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Old 03-06-2020, 01:13 AM   #11
Icelander
 
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Default The State of 'American-ness'

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Originally Posted by tshiggins View Post
It's a fine saying and, as I noted, its use is perfectly acceptable -- and, while I've heard soldiers use it, the slightly ruder saying is a lot more common. :)

If you're interested in a pretty decent example of how American soldiers talk to one another -- and that includes how many former American soldiers speak -- this video represents it pretty well.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zaKX...sPHChAko1Yczp5

Devil Dog Gamer is called that because Steve Miller served in the U.S. Marine Corps. He and several other former military personnel have a group called, "Spearhead" that sometimes play military simulation (mil-sim) games, together.

Squad is a multi-player mil-sim in which players work together in small-unit tactical combat. The video includes Miller and other members of Spearhead, and they use military jargon throughout.

The language is definitely NSFW, but the videos in the selection are fun to watch and in these you can hear all participants speak to one another.

Hopefully, its useful and/or entertaining, even though you seem to have a solid idea of the personalities you want for your characters, already. :)
I'll take a look.

Note that in the modern era, the majority of the Night Riders are, indeed, as you note, former US military men. Like Christopher R. 'Kit' Walker, our protagonist. However, the first generation of Night Riders were constituted from former mercenaries who worked around Kessler's African interests. Former French Foreign Legion, Rhodesians, the odd South African, British, etc. No less profane, as a rule, but not former US soldiers.

And, as it happens, even though Zamal Juman and Tomasz Wojciechowski are not from that first generation, but rather represent later recruits, neither of them is from the United States or has any experience of the Unites States military. Juman is Indo-Guyanese* and only emigrated in his mid-forties and Wojciechowski, as noted, was born in Poland and was fifty when he was recruited by Kessler's people.

And aside from our audience surrogate of Kit Walker, not a single character who has appeared 'on scene' or in dialogue is a former member of the US Armed Forces. Jean-Michel Dieudonné Alexandre was born in Haiti and never served in the US military. J.R. Kessler and Ms. Marchant, are, at least, US born, but neither has served in the US military (though Kessler was in the French Foreign Legion).

The similarly mentioned, but unseen Mr. Bannerman is South African-born, with UK citizenship and served in the British Army like his father. 'Aunty Genie', the chef, is Dominiquaise and not a military veteran. Dr. Lapointe is Congo-born and never wore a uniform in his life. The two unnamed men and the unnamed woman in the last scenario are, respectively, Rhodesian, American and Chilean, but other than the Rhodesian, who is a former Selous Scout, the others are not former soldiers.

I discover that my assertion was incorrect in one detail. There does appear another former member of the US Armed Forces 'on screen'. The white-gloved Filipino steward who served lunch to Kit Walker is Ramon Alejo Reyes Jr., Manila-born, who retired from the US Navy in 2012 as a Chief Culinary Specialist (E-7). Chief Reyes is probably somewhat more restrained in his language than many other former military men, considering that his last duty post was as a White House Steward.

Edit: This reminds me. Zamal Juman would have obtained US citizenship in 2012, after having had a Green Card since 2006. Tomasz Wojciechowski got a Green Card in 2010 and has had the option of registering his residence in Texas between 2010-2015, if he wanted to apply for US citizenship. Over that period, it would 'cost' him anywhere up to $400,000 (more likely $200,000 with decent tax attorneys) to pay taxes in the US instead of St. Lucia, where he has economic citizenship and where his primary employer pays him the substance of his salary.

Considering that Wojciechowski needs to spend about 2-4 months per year in the US and has a License to Carry issued to him in Texas as a legal resident, how much practical difference would citizenship make for him? He works in security and needs to be registered as a part of several 'gun trusts' holding NFA firearms and suppressors as part of his duties, but I gather that resident alien status is good enough for that. Lack of citizenship may hurt him for ITAR purposes, however, as among his duties he is a consultant at a US company that markets and sells night vision to US law enforcement agencies.

Should he have accepted a financial loss in the past to be a US citizen?

If he doesn't, how might that impact his current adventure?

