Posted by: 727Sky - 01-11-2020, 10:52 AM - Forum: Off Topic
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"Show me that age and country where the rights and liberties of the people were placed upon the sole chance of their rulers being good men, without a consequent loss of liberty. " 1788 Patric Henry
"Trust no man living with the power to endanger the public liberty." John Adams
" The essence of government is power ; and power lodged in human hands as it must be, will ever be liable for abuse." James Madison
" Power is intoxicating and men who are legally vested with it, to often discover a disposition to make an ill use of it & an unwillingness to part with it." Samuel Adams
" All artful rulers, who strive to extend their power beyond its just limits, endeavor to give to their attempts as much semblance of legality as possible." John Dickinson
" It must be never forgotten, that the liberties of the people are not so safe under the gracious manner of government as by the limitation of power."
Richard Henry Lee
" When the power is in the few it is natural for them to sacrifice the many for their on partialities and corruption." James Madison
" In questions of power let no more be heard of confidence in man, but bind him down from mischief by the chains of the constitution."
Thomas Jefferson 1798
People talking like this in many countries would end up in jail or worse. It is amazing how the times have changed ... I just posted these thoughts from people who were great minds IMO and who knew human nature . You do not have to look very far to see their words were true then just as they are today.
Posted by: BIAD - 01-11-2020, 10:42 AM - Forum: Europe
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The virtuous saving of the brown people continues and if we ignore the flight-delaying burning vehicles in the
Stavanger Airport, Norway still believes that multiculturalism has its benefits.
So ladies, prepare to feel the brick wall against your cheek and know in your heart that you're taking one for
your country.
Quote:Norway opens its doors to 600 people evacuated from Libya to Rwanda.
'Hundreds of refugees and asylum seekers evacuated from Libyan detention centres to a transit camp in Rwanda
are to be resettled this year in Norway, according to Rwanda’s foreign minister.
Speaking at a news conference in Kigali on Wednesday, Rwanda’s foreign minister Vincent Biruta said the African
nation was currently hosting more than 300 refugees and asylum seekers at the Gashora transit centre south of Kigali,
most of whom hail from Somalia, Sudan and Eritrea, according to CGTN Africa.
Only Norway and Sweden had so far agreed to resettle people from the camp, Biruta added. Norway agreed to resettle
600 people, while Sweden had so far accepted seven, according to Biruta. Rwanda signed a deal with the UN and African
Union in September aimed at resettling people who had been detained in Libya while trying to reach Europe.
More than 4,000 people are believed to still be living in Libyan detention centres, according to the latest figures.
The standard image of refugee children. Odd that they never show photos of the overwhelming
amount of young males that are actually entering these gullible European countries.
In a statement to Reuters, Norwegian justice minister Jøran Kallmyr said the plan to resettle 600 people proved that
“we don’t support cynical people smugglers, and instead bring in people who need protection in an organised manner”.
Kallmyr added: “A transit camp like the one in Rwanda will contribute to that effort.”
Norway’s four-party government coalition agreed last year to accept a total of 3,000 refugees from UN camps in 2020.
The UN in Libya has come under intense criticism for complying with EU migration policy, which entails funding the Libyan
coastguard to intercept boats with refugees and migrants destined for Europe.
Many people end up detained in militia-run centres and subjected to grave human rights abuses, including sexual abuse,
denial of food and water, and forced recruitment into the on-going Libyan conflict.
Elisabeth Haslund, Nordic spokesperson for the UN refugee agency, said that of the 4,000-plus people estimated to still be
detained in Libyan centres, roughly 2,500 people are refugees and asylum-seekers.
“As the violence and unrest have been intensifying in Libya and thousands of refugees are still at risk in the country, the
evacuations of the most vulnerable refugees are more urgent than ever,” said Haslund.
“UNHCR very much welcomes Norway’s decision to resettle refugees who have been evacuated to Rwanda and also notes
the important and valuable financial contributions from Norway to help support the operation of the transit centre in Gashora.”
As the 600 people who are expected to be resettled this year in Norway had not yet been chosen, Haslund added, it was impossible to give details on their age, gender or country of origin...'
It'll be interesting to see how this one pans out.
With Iran saying they unintentionally shot down the Boeing 737-800 with the loss of 176 lives and a eulogist at the
funeral of high-ranking Iranian official and legitimate terrorist Qassem Soleimani requesting the masses to crowd
-fund a bounty to put on President Trump, one has to wonder if this chap was just trying to get ahead of the curve.
Quote:Iranian national 'armed with a machete, ax and knives and carrying $22,000 in cash' is arrested on a bridge just four miles from Mar-a-Lago - days after Tehran put an $80m bounty on Trump's head.
*Masoud Yareioeill Zoleh, an Iranian national, was arrested on Friday on the Flagler Memorial Bridge
*Cops say he had a machete, pick-ax, knives and $22,000 in US currency
*Bomb squads searched a car belonging to the man at nearby airport
*The FBI has been notified and federal authorities are assisting the investigation
*Zoleh has been given a notice to appear in court
'An Iranian national armed with knives has been detained by police in Palm Beach, Florida, and police
bomb squads searched his car at the nearby airport. The suspect, Masoud Yareioeill Zoleh, was identified
by his passport while being taken into custody on Flagler Memorial Bridge on Friday morning.
(Top Left) Masoud Yareioeill Zoleh, an Iranian national, was arrested on Friday with $22,000 in U.S. currency,
a machete and a pick ax and several knives in his possession just four miles from Trump's Mar-a-Lago club.
(Top Right) Zoleh's (left) intentions have not yet been disclosed, but the investigation is ongoing and he has
been given a notice to appear in court.
