Trimecraft Crash ©1994GIBSON

1

“Turn off those twits on the radio and listen to what I am saying” Terry Unreg ordered; the conservatively overweight and scholarly gentleman ruffled through papers “It needs to be an interesting and simple way to start a short story, but that isn’t always as easy as it seems it should be. In an adverse social environment with folks taking chimp shots at you writing poetry isn’t much of an alternative either. Poems are supposed to be an aesthetic experience rather like piloting a glider above a layer of billowy cumulous clouds refracting sunset across the world in billions of iridescent micro-diamond chips of mist.” 2

Terry was writing a thesis on brilliant ad hoc manufacturers of social adversity in civil society profiting from misdirection and control ops but liked literature and the woman known as Ginger. He continued, 3

“Pressure from a social force radically undermines artistic loft and aerodynamic prowess. In too much social adversity the poet like Stephan Daedelus finds the wings of his craft melting and he, dreaming amidst reflecting, refracting purple, gold and orange colors of sunlight and cloud in that infinite yet limited and changing medium of twilight in the upper atmosphere inertially finally drifts forward and down at an increasing velocity.”4

The catamaran cruise ship Radiowave was heading toward Unreg’s window in the Merchant Wharf Complex.5

“In intense social gravitational effects the poet plunges in flames to crash and burn upon the Earth leaving a residue of conformed platitude to return the torch.” 6

He said; “The opening of a short story could retain a semblance of aesthetic worth as it bumps and careens along the hair-tight lane of what linguists call the syntagmatic axis. You could write about S.E. Alaskan pulp mills and monopolies, inertial politics and the ecosystem and include aesthetic features of forests, fields and streams. I don’t suggest that you sort of sidle up to writing by using what I term the infinite micronization of surface trivia for most of it. If locals are inside a loop with multi-national corporations, the forest service and a dearth of competition it doesn’t matter if the librarian has an aristocratic yet bepimpled nose or it’s a sculpted Indian summer, high cheekbones or a debauch has delayed the recovery of the patrons of the Oyster Days Festival isn’t my concern. The paradigmatic story components are what will provide substance most of us use for the readers.7

Fiction writing to some extent parallels a philosophical paradigm of life…that is the social relationships possible vary into actualization with a variety of internal and external variables reduced continually to those selected from the virtually secondary protocol of the infinite.8

Psychological researches have developed various bound set paradigms to cluster approaches of temporal constants within the infinite phenomenally. Pathological traits are considered those extending actualization of personal egoist subjective philosophy onto others socially rightly described in the paradigm of social psychology.9

Fiction writing is a construct of the ego, yet it’s an heterodox record of concepts or constructs that may be interesting to the writer or to the writer’s readers. Socially defined psychopaths have a false egoism that devalues human life and truth permitting the gross yet sometimes subtle exploitation of others.10

Normally rational individuals (and organizations) that use proprietary personal egoist principles too far may act upon others manipulating with subtle lies or perhaps gross falsehood quite intentionally and consistently. Psychopaths, sociopaths and profoundly evil liars are in that regard on the same footing of false consciousness grounded in personal egoist prioritizations. The liar and the delusional ego-decided soul misclassifying the motives and worth of others have the same pathological basis in devaluing others generated from their personal egoist deformity.11

This psychopathology of individual personal egoism has a parallel in mass social psychology based or functioning under the false programming of mass broadcast propaganda, lies and deceit. 12

When society willingly or unwillingly allows its action in the realm of the super and collective ego to become programmed by intentionally constructed propagandist lies and falsehoods of various sorts it has lapsed into mass social psychosis.13

A second and non-psychopathic abnormal psychological experience confused with the prior terminological range of psychopathology is that of the well known phenomenon of ‘hearing voices’, receiving images or visions and the experience of sudden, invasive tonal ear blasts.14

Hearing voices was a term inadequately selected in that it was a product of the absence of corrupt terminology to describe what is more of an extra-sensory perception rather than a verisimilitude to ordinary auditory hearing experience. 15