*By name at least. He is, however, somewhat darker skinned than most Indo-Guyanese and might well be mixed-race. And he grew up in the Afro-Guyanese dominated Georgetown, which is very evident in his speech. Not that I have a good idea of how to convey subtleties of Guyanese accents in writing, but I'm trying to read a work of journalistic history set around the events of Juman's youth and manhood, to have at least some idea.
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Old 03-06-2020, 06:45 AM   #12
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Default E2: A Pig in a Wig

Kit felt the room close in on him and staggered to a chair. Blinking furiously, he tried to understand how he could not have noticed immediately that the second lady in the room… was not a lady at all.

The room itself was interesting, Kit idly wondered as he tried to gather himself; all oak paneling and old-world elegance, but cluttered like a Victorian foyer. It seemed to be a library or study, as it was full of books and bookcases, but it also had several workstations for arts and crafts set up and there were two pentagrams drawn on the floor, in what looked suspiciously like blood.

Through a daze of confusion, Kit noticed that one of the men, a massive, bald dude built like a defensive end, was examining him with mixed amusement and concern. The other man he didn’t know continued focusing on the bare back of the real woman in the room, whom he seemed to be tattooing. Apart from some bandages around the side of her face and on her side, and a small towel over her derriere, she didn't appear to be wearing much more than a happy, unaffected smile.

Dr. Lapointe approached Kit and lai a kindly hand on his shoulder. “I’m sorry, Mr. Walker. It was a mean trick to play and if I knew there was someone without paranormal training on the team, I should have taken the time to brief you beforehand. You have just had an experience with the Façade, the mysterious force which keeps most people from accepting the supernatural when they encounter it. In this case, consciously focused by means of a ritual and bound in a fetish to prevent most ordinary people from paying too much attention to your, eh, traveling companion. Your eyes didn’t deceive you, Mr. Walker. Your mind did. Most people see only what they want to see and if something is outside their mental horizons, their mind will find a way to discount the evidence.”

Carrying the ‘protectee’ in his burly arms, Zamal Juman approached Kit. Wojciechowski dropped down on one knee and introduced ‘her’ with a showman’s flourish, as Juman’s rough bass attempted a “Howdy and la di da, good sir,” in a foreigner’s exaggerated caricature of a Southern accent.
“Behold, boychik, the porcine Gwen Delvano, for foreseeable future replacing other Gwen Delvano, for tax purposes and in reference to any apocalyptic cults that may or may not be interested in pursuing her acquaintance,” Wojchiechowski said with a wide grin.
Finally recovering his composure enough to stammer a response, Kit says, “But that’s a pig. In a wig!”

“She’s wearing clothing too; in case you didn’t notice. Look closely, you’ll see that place on her sweatpants where her buttocks would be, if she had more human build, says ‘Juicy’. Frankly, given Juman’s capacity for bacon, she should be more careful.”
The thick-set Juman muttered something under his breath that sounds like “Dis goddamn hippie Commie batie-man,” and hands roughly eight stone of pork futures to Wojciechowski as he steps away to talk to two of the other men in the room.

Wojciechowski wasted no time in pressing the pig into Kit’s arms. “As junior operator, responsibility of porker is yours. There may not be many like it, but this one is yours. She eats everything, hence expression, ‘as greedy as pig’, but remember that you will change her diapers, so feed her accordingly.”

Many different things flitted through Kit’s mind. Vast vistas of unfamiliar and esoteric expertise loomed ahead of him. A flourishing animal diaper industry, the diet and digestion of pigs and any number of previously unconsidered fields of study. Kit confined himself to the relatively mundane, “Eh, boss, do I get to know why?”
“Ours is not to reason why, boychik. Even if it were, we wouldn’t reason aloud where innocent protectees can hear us and be unnecessarily disturbed.”

Aghast, Kit looked at the pig, before he realized that Wojciechowski meant the girl, presumably the real Gwen Delvano. “Uh, of course, si… boss. Let’s ride onward, then.”
Dr. Lapointe whispered into Kit’s ear. “Ms. Delvano has had a severe shock. She’s aware that she will be going into hiding and that steps are being taken to divert attention from her, but we don’t want to alarm her too much by going into specifics.”