(Bottom Left) Flagler Memorial Bridge.
(Bottom Right) Mar-a-Lago club.
He had in his possession $22,000 in U.S. currency, a machete and a pick ax, in addition to the knives,
the Palm Beach Daily News reported. Zoleh was arrested by three Palm Beach Police officers and two
plainclothes officers who were reportedly from a different department.
An investigation is open, and local police are cooperating with federal authorities.
Public Information Officer Michael Ogrodnick revealed that authorities received a call about Zoleh and
dispatched to the scene. Details regarding what the call entailed were not given.
Zoleh has been given a notice to appear in court, according to the Palm Beach Post.
The Palm Beach police department did not immediately respond to a request for comment from DailyMail.com.
Police said that the man did not appear to have a fixed or known address.
There were also reports of police activity at Palm Beach International Airport, where sources say a bomb unit
was called in to check the Iranian man's car at the airport's short term parking lot.
An 'all clear' was given at the airport on Friday afternoon and operations have returned to normal.
It comes days after Iranian officials offered an $80 million bounty for the murder of President Donald Trump.
The Flagler Memorial Bridge is about four miles from Trump's Mar-a-Lago club, but the president is currently
at the White House in Washington DC. Trump recently spent the holidays at Mar-a-Lago, and it is possible
that he may return as soon as next weekend.
The FAA issued flight restrictions over Palm Beach airspace effective January 17 to 19, a typical indication
that a presidential visit may be scheduled...'
Disclaimer The events described in this story can neither be confirmed nor denied. However, if any such thing had ever occurred, rest assured that the names and some of the details would have been changed to protect the innocent…
… and to shield the guilty from shame.
Any resemblance to any actual persons, either living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Departmento Zelaya, Nicaragua, July 1979
Jim was a ghost. The guerrillas called him "El Espectro", and they knew damn well he existed only as a spirit, because they had killed him – twice. In spite of that, he still had the disconcerting habit of showing up apparently alive where and when they least expected, or wanted, him to. Guerrillas used an area near the mine where Jim worked as a sort of resting place, but the mine itself they gave a wide berth for fear of the security patrols of El Espectro. Some said that dead men made up his entire patrol, with El Espectro in the lead. The patrol appeared from nowhere and returned thence – always leaving a few dead guerrillas behind. The Sandinistas held no special dread of the rest of the mine’s security forces, who usually stayed inside the wire, only the squad of El Espectro, who usually stayed outside the wire and thus posed much more of a threat which was harder to avoid.
Soldiers associated with Jim in the mercenary enterprise of providing security for La Bodega Mine in the eastern department of Zelaya, Nicaragua, generally called him "junior" in view of the fact that a younger sergeant had never led a patrol at the mine. Had the recruiters known just how young he really was when he signed on at the age of seventeen, it probably would not have mattered, so long as he pulled his weight. Jim carefully concealed that bit of information from them nonetheless. He suspected that they only cared about his ability to shoot and sneak through the woods, but did not care to bet his job on that suspicion. The money was too good, compared to what he had been used to before.
Back home on the reservation, Jim’s father taught him all about the fine art of hunting, a time honored tradition among Jim’s kin. Still, hunting made for a poor way to blaze one's trail in the alien world that whites had built around the Indian’s enclave. When Jim struck out on his own to explore that world, he found that the only real skills he possessed could be converted to profit making enterprises through the recruiters of the mercenary underworld. He merely switched from hunting animals to hunting men, nothing his ancestors hadn't done for thousands of years. The transition came relatively easily to Jim, as transitions usually are for the young. He landed in Nicaragua as the result of answering a newspaper ad, curiously enough.
One sultry July day, as jungle days always are when it’s not raining, Jim headed down to the village at the foot of the mountain where La Bodega Mine rested. The village contained a hodgepodge of Nicaragua's poor – campesinos, Miskito Indians, and half breed mixtures of the two – that made the daily trip up the slope to work the mine.
Jim’s business in the village involved a half-breed Miskito girl who Jim called "Melassa". The word meant "sugar" in the language of his forebears, and he thought the application fitting. He had not originally intended to fall in love with Melassa; it was supposed to just be a hormone thing. Nevertheless, fall in love he did, head over heels ("ass over appetite" is how his father would have phrased it). The two had a common ground in their status as half-breeds, and they built up a relationship from there. When Jim went back to The States, Melassa would be going with him.
During his long hours spent in the woods Jim had developed a "sixth sense" for when something was not right, and as he approached the doorway of the scrap lumber shack of Melassa’s grandmother, a nagging feeling crawled up the back of his scalp with the tickling sensation of a jungle mosquito. As he stepped through the doorway, scuffling the dirt floor a little with the toe of his boot, Jim absently swiped at the back of his head as if to dispel the presence of one of the Cessna-sized insects, but he knew he would find nothing. Something was wrong, but he could fix anything that concerned Melassa. Her whole family thought he had strong medicine because of the joy he brought into the life of the previously serious, grave girl. Jim found no one inside, although a fire burned cheerfully in the tin stove Melassa's grandmother used to cook the family meals. He stepped back outside and nearly got knocked over by a seventy pound ball of energy disguised as Melassa’s little brother.
"Jim! Jim! The soldier men from the mine, they say you was here. Come! You hurry, you fix! Sandies come, hurting Melassa! Run Jim!" the boy unnecessarily spoke the last two words. Jim used the term “sandies” for the Sandinista guerrillas, and he knew he couldn't waste any time. Jim sprang into motion at the heels of the younger boy, and both ran as if the hounds of hell nipped at their hinder parts. Jim could run no faster only because of the need to follow Melassa's brother.
