More NAR Fan Fiction - The Last Toast

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More NAR Fan Fiction - The Last Toast

Post by Sebastian »


Another little text, hopefully for your enjoyment. I started a new thread because the former was getting to long.

I'ill try to post a follow-up later today.

The Last Toast

Somewhere in Idaho - Nearly 3 months after Couer d'Alene

As had happened the night before last, the second reunion of all members from future Company A, First Auxiliary Brigade, Northwest Volunteer Army, took place at Angelica Thompson's house. This time the meeting procedures moved from her ample and comfortable dining room to the less spacious and considerable more lugubrious basement. Had an outsider been present with both time and inclination to severely scrutinize the surroundings, he might find several suspect items present; such as the brand-new detailed city map laying on a pair of thick phone listings at a corner, or the weaponry and highly illegal Party political literature hidden among the neatly stacked parafernalia taking most of the basement's room, the produce of about two decades of human inhabitation.

The volunteers sat around a square table, considerably smaller than the ample dining table of two nights before, and stood under a single cieling lamp rather than the faux candelabra that decorated Angelica's dining room ceiling. The small, rough table, the near-claustrophobic set-up and the shadows cast by the single light source in the room, gave the scene a very conspiratorial atmosphere. Which was, of course, well merited.

Every human being present tonight was a conspirator in the truest political sense of the word.

By coincidence or purpose, each of the four Volunteers had chosen a sitting position equivalent to their dining room placement two nights prior.

Marion sat nearer to, and back facing the flight of stairs that led upwards and out the basement. In front of him and across the table stood Angelica. Jacques and Solvig flanked his sides, left and right respectively.

Marion cleared his throat and picked a sheet of white paper with several printed paragraphs that lay on the table. He explained to the others, "This is a printout of the General Orders of the Northwest Volunteer Army, as they were recited verbatim by the Party Leader at Couer d'Alene on past October the 22nd. I am sure all of you have heard them on the media, in full or in part, but it's essential to go over them in detail, they will be serving as the sole guideline for our Bellum Doctrina..."

"Quoi?" Jaques questioned.

"Our Doctrine of War, or Operational Guidelines if you prefer." Marion explained, "Every conflict has its rules, well...unless you're dealing with two sides that are total savages engaged in a war of extermination. This humble piece of paper," Marion flapped the sheet he was holding, "plus what I remember from several conversations with Party people back in the day, is all we have to go on for now."

Marion stopped talking and rose from his chair. he held the paper in front of him and his eyes perused the printed words for a couple seconds before he addressed his companions again.

"I want everyone here to understand how serious this text is and the penalties it carries if we were caught tonight. Even simply accessing a web site were you can read them is reason enough for the government to toss you in jail. After we're finished and everyone understands and commits the General Orders to memory we shall dispose of this physical document." If any of the others felt any fear at Marion's mention of the document's damning nature, his or her face didn't register it.

"I will now proceed to read them in full and by sequence. If you have any doubts or questions wait until I finish reciting each Order and I'll be glad to answer them."

Marion then recited each General Order clearly and pausedly, providing a laymen explanation afterward, in case the quasi-legal wording wasn't clear enough, and asking if there were still any doubts. The first question came when he finished reading General Order Number Four.

"What does "white person engaged in interracial sexual activity" mean, exactly?" asked Angelica, raising raised her hand.

"If you will forgive the course words, it means a White that fucks non-whites. A blonde girl doing the
two-humped beast with a nigger, for instance." Marion said with a naughty smile on his face.

"What if zhey stop?" asked Jaques.

"If the white person stops practicing miscegenation? Then we hold back. I am not ordering a hit on any white folk we happen to remember seeing walking hand-in-hand with a beast of pleasure a few weeks back if he or she abandons the practice."

Solvig laughed and commented, "Best of Pleasure. That is very good word."