It is not possible except perhaps initially to confuse the sense experience of hearing with that of in mind auditory experience of an extra-sensory quality…it just doesn’t seem to originate in the standard waveform patterns in the external world. The images experienced are not of a visual sort as experienced through the eyes and optic channel, but instead is as images intentionally brought into mind from memory or imagination with the difference being that the images are not voluntarily selected but appear in orders and times seemingly of someone else’s choice.16

For those souls experiencing inward ‘voices’ confusion as to source is the first response in the lengthy process of separating or associating the location and nature of inward and outward sensory phenomenalities. One expects to find the source of a sort of neo-auditory intelligible communication outward in the external world. It is interesting that few have ever claimed to hear non-intelligible sounds in the same way as ‘voices’ are reported. 17

Why not ‘hear’ or experience natural sounds through extra-sensory channels or non-external 'sound' that doesn't seem to have a sound like quality nearly so much as a though-like quality, or even automobiles and manufactured 'sounds' for instance?18

The third protocol of social psychology that might be of interests in classifying fiction structures as one might place on an x/y graph star types or labor/supply quantities in economics is essentially communication accuracy, ease and the ability to express ideas interactively without disingenuity…yet that term harkens back to the first protocol of psychopathology and false consciousness. 19

The ability or disability of an individual to communicate interactively isn’t directly correlated with psychopathological traits of falsehood.20

Find a character that is full of social malevolence, disregard for the essential worth and right to exist of others, that is programmed by evil associates and blatant social broadcast corruption, disinformation and lies, does not hear voices, communicates within the worst of normative social realism lexical phenomenalities, and make him the central protagonist of your story.” 21

Terry Unreg looked upon Ginger’s gray-green eyes and auburn blonde shoulder-length locks with the deep calm of an oriental garden pond fed with an alpine creek reflecting dumpling clouds passing through an infinite royal blue sky overhead. She stood still like a foil windship on the ocean waiting like E.E.’s cat for a rising breeze. The morning sunshine glowed in her face with a light current beginning to caress her golden hair flowing down from deep blue glacial ice beyond the lake one mile distant. Sunlight ricocheted around the arêtes, cirques and hanging valley glaciers extruding down at a centuries long drumbeat pace of their own from the ice field beyond.22

“Terry,” Ginger said,” Early this morning I jogged along the e Merchant’s Wharf by the cruise ships and realized that I’d left my money for breakfast at McDonald’s at home. The tourist’s hadn’t yet got up to debark to the Red Dog Saloon, so the wharf was mostly empty. I found a five-dollar bill on the street as I left the wharf to cross. I didn’t really need by money after all, and egg-muffins were on sale for 99 cents plus tax. I don’t believe I may even need an opening for the short story I’m thinking of writing. It doesn’t need to be a paste up job but could follow from the natural flow of developments.”23

Ginger bade Terry adieu and walked away to take up her ultra-light girding her pelvis with the straps of support she’d need to keep from plunging to the Earth. Ginger fopped away much of her free time soaring about the confines of the mountains and waters of S.E. Alaska. With a flick of the start switch and another turn of the screw her little Styrofoam pontoons with miniature aluminum dihedral foils gathered speed across Mendenhall Lake and she lifted off with a steep turn left into the wind and a destination seemingly somewhere over toward the Fairweather Range.24

Ginger thought, as her home-assembled ultralight trimecraft gained altitude on the morning easterly from the ice field that she didn’t want to write a short story that was just a reflection of the society around her. There was enough of that already. She didn’t see anything wrong with escapist entertainment or in writing fantasy literature that definitely departed from simple prose descriptions in disguise of what went on every day in Alaska. Her story could be of the struggle to rule the world through domination and conquest of the planet’s communication system and advertising agencies, or of a criminal network of psychologists working upon creating a social basis for the stratification of society and creation of a subjugated class of patients for a national invisible empire psychiatric plantation to return harvest better than farming with tax dollars. Ginger could write, she believed, of plots to replace freedom with phreendom, of journeys to other planets with no reservations on electromagnetic acceleration guide paths tensor calculated to lift and deposit transport shells within the power/lasing/photon conversion range of the sun, or of making an astounding living as C.E.O. of Levis. In brief, Ginger was daydreaming high over Auk Bay. She didn’t notice the slight unraveling of threads at the extreme starboard side of her aircraft.25