Three hundred meters outside the village, just inside the edge of the jungle, Melassa’s grandmother huddled on the ground clutching a bloody, tattered bundle of rags, trying to cover what was left of a mangled, naked body with them. Her whole body quivered and quaked as if she gasped for her last breath, but not a sound issued forth. Jim skidded to a halt, tearing his pant legs and scraping his knees raw on the ground beside the old woman. He knew before he looked that there was no hope for Melassa. Live humans just weren’t that small and limp. He couldn't fix it this time. Tears welled up in Jim's eyes, rolled down his cheeks, and dripped off his chin. His lower lip quivered, but the muscles in his jaw bulged out as he bit down on his rage. Judging by the damage at her crotch, the bruises and abrasions to her face and body, and the fact that there were no entry gunshot wounds, only exit wounds, Jim determined that Melassa had been beaten and gang raped, and then shot with a gun aimed in a very novel way. Jim could not even imagine the surreal, helpless terror Melassa must have felt when her torturers dragged her into the jungle. It gave him an odd, painful feeling to even try.
El Espectro knew what he had to do. He left the living to bury the dead, for he belonged with neither now. Standing up to his full six – foot, two – inch height, he cast a practiced eye to the ground and ascertained that five men had participated in the atrocity. El Espectro followed their trail long enough to determine their direction of travel and memorize the peculiarities of their boot prints, then headed back to the mine.
Upon his arrival at the mine, a couple of the guys greeted him, their greetings going unreturned. A mission haunted Jim, absorbing his being and dogging his every step.
"Junior's in one of his damn injun moods, don't fuck with him" he heard one of the guards tell another as he passed by on his way to the operations shack. Once inside, El Espectro grabbed his "sawed-off", as he called the shortened M-16 carbine (“officially” a CAR-15 variant) that he carried on patrol in the woods. Jim believed that modern man had yet to invent a deadlier implement for jungle combat. It was based on the M-16 US service rifle, but had a barrel cut down to 15”, with the front sight moved slightly backwards accordingly. The weapon was finished out with a collapsible buttstock and the round handguards normally found on an XM-177E1 of the Vietnam era. She was short, light, and maneuverable in the sometimes close confines of jungle warfare, and was a very, very deadly team mate for Jim.
His next steps made a beeline for the shack he bunked in. Opening the wall locker at the head of his bunk, The Ghost grabbed a kit containing his camouflage greasepaint. Jim stripped down his web gear, leaving only his jungle knife, two canteens, six 30 round magazines of ammo, and a poncho strapped to the web belt. He carefully moved those items to the sides and rear of the belt, leaving the front uncluttered so he could lie flat on his stomach. A dagger, compass, and sterile field dressing were attached to the shoulder straps of his web harness.
Next came the war paint. In days of old Jim's people had painted their faces in particular patterns before engaging in the hunt or in war. Whites had always assumed that the paint had ritual significance, or that Indians did it merely for decoration. Jim knew the real purpose of the blacks, whites, and dull reds and yellows his ancestors smeared on themselves at such times was camouflage, just as the “decorative” feathers on Indian weaponry served a utilitarian purpose, to gauge wind speed and direction. He always called the cammo sticks his “warpaint”, and his white buddies always got a kick out of it, but they never understood the simple significance of his identification of the present with the past – it tied him to a home that had vanished long before his birth.
Jim painted the right half of his face black and the left half green, streaking each color diagonally to the other side in stripes reminiscent of the tiger. When he completed that pattern, he added dabs of brown here and there. As he put on the finishing touches, Ace Jackson, the closest thing Jim had to a friend among the mercenaries, stepped into the shack.
"Where you going, Junior?"
"Goin' for a walk, Ace."
"What's the cammo about?"
"Don't want nobody to see me walkin'."
"Mind if I come too? Sometimes a fellow can get hisself in a bind all alone in the big dark woods. Helps to have a friend along. You look like a fella might be lookin' for a bind to get into."
"No."
“‘No’ you don't mind, or ‘no’ you ain’t lookin’ for a bind?"
"No you can't come."
"Listen, Junior. The kid told some of the guys about what happened. He’s afraid you might go out and get yourself hurt too. They sent me in here to talk to you, to let you know we're all sorry about it and to tell you that if you can't be talked out of goin' out, at least don't go out alone. We're all behind you, and the squad stands ready to go patrollin' for the bastards what done it. We'll go out with you."
"This is a private war, Ace. You guys ain't invited."
"C'mon Junior. You know that…"
"I know that I'm goin' out to die. You go out with me, your gonna die too. This is my war. You guys stay on 'the porch'."
With his use of the radio code phrase the mercenaries used in referring to the mine, Jim picked up his rifle, slapped his 40 round “ambush” magazine into it (he liked the idea of having an extra 10 rounds to be obnoxious with in ambush situations – it helped buy time for fight or flight without having to worry about re-loading), and headed out the door. Almost as an afterthought, he grabbed his trophy bag – a canvas pouch filled with a layer of salt at the bottom – and tied it to the side of his web belt. Just before he reached the main gate, Jim spied a bucket of black paint that recently had been used to paint I.D. marks on the mine vehicles. He paused long enough to remove his shirt and slap wet black hand prints on his arms from shoulder to wrist, put his tigerstripe camouflage fatigue blouse back on, tied a green triangular bandage around his head bandanna fashion, and then set off out the gate. Within seconds, El Espectro literally vanished into the jungle as if he had turned to mist.