"It is, isn't it? We must get on with the program now, comrades. We're living in the proto-NAR, white people can use racial slurs all they want. No more 1984-style self-censoring bullshit amongst ourselves. But as I was saying," Marion continued, "we're not going to kick down doors and head into bedroom to know who's, sleeping with whom. What we are after under General Order Number Four is whites who continuously demonstrate a predilection for sexing with other races; especially after we make our presence known in town. Ah, yes. There is an exception to this, Coalburners and Oil Drillers who have shitlets..." Solvig was laughing out loud again by this point and Jacques seemed ready to burst out too. But Angelica seemed slightly discomforted. Even if the widow's animosity towards negroes was by no means the least among the group, she was not used to have such colorful language used in her presence.

"...and white couples, or individuals, who have adopted non-white bambinos." Marion concluded, "Those people have gone beyond the pale and are beyond redemption. We don't well expect them to bash their brown or black babies' heads against a wall; the NVA isn't in the business of killing children, after all; but do damn well expect them to get the hell out of NAR sovereign territory! If they don't...we will turn their adopted kids, or biological mongrels, back into orphans. Was I clear enough?"

"Quite." aswered Angelica, "I dislike the idea of making orphans, but that negro that killed my husband and tried to kill me was once a little "cute" kaffir. If someone had kicked his family out of here back then..."

Marion agreed, "Yes, it would all have been much easier back in the 1950's; or so the Party old timers used to say. If the baby-boomer's parents had held their shite together we wouldn't be in this mess right now. Anyways..."

"Wait." Jacques interrupted him, "Whaz about ze homse...hom'sex..les pouffes?"

"You mean gays, homos, faggots...?" Marion inquired. Solvig was convulsing in dry laughter while Angelica rolled her eyes, "...dykes, lesbos? Those kinds?"

"Oui, we treat'zem like ze mixeurs, or we shootz'em all?" specified Jaques.

"Sort of like before. Remember, discretion and target selection. We don't want to risk harming an effeminate normal guy or a tomboy gal. I propose when we take hits on non-heteros we choose the targets in decreasing order of the level of faggotry they project. It isn't hard to distinguish between a full-blown, prideful, practicing "rainbow person" and normal folk." Marin continued, "We are so few and have limited resources, so we must hit'em were it hurts and choose targets who make good examples for the rest of'em. Think of it like trophy hunting: we will be after the prize of the herd, the bull-est dyke around or the raving drag-queen, not the high school girl who made a mistake and is "experimenting" Solvig made a face of disgust at the mention of the word. She had been pretending to herself a sybian in her professional life and been the target of attention from true sybians. Solvig knew well the kind of "experimentation" they were after and how in-your-face those women could be about their warped desires.

Marion continued, "That girl might be brought around, or she may stop of her own volition. But the GLAAD types? Without some serious psychriatic aid I don't see them getting back to sanity."

Marion continued the readout. General Order Number Seven brought up some doubts about precisely how uncooperative regular folks had to be towards the NVA before they merited special treatment.

Marion told the trio, "The two classes of white people we mentioned before, plus all Agents of the State, particularly lawyers and judges, are fair targets, always. Now; a common white man or woman must be actively hindering our efforts to merit the same treatment. I hope the NVA brass gets in touch with us before such types come out of the woodwork; because I remember a few Party talks, when we were discussing what our future strategy might be were it was mentioned they would be better served with a beating than a shooting in most cases. I have no idea were the borders lie at the moment, this is precisely the type of issue we'd take up to our superior officer, if we had one that is. I'd say such people are a very low priority for us at the moment. Unless we get a major public figure hooting and holerin' and affecting public opinion. Most likely, if we have to off such a person I bet it will be a member of the local media who gets too obtuse and doesn't respond to a warning; we'll see when the time comes."

The recital of the rest of the General Orders went on without interruption. But as Marion finished, everyone around the table notice Jacques making an ugly expression when at the reading of the last General Order.

"Hmm, about zath Generale Order 10..." the French volunteer began.

"It's means exactly what it says Jaques!" Marion scolded, "Starting from the moment we take the Oath, no alcohol of any kind shall pass our lips until the War of Independence is over, for good or ill. Tobacco, coffee and sugar are ok."