Nodding, Kit took his leave of the people in this odd room. The girl on the tattoo table turned her face toward him as he went and said in a sweet, child-like voice: “Adiós, apuesto vaquero. Gracias por ayudarme.
Reaching for his high school Spanish, Kit courteously replied, “De nada, señorita,” before carrying his porcine passenger out into the hallway. He was frustrated to see that one of the Penemue stewards had readied a sleek cart for the luggage, which he took upstairs by some other route, so that his two companions were once again unencumbered for the trip up to the deck.

---

En route, Wojciechowski questioned Kit about his equipment. He’s gratified to hear that Kit knew how to pack a go-bag and hadn't forgot anything obviously important. “Do you have your custom Glock,” Wojciechowski asks him.
“You mean one of those Taran Tactical race guns that a lot of the operators here are running? No, I’ve just got a personal 19 for everyday carry.”

Shaking his head, Wojciechowski pointed to a side hallway. “That’s no good. Carry what you like, but you need side arm in .45 ACP.” Kit looked skeptical and Wojciechowski quickly added, “No, not because it’s scary, man-killing, American round. Anything human will die if you put bullets in right place and things that aren’t won’t die any faster just because bullets are couple of millimeters larger. No, you need .45 caliber because that’s what our special ammunition comes in. You can fit much more payload in hollow cavity in thicker, shorter slug. Blessed salt in copper hollow-points will hurt spirit, influencing people, possessing them, whatever.”
Kit brightened and nodded, “Ah, special purpose rounds so you can shoot possessed people without hurting them too badly, like with rock salt shotgun rounds?”

Wojciechowski barked derisively, “No! It’s still 165 grain copper hollow-point going near speed of sound. Don’t shoot anyone you like. Salt is just so it hurts spirits as much as people. Dual-purpose, you could say. So, you will draw Glock in .45 that uses same magazines as our Taran Tactical Glock 41 sidearms. Glock 21SF or Glock 30S, nobody cares what you take, as long as you sign. And you’ll need longarm. Are you on any Sentinel gun trusts?”
Kit shook his head and Wojciechowski sighed. “Then you need either full-size rifle or what you Americans call ‘pistol’, but mean carbine with baby stock. What are your preferences?”

Shrugging so that a hundredweight of swineflesh wobbles with him, Kit said, “I don’t really have any. I’ll carry whatever you need me to.”
Raising his eyebrows, Wojciechowski grinned. “And here I thought all Americans were gun crazy.”
“The Glock 19 I bought after I got out of the Navy is the first firearm I’ve owned. I don’t really know the names of any brands that weren’t taught in the Teams and even then, I mostly carried a Glock and an AR-type black rifle of some kind.”

Juman turned his head to regard Kit with his hooded, dark, guarded eyes. “But you ain't na poohar? You can shoot?”
“Well enough for my instructors, sir.”
With focused intensity that carried a hint of menace, Juman questioned Kit about his qualifications. “MOUT? Defensive driving? Close protection? Surveillance / Counter-surveillance? Technical surveillance? Sensitive site exploitation?”
At each question, Kit confirmed his qualifications respectfully. “I’m not claiming I’m Black Widow, Jason Bourne or even Mike Banning, sir, but I’ve done the courses.”

Whistling, Wojciechowski led the way to the armory, where Kit was provided with another Glock, an Alien Gear Cloak Tuck 3.0 IWB holster and two covert magazine carriers. He also receives a Quarter Circle QC10 GLF 'pistol' in .45 ACP, which is basically a very short AR-carbine with an ‘arm brace’ that is a small stock in everything but name, and numerous spare Glock-style magazines, as well as a couple of boxes of .45 ACP ammunition.
“Take plate carrier,” Wojciechowski advised Kit. “Even if you don’t wear it daily, you’ll want it if things turn to [excrement].” Nodding in agreement, Kit also gets a bump helmet with tactical comms and a few odds and ends for emergencies, all of which fit into a neat tactical kit to put in the trunk of a car.

