Over the next few days I will be serializing an essay written by the 2010 Nobel Peace Prize winner Liu Xiaobo. The purpose of this is to give us the chance to analyze more deeply why the Nobel Committee decided to award him the Prize, and not some other deserving soul. When translating this first section, a couple of questions ran through my brain.

1. What is the function of government?
2. What is democracy, and is it always desirable?
3. Why the Nobel Committee decided to award him the prize?

I hope this translation proves interesting. Once I have finished translating the entire thing, I’ll write further about my own views on the award.

From the Cultural Revolution to the Tiananmen Incident: The Difficulties in Bringing Democracy to China, Part 1

The multitudinous disasters and calamities of the last one hundred years of modern Chinese history reached their peak during the time of Mao Zedong. Of particular note was the Great Cultural Revolution, which effected an unprecedented calamity upon China. The despotic methods of the Communist Party, the lawless and godless nature of the personal totalitarianism, the crazy convulsions of the countless amount of tyrannical policies, all reached their peak. This resulted in the economy being pushed to a state of near collapse, and the rule of law becoming completely non-existant.
Culture and morals were hugely damaged to an unprecedented degree, the people’s rights and existence were thoroughly trampled upon. The damage wreaked by these policies were extensive and affected over one hundred million people. From the nation’s Chairman to the newborn baby, the number of deaths numbered in the many tens of thousands.

Owing to the exceptionally tragic nature of the Cultural Revolution, the corrupt practises of the the Communist apparatus were revealed. So, the natural death of absolute totalitarian Chairman Mao, and the conclusion of the Cultural Revolution resulted in an ideal time for the implementation of market liberalization and democratic reforms. Owing to the experiences of China through the Cultural Revolution, at least two types of social consensi were reached regarding the political structure of the country:

1. The realities of modernization could not be seperated from democratization. The reforms and opening up of China should be both political and economic in nature and proceed at the same pace, and not economic reforms combined with crippled political reforms.
2. To realize democratic participation should be the result of steady reforms from co-operation between the government and the people, and not the result of a radical revolution. Because social changes result from such reforms, it would likely be necessary for the speed of which to be fairly slow; but this would also lower the total costs of social integration.

The 1980s were the Golden Age for Chinese reforms. The market liberalization that resulted from economic reforms yielded fruit from the start, [thought] culture because more lively, with desire for democratic reforms becoming a main thread among citizens’ desires. Following the “Xidan Democracy Wall”, the “thought liberation movement”, university elections up and down the whole country, student demostrations, marches and other activities, achieved an increasingly clear and powerful expression.

What was gratifying was that there was a grouping of liberal reformers who were able to influence government policy within the highest echelons of the Communist Party. This grouping strongly supported the equal implementation and progression of economic and political reforms. Two of the liberal reformers, Hu Yaobang and Zhao Ziyang, were General Secretaries whose views corresponded with those of the populace, and assisted Deng Xiaoping develop his official speeches regarding the reforms, helping to exclude the conservative side of the party who stubbornly opposed reforms, stopping the leftist resurgence “Clean Up Politics” and “Anti-Freedom” campaigns; thus creating a Golden Age of political reforms in contemporary Chinese history.

The 1989 Movement that was aimed at such political reforms was built on the base of this co-operation between the people and the government. Students conducted a grassroots campaign to promote their desire for democratization. They achieved extensive support throughout society, and became the large scale 1989 Movement. It can be said that this Movement that was pushing for political reforms, on such a vast scale, that kept its momentum, and with a wide grassroots mobilization, had already had an exerted influence on China’s government policy from its support from the people. The liberal reformers element within the Party and the intellectuals had all they needed just within their grasp, and had made a big impact.

Unfortunately, the liberal reformers within the Party, and the intellectuals without, were on the whole not mature; and did not display the right kind of courage, ability and intelligence in their actions. They did not display the right skills in dealing with the sudden eruption of the incident and failed to direct the people the right way. They lacked organization skills and expertise, maturity in strategy and wisdom. They lacked spirit and moral courage, and repeatedly failed to take the opportunity to lead the citizens, and completely and utterly wasted this enormous [human] resource. After the massacre, the elite were lacking even more the intuition to stand fearlessly and with moral courage before the great terror. The price paid in young lives has had not compensated with any progress, even to the present day.

The mistakes made by the liberal progressives had the effect of passing the initiative to the stubborn element within the Party, letting them oppose the public consciousness with an unforgiving attitude. Allowing them to influence the decision making of the highest level of the Party, finally opting to using military force to suppress the 1989 Movement. Representing Deng Xiaoping, the stubborn element acted as though the good and honest intentions of the people were absolutely implacable foes. They turned the liberal progressives in to traitors and washed them out of the Party, and turned what was a grand scale political reform movement into a great evil that shocked the world. Deng Xiaoping’s killing spree not only ruined so many young lives, but also ruined the period of peaceful direction of [reform of] China’s political system.