"Sugar?" Solvig seemed puzzled.

"You ever seen kids on sugar?" Marion went on, "No illegal drugs, of course. And no psychotropic medical pills either, which means if anyone is popping Xanax or Prozac they don't get to join the NVA, no matter if they can recite Party literature by memory and in reverse."

Jacques thought on all that had been said for a second and expressed his feeling with one word, "Merde!"

"Bela merda, sim! I like a good drink as much as any man. In fact, when we win this thing I plan to start planting strawberry trees and begin distilling some good Algarvian Firewater professionally. It will be my own small contribution to the Homeland's Aryan culture. A little taste from the Old Country; be fair we got the distilling process from the Arabs, or rather the still itself. To this day, the Portuguese word for "still" is the Arabic term. But what the heck were the Moors doing with alambiques anyway? They're not suppose to drink, so sayeth their Profet."

"So you will celebrate Aryan culture with a drink created by Arabs? How that make sense?" asked Solvig .

"No, WE created Algarvian Firewater, from the North African Moors we only got the still, and I don't know whom they got it from. And yes, that process is part of Aryan culture. We are the most creative Race on the planet, but when someone beats us to an invention or discovery we pick it up, make it better and use it in ways the others didn't think about." Marion went on, talking with his hands in good Latin manner, "Take the Chinese for instance. They discovered gunpowder, granted. And they had it for centuries before it reached Europe. And what do they use it for? Fireworks! Something to amuse children and scare off primitive barbarians on the battlefield; which only works the very first time the enemy meets it. What do we Europeans do with it we we finally get it? We build cannons and make muskets, and in a couple of generation the medieval castle is rendered obsolete and the knight covered head-to-toe in plate armor begins vanishing from the battlefield. The negroes are scavengers but we are improvisers by nature, and we have no qualms about learning from our enemies and using their tactics and weapons back against them. For example, when Francisco Pizzaro's boys were fighting the Aztecs they found the indian's quilted armor was better than their own 16th century infantry armor at stopping their arrows, so what do they do? They strip them from the injun's dead bodies and begin wearing it themselves...shit, and here I am...going into professor mode again instead of getting on with this meeting!" Marion rolled his eyes and grimaced.

"Is ok. We like it when you go professor mode. It good teaching." Solvig smiled at him.

"Anyway. I hope everyone grasps General Order Number Ten. Like the other nine we abide by it. But don't think I'm totally without a heart, Jacques." Marion said to the Frenchman, "I have a surprise for everyone. Solvig, could you pass me that backpack I set near the table leg? Thank you."

From the backpack Marion removed a dark bottle with an official-looking seal of sorts embossed near the base of its neck. He passed the bottle to Jacques, who read the words on the rotule. His face lit up.

"Oh quelle surprise!" he sang.

"What is it?" Solvig asked.

"Vin du port."

"It's Port Wine." explained Marion with pride, "Real port wine, aged 30 years and made from real Douro grapes. Not the swill they sell to tourists or the crap the Japanese synthezise in their labs. That bottle cost me a lot of Euros and I've had it with me since I came to America, years ago. I was hoping to open it to celebrate when the balloon finally went up and we got our first victory. Since Coeur d'Alene turned out to be disaster and I wasn't counting on General Order Ten, I suggest we open it now and have a glass each before we take the Oath are are officially under Northwest Volunteer Army General Orders."

Solvig agreed, "One last drink before we become full Northwest Army Volunteers."

"I usually do not drink at all." Angelica began, "But in this occasion I will make an exception. Let me go into the kitchen and get a corkscrew and a few glasses." She got off her chair and disappeared up the stairs.

Marion, Solvig and Jacques engaged in some idle talk during the few minutes it took Angelica to return, carrying four crystal goblets and a corkscrew. As she laid them out in the table and passed the tool to Jacques, who opened the bottle with masterful ease, Marion thought to inquire why Angelica had such nice glassware as this when she was a near-teetotaler; but he remained silent because suspected her deceased husband might have been a drinker and didn't want to bring up the sad memory of his death on this celebratory occasion.