“Right,” Wojciechowski said with relish, “We can take my car.”
Shaking his head, Juman snorted, “Dem car is rass. Too small, too Commie, too European, man. How we all gonna fit into you small Polski Fiat? We take a proper car, a fleet Lincoln or ma Caddy.”
Sighing philosophically, Wojciechowski turned to Kit, “And now you see violence inherent in system.”
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Old 03-06-2020, 07:10 AM   #13
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Default Re: The State of 'American-ness'

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Originally Posted by Icelander View Post
*By name at least. He is, however, somewhat darker skinned than most Indo-Guyanese and might well be mixed-race. And he grew up in the Afro-Guyanese dominated Georgetown, which is very evident in his speech. Not that I have a good idea of how to convoy subtleties of Guyanese accents in writing, but I'm trying to read a work of journalistic history set around the events of Juman's youth and manhood, to have at least some idea.
Georgetown isn't that Afro-dominated. There are plenty of East Indians there. Very Dark skin is common among Indo-Guyanese. If you come across a fellow with the nick-name "Blackie", he's an East Indian with skin darker than the Africans. The tell for African heritage is hair. And its a big deal. Guyanese society cares about race a LOT, and that particular ancestry is frowned on by both sides.

They all have the same dialect though, at least in Georgetown.

Hope that helps.
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Old 03-06-2020, 10:09 AM   #14
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Default Guyana and Zamal Juman

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Georgetown isn't that Afro-dominated. There are plenty of East Indians there.
I've certainly never been there.

I'm just going by census data around the end of Juman's stay there, when 53% of Georgetown inhabitants self-reported as 'Black/African', 24% as 'Mixed' and 20% as 'East Indian'. Also, from what I could discover, the the 1970s and 1980s, when Juman was growing up, PNC policy meant that the government posts and jobs at newly nationalized entities that made up more and more of the urban jobs available were disproportionally in the hands of 'Afro-Guyanese' citizens. So those who might be described as a political and economic elite in Georgetown at that time would consist of Afro-Guyanese people, in the main.

I certainly don't mean to imply that Juman grew up in a cultural enclave devoid of other Indo-Guyanese, just that he belonged to a demographic and economic minority where he grew up.

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Originally Posted by ericthered View Post
Very Dark skin is common among Indo-Guyanese. If you come across a fellow with the nick-name "Blackie", he's an East Indian with skin darker than the Africans. The tell for African heritage is hair. And its a big deal. Guyanese society cares about race a LOT, and that particular ancestry is frowned on by both sides.

They all have the same dialect though, at least in Georgetown.
Well, you are the one who named Zamal Juman, suggested his origin and supplied the casting photo of him.

I can't tell from this picture whether that's a very dark-skinned 'pure-blooded' East Indian / Indo-Guyanese or someone of mixed race, most likely both East Indian and African heritage. In particular, the very closely-cropped hair makes it impossible to attempt to use its curliness or lack thereof as any kind of ethnic indicator.

From a fictional perspective, however, I made the decision that Juman's exact ethnicity is deliberately ambigious to outsiders, at least to the point where he can be taken for either mixed-race or Indo-Guyanese. And, of course, in the United States, relatively few people look beyond dark skin and a Caribbean lilt to his accent before concluding 'Afro-Caribbean'.

Juman was a policeman during a period where Indo-Guyanese citizens found government posts harder to get and where the police, in particular the specific unit to which Juman belonged, have been accused to racial profiling and discrimination. I therefore decided that he dealt with prejudice by skillfully adopting the apparent fashions, values and shibboleths of whoever was in power at each time. He didn't change his tell-tale name, but he cropped his hair short enough to make it ambigious whether he had any African heritage and adopted pan-African and pan-Caribbean rhetoric when it was popular with The Powers That Be.

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Hope that helps.
It does and I always welcome more background detail and colour.
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Old 03-07-2020, 04:02 AM   #15
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Default Re: [MH] (Caribbean by Night) Driving Miss Piggy

More, please! This is fun, and gives a better idea of the Kessler organisations.
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Old 03-07-2020, 05:26 AM   #16
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Default Re: [MH] (Caribbean by Night) Driving Miss Piggy

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More, please! This is fun, and gives a better idea of the Kessler organisations.
I second that
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Old 03-07-2020, 09:49 AM   #17
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Default Re: [MH] (Caribbean by Night) Driving Miss Piggy

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More, please! This is fun, and gives a better idea of the Kessler organisations.
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I second that
Thank you both very much.

Yes, the initial chapters serve quite well as an introduction to Kessler's organization and the nature of his 'Night Riders'. Once the action moves away from the Penemue, of course, we lose that benefit, but at least we should get to know two of the twelve Night Riders on the Penemue team quite well, Zamal Juman and Tomasz Mateusz Wojciechowski.