Part 2 coming soon

While the government is more than happy to tap your phones, to sift through your emails, and frisk you each time you get on a plane, it is much less eager for you to see its underbelly. It categorically does not want you to read its confidential reflections on the Iraq and Afghan wars, the British and Saudi Royal families, corruption in Africa, and the tantalising glimpses of how little the US administration actually knows about some parts of the world; this information is classified for a reason: America is trying to make sense of a complex world to preserve its standing as the sole superpower. International diplomacy is poker writ large, you never, never show your hand to the other players. You may give glimpses of a couple of cards to your closest allies, but never the full hand; to do so is the surest way to lose the game.

And here lies the dilemma. The secrets are now up there for all to see, sprayed on the toilet wall. Do you look? And what are the consequences of doing so? In short, it is illegal for any US citizen to read classified documents. The White House’s Office of Management and Budget obligated each and every federal employee and contractor to safeguard the classified information. It is taking every measure possible to try to ensure that access to Wikileaks is stopped as soon as possible in an effort to minimize potential damage to its legitimacy to rule. It has already strongarmed Amazon and Paypal, among others, to starve the organization, and is very likely in talks with the bigger ISPs to limit your ability to access it from the privacy of your own home.

As the arrest of the front man of Wikileaks, Julian Assange, on trumped up rape charges. If someone powerful wants you bad enough, they will use every method at their disposal to ensure they get you. Assange has declared he is sitting on a timebomb: within the still yet to be released cables are secrets that will shock the world. The government is thus eager to apply as much pressure to him as possible to try and prevent this. For us little folk, reading the documents is still illegal, but unless we go out of our way to really disseminate the information widely, I doubt we’ll be seeing in the new year from anywhere other than from the comfort of our own homes, though likely imprisoned and subjected to grievous torture by the arrival of our raucous tone deaf carol singing families for the holiday season!

In today’s modern age of information overload, it is possible to miss things in the myriad of media outlets.

I had been keeping an eye on the BBC’s live coverage of the student riots in London and had already noted a strong bias being displayed. There were several contradictions in the reporting that was done.

When Ben Brown of the BBC had a chance to interview Jody McIntyre, a disabled protester who had been violently assaulted on camera by the police, the bias and bigotry shown shocked thousands that saw it live. When Bill Turnbull had his chance to interview Jody McIntyre in the morning, he also demonstrated his bias and incompetence. You can watch the interview here.

Kevin Bakhurst, a BBC editor further compounds the BBC’s problems at his blog page dedicated to this story.

From this page we see that Kevin Bakhurst declares “I am aware that there is a web campaign encouraging people to complain to the BBC about the interview, the broad charge being that Ben Brown was too challenging in it.”

Well, from the hundreds of replies that I have read below Kevin’s blog, it seems that Kevin is one of (if not the only) the few to have seen or heard about this “web campaign” He also completely misses the multitude of points that have been raised by all those shocked enough to have done something about it.

I wonder just how many folks have suddenly woken up with this dash of biased and twisted reality thrown in their faces?

Is this the straw that breaks the camels back?

Will there now (at Kevin’s suggestion) be a series of web campaigns to try and remove public (that is us!) funding from this out of touch dinosaur of biased democracy?

I for one would welcome the opportunity to not pay the license fee and never see anything this crass or repugnant again.

Why can we not opt out?

NoIdea

As Gou Hongyang points out here, China has long regarded the Peace Prize as a political tool, and it’s hard to disagree with them after its award to the now wholly discredited IPCC, Al Gore and also Obama. The question is, whose political tool is it? What exactly is its function? Whom do the Nobel Committee represent?

Zhou Enlai, when asked about the impact of the 1789 French Revolution, quipped it was too early to tell. History is the result of the crossing and twining of myriad human lives. A certain amount of perspective must be necessary to be able to clearly and accurately declare that, without doubt, this certain person at this certain time helped make the world a better place. Just as it would have been farcical to award Neville Chamberlain the Prize in 1938, what function did it serve to award it to those, whose efforts and resultant fruits of their noble labour, if any, are far far from being realized?

What exactly was the motivation behind awarding this increasingly discredited prize to Liu Xiaobo, a man psychologically scarred by the effects of the Tiananmen Inicident (or massacre, depending on your viewpoint) who has spent his life in and out of prison campaigning for human rights, and democracy within China? Has he helped bring peace to China? Is he even realistic in his methods, and goals? Will the awarding of this prize help ensure global peace in the near future? I worry that the award of this prize to a political dissident may have weakened the bonds of peace that binds us together in our increasingly fractitious, multipolar and dangerous, world.