Slipping through the dense undergrowth with the fluid, sinuous silence of a jaguar, El Espectro cut the trail of the guilty parties within minutes. Within three hours he had them in sight. They had set up a small camp for the night, and El Espectro lay down on his belly in the underbrush on a small knoll overlooking the camp about twenty five meters away, settling in to observe. Whenever his face was this close to the jungle floor the smell of death, as green decayed to black, wafted thickly. Higher up, at walking level, the dominant smell spoke of life, as if pure, sweet oxygen prevailed in testimony to the riot of life all around. Up there, you could smell the fresh, clean breath of the jungle, but down here it digested its meals and only the smell of death penetrated. He could hear the laughs and crude jokes of the men before him clearly, some of them referring to his own Melassa. "That one's gonna cost you extra" he thought, as one of the men made a particularly cruel comment about Melassa's enjoyment of her last few seconds on this land.
As the evening unfolded El Espectro marked the guerrilla who would have to pay extra as the leader of the squad, and somehow that gave him a little extra satisfaction. The hunted, unaware of the hunter a stone’s throw away, continued to feed him information that he could put to use in their destruction. They talked about their destination and discussed possible routes from the current camp, all of which El Espectro filed away. He noticed that periodically a man would disappear into the darkness on the other side of the camp, first one, and now another, and return empty handed. He mentally marked the spot of their latrine.
In the wee hours of the morning, just before dawn, four of the guerrillas slept and one stood watch. El Espectro took the opportunity to glide around the camp in darkness to the latrine spot, knowing that it would be a popular place for the guerrillas to visit upon arising in the morning. It was far enough from the camp that a few small noises would probably go unnoticed.
A little later in the gray twilight of approaching dawn, the sentry arose and stretched, snapping a couple of small kinks out of his back. He looked at his sleeping companions to make sure they were all sleeping soundly (it simply wouldn’t do for them to catch him away from his post!) and trudged off to the latrine. The sentry faced the camp, dropped his trousers, and squatted over the cat hole in the ground. With his pants around his ankles and what little attention he had left after his stand at guard duty riveted on the camp to warn him of discovery of his absence by his companions, the sentry was an easy target.
El Espectro crept a little closer to the man and sprang at him from behind. he caught the sentry's chin in his right hand and, snapping his head back and a little to the right, jabbed the point of his jungle knife into the side of the man's exposed throat in a quick motion with his left, then quickly sliced it out the front, severing the carotid artery and windpipe. The sound which burst forth was an awful wheezing, coarse cough – almost a grunt, like a “whooping” cough – that rapidly became a gurgle as breath fought to penetrate thick sticky blood. The guerrilla’s eyes went wide with shock, the “this can’t be happening to me!" stare. After several seconds of blood spreading over the sentry’s chest and Jim’s hands, and spurting onto nearby leaves, the torso went slack but the legs still twitched in a vain lifeless effort to run away from the sudden horror which had overcome him.
El Espectro stared intently at the camp for a little time, checking for any telltale stirring among the sleepers, but found none. The hit had gone undetected, for the time being. He knelt over the corpse and, using the same jungle knife, severed his trophy from the dead guerrilla’s crotch. That particular “trophy” seemed fitting at the time, considering the man's crimes. Dropping the “trophy” into the salt bag at his belt, El Espectro disappeared into the lightening jungle dawn.
Over the course of the next three days, the hunter picked off his prey one by one, pausing to take his “trophy” each time. El Espectro catnapped at night between bouts of gaging the mental effects of his handiwork on the guerrillas and planning the next foray. The constant fear of a phantom they could not see, and therefore could not fight, and one who seemed to somehow KNOW just where they would be at any given time, weighed heavily on the minds of the guerrillas.
Two of the remaining four fell to booby traps made from local materials and set on the jungle trails trusted by the guerrillas as escape routes. One other fell to a single shot delivered from an overhead vantage point at the brow of a cliff overlooking a bend in the trail. Finally, only the squad leader remained.
The lone guerrilla trudged along the path doggedly. Sleepless nights and constant fear had taken their toll on him. As he neared the end of his rope he felt sure that he wouldn’t make his destination, but possessed a fatalistic determination to try. He had no other choice. The previous night he had dozed off briefly, only to be awakened by a bloodcurdling scream the source of which he couldn’t detect before it trailed off in the night. Whatever the scream's origin, it effectively set him on edge and prevented any further sleep. He was grateful for that. The demon stalking him would have a much tougher time at the kill if only he remained awake.
Suddenly, right there before him as he shuffled along, the morning mist and shadows of the jungle themselves stirred and coalesced into a human form, a form with a half black and half green striped face. Without a word, El Espectro (the guerrilla had no doubt it was he) shouldered his rifle and fired, destroying the guerrilla's right knee in a bloody spray of bone chips. The guerrilla dropped to the ground as the leg collapsed under him, but reacted relatively quickly with a minimum of fumbling. He pointed his rifle at the specter’s chest and pulled the trigger. The weapon only clicked in response.
"You need these to make that thing work" said El Espectro as he tossed a handful of cartridges to the ground at his feet. "I took 'em last night while you were asleep. Figured you might hurt somebody what with all the sleep you been losin'." The guerrilla could not understand all that chatter in English, but he fully understood the significance of the cartridges spilled on the ground. " 'Course I had to wake you up right after that. It ain't safe to sleep out in this jungle, don'tcha know. Had to scream like a fuckin' banshee to wake you up. You’re a pretty sound sleeper."
El Espectro drew a bead and destroyed the other knee of the guerrilla. When the screams of pain subsided, he spoke again. "You’re a pretty fair screamer yourself." The rifle bucked again and the guerrilla's left shoulder became a useless piece of meat.
