The Coming European Civil War
Part 15: The Oath
There were seven men in the room, and one woman.
One man stood up, and moved to stand behind a rostrum, on which several reports waited.
At the rostrum,he quietly looked over the group.
"Electronic sweep complete?"
"Complete - no bugs detected."
The interrogation, reply and format was gruff, and created the impression of a well worn routine.
"Comrades, first thing, as always, the Oath."
Everybody stood, and placed their right hand over their heart.
The speaker led, and his small audience chimed in.
"1. I believe in the Sons of Wodan.
2. I believe in the sanctity of our cause, and that our ancient homeland should remain
the abode of the peoples who have always lived here.
3. I believe in our own leaders. For the elected Political Masters have betrayed this
4. I pledge my complete loyalty to the Sons of Wodan. And, if required, my Life.
So help me, God, and the spirits of our brave ancestors.
I shall not flinch, or hesitate, not even in the face of the Descending Darkness,
that threatens our loved ones. I shall never kneel to the 7th century, false,
pedophile God from the blood stained desert.
I turn to the man or woman beside me, and acknowledge him -or her- as my eternal
Everybody turned, and shook hands with the person beside them. Some bumped fists.
The speaker continued briskly.
"As Deputy Leader of Cell sixty-seven, with Gustav away on, emmm..., business, I call this meeting to order. First item on the agenda is the continued harassment of school children at the Primary School. Which has now inevitably ended in the rape of a six year old girl, and the attempted rape of two nine year olds. One of which was a little boy. Olaf has the latest..."
The speaker sat down, and a tall, gangly man stood up. He spoke haltingly for several minutes.
When he was finished, there were some questions. A cardboard map of the city was produced, and fingers traced access routes.
"They are mostly from this refugee center here.. there are about two hundred and forty of them, and none of them work. They have nothing better to do than hang around. Now they have started coming to the schools, and loitering in front of the gates. They won't shift either. If the Police come, they take no notice, or they leave, and come back five minutes later..."
"We will have Cell twenty-five available for immediate support, and at least one, maybe two more cells in reserve... I believe one is being brought in from out of town. I will know more later."
"Let's just go through the codes again. Make sure you remember to set to 'vibrate' only. If you receive a 1-2-3 warning to break off immediately, don't query it..."
* * * * *
It was fun, watching the Swedish girls come out of school.
They were pretty. There was nothing to compare it with, back home in Eritrea. And Somalia. Niger. Or Chad. Or even Syria. With their uniforms, and their grey skirts. Their nervous smiles, or their blushes. Some giggled nervously, and some looked scared. But they all reacted, in their own way, to the ever growing press of foreign men, unashamedly ogling them. The girls did not understand the strange language, but on an intuitive, feminine level, they knew the dirty, mucky laughter was about them. The leering faces of hungry young men left little to the imagination. From ogling however, the stakes had been raised in recent months. It had started with ogling, leers, cat calls and crude come-ons. Via hands up skirts, tugging at clothing, or deliberately blocking the footpath, it had escalated to rape. It was no longer a game. Unless, a rape game.
Often enough, teachers came out, and went through the motions of shooing the men away. Nobody took much notice. Certainly not of the women teachers, who had no authority. The male teachers were not much better. They too, dutifully, made the required hand gestures, facial and verbal invocations. Then, duty performed, they would quickly abscond to the illusory safety of the school building. They were weak. Ineffective. Typical Swedish males. No balls.
So the game continued. There was nothing else to do. Apart from eat, sleep, and think of sex, what else could you usefully do? Nothing. The Swedes were snobby. Condescending. Racist. Admittedly, there were the language classes. Free. Twenty-nine had started out. None had bothered to learn much. Only two remained still trying to learn how to say "There goes a cat."
The teacher was still as enthusiastic as ever. But then he was probably getting paid for twenty-nine students. Not two dimwits.
There were more and more refugees hanging around the school every day now. The Police had been around a few times, but nobody took much notice. They never did anything. They never beat anybody, like back home. It was all talk. Meaningless. Who could respect that? There was no strength in words. Swedes were weak. Pussies.
Ah, a new teacher? I haven't seen this one before. Oh. That's funny. This one thinks he is something. He is actually looking stern. He wants us to go. Well, we're not going. Fuck you. You want trouble? We give you fucking Swede trouble. Hey, you see? Now there are twenty of us. You like that? Run, Swedish pussy, run. You want to raise your voice and stand your ground? Fuck you. Fuck your wife. Fuck your daughter. You don't talk to us like that. Motherfucker. Hey!
Oh. Now there's two of you. Big sons of bitches. No problem, we are twenty. Real men. We are from Somalia and Eritrea. And Niger and Chad. We know how to fight. You want to fight??? We show you how to fight.
Oh. Where did they all come from? Shit. Ten of them. Big fuckers. Oh. Damn. OUCH! Shit! Run! Run! Fuck! Stop hitting me! Stop! Run! Okay, okay, I'm going! Okay, stop hitting me!
* * * * *
The knock on his door was polite. He sighed. He already knew.
A young Police cadet stuck his face around the door.
"Chief, the Mayor is here to see you."
He sighed again. "Show her in."
A minute later a regal presence swept in. Imperious and haughty, she wasted no time.
"Well, and what do you have to say for yourself?"
He debated feigning ignorance. But it was no use. The liberal Mayor was here to chew his ass. And chew it she would. No matter what he said.
"You mean that fracas at the school?"
She snorted contemptuously.
"Of course I mean what happened at the school. Now you're allowing common street thugs to beat up refugees? Have you taken leave of your senses? Must I get somebody else who can do your job? The Imam has just come off the phone with me. He is most upset. He promises there will be consequences. I really don't need this. Broken noses and black eyes! I need you to immediately step up patrols to ensure this does not happen again! Do your job, or I will find somebody else who can! And stay off Facebook! You are in enough trouble already. Good day!"
With that she swept out of his office. Leaving behind a tired man, contemplating a forty year career, and a once great and noble civilization.
Both... in ruins.
Last edited by Francis Meyrick on February 11, 2017, 12:37 pm
We little humans, hurtling through the Universe on our tiny, pale blue dot, will find few answers to Life's great mysteries. But we should at least find many of the questions. To write is to ask. To seek. To grope. With humility, and humor. Peace.