Liu Xiaobo campaigns for human rights within China. If you are yet to read it, the UN’s Universal Declaration of Human Rights can be found here. To my jaded eyes, it reads more like a wish list than a set of achievable goals; full of naivity, more like John Lennon’s Imagine than something grounded in the harsher realities of our unfortunately complex and fallen world. While it is true that you’ll get further by shooting for the moon than just lying in the gutter, actions need to be grounded in reality. No matter how noble his struggle is, the awarding of this prize only exaggerates mistrust between the newly boisterous China and old Europe.

The immediate upshot has been that China has denounced the Nobel Peace Prize as illegal and illegitimate, and has established its own, the Confucius Prize, in its stead. Although the ceremony was hastily arranged, the recipient unaware, and its establishment a clear signal of petulance, this should send shock waves through the Western establishment. Whilst the emotions and motivations may be similar to Zimbabwe declaring the British Pound to be junk, the difference is that China’s decisions, whether grounded in rationality or hysterical response, now matter. Western norms do not have the same force that they once did. The following, an announcement by an official at the Confucius Prize ceremony, illustrates the rage:

China is a symbol of peace, meanwhile it owns the absolute power to uphold peace. With over 1 billion people, it should have a greater voice on the issue of world peace. In essence, Norway is only a small country with scarce land area and population, but it must be in the minority in terms of other relatively large numbers concerning the conception of freedom and democracy. Hence, the selection of the “Nobel Peace Prize” should open [sic] to the people in the world instead of engaging in “minority” type of the [sic] so-called presumption. Because it is unable to stand on the highest point of the whole human being, but also difficult to represent the viewpoint of most people, which could be inevitably biased and fallacious.

There is another aspect, one that I have yet to see anyone else mention. One of the most fundamental concepts in Chinese culture is that of face. By awarding this prize to someone who has repeatedly denounced Chairman Mao, Deng Xiaoping, Jiang Zemin, Hu Jintao and Wen Jiaobao, the august Nobel Committee have in effect spat in the faces of the Chinese leadership. Giving someone face means that you help hide your friend’s inadequacies because the relationship is important to you. As the Chinese response makes clear, following the exposure of its soft underbelly and the subsequent ridicule by the world’s media, Norway is evidently not China’s friend.

From a geopolitical viewpoint, Nobel Prizes are the most prominent example of Scandanavia’s, (and if the European Commission also influence nominees, the EU’s) interventionist soft power. One of the benefits of being isolationist, is that by not bothering others, others are less likely to bother you; but interventionist policies are more likely to provoke a response of some sort. Thorbjorn Jagland, in defending the this years decision, said that the award was aimed at ‘honouring people,’ who like Liu, have said that ‘further economic development in China must be combined with political reforms.’ In short, he is telling the Chinese leadership how they should rule China. An action that could be interpreted as incredibly arrogant and condescending. Perhaps in the future, those in charge of awarding this prize ought to take care not to disturb any cantankerous dragons asleep on their hoards.

• Trash the founder’s reputation.
• Choke off all hosting and support facilities to close it down.
• Establish your own tame version of Wikileaks using the ‘survivors’.
• Start a PR campaign for those plucky ‘survivors’.

Of course, it would help a lot if some of those ‘survivors’ were your men all along but perhaps I’m being too cynical here …

Strangely enough, click here. 

Pointman

In the 19th century the fledgling Australian Nation, then a collection of Colonies of the British Empire, began to spread inland from the tenuous enclaves they established around the coast, and a great new epoch of frontier exploration began. The discovery of huge gold deposits in the east, to be followed by even larger reefs in the west, heralded a great influx of fortune seekers from around the world, and with them came the Chinese.

A perceptive and industrious people, many soon saw that providing labour and other goods and services to the miners and the camps, villages and towns that soon mushroomed in the goldfields, would be a certain path to prosperity and a regular remittance of income to their families at home. The uncertain nature of gold mining and the vain hope of ‘stubbing a toe on a golden nugget’ in an age when great fortunes were won and lost, was not for those who could see a different pathway to success.

In the small southern island state of Tasmania, Chinese miners were important in tin mining from the 1870′s, bringing valuable expertise to securing this rich commodity, highly prized for its non-corrosive properties and its usefulness in manufactured ‘tins’ for the preservation of food. Literally hundreds of mines were established, ranging in size from the large workings at places like Derby and Anchor Mine, to the many smaller, transient mine sites that were worked by small groups of men or single operators. Over the past decade, on the Trail of the Tin Dragon, a number of sites have been discovered in the State’s North East, revealing the lives of Chinese miners.

The 30-year history of one particular mining camp has been slowly revealing its secrets following recent excavations. Records show that Chinese miner Hen Kee held a lease on the mine, which was worked by him and others from 1892 to 1923. The composite Chinese-European alluvial tin mine has revealed dump sites containing domestic refuse. Items from the Chinese era show soy sauce vessels, ginger jars, whisky bottles, and highly decorated coloured ceramics. A forge has also been unearthed, which is significant in that it shows the transition from Chinese-only mining to an exclusively European operation. They are known to have been in large numbers on the tin fields of the district in the late decades of the 19th century where they dominated tin mining and outnumbered Europeans by up to 10 to 1. They contributed labour for the tin fields and were accepted as hard-working men who lived well in the community.