Jacques poured the wine for everyone, and Marion recommended they let it "breathe" in the goblets for awhile. Then the two women, one Norse, the other Germanic; got to witness the spectacle of their two more Mediterranean kinsmen going over the ritual of sloshing, gazing and inhaling the red liquid on the glasses they where holding while they exchanged comments about "body", "fruitiness" and other such terms. Those female gazes from eyes born into a non-wine culture didn't go unnoticed to Marion, We must really look like a pair of yuppie Eurofags - he thought amusingly to himself.

Eventually, it was time to drink and to toast.

Marion raised his glass, "To Freedom!"

"To Courage!" Solvig answered raising hers.

"To Good Health and Safety." were Angelica's wishes.

"And, to Bonne Chance." Jacques went last.

All the glasses tingled each other and they sipped their drinks. The last one they would have for the next five years.


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Re: More NAR Fan Fiction - The Last Toast

Post by Sebastian »


Here's the continuation to the previous text. I managed to get it cleaned up on time.


(Fyi, this one was a real b*tch to write)

The Oath

With the last toast completed and the table cleared, the most momentous occasion of the night approached. All four would be taking their Oath to the Northwest Volunteer Army and to each other. As none among them knew what the exact wording of the official Oath was, they had decided each should make and recite their own. More than likely, once they established contact with the "true" NVA they would be expected to take the official oath. Despite Marion's efforts, and some discreet net-searching, he had been unable to find it out.

"One last surprise for the night..." Marion said as he rummaged through his backpack.

"Another one?" asked Angelica, "You are like Santa Claus come a bit late...oh my!" she was genuinely surprised with what Marion took from the backpack.

The Portuguese unfolded it and held it in display, with a full cheshire cat smile on his lips. The trio looked at the mid-sized blue, white and green Tricolor flag of the Northwest American Republic. There was silence for a couple of seconds until Solvig broke it. "I did not know you had one of those!" she exclaimed.

"Yup." Marion looked down at the flag he held, "Is it an automatic 5 or 10 years just for owning one? I can't keep up with all of ZOG's bullcrap. I brought this little baby so we had something to swear the Oath too." He laid the flag, carefully centered on the table.

"Zo, how zo we go about this?" asked Jacques as Marion finished spreading the flag.

"We each take a turn around the table." Marion explained, "I'd like to be last if there is no objection..."

"Seems appropriate, for the leader." Angelica agreed. To her left Solvig nodded in like agreement.

Marion elaborated, "The one taking the Oath will stand up while the other three remain seated. Once he or she finishes, take back the chair and the next person rises."

Angelica decided to contribute and idea, "What about candles? Do you think they would be appropriate, Marion?"

He nodded in response, "If you'd like. If you have four we can place them at each corner."

"Be right back." as she had done before, Angelica went up the stairs and returned moments later with four candles on low candlesticks made of metal and of simple design. She placed each at a corner of the table, meaning there was now a candle between every Volunteer around it.

As Angelica lit each candle in turn using matches, Jacques volunteered to be the first to take the oath. "But I waz wondering. Could I zo my oath in French? I could zay it in English, but mine iz so bad..."

"Sure go ahead." Marion told him, "I can understand Le Francais so I'll be able to tell what you're saying. Angelica will go after you, then Solvig, then me. We each place a hand over our heart while saying our oath. Other than that, do what you feel appropriate."

While he talked, Angelica finished lighting the last candle. Then she went to the basement's light switch and regulated the intensity of the cialing lightbulb down. The lower light was still good enough to see with, but enhanced that of the candles and gave the proceedings a more reverent, almost religious, atmosphere.