When he had brought the guerrilla back to consciousness, El Espectro said "You're quite the bad ass, ain't you? Goin' around pickin' on girls with a bunch of your buddies". For this last comment El Espectro had switched to Spanish so he would be understood. He wanted the man to know why judgment had been passed and execution was nigh. The only response he received was numb – minded whimpering, so he shot the man in his right shoulder and once again aroused the doomed guerrilla.
"I'm a mean fucker, ain't I?" said the hunter in Spanish as he knelt to sever his “trophy” from the final prey while he still lived. The guerrilla leader had seen the other corpses, and Realized with a terrible clarity what El Espectro’s intentions were. He was unable to physically defend himself because of the destruction of his primary joints, and the ruined guerrilla suddenly came alive with begging, pleading to no avail. The knife flashed and the trophy lay in the hand of the victor, affording the guerrilla a prime view of the oozing appendage just prior to its placement in the salt bag.
"Now I'm gonna watch you bleed to death like a yapping street dog." The guerrilla could not survive his wounds now, not here in this septic jungle miles from any sort of medical help, but he redoubled his begging, heedless of his imminent demise. After a few moments, when the man's begging and increasingly glassy eyes began to show evidence of his weakening condition and became interspersed with low animal moaning, El Espectro said "Aw fuck it." The jerking bark of his rifle ended the conversation. In slow motion, a piece of the guerrilla’s skull the size of a man’s palm peeled back from above his left eye and flopped over the top of his head, allowing the pinkish matter contained within to splash on the ground. The whining, moaning, and pleading came to a halt.
Only now did Jim sit down in the lonely, life-filled jungle and mourn his loss. He cried like a baby for hours where none could see.
It took two days for Jim to get back to the site of the mine. As he approached, that prickling warning attacked the back of his head once more, and he became even more cautious. Shortly after, he saw the column of smoke rising from the ashes of his livelihood. Jim crept forward on his belly until he could see the mine, and knew that he would never enter those gates again. Sandinista guards patrolled the grounds where only days before his buddies had sat around between patrols playing poker and swapping stories. There must have been a massive assault while he was gone. In the foreground, a bulldozer shoved earth over unthanked mercenary bodies in a mass grave. Jim needed to see no more, in fact could stand to see no more. He headed for the village.
Entering the village from the jungle and avoiding the road which almost certainly crawled with a Sandinista infestation, Jim took a circuitous route toward the shack of Melassa's grandmother. He never made it. A pair of hands shot out of a doorway he was passing and hauled him inside. To his relief, it was Ace. That relief lived no longer than it took to look at Ace's eyes.
"The old woman is dead. The boy too. They raised hell when the Sandies came to town, and got summarily shot for their trouble along with a few other upstanding citizens. Since these people are needed by the new government to work the mine, they just made an example of a few of them, and the rest fell into line."
"New government? What the hell are you talking about?"
"The Sandinista government. They took Managua on the 19th or 20th, I ain't too sure – news doesn't get out here very well these days – and took the mine yesterday. We're in Indian country now, no offense, and it don't look good for us. They've been shootin' American military types on sight, no questions asked. I knew you'd come here to check on the old woman an' kid, so I came here to wait on you. I felt pretty sure you’d be back. We gotta get the hell out of Dodge."
"What about the others at the mine? How many casualties?"
"What others? We're it. Nobody else survived. They’re all dead, every last man."
Forty seven souls perished at the mine, from several nations and at least three, maybe four, continents. They would never be sung about, never see their families again, and no one would ever know what happened to them. Such are the vagaries of politics that no one would claim them; no one would ever even admit their existence.
after rounding up campesino garb to disguise themselves with, Ace and Jim buried their identity papers in the damp, rotting Nicaraguan soil along with their military trappings. Camouflage comes in many colors. Since they had no Identity papers, the two did not officially exist. Essentially, forty nine men had not died in a battle that did not take place in a jungle that would not give up its secrets.
Immediately after constructing their disguises, Jim paid a visit to Melassa's grave site. He dug a small, shallow hole at the foot of her grave, and buried the trophy bag at her feet, salt, trophies and all. Straightening up, he said "I got 'em for ya. It don't help nothin', and it won't bring you back to me, but for what it's worth, they paid for it. There's the change from the price they paid" he stated, pointing to the new mini-grave at her feet. "I mis... " – his voice cracked, and he was unable to say any more. Jim turned and left the grave, and never looked back.
The pair, Jim and Ace, headed north, and after a little over two weeks of dodging Sandinista patrols and receiving unsolicited help from sympathetic campesinos and Miskitos, arrived at the Honduran border. After they had crossed a river into the relative safety of Honduras, Jim sat down on the riverbank and stared back into Nicaragua. Gazing into the treeline on the far side of the river, he suddenly realized that he had turned 18 in that damndable jungle over there, while he was on his last hunt.
Jim would never again be the same boy who had arrived in Nicaragua, the same boy who had left home at seventeen to seek his fortune in a world he could not understand. Home, for that matter, would never again be the same place it had been before he’d learned to apply the skills he learned there to hunting men. He had left that boy in Nicaragua, the casualty of a war with no purpose, in a land with no future, populated by a people with no hope.
Would his father even know him when they met again? Jim doubted it. The boy his pappy had raised had died, the man returning in his stead was scarred from invisible wounds which Jim feared would never heal. Home never stayed the same, principally because the heart carrying it changed constantly, fluidly from one day to the next as the winds of time bore it along.
No, Jim knew he would never see his home again, even though he carried it with him always. A single tear rolled down his cheek in memory of the son his father had lost.