Most Chinese worked on leases held by Chinese businessmen such as the Argus and Garibaldi mines. Others worked alone on small leases working the creeks with the use of hand-dug water races. The climate in North East Tasmania means that long periods without rain could be expected. When there was no water available the miners improved their water races, worked in their market gardens or walked to the nearest Chinese settlement for sociable entertainment, including majong and fantan. The preservation of a joss house in the Launceston museum demonstrates the Chinese were just one of many significant groups of immigrants who brought with them their beliefs, customs and foods.

Alas, not all aspiring immigrants were successful. Many disappeared in the swirling mists of the opium pipe, also falling victim to gambling losses and failing to support their families in their homeland, but most dreamed of returning one day to China. Life was often difficult for Chinese people seeking to earn their living in a predominantly European community and so it was in many parts of the world. Quiet perseverance became the hallmark of those who achieved prosperity and successfully made this country their new home. They became recognised as the best gardeners of fresh produce as market gardens sprang up around almost every town. As meticulous launderers of the heavy and intricate European costumes of the day, their services were favoured for the best results.

Many enterprising Chinese became import/export merchants providing their loyal customers with many commodities considered essential in these far-flung European colonies of the South. They earned the respect of the communities they served and as The Mercury Newspaper observed when Mr Henry Chung died in 1941, the city of Hobart mourned his passing; “City traffic was stopped to allow his cortege to pass while people lined the streets to pay respect to this much-loved Chinese elder. The family even received a note of condolence from the governor, Sir Ernest Clark. A keen, energetic business man, Mr Henry was well-known for his kindness and charity. He was president of the Tasmanian branch of the Kuo Min Tang (Chinese Nationalist Party), and gained complete mastery of the English language by diligence and perseverance.” Chinese immigrants have earned their place in Australian society but unfortunately, in today’s modern world, many younger Chinese people who are no longer influenced by the discipline and influence of their forebears, behave badly and do themselves no credit.

Nineteenth century Australia offered great opportunity for those who offered to work hard for a new life and today, as has always been the case, our rich natural resources are being mined and carried away from these shores to the enrichment of others. Everything changes and everything stays the same.

The following story was lifted from the Vancouver Sun:

The White House ordered government agencies Friday to block employees from accessing WikiLeaks from official computers, saying the diplomatic cables leaked by the website remain classified documents.

“The recent disclosure of U.S. government documents by WikiLeaks has resulted in damage to our national security,” the White House’s Office of Management and Budget (OMB) said in a message to all federal agencies obtained by AFP.

It reminded them that “each federal employee and contractor is obligated to protect classified information” and said the whistleblower website’s public release of U.S. diplomatic cables did not mean they had been declassified.

“Unauthorized disclosures of classified documents (whether in print, on a blog or on websites) do not alter the documents’ classified status or automatically result in declassification of the documents,” the OMB said.

“To the contrary, classified information, whether or not already posted on public websites or disclosed to the media, remains classified, and must be treated as such by federal employees and contractors, until it is declassified by an appropriate U.S. government authority.”

The Library of Congress was among the institutions that blocked access to WikiLeaks, prompting the website to say on its Twitter feed the move signaled “end times” for the First Amendment of the U.S. Constitution guaranteeing free speech.

In a post on the Library of Congress blog, communications director Matt Raymond confirmed that access to Wikileaks was being blocked and rejected accusations of censorship.

“The Library decided to block Wikileaks because applicable law obligates federal agencies to protect classified information,” Raymond said.

“In other words, the site is being blocked not out of censorship, but because providing the information that is there is illegal.

“The Library is prohibited both by federal law and our own regulations from providing public access to classified information” he added.

So there you have it. Any American that has taken it upon themselves to read classified documents has been unpatriotic in the extreme. Do not aid and abet disseminators of privileged information; you have been warned.

Of course, us Britishers could see this all coming. It’s why we burnt down the White House in 1812. Only trying to save you from yourselves…

The increasing effectiveness of its missile capability may mean that future US-South Korean wargames may be less welcome in what China chooses to define as its backyard. Whilst its stockpile of ICBM’s is still miniscule compared to America’s and Russia’s arsenals, China is not far away from being defined as a serious regional power and the much wished for (in some circles) multi-polar world is very nearly here.

The developmental Anti-Ship Ballistic Missile (ASBM), DongFeng-21D also points to the coming realignment of naval warfare, and could completely redefine the meaning of the term blue-water navy, in a similar way to how the arrival of the first Ironclad in the mid 19th century rendered obsolete contemporary wooden hulled fleet. A battery of ship targeting missiles is much cheaper than a fleet, and may render current fleets little more than sitting ducks. When the missile moves in to production, currently estimated at being in two years time, it will be the only ASBM capable of being launched from land based mobile launchers (Trident is an example of a submarine based launcher). Rumour has it (Chinese language source) that America is planning to counter the development of this new missile by assigning more AEGIS cruisers to babysit its newly vulnerable aircraft carriers.