Unfortunately for me, the fortunes of war dictated that the available Night Riders both had fairly exotic backgrounds. Wojciechowski, at least, I can write with reference to the 4-5% of people in Iceland with a Polish ethnic background, but Juman is quite challenging, given that I've never even met someone from Guyana. Brazil, French Guiana, Suriname and Venezuela, yes, but none of these neighboring countries even speak the same language.

I'm checking blogs and websites to get an idea of Guyanese idiom and hoping that a mental image based on how Trinbagonians speak isn't too far off. And I read Dangerous Times - The Assassination of Dr. Walter Rodney, which has verbatim transcriptions of court records and plenty of newspaper articles from the time Juman would have lived in Georgetown (and from some of the people he would have served with).

And, yes, I am working on the next episode. Talky scenes are slow going, especially when I don't have a natural feel for the diction of the participants.
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Old 03-07-2020, 04:27 PM   #18
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Default E3: They Call Me the White Wolf

Before the team leaves the Penemue, everyone attends to any calls of nature, picks up drinks and snacks for the road and an ever growing assortment of luggage, some of which is explained to Kit, but most of which isn’t. At least a couple of sturdy deck hands help them carry it off the yacht, so Kit doesn’t have to carry much more than the pig he has been entrusted with. As before, Juman and Wojciechowski carry little, but if Kit thinks of them as their security element, this bothers him less.

Kit is surprised at how little attention the pig he is carrying attracts on the way. It seems the magical trick of perception really works, well enough for a dozen people to let a man carrying a pig in a wig past them without a second glance. The two sharpshooters on the upper deck and a couple of very professional suit-wearing people Kit makes as onboard security personnel do notice, however, so, the ritual clearly has limitations. Something to keep in mind for the future.

Zamal Juman’s ‘Caddy’ turns out to be a nicely maintained black 1966 Cadillac Fleetwood Brougham. Kit raises his eyebrows, but it too polite to say anything. Noticing his reaction, Wojciechowski grins. “You’re wondering how this is covert vehicle, no?”
“Uh, I guess it’s maybe a little distinctive, boss. I mean, it’s a very nice car. A true classic. But won’t people tend to remember it?”

Juman opens the driver’s door and grunts. “Any car almost as old as I is gonna stand out, actually. But we riding with strong obeyah and if we have a bacchanal with dem cultists, no new car gonna work when we need am. But don’t worry, bai, we’re just a decoy. They supposed to waste time and energy on chasing us, so we want dem to know where we’ve been, just not where we gonna be.”

Kit nods as he moves to secure the pig in a rear seat. Wojciechowski shakes his head as he loads the trunks with gun cases and sea bags. “I thought you were supposed to be professional paranoid, Zamal. Now you’re justifying giving OpFor free information, just to drive your gas hog land-barge?”
“Dem orders. Drive any ting we want, long as am ain’t got na computer chips or electronic injectors. And you know damn well no cyar that old gonna be covert. At least am is nice.”

As the three men work, loading the car and preparing their places, Wojciechowski continues to grumble about the plan, with more long-suffering sarcasm than true heat. When they take their seats, Juman rumbles at Kit, “Don’t let am pig [soil] ma cyar, or I give you a cut tail, bai.”
“Yes, sir. Uh, sir, how do I prevent a pig from bowel movements?”

Wojciechowski snorts, “SEAL-school not teach that? Do like British. Adopt, adapt, and improve. Try changing diaper often, using tarp and towel in case of leak. Water as necessary, not more, not less.”
“Yes, si-, uh, boss. Hell, what do I call you? I guess we can’t use ranks, but are we using cover names?”

“No ranks and no sirs from now on. Let’s try to appear like normal tourists and use our regular names.” Wojciechowski points to his fellow Night Rider. “You think of Juman here as sort of counter-intelligence warrant officer. He’s not real soldier, but he’s nominally in charge, because this is spooky stuff, not soldier stuff. But he’s not officer because he’s got some fancy degree. In fact, I’m not even sure he can read. No, he’s in charge because The Powers That Be have determined that there is nobody more conniving, more treacherous and more murderous out there. If he had friends, they’d call him Zamal. You just call him Juman, at least until you can think of something worse.”