Mad Dog Smyth was deep in the fitful tensor-calculus rem sleep of the fugitive. Though he realized, having read Sartre’s tome of philosophy Being and Nothingness that no subconscious exists in people-just the inactive biological data bank-his sleep was troubled by the partly activating consciousness pilot light. Homeless Indian tribes wandering in meandering journeys, oil cartels paying kickbacks to politicians and a state letting its natural resources be depleted for a mere ten percent tax royalty off the bottom of the deck channeled to special interests marched through his mynd and disappeared. Smyth dreamt that artistic prophylaxis was being applied to sampled intelligent citizens with ultra-modern surveillance and infra-sound non-lethal military weapons broadcasts individually targeting like g.p.s. guided cruise missiles or farmers cattle in Montana implanted with chips to point targets.26

Smyth was in fact remming away in what the McDonald’s School of psychology labeled paranoid delusion. Mad Dog in his partly assembled consciousness state without inputting full sense data from the external world realized that his dreaming wasn’t a schism in his head, but was a personal abstract analytique structured projection on a theoretical basis in time and space of the dangerous situation he was in. Mad Dog grumbled in his sleep and kicked over a bottle of Early Times whiskey near his boots.27

The clanking crash of crash of glass on the city parking garage’s concrete floor stirred Mad Dog to awake. The stolen police cruiser he’d slept sprawling in and out of was still missing the driver’s side front door. Smyth sort of remembered it being sheered off by a grader blade at a roadblock. He got back in the car, open and swilled a new fifth of whiskey chased with a can of poem-brand honey-beer. Smyth new that he had to clear his head and find some way to clear things up. Probably he thought, he should find his passport.28

“Me and Ginger” Smyth muttered aloud; “Where did that bird fly to” he wondered even as the first morning arrivals to the garage for another day of office work began to trickle in. The Whirld of Glass auto/paint repair shop hadn’t done a fast enough job on the Rover SUV so he’d punched out the clerk and knocked out a passing patrolman barging in to investigate, sucker punched him and took his car.29

“Ginger, this is Terry” Terry said into a cell phone,” Can you hear make lunch?”30

Ginger at an altitude of four thousand feet was crossing beneath a cloud and above a white and orange-striped coast guard cutter on its way to Juneau from Admiralty Island. Terry talking in her stereo headphones over the Mozart Banned broke up the wing of thought about the story she was considering writing up. A few sea lions left foam wakes as they rapidly skittered away from the cutter’s approach. In the distance a cloud appeared to be drizzling.31

“How are you Terry? I’ve been thinking about writing of Frank Reed, Soapy Smith, Chilkat Charlie and Atlin Allie. What about a plot where they all compete in the construction of Skaguay and over control of the Klondike retail entrepot? Short stories based on historical figures don’t need to be absolutely biographical do they? I mean, wouldn’t it be fine to put people from long ago into fictitious situations that are sort of derived from the things they might have done as the type of people they were?” Ginger asked.32

“Listen, your story is your story. Do what you like with the plot and characters. Just don’t libel; slander or generally defame anybody living. If fiction is just plain fiction it won’t mislead anyone into taking it for the way things historically were. In fact, it won’t hurt if you try to make your theme slightly preposterous” Terry answered.33

“Anything happening in town today?” queried Ginger.34

“Not much, some desperado drug smuggler pilot named Mad Dog Smyth wiped out an R.C.M.P. armory in Carcross and reportedly was spotted flying southwest yesterday afternoon” said Terry.35

“Alright Terry; enough of the police report; look, I’m hung up with other stuff at the moment. If you here anything about the state employee collective bargaining unit strike ending let me know. I’d like to find some way to resupply my savings account” Ginger switched off her cellular.36

“Citizens”, Chief Mooney addressed the city via public radio and the emergency warning siren,” Have no fear and don’t be alarmed but I must inform you that Mad Dog Smyth, notorious outlaw, fugitive and properp is loose in our streets, lurking behind this place or that, a threat and danger to life as we know it. I want all of y’all to lock your doors and look out. I personally have spent a lot of extra time at the pistol range and am a crack shot, an expert marksman, and can grease that monkey with my forty-four if I can just draw a bead on him. So don’t worry. I’m in charge and everything is fine. The situation is hunky-dory. I toured a place where the delta-force had trained on vacation. But be careful and be cautious anyway.” Chief Mooney switched off.37