The rising potency of China’s missile arsenal proceeds along with its development of the “string of pearls”, a network of military bases strung along the Indian Ocean rim, designed to help project its naval power, and also safeguard, and simply exert influence over, the supply route of oil from the Middle East to East Asia; and has been matched by America announcing the the upgrading and development of their naval base in Guam, which as the graph above shows, is out of firing range of the DongFeng21-D, a potentially safer location than the older, and now deeply unpopular amongst locals, base at Okinawa.

Whilst none of these developments prove that China is now an aggressive Great Power, it points to a subtle realignment in relative strengths between the various nations in our new, almost multi-polar world. Echoes from a hundred years ago may help clarify this realignment. British military decline was not first confirmed in WWI, but fourteen years earlier at the Battle of Paardeberg during the Second Boer War. The Boers cut through lines of British and Canadian infantry using newly acquired German guns, with German observers beside them excitedly telegrahing Berlin to relay news of the success of their new weapons. I wonder when China will get the opportunity to test their new toy in a non-critical warzone?

And, given the parlous state of Britain’s finances, it may turn out that the UK’s new defense policy of not only having an aircraft carrier with no aircraft, but also combining our navies with the French, may turn out to be one of the canniest military funding decisions in modern times; that way we can blame them if it all goes terribly wrong!

Incidently, dong feng means Wind of the East, giving echoes of the English meaning of Kamikaze: Divine Wind.

It had come from the secure car park. All the vehicles there were ablaze, including Drayton’s. The group stood there, panting for breath after the dash up from the road ambush, watching their last means of escape going up in smoke while they stood by helplessly. Krupmeyer noticed that only he and Drayton had positioned themselves on the house side of the fires. All the rest were silhouetted by them to the forest. He started waving them around to his side. They obeyed in a puzzled fashion. Drayton noticed and looked at Krupmeyer but did not say anything. He did not need to. The implication was all too obvious to him. One of the men said there were fire extinguishers in the house. Drayton stopped him fetching one.

‘Let them burn’ he said in a quiet voice. ‘Someone might notice.’ He felt a sense of failure about the whole episode and resolved it would be the last. His scheme to defend the house was a good plan and still was, but Canfield had exploited their loss of communications to create a ruthless diversion. Thin out and misdirect the defence so he could sneak in for long enough to destroy the vehicles. He kicked himself for not putting someone on guard at the car park or simply moving the cars nearer the house. He had missed it but Canfield hadn’t, he reflected ruefully. You just couldn’t leave the man an opening.

He sent two of them to check out the remaining man of the two‑man ambush guarding that approach to the house. He had been left alone when his partner had rushed off to reinforce the road ambush. They found him dead in the treeline. The lookout on that side of the house had seen nothing. He had been distracted by the shooting from the road ambush, like the rest of them. Like we were meant to be, thought Drayton sickened by the thought of Williams’ life used to provide a diversion. He told them to go back to their positions and walked back to the house with Krupmeyer beside him.

‘Look’ said Krupmeyer at his elbow, ‘these guys are guards, not soldiers. You saw them back there. Perfect targets and they didn’t even know it. We’ve got to make a run for it. Take Walters, and get the hell out of here.’

Drayton marched on, head bent down in thought, ignoring him. Krupmeyer grabbed his arm and pulled him to a stop. Drayton freed it with a strong upward jerk of his arm. His fist stayed up in the air, threateningly. It would be nice to hit someone at this moment, he thought and lowered it slowly to his side.

‘Look at where the ambushes have been sighted, for Christ’s sake’ said Krupmeyer imploringly. ‘They’re half way into the trees. Talk about asking for it’ he finished in exasperation.

Drayton stared at Krupmeyer weighing his words. He was right. The ambushes would have to be re‑sighted closer to the house, he concluded grudgingly. Canfield’s pressing us in, he thought, constantly forcing us back into the house.

‘I’m well aware of their shortcomings as infantry, Mr. Krupmeyer. Do you think they’d fare any better in a night retreat with Canfield snapping at their heels?’ he asked, putting his hands on his hips and glaring at Krupmeyer belligerently.

‘Maybe not, but here they’re sitting ducks. He’ll eat them up’ replied Krupmeyer with a dismissive sneer and stabbed a finger in the direction of the forest. He was getting angry too. They were in a situation he knew something about and yet Drayton had been treating him like a civilian. He was damned if he was going to sit making sandwiches while Canfield cut his way through them.

‘Well, have you got any bright suggestions?’ asked Drayton his temper wearing thin.

‘Yes’ replied Krupmeyer. ‘Let’s get ahead of him for once.’