Quote:Hillary Clinton goes to a gifted-student primary school in New York to talk about the world. After her talk she offers question time. One little boy puts up his hand. Hillary asks him what his name is. "Kenneth," he says. "And what is your question, Kenneth?" she asks. "I have three questions," he says. "First -- whatever happened in Benghazi? "Second -- why would you run for president if you are not capable of handling two e-mail accounts? "And, third -- whatever happened to the missing six billion dollars while you were Secretary of State?" Just then the bell rings for recess. Hillary informs the kiddies that they will continue after recess. When they resume Hillary says, "Okay, where were we? Oh, that's right, question time. Who has a question?" A different boy -- little Johnny -- puts his hand up. Hillary points to him and asks him what his name is. "Johnny," he says. "And what is your question, Johnny?" she asks. "I have five questions," he says. "First -- whatever happened in Benghazi? "Second -- why would you run for president if you are not capable of handling two e-mail accounts? "Third -- whatever happened to the missing six billion dollars while you were Secretary of State? "Fourth -- why did the recess bell go off 20 minutes early? "And, fifth -- where's Kenneth?"
Quote:BREAKING Reports – New U.S. Airstrikes North of Baghdad – Three Vehicle Convoy of Iran-backed Shia Militia Leaders…
Posted on January 3, 2020 by sundance
Reports of new late-night U.S. airstrikes north of Baghdad are starting to be confirmed. According to developing reports a convoy of two or three vehicles carrying Iran-back Shia Militia leaders was targeted near Taji in Northern Baghdad. [Convoy pic below]
The strike is reported to have killed Qais Khazali, one of the people the US named as responsible for storming of US Embassy in Baghdad. Also Shibl al-Zaydi is now confirmed to have been killed. Shibl was the leader of Kata’ib al-Imam Ali or the Imam Ali Battalions.
Quote:BAGHDAD (Reuters) – Air strikes targeting Iraq’s Popular Mobilization Forces umbrella grouping of Iran-backed Shi’ite militias near camp Taji north of Baghdad have killed six people and critically wounded three, an Iraqi army source said late on Friday.
Two of the three vehicles making up a militia convoy were found burned, the source said, as well as six burned corpses. The strikes took place at 1:12 am local time, he said. (link)
It would appear the U.S. has ongoing excellent intelligence on the movements of key Iranian militia leadership operating in Iraq, and are now working through a list of those targets as they attempt to move around.
Quote:#BREAKING
Reports indicate Shbl al-Zaidi, commander of the #Iran-backed Kataib Imam Ali militia group & close to Qasem Soleimani, was targeted by a U.S. airstrike near Taji, north of Baghdad, Iraq.
Credit: @BaxtiyarGoranpic.twitter.com/osXmZev4Ow
— Heshmat Alavi (@HeshmatAlavi) January 3, 2020
Quote:BREAKING – New US strike on #Iran-linked militias in #Iraq just killed Shubul al-Zaidi, the leader of the Imam Ali Brigades outside Taji.
He was close (see on left) to #Soleimani & Abu Mahdi al-Mohandis, both killed 24hrs ago. pic.twitter.com/6gZmfexxrm
Posted by: BIAD - 01-03-2020, 10:14 PM - Forum: Europe
- No Replies
It looks like it's business as usual after the new year celebrations in Paris.
But I suppose if you let them in...
Quote:Paris Villejuif stabbings: Attacker shot dead after killing one and injuring others.
'One person has died and several others have been injured in a knife attack in a suburb of Paris.
A man stabbed a number of passers-by in Villejuif, about 8km (5 miles) south of the French capital, on Friday.
The attacker was chased by police after targeting people in a park. The motive for the attack was not clear.
Four people were believed to have been stabbed. Two were reported to have been seriously injured and had to
be taken to a nearby hospital.
The attack took place at about 14:00 local time (13:00 GMT) and the targets appeared to have been chosen at
random. Police advised people to avoid the area near to the Hautes-Bruyères park moments after they received
an emergency call.
The mayor of Villejuif, Franck Le Bohellec, said the deceased victim was a 56-year-old man who was out walking
in the park with his wife and died trying to protect her. In a tweet, the mayor offered his "sincere condolences to the
family and loved ones of the victim".
French counter-terrorism prosecutors said they were assessing the scene and authorities were trying to identify the
attacker. Police said they were interviewing several witnesses. France's Deputy Interior Minister Laurent Nuñez, who
later visited the scene, praised the police response, calling it an "extremely courageous act"...'
When I had my first waking thought I knew something had gone wrong simply because I could remember.
The deal is seven times and then you move on to the next level. No one ever explained to me exactly what the next level was or why I should go there if I am perfectly happy the way things work already.
Yes I know progress is supposed to be a human goal but what if I do not want to "progress" ?
Maybe a little history for those who are interested.
I was flying a Folker Tri-Plane in France and had 14 kills but on this day my life ended when Eddy Rickenbacker came out of the sun and with a lucky or skillful shot hit my plane and my body with several rounds fired from his machine guns. Everything went dark and after my Life's review I chose to come back and be born again to fly in the next war that was called World War Two.
My childhood was normal for the times and I did not remember anything about flying in France or Rickenbacker's golden BB that killed me. Like most people I was caught up in the hate and Nationalism when my country was attacked at Pearl Harbor.