Mad Dog switched off the police radio, yet the last of Mooney’s speech still echoed from the emergency loudspeaker. He got out of the police cruiser and peered out of the city parking garage’s fourth floor horizontal window slit. Below, on the city streets Mad Dog saw a veritable parade of newspersons and cops. They surge to get in to what appeared to Mad Dog to be the city police station parking lot. The Chief of Police removed his clip on microphone and stepped down from the podium platform onto the red, white and blue bunting'ed outdoor stage to consult tête-à-tête with the consulting police political psychologist. Together the revised a plan of ad hoc real attack for television on Mad Dog….they would drive the lion out of the forest for reality television.38

Mad Dog unlocked the trunk of the police ford cruiser, took out a police uniform added a Velcro hammer and skull crossbones patch to the sleeve he’d bought at a bar, and put it on tucking the excess pant leg length into the top of the boots and blousing them for military affectation. He grabbed a rope and a five thousand pound snap-gate carabineer and a bull-put a nine-millimeter automatic rifle with Teflon coated bullets. Smyth made a hasty field silencer with super-glue, washers from the cruiser’s tool box and a piece of PVC pipe broken off from the garage fire control sprinkler system that he assembled to duct tape onto his weapon.39

Smyth reflected with disapproval the efficiency of silencers on weapons with trans-sonic muzzle velocities. But half-a-loaf is better than none he concluded. With a purpose Smyth leaned out the garage slit, snapped off half a dozen rounds and was satisfied when Chief Mooney’s head exploded like a ripe watermelon hitting a brick wall. He hastily walked across the garage while slinging the weapon, looped the rope to a car bumper and rappelled down the opposite side pulling the rope free from the ground to let it pile up behind a clump of Devil’s Club shrubs. The city disaster siren replaced the emptiness after the Chief’s speech with a global thermonuclear pattern wailing. Smyth ignored the sound and walked over to a cruise ship gangplank to board. He headed for the bridge.40

Ginger heard the second siren start sounding from the Auk Bay Fire Station and decided to turn around. She tuned out, turned on and dropped out of the economy too much because no practical alternative existed for such a time. At least since the strike she felt getting involved with volunteer activities could be worthwhile. Ginger’s social bargaining power was decreasing by the minute along with her altitude over the 35 degree F water four-thousand feet beneath. Her glide path to shore was a safe five miles however.41

Ginger called Tom Potatoes.Tom answered.42

“Hi Tom, this is Ginger. What makes people like Mad Dog fugitives from justice instead of congressmen? Where do they fork? Does that sound like a good couple of sentences to start a news rave? That’s what I called about; to ask your opinion?”43

“I don’t have the time for this Ginger, I’m busy searching for Mad Dog myself and somebody has killed Chief Moony. It was a plain silenced headshot that blew off his head like a pomegranate hitting the beak of a falcon in flight. It’s a terrible mess Ginger and the media were there and broadcast the whole thing live. It’ll be clumped all over the real T.V. news nationally nightly. The Huntley-Brinkley syndrome has clumped the story like ice onto a street during freezing rain. All the slicks above the 45th parallel are enroute. If you want to do anything that’s part of this just stop at the station and we’ll go tiger hunting together. We’re presently setting up a roadblock and will send beaters to drive the Mad Dog to a cross-fire at the center of the city.” Tom finished.44

“I’ll think about it Thomas. I’ve got to work on this fiction story of my own if I’m going to have a chance of getting a payday, buy a drysuit and some grub.45

“My fellow citizens” the Reverend Figny said on local public television, “I am asking you for calm and peace to endure the events of the last few minutes in our city. There is no way for danger or disaster to change the past not to alter the future and the elect from salvation. The tragic sudden death of our friend Chief Mooney and the continued presence of Mad Dog Smyth at our doors are clear and present troubles.46

We will persist and remain steadfast in our faith and in the conviction that all things work for the good in the will of our Creator. Determinably we will persist and move on successfully through these and all events that sin has dumped into our lives through the powers and principalities of evil in the air.”47