‘And how exactly do you propose we do that?’

‘The power. It’s the last thing he needs to take out before he can get into the house, he’s done everything else. He’s got to cut the power.’

‘We can’t stop him cutting it, can we?’ said Drayton indicating to the overhead electricity line that ran up to the house from out of the forest. Canfield could cut it anywhere in the forest. ‘When he does, the stand‑by generator will kick in automatically.’

‘Exactly’ said Krupmeyer. They had passed the shed containing the generator on the way back to the house. They had heard the low steady hum as it turned over slowly in readiness.

‘He’ll have to go for that’ he said, indicating in the general direction of the generator shed. ‘That’s where we can lay a real ambush for him. He’s got to turn up there sometime.’

After a moment’s thought, Drayton slowly grinned at Krupmeyer, his spirits rising. Now, there was an opening they could leave for Canfield, he thought with relish. Krupmeyer grinned back. The camaraderie of the mutually endangered was growing up between them.

‘You’re dead right’ admitted Drayton, clapping him on the shoulder. ‘Since you appear to know what you’re doing, re‑sight the ambushes nearer the house and I’ll organise something for the generator shed.’ Krupmeyer turned to go, relieved to have a real job to do but it was Drayton’s turn to grab him by an arm.

‘Listen, if you have any more ideas like that, knock me down, if that’s what it takes to get me to listen’ he said releasing him. Krupmeyer shrugged with a smile and walked off to reorganise the perimeter. Drayton watched his retreating back, grateful to have someone with real military experience around. The right sort of experience too, he thought. This was definitely guerrilla war.

Krupmeyer worked his way around to each of the four ambush sights, careful to make a noisy approach. He did not want to get mistaken for Canfield, like the unfortunate Williams, and get shot down by his own side. He withdrew them out of the treeline and nearer the house. In each case, he positioned them so they had a clear field of fire both in front and on the flanks and that the fields of fire from each position had some overlap with the others. Where possible, he made sure they backed onto something high, so they would not be silhouetted by the flood lights mounted on the sides of the house. In the absence of entrenching tools to dig in, he had them use large concrete pots containing plants for cover. The men rolled them off the patio that surrounded the house and positioned them in front and to the sides of each position. He scrutinised each finished post and reminded the men that the orders were still the same ‑ shoot on sight. Finally satisfied, he walked back into the house.

Drayton had gathered in the three two‑man patrols that he had decided to use for the ambush at the generator shed and had already outlined a plan by the time Krupmeyer appeared. Drayton was distributing extra weapons from the arms cupboard when he entered the control room.

‘Ready to go?’ enquired Krupmeyer holding his hand out to Drayton for a weapon. Drayton looked at him for a moment before putting a pistol into his hand. Krupmeyer ejected the magazine and checked the number of rounds in it. He slapped it back in and cocked it, careful to check that the first round was properly chambered. He flicked the safety on and looked up at Drayton and nodded. He was ready to go.

Drayton’s plan was simple. He explained it to Krupmeyer as they walked down to the generator shed. He and a guard would start patrolling in front of the shed in plain sight, to draw Canfield out, while four others were distributed behind and around it in a crescent. The remaining two men would be placed behind each horn of the crescent to cover their back and flanks, in case Canfield attempted to sneak around behind them. Drayton and the guard arrived at the hut well ahead of the others, who quietly took up hiding places at their assigned positions. Krupmeyer was on the left horn of the crescent facing out towards the forest from which they expected Canfield to appear.

He found a stoop of furze bushes, and after buttoning his jacket and turning up the collar to conceal his white shirt, squirmed into the overgrown mass, working his way through the natural tunnels at ground level towards the front. The thorns snagged against his clothes and tore at his hands as he fought his way through. He finally stopped, three feet short of the front of the thicket and extended both arms. The gun he was holding was just a few inches in from the edge. Perfect. He flicked off the safety and laying the gun down on its side carefully, picked up a handful of dirt. He rubbed it over his face. He did it several times, hoping he wasn’t leaving any white patches. He did the same with his hands. When he was satisfied, he stretched both arms out in front of him. He picked up the gun in his right hand and resting the butt in the palm of the other one, settled down to wait.

It wasn’t the best place to have to lay an ambush, he thought, but they had no choice about the location. There were a lot of bushes in front of the shed that Canfield could use to sneak up close without being spotted. They would have to be very alert. When it came, it would be sudden. He could see Drayton and the other guard from his position. They paced about, guns at the ready, occasionally stopping to peer into the trees and bushes. They looked alone and terribly vulnerable. It reminded him of the young goats staked out to attract a lion for big game hunters. He wondered if that sort of thing still happened. You couldn’t fault them for guts, he thought, thankful for the relative safety of his part in the ambush. Canfield might cut the overhead lines first, then go for the generator shed. Or he might take the generator out first. Either way, they were now ready and waiting.

