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"On Which Hill?"
by T.L. Davis
"I don’t usually title a piece before I write it, preferring to let the piece speak for itself, but I wanted to keep myself on track with this one. As the title suggests, on which hill do we die? We all die, it’s just a matter of how much pain and anguish goeth before the end.
The only thing more emotionally difficult than watching the perfection of the United States die such a horribly corrupt and meaningless death was watching my father die of cancer. I don’t usually get into personal issues here, or talk much about my family; it’s just not relevant. But this time, in anticipation of death, both of myself and my nation, I’ll go outside that restriction.
My father was a farm boy, just a rural kid who watched in amazement his father work long, hard, endless years to build something out of the soil. He was plucked from that pastoral existence to shoot Koreans, or, more likely, Chinese, across the frozen plains of Korea. He was a machine gunner and spent a year and a half on the front lines, earning him a quick discharge. I don’t know how he lived through that, most didn’t.
He returned to his home not so much different from when he left, but immeasurably, inwardly, older. Everything I just related about him was unknown to us as kids. He didn’t even keep many pictures, but there was one with him standing between two others with sandbags as a background and the cockiness of men in the thick of it; it showed in their eyes, their stances. I asked my father about the two others in the picture. He took a moment and said: “well, this one here,” he pointed, “was shot in the head about three minutes after that picture was taken.” I didn’t learn any more than that until I returned from the Air Force, when he opened up more about it.
So, my reverence for my father and what he did with his life had nothing to do with his service, but how he lived it. Honesty, integrity and doing what was right were the qualities he was known for, so watching him wither, eaten up by cancer, knowing what I know now, that it was probably injected into him when he started taking flu shots encouraged by his doctor and others, grips my heart with a hatred and a thirst for vengeance.
What I find so appalling about the reaction of Americans to this vaxx insanity is they are watching their innocent children, their wives, brothers and sisters die from this, their teenage boys and girls, just starting out, having not lived at all, being culled, brought down, destroyed or permanently maimed by this cabal of Satanist clowns at the WHO, FDA, CDC, in every hospital, every clinic, encouraged by every celebrity and politician, with no interest, no curiosity as to those dropping dead all around them. Still, the push continues. Mask compliance in hospitals is still the norm, STILL! With all of that, no organization for those victims, no mass uprising of the bereaved? Just roll over?
The fact that all of this could take place in America, where the press is free to investigate anything it finds amiss; where whole divisions of the federal bureaucracy is founded on investigating the most powerful, the highest, the biggest without fear; where the courts can remedy the worst abuses, right the worst wrongs and address the greatest issues of the times…in silence…without a peep from any of them about the mass annihilation of two entire generations, the very old and the very young, tells me that whatever America was, whatever it might have strived to be and could have been has morphed into a totalitarian police state with the ease of knocking over a chessboard.
We stand now on the precipice of world calamities of several different constructions: the genocidal vaxx; the economic maelstrom brewing in the markets designed to usher in the Central Bank Digital Currency (CBDC) and with it enslavement by a social credit system; World War III growing increasingly powerful in Ukraine that’s likely to end in a nuclear exchange; the rising power and arrogance of the Satanists demonstrated by the Grammys, of all ridiculous things.
We are here. We are left. We are the ones called on by our ancestral brothers and sisters in freedom to fill the gap in the front lines, to take up that position vacated by a bullet from a communist muzzle. We are healthy, because we saw through the enormous propaganda of the whole world trained on us. We are prepared with stores and supplies. We are armed with some of the most sophisticated arms and valuable training. We are legion in number and most are guided by a faith in God.
Most of us have known this offensive would come for decades, it’s been on the horizon like a brewing storm. We’ve had the time to write the wills and settle the debts. Our drafting in this cause is not as abrupt as a farm boy fresh off the tractor getting his draft notice in the mail. We’ve known. The only question left is: “On which hill will we die?” Because, die, we will."
o
Graphic: "The Last Stand of the 44th Regiment at Gandamak During the Retreat From Kabul, 1842", by William Barnes Wollen
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