I joined the Navy and off to flight school I went. The instructors said I was a natural and even offered me to stay and teach but... I had the Eagle in my eye and I wanted revenge, so I refused and ended up being sent to the Pacific as a Naval Aviator flying the F4-U after a short stint flying an F6F. I had several missions and was successful (I did not get killed) until one fateful day during a huge furball (18 Zero's and 4 F4-Us) where we got our butts kicked. I survived the encounter but on the way back to base the engine quit and I had to ditch in the Pacific. I would much rather be shot than eaten by a bunch of sharks so at the point where I could not stand the pain any longer my last bullet in my service revolver was fired into my own head. I hope a shark broke a tooth on the bullet.
Another life review and I chose to be reborn to some middle class parents and fly in the next patriotic war called Vietnam. I flew Helicopters and even though the odds were against me I survived and was even given a fixed wing transition as a reward (?) so now I was an instructor and an Examiner in both Helicopters and Fixed wing aircraft (I gave check rides to everyone if they wanted to maintain their flying status).
After a few years back in the States I volunteered to go back to Asia and was on a intelligence mission over Laos when a Chinese anti aircraft battalion fired 4 missiles at my aircraft that I was unable to avoid. I was killed during the initial explosion and to be honest that was better than riding a burning bird down to the ground and becoming a crispy critter.
I already had 4 other lives before my death in Laos so that was my big number “7” but..... I wanted to go back and fly...... so after my life review, unfortunately, I did not get to choose (punishment?) where or when for my next life.
My first memory was of darkness and warmness punctuated by subdued light and not so warm. I tried to move and was able to squirm but I was always restricted in my movements. How long I remained there I do not know but there came a time when I became so hungry that I knew if I did not escape I would die. Suddenly in a moment of clarity I realized I was a damn bird in an egg.. I hope my pecker (or whatever you call that thing on the front of my face) is hard enough to break the shell so I can get the hell out of here !
Quote:WHY IS THE UN HIRING ENGLISH-SPEAKING DISARMAMENT OFFICERS IN NEW YORK?
Yes, this is true, I seen the job listing posting on another site, one of these, Kate Awakening, Edge of Wonder or Destroying the Illusion.
Could this be:
Quote:Posting Title:
DISARMAMENT, DEMOBILIZATION AND REINTEGRATION OFFICER, P4 Job Code Title:
DISARMAMENT, DEMOBILIZATION AND REINTEGRATION OFFICER Department/Office:
Department of Peace Operations Duty Station:
NEW YORK
More,,,,,,
Quote:United Nations Core Values: Integrity, Professionalism, Respect for Diversity
The body of the application.
Quote:Org. Setting and Reporting
This position is located in the Disarmament, Demobilization and Reintegration (DDR) Section of the Office of Rule of Law and Security Institutions (OROLSI), within the Department of Peacekeeping Operations (DPKO) in New York. New York is classified as a hardship "H" duty station and family duty station. The incumbent reports to and is under the overall supervision of the DDR Section Chief.
Responsibilities
Within delegated authority, the Disarmament, Demobilization and Reintegration Officer will be responsible for the following duties:
• Acts as a Focal Point for Disarmament, Demobilization and Reintegration (DDR) components for two to three missions, responsible for planning, support to implementation and evaluation;
• Participates in DPO and Integrated Task Force planning meetings for the establishment of a new peacekeeping mission with a potential DDR component;
• Provides technical assistance to peace negotiations;
• Participates in technical assessment missions;
• Advises, develops and reviews (as appropriate) initial DDR functional strategy and concept of operations for further development into a full programme by the DDR component and the National DDR Commission;
• Drafts and reviews DDR inputs to SG report, code cables, and talking points;
• Develops initial result-based framework and budget for new DDR components in new mission;
• Liaises with UNDP and donor community to raise voluntary contributions for DDR programmes;
• Presents and/or defends new and subsequent DDR budgetary requirements in the ACABQ and the 5th Committee of the General Assembly;
• Develops staffing structure and terms of reference for a DDR component, including terms of integration with other UN agencies, funds and programmes;
• Provides technical clearance for applicants to DDR units in new and ongoing missions;
• Provides Headquarters support in planning the civilian and military logistics support for DDR;
• Continually reviews DDR programme strategy and implementation through relevant documents, reports and code cables;
• Conducts field missions to assess implementation of established DDR programmes;
• Identifies potential problems and issues to be addressed and suggests remedies to DDR units in the field;
• Liaises with Member States, UN actors and other DDR interested partners to represent the mission's DDR component at the Headquarters level;
• Establishes and maintains an outreach network with CSOs and IGOs active in the area of DDR.
• Supports the doctrine development work in the area of DDR in the department, with the Inter-Agency Working Group (IAWG) on DDR and other relevant national and international actors working on DDR issues;
• Contributes to Department-level or Policy Committee-level policy development work on DDR and related issues;
• Maintains and further develops the Integrated DDR Standards – a set of inter-agency policies, guidelines and procedures on DDR;
• On behalf of the Chief of the DDR Section, co-chairs the IAWG on DDR, contributes to bringing coherence to the interaction of the UN system and its partners on DDR;
• Supervises the Associate Expert (Junior Professional Officer) in the development and maintenance of the web-based United Nations DDR Resource Centre;
• Liaises with others (UN, regional organisations and Member States) providing DDR.
Other duties as required.
Competencies
Professionalism: Knowledge and understanding of theories, concepts and approaches relevant to DDR and related issues; ability to identify issues, as well as to analyze and participate in the resolution of issues/problems; ability to conduct data collection using various methods; excellent drafting and analytical skills; conceptual analytical and evaluative skills to conduct independent research and analysis, including familiarity with and experience in the use of various research sources, including electronic sources on the internet, intranet and other databases; ability to apply judgment in the context of assignments given, plan own work and manage conflicting priorities; shows pride in work and in achievements; demonstrates professional competence and mastery of subject matter; is conscientious and efficient in meeting commitments, observing deadlines and achieving results; is motivated by professional rather than personal concerns; shows persistence when faced with difficult problems or challenges; remains calm in stressful situations. Provides leadership and takes responsibility for incorporating gender perspectives and ensuring the equal participation of women and men in all areas of work.
