Copy Link
Add to Bookmark
Report
Cult of the Dead Cow 174
_
| \
| \
| | \
__ | |\ \ __
_____________ _/_/ | | \ \ _/_/ _____________
| ___________ _/_/ | | \ \ _/_/ ___________ |
| | _/_/_____ | | > > _/_/_____ | |
| | /________/ | | / / /________/ | |
| | | | / / | |
| | | |/ / | |
| | | | / | |
| | | / | |
| | |_/ | |
| | | |
| | c o m m u n i c a t i o n s | |
| |________________________________________________________________| |
|____________________________________________________________________|
...presents... Self Defense
by THE NIGHTSTALKER
>>> a cDc publication.......1991 <<<
-cDc- CULT OF THE DEAD COW -cDc-
______________________________________________________________________________
It was 1970, and I was in Vietnam as a civilian defense contractor. I had
thought I'd lucked out on the draft. I had a bad back (or at least that's what
my cooperative doctor said in a letter) and I was employed by a defense
company. Draft? Vietnam? Hah! I'm safe here in the States! Yeah, well.
They needed someone who had some skill with firearms and explosives to insure
the safety of a secret project that was installed in a forward firebase. I fit
the bill. Swell.
It was a bright and humid afternoon in Saigon as I and my fellow
contractors left the bar. They were drunk, I wasn't. (I don't drink when I'm
armed. Booze and firearms do NOT mix.)
There is something in the brain that tells you when someone is looking at
you, or at least it'll tell you if you are listening for it, as I was. There
had been a spate of driveby assassinations in Saigon of late, with Americans in
civilian dress a particular target. Someone was looking at me and I knew it.
I scanned the area and there they were. Two teens on a cheap Honda motorcycle.
They gunned the motor and began their run. The passenger pulled a MaT 49
sub-machine gun from his shoulderbag and aimed at us/me.
They are right, those that say that time slows down in a gunfight. It
seemed like I had all the time in the world, perhaps I did, all things
considered.
My left hand pulled the hem of my shirt up as my right hand reached for
the grip of my .45 automatic pistol tucked in my belt to the left of my belt
buckle. The kid on the cycle is raising his machine gun as I flick off the
thumb safety of the pistol. My body falls into the Weaver stance as my left
hand cradles/supports my right hand which holds the pistol. The kid on the
cycle has the MaT 49 shoulder stock jammed into his right shoulder. I wonder
when he did that, as I don't recall seeing him unfold it. My right index
finger is on the trigger and my sights are centered on the forehead of the kid
with the machine gun. I tighten my finger and the gun jumps and thunders
twice. The back of his head explodes as the high velocity hollowpoints blow
through the bone and tissue. His eyeballs bulge and blood and brain tissue
explode from his ears. I alter my sights and put three rounds into the chest
of the kid driving the cycle. He falls backwards and both bodies fall from the
cycle into the street; the motorcycle falls over a few feet from their bodies.
From what I gather, the whole affair took less than 10 seconds. In 10
seconds, two patriots, defending their country from a foreign invader, were cut
down before they could strike a blow for their country. At least, that's how
some would see it. I tend to look at it as a pair of terrorists trying to kill
three unarmed Americans. It's all in how you look at it, I guess.
Fast Forward 15 years to Chicago. A young Black woman is entering the
foyer of her apartment building. It's after midnight. She's put in a hell of
a day with a lot of overtime, but there was something that needed to be
finished. She gets her mail and has her keys in her hand. She's tired and not
paying attention. The first creep with the knife has his arms around her and
the knife at her throat in an instant. The second creep with the cheap gun
shows it to her and tells her to shut up.
They look at her mail and see that she lives on the second floor. They
take the stairs, as her apartment is close to the stairway. As they drag her
up the steps, they are pawing her body. Her blouse is ripped open and her slip
and bra pulled down. Her breasts are fondled and her nipples painfully
squeezed. Her skirt is pulled up, her pantyhose ripped open and her pubic area
fingered. They inform her that she will be raped, sodomized, tortured and
murdered.
They easily open the two locks on her door and pull her into the unlit
apartment. A hand again gropes her crotch and a finger seeks her vulva. It is
truly Now or Never.