The minister of the First Church of Faith continued to offer community support, comfort and consolation for the distraught city’s people even as Ginger changed her flight path solution south for the summit of Mt. Juneau a modest massif of several thousand feet looming over the old town scenically. Terry Unreg left his Professorial office chair, Tom Potatoes boiled in helpless frustration at the fugitive’s ability to slip like a Teflon pig through the arrest of the borough force, and Mad Dog gained an escort to the bridge of the Pacific Royale Princess by snagging a shapely hostage.48

The Chief Priest of the Gaya Order of Psychiatrick Atheism assembled the votaries of electro-chemical no-sense into the chapel of mass-manipulation.49

As they entered the northex of the libinull sanctuary the special district team members covered their fashionable contemporary attire with the white silken robes of the Gaya Order and walked forward on holographic vortex steps to seat themselves in pews at the front near the associationist leader.50

“Everyone is here,” intoned Msgnr. Market “I mean really here? Good”, he continued,” We are here together.” The congregation hmmmmm'd in response. The votaries of the Order began the term of receiving to learn iterations of reverence for self and the sanctity of the mission of the Order.51

Brother Term asked “Sir, will I continue tracking Mad Dog if he escapes beyond the immediate operations sector or transfer administration of the mechanism to Washington or Yukon chapters?”52

Msgnr. Market decreed “Keep on it yourself; I want continued spin control on the loss of faith and individuality in this sector. Our share of the number of totally unrooted social psych slave-drones is increasing. We are driving down the cost of labor, eroding individual privacy and credibility, degrading free thinkers, increasing the overt number of psych patients tithing into the system themselves or with tax support exponentially since the inception of the national order and bringing the media into lockstep with the principle of Unification under the Gaya Order of Psych Atheism. 53

I want no let-up on full-court pressure to continue to flank civil rights covertly, reduce regional or national dependence on centralized communication or corporate/state employment chains of serialization, nor upon the successful imposition of regional terrorist/crime theatre of the absurd ops.54

Counter-reaction cannot be brought about without cause. Mad Dog Smyth is important for the year’s gains in Alaska for the Gaya Order. Too many plans, unlike Hinkley/Brady and American gun disarmament don’t succeed. We had to cancel a world series because of similarities it had to the Desert Storm scenario and backblast propaganda optimization scenarios.55

A recrudescence of hardness is not what we need. We are soft, lovely, bubbly, cheerful, wise Shepards of electro-chemical renormalization socially just moving people peacefully through the vicissitudes of utterly meaningless life in a world without God. We are the gods the drones-slaves need. Communion is pharmacological. 56

Take care brothers and sisters for the electro0-chemical phenomenalities you must dragoon into the Gayan Order. Every aspect of society must be interwoven with and depend on us like a vine dependent on a rare source of water. If the vine or any member of it dissents we will cut it off if it cannot be chemically reprogrammed. Reality must exist only within television carefully selected within the paradigm of the Order. Encourage no-thought in your charges, encourage mindless drudgery and make travel and individual enterprise criminal. 57

Annihilate independence and prejudice it by labeling it felony phreendom. Reinforce in all members of the Atheist Church the associationist psychology that deletes the disquotation theory of truth we abhor. In all things encourage the Gaya Order’s meanings and definitions, criminalize unsubjegated words, enforce the presumption of wealth until a felony is perped and subject incarcerated. Annihilate dissidents with trial by Chum salmon cannery. Now get out there and win one for the Gypper; In the name of swearing, oathing, pleas on ledges and proofs; all of which lead to the construction of Atheist Superherms; mmmmmmmmmmmmm.”58

The Clave of the Gaya Order broke up, each votary performing the sacred ritual of placing the spike of Frankenstein into the head of a fresh King Salmon coated with honey on the alter before exiting via the northex.59

Susi Julie searched for Mad Dog with her partner Speed Dog Earl.60

Susi sold baklava and croissants to stateworkers for lunch from her pushcart when they weren’t on strike, and did auxiliary police work in her spare time. Speed Dog Earl was a five-year veteran of the force and gained his distinctive nick name his rookie year when losing his grip on the mange of a collie he rescued from the summit of Mt. Juneau along with it’s owner holding onto the dog’s paws. The collie slipped from the open helicopter door as it banked over the edge after lifting off and fell five thousand feet onto the street landing in front of the Alaska State Capitol building. His buddies naturally gave him the name of Speed Dog, which followed him like a pup the rest of his career.61