Planning & Organizing: Develops clear goals that are consistent with agreed strategies; identifies priority activities and assignments; adjusts priorities as required; allocates appropriate amount of time and resources for completing work; foresees risks and allows for contingencies when planning; monitors and adjusts plans and actions as necessary; uses time efficiently.
Communication: Speaks and writes clearly and effectively; listens to others, correctly interprets messages from others and responds appropriately; asks questions to clarify, and exhibits interest in having two-way communication; tailors language, tone, style and format to match audience; demonstrates openness in sharing information and keeping people informed.
Education
Advanced university degree (Master's degree or equivalent degree) in disarmament affairs, military studies, political affairs, economics, international relations, or a related field. A first level university degree in combination with two additional years of qualifying experience may be accepted in lieu of the advanced university degree.
Work Experience
Seven years of relevant experience in disarmament affairs, political analysis or in national military or paramilitary service, preferably related to the design, implementation or review of DDR.
A minimum of two years of experience in planning, developing, implementing and evaluating DDR programmes is required.
Experience working in a large multicultural, multidimensional environment is desirable.
Experience coordinating with multiple partner agencies, funds or programmes is desirable.
Experience working in a field operation in an international organization, non-governmental organization, or within the United Nations common system (inclusive of peacekeeping, political missions and UN agencies, funds, and programs) is desirable.
Experience working on DDR related programmes in Africa is desirable.
Languages
English and French are the working languages of the United Nations. For this post advertised, fluency in English is required. Knowledge of French is desirable.
Assessment
Evaluation of qualified candidates may include an assessment exercise which may be followed by competency-based interview. Core values and competencies will be assessed throughout the evaluation process.
Special Notice
Staff members are subject to the authority of the Secretary-General and to assignment by him or her. In this context, all staff are expected to move periodically to new functions in their
careers in accordance with established rules and procedures.
The United Nations Secretariat is committed to achieving 50/50 gender balance in its staff. Female candidates are strongly encouraged to apply for this position. Extension of the appointment is subject to extension of the mandate and/or the availability of the funds.
United Nations Considerations
According to article 101, paragraph 3, of the Charter of the United Nations, the paramount consideration in the employment of the staff is the necessity of securing the highest standards of efficiency, competence, and integrity. Candidates will not be considered for employment with the United Nations if they have committed violations of international human rights law, violations of international humanitarian law, sexual exploitation, sexual abuse, or sexual harassment, or if there are reasonable grounds to believe that they have been involved in the commission of any of these acts. The term “sexual exploitation” means any actual or attempted abuse of a position of vulnerability, differential power, or trust, for sexual purposes, including, but not limited to, profiting monetarily, socially or politically from the sexual exploitation of another. The term “sexual abuse” means the actual or threatened physical intrusion of a sexual nature, whether by force or under unequal or coercive conditions. The term “sexual harassment” means any unwelcome conduct of a sexual nature that might reasonably be expected or be perceived to cause offence or humiliation, when such conduct interferes with work, is made a condition of employment or creates an intimidating, hostile or offensive work environment, and when the gravity of the conduct warrants the termination of the perpetrator’s working relationship. Candidates who have committed crimes other than minor traffic offences may not be considered for employment.
Due regard will be paid to the importance of recruiting the staff on as wide a geographical basis as possible. The United Nations places no restrictions on the eligibility of men and women to participate in any capacity and under conditions of equality in its principal and subsidiary organs. The United Nations Secretariat is a non-smoking environment.
Applicants are urged to follow carefully all instructions available in the online recruitment platform, inspira. For more detailed guidance, applicants may refer to the Manual for the Applicant, which can be accessed by clicking on “Manuals” hyper-link on the upper right side of the inspira account-holder homepage.
The evaluation of applicants will be conducted on the basis of the information submitted in the application according to the evaluation criteria of the job opening and the applicable internal legislations of the United Nations including the Charter of the United Nations, resolutions of the General Assembly, the Staff Regulations and Rules, administrative issuances and guidelines. Applicants must provide complete and accurate information pertaining to their personal profile and qualifications according to the instructions provided in inspira to be considered for the current job opening. No amendment, addition, deletion, revision or modification shall be made to applications that have been submitted. Candidates under serious consideration for selection will be subject to reference checks to verify the information provided in the application.
Job openings advertised on the Careers Portal will be removed at 11:59 p.m. (New York time) on the deadline date.
No Fee
THE UNITED NATIONS DOES NOT CHARGE A FEE AT ANY STAGE OF THE RECRUITMENT PROCESS (APPLICATION, INTERVIEW MEETING, PROCESSING, OR TRAINING). THE UNITED NATIONS DOES NOT CONCERN ITSELF WITH INFORMATION ON APPLICANTS’ BANK ACCOUNTS.
Did you catch the part that these people are going to be Deployed? It States: DDR Units in the Field,,,,,, where is that in America, sense it also States, English is the Required Language!
Damn It People,,,,, Lock and Load, keep your Powder Dry!
![[Image: iraq-attack-1.png?w=640&h=480]](https://theconservativetreehouse.files.wordpress.com/2020/01/iraq-attack-1.png)
![[Image: shbl-al-zaidi-target.png?w=640]](https://theconservativetreehouse.files.wordpress.com/2020/01/shbl-al-zaidi-target.png)