The glare from Juman could wilt a field of flowers, but Wojciechowski doesn’t skip a beat. “Me, you can think of as your Chief Petty Officer, you would call it. I’m really in charge, unless Juman gives specific orders. Which he won’t unless there’s some sort of underhanded, unethical, School of Americas, CIA-trained dirty-cop stunt to be planned, in which case you should listen to him, as he is expert. For everything else, listen to me.” Extending his hand into the backseat, “My name is Tomasz Mateusz Wojciechowski, but people call me ‘Bialego Wilka’.”

“No,” asserts Juman flatly. “No one ever call him am. Mebbe he got dem big skin garmants to call him am if he pay dem extra, but nobody who knows any ting call him that Twilight, sparkly-vampire rass.”
“Hey!” Wojciechowski snaps, “You know damn well that is vile calumny. Geralt of Rivia has nothing to do with that glitterfest abstinence-only Mormon-porn. He’s got the same line of work we do. And that guy; he [fornicates].”

Kit smiles. “Yeah, man, I’ve played The Witcher. Loved that game. You’re right, Witchers are basically just like you guys in a fantasy world, hunting monsters and taking names. Well, aside from the alchemy stuff.”

“You want Trial of Grasses, boychik, I can find you right herbs. See in dark, fight monsters, maybe live forever.” Wojciechowski grins at him. “Anyway, you should read books, not just play games. Sapkowski is artist, poet, but also bit of pervert. Best in original Polish. If you are not completely useless, maybe I teach you later.”

“Yeah,” Kit replies. “If I’m not completely useless at this, maybe it would be nice to read about somebody else doing the kind of thing I’m supposed to be doing.” Looking at the pig, securely strapped in and provided with a feeding trough and CamelBak for the trip, Kit wonders, “Is this sort of thing usual in our line of work?”

Both men in the front of the car laugh quietly. Juman shakes his head. “Na, banna, am pig in the wig na usual ting for nobody. But am is harmless kind of strange, which is better than the kind we usually see. Until dem cultists find us, dis a vacation with pay, actually. So enjoy the trip.”
“About that, Mr. Juman, where are we going?”
Juman shrugs, “Anywhere we like, banna. As long as it’s away from here.”

Drumming his fingers on the dashboard, Wojciechowski muses, “We’ve been discussing that. Easiest, most logical if we drive east. Support from New Orleans if we have contact first day, then maybe some friends in Mobile. Then drive around Florida; always within reach of quick reaction force.”

With a shake of his head, Juman answers, “No, we na gonna do that. Dem cultists not supposed to find us that quickly, actually. Mebbe they know about some of our teams, mebbe they don’t. Better to avoid driving east. If dem finds us, we call Lacoste and Mr. Alexandre. Lacoste is gonna be on dem task force and Mr. Alexandre gonna have his ways. Mr. Kessler has friends everywhere; Austin, even Washington. They can get dem federal cops to fly out, arrest dem cultists.”

Grinning, Wojciechowski turns in his seat. “So! We’re not even priority bait, boychik. They’re not maintaining dedicated QRF for us and they don’t care if the cops get their grimy paws on anybody we draw out. So, if it doesn’t matter to anyone where we go, maybe we go see Area 51?”
Juman grunts, “It’s well rass. Am Area 51 just dry sand and some ‘Keep Out’ signs. I’d rather go see the Grand Canyon again, am is one proppa breathtaking natural wonder.”

“That’s not bad idea,” says Wojciechowski. “Take roundabout route, aim to end up at Grand Canyon in maybe ten days, reassess and review. We could go north first, get to Oklahoma, Kansas, maybe all the way to St. Louis. I always wanted to drive old Route 66, like Grapes of Wrath and TV.”
“Road trips on the old Route 66 is something classic cars enthusiasts do, so we’d have a reasonable cover,” Kit notes. “And if we drive all the way to the end of the old Route 66, I’ve got some friends in Coronado, not that far off.”

“Sorry, boychik,” Wojciechowski says. “SEAL friends are nice to have, but we don’t have no uniforms. California won’t let us carry concealed. Or at all. And all fine friends in the world won’t make up for facing OpFor with just dicks in hands. Think about poor Juman here. He would be defenseless.”