Time passed slowly with no sound but the slight crunch on the gravel of Drayton and the guard’s footsteps as they paced in front of the hut. His arms started to ache and he tried to ignore them. He cursed the jacket which was cutting off the circulation to them in this position. Finally, when they were nearly numb and he could not bear it any longer, he rolled onto his side as quietly as possible and slowly withdrew his arms back to his chest. He held them there, feeling the blessed relief of the blood coursing back into them while he twisted his head awkwardly to keep Drayton in sight. He knew how totally dependant they were on the others alertness. When his neck could not stand the strain any more, he rolled quietly back to his fully extended position.

It seemed to go on for hours. Time dragged with nothing to do but stare at the thickets in front of him and watch Drayton and the guard pacing back and forth. His eyes began to water as he tried too hard to see into the patchy darkness. The view seemed to change subtly as clouds moved across the moon varying the thin pale light it was putting out. He had taken his watch off as they had walked down to the shed. It was in his jacket pocket but he did not dare wiggle around to take it out. His arms ached and he wondered if they would have enough strength when the time came, if it ever did.

He rolled onto his side once more to give his aching arms a moments release. As he rolled back into position, he heard the crack of a small explosion echoing back to them from somewhere far off in the forestry. It was followed by a crashing sound, like a felled tree falling through the canopy of a forest. It had to be one of the electricity poles being blown down. Canfield was making his move. The floodlights behind him at the house dimmed momentarily before the generator in the shed kicked in automatically. Its noise immediately picked up and rose to a higher, busier pitch. He saw Drayton turn instinctively to look behind him at the shed. It saved his life.

Suddenly, with the dimming of the light, there was movement just at the periphery of Krupmeyer’s vision. On the left. One moment there was nothing, the next a black figure burst from nowhere, running at full charge, half obscured by the shrubs. He was smashing straight through the waist high bushes, working the slider on a pump action shotgun furiously. The first deafening blast hit the guard beside Drayton, hoisting him off his feet to smash into the side of the shed. Before he had even hit the ground, a second one had caught Drayton who dropped out of sight.

Krupmeyer had just enough time to take a bead as the man charged by in front of him at a range of about fifty feet. The first shot was aimed and good. Krupmeyer saw the figure jerked suddenly to the side. He emptied the whole magazine rapidly, firing blindly through the growing cloud of gunsmoke in front of him. He aimed progressively lower, hoping to catch him wounded on the ground. The old electric terror of contact surged through him, galvanising the body into action on an adrenaline high, but he wasn’t a nineteen year old kid any more. By the time the gun clicked empty, his heart was thudding and his stomach was tied into jumping painful knots. He dropped his sweat drenched head on the ground and raggedly exhaled the breath he had been holding while firing the clip off. Somewhere in there, he had split the arms clean off his jacket at the armpits. They were hanging off, like the sleeve covers of a Nevada card sharp.

The firing from the others around him died down. He took a steadying breath and pushed his way out through to the front of the bush, ignoring the thorns. He climbed up onto one knee but stayed there, crouched down, looking at the spot where he had last seen Canfield. He was joined by one of the others.

‘I’m out’ Krupmeyer said, holding up his pistol and ejecting the empty magazine. He didn’t have any spares. The guard, who was carrying a sub‑machine gun, plucked an automatic out of his shoulder holster and quickly handed it to him in silence, without once taking his eyes off the spot where Canfield had gone down. Krupmeyer pushed him off to the left and hooked his hand in an encircling motion.

‘Circle left, I’ll take the right’ he whispered, checking the magazine of the automatic. He slammed it back in and cocked it. An unspent bullet flew off into the night air, ignored. Double checking the safety, he scuttled to the right at a running crouch. He decided not to go to ground. If he’d really hit Canfield, now was the time to press the advantage, before he could get his act back together. He moved from bush to bush quickly, the pistol held out in front of him, straight armed.

He was nearly there, when there was an explosion from the area where the other guard was circling in from. The edge of the blast caught him, knocking him sprawling on his back. He rolled with it onto his stomach and pointing the gun out in front, frantically scanned the bushes before him for movement. Before he could fire, there was another explosion followed by several more in quick succession. He flattened himself in terror as pieces of rock and shrapnel zipped over his head, slicing through the bushes and vegetation with small vicious snicks. The earth beneath him heaved in spasms, bouncing him inches off it. Each time, he frantically flattened himself down again but he was sure he was going to die. The ground was a flat as a board. There just wasn’t any cover. He waited with his hands pressed over his head to get hit.

Finally the explosions stopped. He lay there in the shocked silence, his ears still ringing from the fury of the explosions, not daring to raise his head. Eventually, he slowly climbed to his feet. About him, others were doing the same. They looked at each other, amazed to have lived through it. It had been like being on the receiving end of an artillery barrage. He advanced slowly to the spot where Canfield had dropped from sight. There was some blood on the ground all right, but not a lot. He reached down to touch it and though for a moment about trying to follow the blood trail, but abandoned the idea immediately. They’d been lucky enough, following someone like Canfield in the dark would be suicidal.

