The Order: A Drama (Part Twelve)

[Douglas Mercer]

Douglas Mercer
February 8 2025

Continued from The Order: A Drama (Part Eleven)

In all corners of the earth blood will flow, blood which will be the regeneration of the Aryan race—for every god requires a sacrifice, and our God of the Sun is no different—and that will be me……

It was a veritable pilgrimage to Whidbey Island. Caravans of cars and pick-up trucks carrying the members of The Order and their families headed North to the final bastion and safe house and the final redoubt, or the final one for me. I chose this location with just such a conflagration and confrontation in mind. It was a fifty-mile-long crooked finger of land set in Puget Sound, and it has a grand and noble beauty—just the kind of place worthy of a battle from The Twilight Of The Gods. Its chief weakness of course is that it was an Island and, as such, indefensible. But it was also a place utterly isolated and it had been the prearranged meeting place; but such quotidian concerns about why we went in the end are quibbles and trifles; whenever the threads are cut one can only appeal to fate for any explanations.

They of course begged me to leave with them; but never have I felt the finger of destiny as much or felt as right as I do here. Soon, having learned of my intransigence and sensing that whatever walls there were were closing in one by one my comrades deserted me; to be honest I had hoped for better, much better. I told them that this was the last stand, this was the fate of Custer and this was the fate of the men at the Alamo.

And I told them that I believed with all my heart that there was no other place on the planet which they were supposed to be at other than this. I did not appeal to their sacred blood pledge for such a thing does not entail suicide. I did though appeal to their sense of honor and told them that in days of old when a battle was good and lost the great Aryan armies would always send in one last man even though the cause was lost in order to testify to posterity. When all decided to leave I took it in good heart and told them that we had fought a noble and a just war and I wished them nothing but well; and that wherever and whenever they were once more able to pick up this legendary cup they should pursue it with all their heart.

The last person out was Mrs. God and I can say true that though as a woman she never would have been considered for a leadership role she was smarter than the rest of them put together. On the night before last I told her that she had one more sacred deed to perform for me her leader. I told her that by the time she left—in a few hours as I write—that I would have completed an approximately 25,000-word MS to hand to her for safekeeping. Her charge would be to keep it in a safe deposit box and tell only those who needed to be told in order to keep the appointment of fate.

I told her that this text should be read by no one, and known only to a few, and that it would be released into the world when the time was right. She asked me what the signs of such a time would be and I told her that there I could not help but only trust her. So you who are reading this are now the privileged ones; no doubt that endless amounts of ink have been spilled over me, many documentaries, articles, and probably more than one movie. But all of them save a few in the more obscure publishing houses will have been created by men whose motives are evil, and who do not have the interests of our race at heart; and who in fact are at its mortal enemies. And no one can expect the devil to do justice to the works of the gods. But this work, plucked from the seeds of time as might be said, is meant to explain our cause aright; to be a voice from the grave or out of the blue to be a trigger and to tell the only thing which is required to make this dead man’s deed live forever: the truth.

***

When we were all congregated here the first thing I did was declare war on the United States Of America, and lay our rightful claims as Aryans of the Aryan race, as the pure bloodlines of our ancestors who conquered, to all of the territory of the North American Continent. This perhaps seems, all things considered, and considering the overwhelming manpower of our enemy, to be but an empty gesture. I assure you it is nothing of the sort. When a man sets off on a sacred journey in search of his grail he must first and foremost declare forthrightly for the world all his aims, so there is no mistaking it, so there is no doubt about it. And some will also say that this is overwrought or doomsday prose or that I just cribbed it from the racist literature I had read. But when a man writes a man puts forth all that he has learned, and all of his being into the final product:

It is now a dark and dismal time in the history of our race. All about us lie the green graves of our sires and, yet, in a land that was once ours, a land that was created and conquered and built and loved by our ancestors, we have become a people dispossessed. We are no longer in control of the government, or the media, of the banks of the schools. And the land which was won over hard centuries and in which we went overland on the trails, in which we forded the rivers, and shot through the passes, in which we killed the Indians who were in our path, and which the hard work of our people made bloom like a paradise, all of this is now forfeit; and not only does no man owe allegiance to a country that is not his, but he must swear himself the implacable foe of that country when it becomes intent on enslaving and then eradicating him.

It is well known to all who have studied the matter than the Jews, a vile and alien people, have taken control of our country with the results that our cities swarm with dusky hordes, our media is drenched in a culture fit only for the sewer, our government is riddled with traitors hell bent on our destruction, our schools teach the lie of the brotherhood of man and preach a twisted gospel which depicts the Aryan race as the seed of all evil, and our entertainment promotes the wicked mixing or the races, and our farms are being seized by usurious leeches.

The Capitalists and the Communists pick gleefully at our bones while the insidious and sinister hook nosed masters of usury gleefully orchestrate our destruction. But, and make no mistake about it, it is our fault as well, too many of our people are lured by an easy life of decadence and comfort, too many of our people are sheep who are asleep. Had it not been so the utter and complete decimation could not have taken place.

We hereby declare ourselves to be a free and sovereign people, to be a government in good standing among ourselves, and we claim a territorial imperative of all this continent north of Mexico. We assure our White brethren who have not seen the racial light that as regards them we will conduct this war of ours according to the best traditions of our people, according to chivalry and gallantry and honor; but that any White man who sets his face against us can be assured that he will be met with the same ferocious and cold-blooded spirit of battle and of death which will be dealt to the colored races.