She recalls the many hours her old boyfriend spent teaching her unarmed
combat and the first rule of life or death fighting: DON'T PANIC! Her jaws
tighten and her teeth bite through the flesh of the hand over her mouth. She
has actually bitten a chunk of muscle from the hand! She spits out the tissue
as the creep holding her loosens his grip from the pain. Her knee slams into
the testicles of the creep who is trying to insert a finger in her vagina. As
he doubles up in pain, her other knee slams into his face, breaking his nose.
She brings her raised leg down hard, embedding the high heel of her shoe into
the top of the foot of the creep who was holding her.
She knows the layout of her apartment intimately. The darkness is her
ally now! She kicks off her shoes and runs for her bedroom. A powerful set of
magnets holds a .45 semi automatic pistol under her bed. She grabs the pistol
and switches on her bedside lamp, tilting the shade towards the bedroom door,
directing the light away from her and towards the door. She rolls over the bed
and kneels behind it, the pistol held in a two handed grip, her elbows braced
on the mattress. She waits.
The two creeps decided that she is NOT going to get away with this, and,
seeing the light from her bedroom, run towards the opened door.
They enter and stop short. They are confronted not with a terrified,
cowering victim, but with an armed, confident woman. She fires twice, with a
fraction of a second between shots as she adjusts her aim. The two bodies hit
the floor almost as one. The mess is incredible. Two rounds, two headshots.
Blood, brains and bone fragments everywhere.
The police showed up minutes after her slightly hysterical 911 call. The
police were very solicitous of her condition and treated her with kid gloves.
The two dead creeps were not-so-petty criminals with long records of burglary
and rape arrests. Both had spent more time in prison than out. Since there
were deaths involved, the DA's office was called. An investigator was there
within 30 minutes. (The young woman, knowing full well JUST how the rat chews
the cheese, was a BIG contributor to the Chicago Democratic Party. A call to
her local ward captain after she called the police insured that certain
'courtesies' would be extended to her.) The investigator looked at her torn
clothes, listened to her story, and was informed about the records of the two
creeps. He also considered her status as a woman with a good job, as a regular
contributor to the Party and her skill with her 100% legal pistol.
"Justifiable Homicide during Self Defense!"
She was taken to the hospital for an exam and to be treated for the
mauling she endured. Scratches and bruises for the most part. She was sedated
and put to bed for the next 24 hours. The police carted away the bodies and
left the name of a cleaner who specialized in removing the blood and smell of
dead bodies from rugs and carpets.
I am proud to say that it was I who taught her those things that saved her
life. The unarmed tactics that got her away from them and the pistolcraft that
ended the careers of two criminals. The gun she used was the same one that
saved MY life 15 years earlier, given to her as a going away gift. She still
owns the gun, practices with it once a week at the gun club near her home in
California. (She moved a few years afterwards. She was tired of the cold
winters and had a great job waiting for her in San Jose.) With the exception
of a few new springs and magazines, that venerable old Colt Government Model
1911-1A .45 semi automatic pistol is unchanged, save for a small bit of
engraving she had added to the slide, in front of the ejection port. A little
poem that Sam Colt, peace be upon him, had engraved on his early revolvers.
"Fear No Man, Regardless Of His Size, Just Call On Me, I'll Equalize!"
The same quote is also engraved on MY Colt Government Model 1911-1A .45
semi automatic pistol these days. It was a Christmas/Birthday gift from my old
girlfriend.
Gentle Readers, I would ask you to keep this little narrative in mind,
when next you hear from those who feel that citizens do not need firearms for
protection, that the police will protect you from the criminal element, that a
firearm in the house is dangerous. Without that pistol, a woman whom I still
love, a woman who is a decent citizen and a productive member of society; this
woman would have been raped, tortured and murdered by a pair of creeps who
should have never been released from prison, yet were paroled and given yet
another chance to reform and become 'good citizens'.
_ _ ____________________________________________________________________
/((___))\|Demon Roach Undrgrnd.806/794-4362|NIHILISM..............517/546-0585|
[ x x ] |Paisley Pasture......916/673-8412|Ripco II..............312/528-5020|
\ / |Tequila Willy's GSC..209/526-3194|The Works.............617/861-8976|
(' ') |Lunatic Labs.........213/655-0691|Condemned Reality.....618/397-7702|
(U) |====================================================================|
.ooM |Copr. 1991 cDc communications by THE NIGHTSTALKER 07/20/91-#174|
\_______/|All Rights Pissed Away. FIVE YEARS of cDc|