Everyone took a chair, while Jacques rose from his. The moment of truth had finally come. It was obvious the Frenchman was feeling a bit of stage fright, but after clearing his throat and focusing he began speaking in his native tongue. To all his companions, who had only heard him speak in heavily accented English, Jacques' voice almost seemed to belong to another person, and it was clear from his diction and pronounciation, even to the women who didn't understand French, that Jacques was a much smarter and cultured person than his weak English would lead to believe.
He had never before sworn an oath to anything and a couple hours of net-search had shown Jacques that France was pretty poor in examples to get inspiration from. He ended up taking a lot from the spirit, if not that much of the wording, of the "Serment de Fidélité à la Constitution" which dated all the way back to the French Revolution of 1791.

Jacques Broussard swore fidelity to the NAR, its Constitution, its leaders and its army: the NVA; promising to follow the orders "of his future president and too his present cell commander". It could not be said it was a bad effort, even if Marion felt it sounded a bit too servile. But he did not let that get in the way of praising Jacques.

"Well done, Comrade. Please take your seat." he turned to Angelica which was already getting up to take her turn. Before saying anything, she opened a table drawer and extracted a leather-bound Holy Bible which she placed down on the Tricolor. The woman took her right hand to her breast while the left rested on the bible and began recited the long oath she had pre-prepared. It soon became obvious which sources Angelica had borrowed from.

"I, Angelica Thomas, also known as Angelika Bachmeier, do solemnly swear that I absolutely and entirely renounce and abjure all allegiance and fidelity to the United States of America and Bundesrepublik Deutschland, both of which I have until now been a citizen of; that I will henceforth and forevermore pledge allegiance to the Tricolor flag of the NAR, and to the republic for which it stands, a White Homeland, blessed under God, with security and safety for all our people."

"I furthermore affirm, that I will support and defend the Constitution and laws of the Northwest American Republic against all enemies, foreign and domestic; that I will bear true faith and allegiance to the same; that I will join the Northwest Volunteer Army and bear arms on behalf of the Northwest Republic as required, by its laws, by its leaders and by my commanding officer, in accordance with the Ten General Orders of NVA, for as long as it is deemed necessary until the birth of our Homeland."

"I take this obligation freely without any mental reservation or purpose of evasion; so help me God."

The solemnity of Angelica's recitation had impressed everyone, Marion found himself saying "Holy s..." before he bit his tongue, "I mean, excellent! Comrade Angelica. You do us all proud."
The eldest of the group simply took her seat silently, with a smile on her face.

Her considerable younger counterpart, Solvig, took the oath next.

She spoke slower than Jacques or Angelica, to make certain the words and grammar were as correct as possible. Of all four, her Oath was the only that was mostly improvised on the moment. Solvig had decided that pouring what was in her heart was superior to preparing a text beforehand.

Placing her right hand over her heart, and her left raised upwards by her side, the Swedish woman addressed everyone.

"I am Solvig, daughter of Markus, son of Mårten. I have no home to call my own, I have no family, I have no God, I have no Lord, I have no friends but you, I have no Bond but my Word; and that is all I can give."

"We are in new land, a new country we must win with fires and swords. This night, take my Oath as free White Woman: I swear upon the deeds and memories of my brave ancestors, the first ones come to this land, that I will do my all to help the birth of the Northwest American Republic and the fight of the NVA. I join with no regret, to be until the end.
May our enemies fall, and flee, and die. Ge lika gott igen, ge svar på tal. Mitt liv är ditt. Mitt liv tillhör Orsaken."

Give equal in reply, answer according to the call. My life is yours. My life belongs to the Cause.

"You do your ancestors proud, Comrade Solvig." her leader told her, "Well, I guess it's my turn now."

Marion got up and like the three before him, placed his right hand over his heart. He closed his eyes for a moment, and when he re-opened them they were not looking at anything, or anywhere, in particular. He was looking towards infinity.

"Ego, Marius Verissimus, filius Sebastiani, filius Ioannis, ​​ex Hiberis in Europa..."

He continued, in a Latin that would have caused a professor of Classical Studies to rip his hair in despair over the eggregious errors in grammar and the multitude of fumbled declinations. But someone with a passing knowledge of the ancient language of the Ceasers could have gotten the gist of it. The other three, none of which spoke Latin, did catch on to such expressions as "Aquilonem et Occidentem Americanum Reipublicae" and "Nordmannos Voluntariorum Exercitum". As far as they could tell, Marion's oath didn't made any reference to God.
Towards the end, he reverted back to English.

