_ | \ | \ | | \ __ | |\ \ __ _____________ _/_/ | | \ \ _/_/ _____________ | ___________ _/_/ | | \ \ _/_/ ___________ | | | _/_/_____ | | > > _/_/_____ | | | | /________/ | | / / /________/ | | | | | | / / | | | | | |/ / | | | | | | / | | | | | / | | | | |_/ | | | | | | | | 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|