As for the members of Congress who do not join us on our great crusade when the day of reckoning comes, as dire necessity always dictates it will, we will not ask whether you swung to the left or if you swung to the right; you will swing by the neck. Thus always to traitors. As for all good White men of good will we beseech you to join us in our cause and should you you shall enjoy all the fruits of the paradise we will erect atop the fallen world that has passed.

Therefore for blood, soil, loyalty and honor, for our untold ancestors and our numberless descendants, we do so declare this war which will be war to the knife. We need no license to do this and we need no authorization, being a people now at liberty to defend our race until the death. And so for the future of our children and our race—let the battle begin.

There were twelve signers of this august declaration. I went first and as I did I recalled the noble example of John Hancock. He like the rest of those honorable men knew that by signing their document of freedom they were also and thereby signing their death warrant. And yet far from quaking and quailing and trembling in craven, cowardly and abject fear he stepped forth boldly and with brash and brazen and bold strokes he signed his name in large and oversized lettering with a great and almost histrionic flourish. As if to say: let there be no mistake about it and---come and get me. And so I too picked up my pen and did likewise writing the name that the world will never forget in two-inch-high letters, solid as my soul: Robert Jay Matthews.

***

Before I wrote my final vision I mailed a letter to the Newport Miner. In it I told how I had been persecuted by the FBI since I was a teen-age tax resister and how upon reading volume upon volume of politics, economics, and history I became aware of the great ZOG conspiracy. I wrote that it is only logical to assume that my days on earth were coming to their close. And then in my final message to be published at that time I wrote that as for the Traitor in Room 14 we will eventually find him. It may take ten, twenty, or thirty years but we will find him. And then true to our oath when we do find him we will remove his head from his body.

Mrs. God just told me she leaves in some twenty minutes. It should not take even that long and as she goes I will hand her my words sealed in large white envelope.

Soon I will be alone, all writing materials taken from me to appear in their proper place and time. But I have my courage and my devotion and my arsenal: a gas mask, six machine guns, night vision goggles, and endless rounds of ammunition. And indeed if the weak point of my position is that it is on an island with no means of escape the strong suit is that the home itself functions as a kind of turret, and I can quickly a get panoramic vision of any invaders into my lair.

Perhaps they could overtake my person but to do this they would need to send in dozens of men most of whom would never get out. But I predict that it will take a long time for them to get that message and I will be able to repel them to standstill and standoff for well over a day. For they want nothing more than to take me back in chains in a triumph, to lord it over my men that their leader is now a captive. But of course they never will. Of one thing they can be sure: no one will get out of here alive.

Where is our Wagner to set this finale to music? For it will be a consummation and a conflagration worthy of the great master. In the end they will see it is futile to flush me out or shoot me out, and certainly impossible to enter and subdue me. Eventually it will be that most depressing of things—a bureaucratic decision made far from the field of battle simply to use their obscene preponderance of numbers and simply bomb me into oblivion form the sky.

In my mind’s eye I see the vision, the vision of the sudden and fiery apocalypse, the Ragnarok Twilight Of The Gods, this Viking Funeral. They will have cleared all airspace for the potential volleys from the air above; they will have cleared all human inhabitants from the scene other than the ones fighting. They will move in hundreds and hundreds of agents led by elite SWAT teams which will set up their siege machines.

After their futile efforts to coerce me out with words from the machines I will fire off a gun to make them think that out of some despair I had taken my life; anyone who knows me knows that that was an impossibility but they will be taken in; they will then send a handful of men in cautiously proceeding inch by inch in their attempts at the home but will be met with a hail of machine gun fire which will shock them and come splattering to the walls and floor in a deadly Z pattern; and they will not be able to withstand the fire and in the face of this they will beat their ignominious retreat. They will try to smoke me out with tear gas not knowing that I have a gas mask; they will once more announce on bull horns that my time is up and that I must come out.

This will be met with the deadliest of all silences. It will take some time but soon the helicopters will appear overhead which I will fire at; grenade launchers will send phosphorous flares into the home from their craven redoubts; these flares will not only produce brilliant light but will be of such dire potency that they will cause fabric or wood to burn wherever they land. Soon the flames will begin to catch and the house will be a fiery inferno and I will know that my time is up: the fire will suck the oxygen from the air and I will begin to choke. But I will not, will never give up and will never lose heart; you can be sure that I will continue to fire in mad fury and the scene that they will see when the house finally explodes like a wild cocktail of disaster will be one that they will always remember, will be etched in their consciousness forever: the burning and crackling flames will go higher and higher, the flames that they will see in their nightmares.

Oh my brothers be sure only of this: I will die as I lived: a hero. And the truth of the matter is that I feel that I am about to be born, and a wild and delirious happiness engulfs me. I know that it will be beautiful. And so do not think that all is lost, do not think of my death as a defeat; it is not. Rather think of me as a first son of the god, as the steppingstone to paradise, a paradise of White Homelands forever, think always and only of the man to come, and remember that it is for him and him alone that you struggle though the dark years. So let the flame call to you and light your way along the path from which there is no turning back. The battle has not been lost but joined; the battle is just beginning.

THE END

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