When the Chief’s body minus most of its head flopped off the stage onto the tarmac of the police headquarters parking lot Susi heard the report barked out on her radio almost instantly. She also heard the faint whisper of the silenced gunshot but didn’t recognize it as such. She was assigned to search the wharf and parking garage area with Speed Dog because it had been thought to be a safe place for an auxiliary cop to look. The assumption was of course incorrect.62

The city parking garage was the first place surrounded, too late of course to apprehend Mad Dog rappelling down the far side, as the reacting police force at once sought cover behind cars and the location of the killer. They were not of course immediately positive on the killer’s identity and so didn’t know if they had one Mad Dog in town, two, or even possibly more. Susi was not terribly concerned with the risk of being in the reported building, she remembered that Oswald had fled the book depository quickly enough to be unseen, if it was Oswald whom had plinked the moving targets J.F.K. and John Conley with several accurate rounds. Mad Dog she believed rightly, would probably already be gone. Susi drew her service automatic pistol as she was already on the second floor of the garage and began stalking Chief Mooney’s terminator.63

Soon Vice-Chief of Police Rock Flotsam said on police radio frequency to Speed Dog and Susi; “Get down and low-crawl out of that garage carefully and quickly. Mad Dog is probably loose in there somewhere, watch your butts! Especially you Susi! Don’t take any chances.” Brevet-Chief Flotsam continued, “Shoot on whim, shoot to thrill, aim center of mass, and shoot to kill! Don’t hit any collateral civilians, I don’t want another funeral Friday when I must eulogize the Chief!”64

Ginger alighted her trimecraft onto the summit of Mt. Juneau covering a distance of twenty-seven miles in an hour from Mendenhall Lake. Her trip was made at a good, slow pace high above the fields, valleys and highways of the Juneau Borough. The lemon Creek tramway to the top of the mountain began near the Alaska Brewing Company and Lemon Creek Auto Sales. After scanning the city below for signs of Mod Dog activity with her field glasses she thought she’d take her Trimecraft to the Second Honda Shoppe for light engine tune-up and to quaff a couple tall, dark glasses of Wrangell ale at the Glacier Inn. Manning the barricades with Tom Potatoes would have been more appealing if there was much chance of action, but Ginger didn’t think the appearance of Mad Dog at Auk Bay with only the ferry terminal beyond very likely. She looked with her twenty-five by ten power field glasses at the parking garage, the supermarket, the city of Douglas across Gastineau Channel, back to the bridge, the Federal ten story office building and its parking lot where she thought a new legislative building should go up with gold creek to run through underneath.65

At last she saw the Pacific Royale Princess under power and ripping away its morning lines and pulling cleavets out of the wharf some with attached planks and gaining enough speed to ram and push aside from the port side to starboard the cruise ship Northern Fiesta which in turn was pushed farther and driven into the Coast Guard sub-port wharf after crunching a line of float planes waiting to pick up passengers. Ginger saw Susi Julie and Speed Dog Earl flung headlong forward onto the deck of the Pacific Royale Princess at the top of the gangplank they had just walked up. Someone on the bridge blasted out the windows with some kind of explosive and the accompanying flash-bang and puff of smoke preceded the arrival of the sound wave by several seconds. Ginger again took up her ultralight, girded her loins with a safety harness and jumped off Mt. Juneau on a vector to the bridge of the pacific Royale Princess.66

Mad Dog ordered all the passengers of the Pacific Royal Princess to walk the plank, over jump overboard, and then prompted those in sight to compliance with several bursts of nine-millimeter hollow point bullets along the deck. The police department immediately recognized per the increasing detonations of field expedient detergent-gasoline napalm grenades Mad Dog and ordered the engineer to quickly make and place at his disposal that something was afoot on the Pacific Royale Princess. They loaded Surelock Depleted Uranium 12 gauge shotgun shells into their automatics, locked and loaded, a and began an advance in cadre readiness to the ship utilizing the Cornwallis maneuver from which they would maintain a continuous fusillade of fire should the Mad Dog choose to stand and fight.67

