were seeing victory. Still, the White House was in control, calling the shots from numerous underground bunkers. Few knew it and even fewer knew where they were and the access points. But, they were known . . .
And few knew that the White House itself had escape tunnels, some of which led to escape points far outside of city limits. The White House would fall, there's no doubt. The real estate itself would be razed, but the governing factions would pay a heavy toll by the time the nation was rid of the Muslims which excreted hate and crime, and the Mexicans who were in it for a free ride, and the blacks who just hated whites simply because they've been taught by some self serving traitor only plotting to pad his wallet with as much as possible his sole intention. And all were fighting against the Truebloods.
Many of the blacks were in the fight because they thought they could get some more stuff for free. It was the jungle bunny nature rising up in them, ignorance, mostly deliberate ignorance and laziness. It's no wonder so many of them served as slaves because they sure couldn't fend for themselves. Even in their nation of origin. Sure, there were Truebloods among the blacks, just as there were blackbloods among the whites. But the time for separation was at hand, and the choice must be made. If you're going to live in America, you'll have to be a Trueblood. Skin color mattered little.
A Trueblood was simply this: one that worked to make his own way, one that respected the rights of others and did everything they could to not infringe on others in any way, one that loved, honored, respected and would die to protect the Constitution of the United States of America, and last but certainly first, they must love and honor the one true God.
All men were created equal. Where the division started is when one thought they could rule the other. The men in this room, part of the Four, of the Patriot Gentleman's Club, were fighters for the Bill of Rights, for the freedom that all men craved everywhere, for America and what she stood for as set forth by the Founding Fathers, for God.
These men were brothers. These men smacked of integrity, and were of the will to stop the disorder in America, of the mind to see their beloved America restored. Death was nothing to them. It was something to acquire when they had given their all to the aid of their country.
"Men, I've a matter of great importance, probably the greatest mission we as individuals, we as a whole have ever attempted," William said. He could see the anticipation on their faces and he was milking it.
The ambience of importance in the room was so thick one could cut it with a knife. Each could feel the weight of the mission, could feel it's importance, could feel the fate of not only those in this room right now, but of America as a whole. The future of America would be determined by the outcome of this Last Mission, if it was accepted. This mission was so dangerous, it might be the end of all of them.
"Men, we've cast lots with several other groups, and the lot fell to us. Men, we're going to assassinate the President of the United States." Namely, one Barak Hussein Obama: terrorist, traitor, liar, thief, homosexual . . . moslem.
Instantly, a cheer went up. Men were screaming their approval in unison, clapping their hands, the whistles shrieking above the sound of the cheering, one was even standing there with tears of joy running down his face. They came to their feet and cheered on. They were shaking hands with one another. They were slapping each other on the back, and laughing. The ruckus was maddening. And the tirade lasted for four or five minutes.
William was incredulous to the volume and rumble of the noise. The door opened and a man stuck his head into the room to see what the hullaballoo was all about. He was beckoned in, then another filed in, and another. Soon the room was filled to standing room only, as more and more of the Generals' militia entered. People were even standing on the chairs to make room for others to enter in and enjoy the elation.
But there was one who was unhappy. He made his way through the crowd a little at a time, and he caught the attention of William. Questions started popping up as the red flag alert triggered by the stony stare devoid of the camaraderie which was at an all time high among the men.
William realized he didn't know the man, and started making his way toward the door in an attempt to intercept him. If this man was a mole, he had to be rooted out. He had to be stopped before information was leaked to the outside world. If he had to stop him personally, William knew it had to be done.
William stepped into the hall and was surprised to see a group of men looking at him with a look that let him know very quickly: he was in trouble. Each were pointing a pistol, the likes of which he quickly recognized, at him. If he was correct, he had just been taken prisoner by a group of men he thought of somewhat as allies more than enemies.
These men were from the patriotic group with the moniker, Lugers Of Freedom. Each member was given a Luger ornate with gold. Beautiful piece of work. They were buried with it when they died, and if they were ever caught without it, were executed on the spot. They held great importance in connection with the piece.
Rumor had it that there was never more than nine members at a time allowed in the Lugers Of Freedom group. Their specialty was distance shots with big bore rifles. He'd heard many horror stories of what a bullet from one of their rifles did to a body.
One of the negatives he had heard of late though, was they had become contract killers, and catered to the highest bidder. They'd had their own mix-up with them recently when they grabbed the General.
"Your presence is requested. Sir, please follow the man to your right." The command was precise and short. William knew they were dead shots with those pistols.
"Requested? You call coming after men with firearms a request? This is not a request, this is a kidnapping!" William responded.
The hammers on seven weapons were cocked, and set William to thinking. "This must be a matter of extreme importance to send seven members of an elite group of nine for just one man to be brought back, dead or alive. Well," William thought. "I'll stay alive as long as I possibly can. Perhaps I can learn a little bit about this situation."
There was only one man that knew what had happened to William, and that man was Sung Wu. He had seen William follow the mole out, and was just about to step through the door himself when through the crack, he got a quick glimpse of something he did not like. He let the door close with the exception of a little crack through which he could see and hear the conversation.
The last thing he heard was William say "I must really be important to be taken prisoner by the elite Lugers for Freedom gang." With that, William moved out in the direction of the man holding the door open at the end of the hall.
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