"All This I swear; for the sake of my race and folk, for the sake of our culture, for the sake of our yet unborn, for the sake of my future family and for the sake of my Comrades, here present with me. I shall not fail them."

Jacques opened his mouth to offer congratulations; but Marion was not over yet. And what he did next shocked his comrades more than if he had donned a ball cap and gone into an improptu rapping session, complete with thrown gang-signs and degenerate Ebonics.

Marion was not a National Socialist, but he held a deep love for all things Roman, and a deeper loathing for the media of the alien race that had demonized one of those things in particular. And the action he took was meant to prove, to himself and his companions, just how fierce his commitment to their common cause was.

Marion's hand over his heart closed into a fist. Lifting his chin up, he screamed:


The candles' flames weaved when the violence of his gesture perturbed the air. Marion's right arm shot forward at a right angle to his body, palm extended above the Tricolor on the table doing the venerable Saluto Romano. He shouted two more words:


It was as if a giant, invisible, soundless hammer blow had just been struck. There was just silence and stillness on the basement, save for the dancing candle flames. Until Solvig regained her wit...

She all but jumped up from her seat, the chair's legs dragging noisily on the basement's floor, rising to her full height, a head above Marion and every inch of her athletic form a beauty to behold. In a fluid, two-part movement, she took her right forearm to the chest and trust it forward in a copy of Marion's stance.

"Hagel Seger!" she cried.

Marion looked at her with shining eyes, surprised gratitude pouring forth from those large dark brown orbs, made smaller behind a pair of spectacles.
Solvig understood and gave him a nod without breaking eye contact, smiling from the corner of her lips.

Not wanting to be left behind, Jacques too got up, unhurriedly, after a half-shrug. He imitated his companion's salute in a more nonchalant manner.

"Pour la Victoire." he said.

Only one remained seated. Now, the peer pressure was almost palpable. Not because any of Angelica's peers
were gazing down on her, but due simply to the momentousness of the occasion, and what it would mean for her if she followed the trio.

Angelica began to rise from her chair, slowly. Each second feeling to her like an hour until her back was at last straight. Her comrades were looking. Her right arm rose mechanically, without hurry, each new degree of inclination like climbing a mountain but each a little bit easier than the one before. Slowly, ever slowly, beginning the erosion of a lifetime of indoctrinated cultural self-hatred. Her palm joined the others, at first trembling slightly, then still and firm.

For Angelica was no longer afraid.

She stiffened her back, the poise giving her dignity and transpiring a courage that the other three didn't guess Angelica had within her. And the pair of words that poured from her mouth was that one, that single one that she never, ever expected she would be saying; no matter how many long days her life on this Earth might last.

"Sieg Heil!"

They had all crossed the Rubicon, and it seemed this moment could stand crystalized in time, forever.

It was Marion that broke the almost holy silence their ritual had achieved, while all four still held their arms and palms forward, forming an improptu cross above the flag on the table.

"Congratulations my Comrades, and all be welcome to the Northwest Volunteer Army. Freedom!"

Cell leader Marion Dynes was grinning with joy and it was reflected in the three smiling faces of the Volunteers before him, Jacques Broussard, Angelica Thomas and Solvig Finnsdottir.

And somewhere...the shades of Roman legionaires, the spirits of Valkyrie-borne reavers and the ghosts of Napoleon's Vieille Garde and Wehrmacht soldiers, might be smilling too.


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Re: More NAR Fan Fiction - The Last Toast

Post by Jesse »

Excellant. Have you written before?
The truth does not fear investigation.
David Lane, 88 Precepts # 12

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Joined: Thu Jun 14, 2012 6:53 am

Re: More NAR Fan Fiction - The Last Toast

Post by Gentleman »

Part of the reason I made this account was to tell you how impressed I am by your work, and to politely request more.

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