Suzi redrew her pistol and kicked the cobwebs out with a palm slap to the side of Speed Dog’s head. Speed Dog realized that he was in the vicinity of a fight. Ginger was gliding three-quarter mile away and closing the bridge deck. The Coast Guard Cutter Hickel rammed into a four masted tall ship in its haste to get downtown. The Lady Fraser and her crew of adventure holiday trainees through grappling hooks to hold fast onto the Hickel and seize revenge. Brevet-Chief Flotsam ordered a general discretion charge on the city’s public address system. 68

The City Carillon Bells played a song by Deep Purple, and Mad Dog, whom had ordered the ship’s engineer to pump all its bilge and sump oil overboard into the harbor, tossed a napalm grenade to the water, shot it and the harbor burst into flame. The smoke engulfed the waterfront and the city moving through the streets on a mild S.E. Wind like an advancing fog. In the chaos and fractilization of counter-attack to the offensive of the police Mad Dog shot the Pacific Royale Princess’s functioning museum-display harpoon whaling cannon with attached recovery line at the state office building a few hundred yards north. The four foot steel harpoon penetrated through the buildings 2-inch thick windows and stuck fast to the interior wall of the seventh floor. He quickly reconfigured a battery powered sausage grinder from the Captain’s private mess removing its blades, attached it to the taught nylon line, step over the gunwale of the ship and let the naked ratchets pull him along. 69

Smyth reached the seventh floor and let go of the sausage grinder doing a standard judo roll while spinning and firing on full auto spraying the empty room with hot lead. Susi, Speed Dog and Ginger each chased Mad Dog in their own way.70

Mad Dog gained the central atrium of the undefended State Office Building swiftly ready to cut down any security guards that might have chosen to malinger. Smyth disabled the elevators by smashing the electrics and found the computer, felony records and energy center of the building and distributed liberally a few napalm grenades. In the fire on the Pacific Royale Princess additional smoke was blowing into Juneau. Smyth used the extra cover to reach Willoughby Avenue and the tank farm of the emergency power plant. He detonated the tank spigots with a smoke resting on a plastic bottled napalm grenade. Smith made a hasty bolo out of shoes and shoestring from a shoe store window he broke in, placed a napalm grenade in each shoe and flung the bolo into the sky watching with satisfaction as it wound around a power line. He snapped off a shot and the grenades exploded burning and snapping some of the wire carrying power to the transformers for the neighborhood. The city was encompassed with fog oil but had dog had yet to use his R.C.M.P. plastique explosive collection to assault the National Guard Armory. He sought through the conflagration for the armory.71

The Permanent Fund Department of the State of Alaska was wiped out by Smyth but was spared total destruction because part of it had previously been assigned to University of Alaska trustees, and the North Slope of fuel tanks had already been pumped nearly dry. Smyth had filled his pockets with blank checks, and divested the registry.72

Mad Dog Smyth was a force of Gaya trodding the grapes of wrath which he knew to be the ancient name of a Celtic Chieftain’s hut, wherever he traveled. Smyth was an anarchic power of one raising Cain in his bid to monopolize the drug transport corridor…little Suzi Julie had a bullet with his name written all over it.73

Terry Unreg with difficulty was negotiating his 96 BMW through the explosions from the tank farm and overturned cars on Willoughby Avenue. Ginger was lost in the smoke only five feet above the street heading North. She collided into the advancing Mad Dog whom hadn’t seen her either. It was in the continuing fog oil shroud of chaos and rumbling explosions that Suzi Julie and Speed Dog Earl arrived to see a Smyth bleeding from the face smiling grimly with broken teeth making ready to pulverize the recumbent Ginger’s brain housing unit with his boot. Smyth was angered with the hit from Ginger’s pontoons and knees. With a trembling hand the auxiliary cop Suzi fired her automatic in a nicely spaced shot group that redistributed the wealth of Mad Dog Smyth’s malevolent head all over Willoughby Avenue.74

Terry Unreg stopped his car at the ultralight. Ginger, with her foot atop Smyth’s corpse in the middle the road looked beat. Terry took her hand and said, “That’s a good ending to a short story Ginger”. 75