Out in the forest, one of the guard dogs howled as it caught a scent and closed in on it. It had to be Canfield. They listened, standing silently in the shattered vegetation, as it was joined by the frantic baying of a second. They could just make out the thrashing sounds of a struggle as the dogs finally reached their quarry and tore into it, snarling and growling. The barking and growling of the attacking animals’ frenzy rose to a sustained crescendo that echoed back to them through the dark emptiness of the forestry. There was something primordial about the sound, like an old race memory of a wolf attack when the world was young and covered in dark and dangerous forests. You heard it and deep down in your guts were secretly grateful it was happening to someone else.

‘Rip the bastard to bits, you beauties’ muttered one of the guards, his words breaking the silence. He said it through clenched teeth, with feeling.

Krupmeyer realised just how much he echoed the sentiment. He was tired and scared and just wanted it over with. He’d screwed up by following in so soon, he knew. He should have waited and blasted the area Canfield had gone down in. Instead, he’d advanced ‑ right into Canfield’s fighting retreat. They stood listening till the noises died down with a final piercing yelp of pain from one of the animals, that set their teeth on edge. Somehow, he knew in his bones, that the dogs hadn’t got him. It would have been too easy. Nothing about Canfield was going to be easy.

He turned and walked back towards the shed, wiping the blood distractedly from his fingers with a handkerchief he pulled from the pocket of his ruined jacket. He stopped the others who had started to follow after him.

‘Spread out, make a perimeter, for Christ’s sake’ he ordered gruffly as he tore the sleeves off his jacket and flung them down on the ground.

A man was already kneeling down beside Drayton, looking after him. A quick glance told him the other guard was beyond help. Nearly cut in two by the shotgun blast. What the hell was Canfield using in the cartridges, he wondered, glancing at the wall of the generator shed which was covered in deep jagged holes, where the rendering had been blasted off to reveal the naked brickwork underneath. He knelt down beside Drayton, unceremoniously elbowing the man already there aside, to look him over.

Drayton had been turning to look at the shed when Canfield had attacked. Half of the back of the bullet proof vest he was wearing was ruined. Krupmeyer could see the smashed ceramic plates in it through the ripped Kevlar and tufts of padding that stuck out of holes in it. He rolled him gently onto his back and released the Velcro seals under the arms before easing it off him. He rolled him gently back onto his stomach and examined him carefully. He was unconscious from the shock of the impact but not seriously injured. He’d taken a few pellets in the back of the upper right arm and the right leg. Canfield had been shooting for centre body mass. The jacket had saved him ‑ he’d be OK. Krupmeyer stood up. One of the perimeter guards jogged back to him.

‘He’s not the only one, I’m afraid’ he said jerking his thumb over his shoulder. Krupmeyer told the first man to stay with Drayton and walked off with the other one to look at the casualties. There were two of them, and they were very dead. Killed by the explosives or grenades Canfield had lobbed to cover his retreat. Krupmeyer straightened them out and told the guard to strip them of all their arms and ammunition.

He left two men on guard at the generator, while he and the remaining one carried the semiconscious Drayton up to the house.

They’d hit back, but it had cost them dear, he reflected bitterly, as they struggled back, each with one of Drayton’s arms about their necks.

© Pointman

All previous chapters of Line of Descent can be found at Pointman’s under the Fiction menu.

There are vicious rumours circulating that many charities are the recipients of government funding, which the government gets by taxing ordinary people. If this is the case, is a charity still a charity when its funding comes from forced or compelled donations?

In a past life, I raised money for charity, for a wage. For about 4 days. I was weak and could not handle it. We were known as charity muggers, or chuggers; and as the name describes, the job role involved relieving people of their hard earned cash when they were not expecting it. The best charity muggers were expert emotional blackmailers. I was terrible at this job, and I do not know why they employed me. I had revealed in the interview that I had never willingly given to charity, and was thus severly lacking in the empathy required to reach to unsuspecting donors as they waltzed past me in the city centre. In four days I only managed to get one person to sign up to a charity, and in order to do that, I had to lie to some extent. It was with a mixture of guilt, glee and do-goodiness that I held her signed contract up to the afternoon sun. I’d helped a charity live another day.

Back to the now…

WordPress, through a plugin called SocialVibe, gives bloggers the opportunity to stick a charity thingy up on this site, presumably, more website traffic equals more money for the chosen charity. I am tempted. I do nothing, and I help save the world. I really can not believe that all charities are bad; but are there some ones that I should keep away from?

Below are representations of about half of the charities I’m eligible to raise money for on this blog. So the question is, which charities in the world should be avoided at all costs, and why? And which charities, if any, are still a force for good in the world?