Juman blows a dismissive raspberry. “Dis skinny kaka hole think he vex me with am botheration. Everybody all knows I use me handgun only out of the kindness of me heart, so as not to frighten dem bad men and jumbees with me lolo. Hold dem pig, banna, let us make the exodus.”
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Old 03-07-2020, 05:16 PM   #19
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Default Re: [MH] (Caribbean by Night) Driving Miss Piggy

*looks around* Good work. Very interesting stuff. :-)
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Old 03-08-2020, 09:34 AM   #20
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Default E4: I Grew Up in an American Town

Zamal Juman drives with a casual competence, if somewhat slower than Wojciechowski apparently favors, at some 5 mph under the posted speed limit. The two men bicker for a while about the choice of radio station, before compromising on KGLK 107.5, a classic rock station playing Stairway to Heaven. Kit offers to set up his iPhone to play Spotify on Bluetooth speakers, for when they drive out of range of radio stations they might know, but Wojciechowski blows off his offer.

“Better save phone charge, boychik. Battery bank is not going to last forever. Besides, Zamal here has had some absolutely top of line electronics installed in this hulk, like cassette player older than his driving. Zamal, has it occurred to you that you were hipster before it was cool?”

Revealing tobacco-stained teeth, Juman retorts, “I always been maximum cool cat, not like dem millennial hipster punannies. Besides, you mad rass. Is am me dem collect dem antique cameras, you lenky hipster antee-man?”
“Is that true, Mr. Wojciechowski? Do you collect cameras?”

Grimacing, Wojciechowski counters, “Just call me Tomasz, youngling. I don’t want anyone to assume you’re my new son-in-law. And yeah, I guess you could say I collect cameras, though it’s more accurate to say that I like taking pictures and prefer cameras from when they were made by craftsmen. Look at this here.”

Wojchiechowski takes a silver and black vintage camera out of a large pocket on his jacket. “It’s Leica IIIa, 35mm rangefinder camera made in 1936. You can fit it in pocket, retractable lens, but it does everything you need camera to do. Full range of lenses available, easy to change, pleasure to feel. And look at precision; workmanship. That’s not made by pushing buttons on an assembly line, boychik. A German lens maker, world-class expert in a country with finest precision industry in the world between the wars, poured his heart and soul into this device. Probably why it always exaggerates hooked nose of anyone with trace of Jewish blood, but, eh, nobody’s perfect.”

Snapping a picture of a shocked-looking Kit and the dozing pig next to him, Wojciechowski grins puckishly. “You flinch because I mention race? You Americans, so serious, so sensitive. Of course, you have unique perspective on racial relations, because no one in Europe ever experienced prejudice or discrimination, nor did we have benefit of enlightened Texans solving racism forever.”

“Tomasz, I realize that as a white American from Texas, my perspective is a privileged one and I don’t pretend to any insight into European or Polish history. Just, please, try to avoid saying anything offensive about race or religion, dude. That’s not funny, here or anywhere else. Okay?”
“Okay, White Knight. At next meeting of Elders, maybe I should recommend you as Righteous Gentile.”
“[Excrement],” says Kit ruefully. “You’re Jewish?”

“Not religiously,” Wojciechowski says, “But by the Law of Return I qualify, if I ever want to go to Israel, thanks to my sainted mother, may she live forever.” He crosses himself. “Why do you think I keep calling you ‘boychik’?”
“I just assumed you’d lived in New York.”

Wojciechowski hawks rudely. “Bah! Pretend to be politically correct, but then you want to call me DamnYankee by association! I am proud Texan. I like my brisket barbequed and pronounce ‘bagel’ incorrectly. Every night, before I go to sleep, I remember Alamo. Sometimes twice, if I accidentally watched real football or believed in global warming that day. And I own more guns than Zamal owns underpants, though we both know that is low bar.”

Drily, Juman interjects, “You keep dem guns cleaner than you keep am own underpants, you dutty rass.”
“I assure you; my gun, my drawers and my weapons are all kept immaculate and in perfect working order. Your mother cleaned them all last night, most thoroughly,” says Wojciechowski with a vulgar and complicated gesture of his tongue, to derisory jeers from his compatriot.

---

Traffic on I-45 North is murder, probably due to the extensive police manhunt ongoing for the perpetrators of the series of violent incidents over the last few days in the Galveston area. It takes two hours to get to the exit for I-69, but fortunately, while a Highway Patrolman eyed the car sharply around League City, nobody stops them.

While the pig is docile, Kit has a chance to bombard both Juman and Wojciechowski with questions. He learns that Juman has been a Night Rider for thirteen years and Wojciechowski for eight. Juman comes from the Tactical Services Unit of the Guyana Police Force and Wojciechowski has a varied and complicated military career.

“When I was young, I didn’t know what I was going to be. Maybe engineer, philosopher, physicist; maybe priest, maybe chess master. I was lucky, my parents still many friends in academia, even though they were not Party members. So I went to university and had much fun, for many years. I was medical student in Uniwersytet Jagielloski, in Krakow, when Solidarność demonstrations took place in ’82. Because I was young and stupid and political, I didn’t graduate. Expelled and not even for seducing professor’s wife or daughter. That, they didn’t know.” Wojciechowski shrugs eloquently.

“So I joined military. Because I am badass, I was 1 Batalion Szturmowy and then later, under Col. Petelicki, I was, how you would say, plankholder of GROM. After how they treat the Colonel, kurwa generals and politicians, I finally resigned in 1999.” Wojciechowski sighs, “Left Poland.”

“Because I was no longer young, but still stupid, I joined French Foreign Legion. Saint Michael l'archange save us, I was parachutist, lying about my age, so they wouldn’t put me behind desk. The ignorant and unemployable of some fifty countries, all the tactical acumen that lost Dien Bien Phu and half our NCO corps hopeless alcoholics. It was szajs, but I loved it.”

From the driver’s seat, Juman interjects, “That’s how you know am is na officer, he is dutty NCO. He’s always drunk on am nasty cheap liquor. In dem Foreign Legion, they na have ‘Rum, sodomy and lash’, they gots am ‘Battie, buggery and beer.’”
“As you hear, Zamal objects to beer while he’s being sodomized and whipped. It’s rum or nothing. Strange place to draw line, but it takes all sorts to make world, boychik.”

---

As they continue down the I-69, Kit tries to draw more information about their decisions to become Night Riders from his traveling companions. Juman claims facetiously that he did it for the Green Card and Wojciechowski says that monsters were the only thing tough enough to challenge him. He does acknowledge, though, that he learned about Kessler’s network of occult troubleshooters through some friends in the Legion, old, broken-down Legionnaires who knew Jean-Michel Alexandre, Kessler’s right hand man, from his time there.

“And what about you?” Wojciechowski stabs a finger in Kit’s direction. “I suppose you ask all these questions to distract from your cliché life story? Grew up in small Texas town we probably never heard of, but probably in some piney woods backcountry because there’s hint of Matthew McConaughey on your tongue. Fixed pick-up trucks, finger cheerleaders and watch fireflies. Played quarterback in high school, but wasn’t good enough for Longhorns. Went to some local college, to study… maybe communications or some fake major like that. Bored out of your skull and went to recruiting station because you saw Lone Survivor or Zero Dark Thirty.”

“That’s not even remotely accurate,” says Kit. “I was a defensive back and the movie was Michael Bay’s ‘The Rock’. Why would you even assume I was a quarterback?”
“You’re tall, boychik, but not wide enough to be lineman. And you’re too white to be anything else.”
“That’s just racist nonsense. My ethnicity has nothing to do with what position I play.”
“Yes, boychik, and that is why you never joined the military, but got a full-athletic scholarship and now play in the NFL with all the other white cornerbacks.”

A deep rumbling laugh booms from Juman in the driver’s seat. “Don’t let dis lenky illegitimate get to you, banna. He’s just gonna keep pushing buttons if you let him.”

Waving his hand dismissively, Kit says, “Alright, alright, it doesn’t really bother me.”
“Sure, banna. Where are you really from?”
Kit makes a face. “Actually, Lufkin.”
Juman laughs again. “Fifty miles ahead Lufkin? East Texas, pinewoods Lufkin? No [excrement]? You got kin in am?”

While adjusting the CamelBak to water the pig, Kit says, “My parents still live there.”
“Wanna drop in on am?”
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Za uspiekh nashevo beznadiozhnovo diela!

Last edited by Icelander; 03-11-2020 at 08:04 AM.
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