Hanging from the totem pole is a red or yellow horsetail.
This is the Grand Medicine Scalp of the band.
The Hostile spy has to capture it.
the leader goes around on the morning of the day and whispers to the various braves
"Look out- there's a spy in camp."
"Look out- there's a spy in camp."
"Look out- there's a spy in camp."
At length he goes secretly near the one he has selected for spy and whispers,
"Look out- there's a spy in camp. And you are it!"
He gives him at the same time some bright colored badge that he must wear as soon as he secured the Medicine Scalp.
He must not hide the scalp on his person, but in keep it in view.
He has all day till sunset to get away with it.
If he gets across the river or another limit, with arrows in close pursuit, they give him ten arrowheads, or another ransom agreed on. If he gets away and safety hides it, he can come back and claim fifteen arrowheads from the Council as ransom for the scalp.
He stalks the Grand Medicine Scalp.
The band disperses in certainty.
With steps of a warrior and mind of a magi,
and knowledge of the law of the land
the heathen greets his God.
The scalp in his possession, securely fashioning on his bright colored badge in confident haste.
A trumpet call in the distance.
The braves trespassed braves marathon the Grand Medicine.
A slight thought is a waste of time.
The brush he falls behind
glancing at the sky
30 degrees, one hour until cockshut time.
Desperate search for the river
North is North and West is North and South is East and North is East and South is West and West is West and North is South and East north West is South North West where East is Southbound West of North.
Lamb Chop goes.
Braves welding torches and pitchforks.
He egresses density to the Valley of Lauterbrunnen.
Blinds are closing on the day and the braves will push for only some time.
He needs a place to spend the harsh darkness.
Up on the crimson bluffs, a hatchway cave portal.
To him a home, a life saver, a dream preserver.
Scaling up the loose rock tripping and falling, falling and tripping.
The braves in Lauterbrunnen unaware of the superhuman signature.
The opening digests the tired spy.
Safe for the night a breath of relief.
Within the moments of serenity a noise,
DUN DUN DUN DUN DUN
He's lost in his own mind.
DUN DUN DUN DUN DUN
He hears in now, louder this time.
Crude steels, strange glues
He gets up to test his own curiosity.
It looks like an ice box for the turn of the century.
Last century that is.
Testing his own curiosity, he strikes one of them.
Awkwardly Bulky, but unusually strong.
He lifts the box, but his weary arms succumb.
This time with all his will, his efforts thus far, all his hopes for escape he tries again.
One... Two... Three... A sudden epiphany.
There lie three dormant robot cavemen.
Prototypes of their kind.
An unknown history of the German Nazi's sharing a cave with him.
In the late 1930s, the Nazi's successfully established a rudimentary time machine.
So rudimentary that every man sent through time was never heard from again.
Nomads of space and time, strangers everywhere and home nowhere.
The Nazi's were in fact successful in sending back materials and objects.
Dr. Hubertus Strughold's work in the space medical field led him to create the first “robots”,
the nearest alternative to a human to send through time.
Dr. Strughold took full advantage his “Holdbots” in 1939.
After years of calculating and experiments he executed his ultimate plan for Nazi domination.
He would send an army of dormant “Holdbots” to 1885 into the caves in Switzerland.
There they would sit and remain untouched until 1942.
Where they would rise up from hibernation, and destroy the pro-allied Swiss from the inside out, giving the Nazi's the advantage necessary to prove world dominance.
The spy unaware of the “Holdbots” importance kicks one.
SNAP
a sharp pain crawls up his leg. Broken foot.
The kangaroo still hops with a blister.
He is too tired to enrage.
But to inquisitive to give up.
He reaches into his pack, a handkerchief tied to a walking stick.
The now fully behind the mountains, he scrambles to find his only possessions.
A lit match lights his flare revealing his only possessions:
a match box, ten arrowheads, bread, and a canteen filled with cranberry juice.
Turing back around, to more dormant boxes appear.
He limps forward, almost as if he was a brave and the robots were himself.
Around the turn.
He is awestruck.
The light with the flare exposes the enormous cave stadium.
Below hundreds of thousand of untouched metal boxes.
One thousand by one thousand lined up praying to Mecca.
The Robots so unnatural and frightening, the smell of metal and cheesy wreaks the hall.
Out of fear he combines the bread and red juice in his bottle and places the flare inside.
“By the Grace of God!”
the bottle soars throw the air like a dove.
The bottle unsettlingly without warning strikes a helpless sleeping robot.
Bursts into flames, igniting the next and the next and the next and the next
the scene in the cave reminds him of two great cities in flames.
Exploding metal melting and pillaging fires rage.
He can't stand the heat and leaves the kitchen.
Outside the cave, the inferno of Pompeii continuous.
The flames light the face of the spy, highlighting his bright colored badge.
The braves camped at the bottom of the mountain make the assent for the spy.
He has nowhere left to go.
He watches the fire and the exploding metals and feels the heat on his scared face.
He does not have his bread and drink.
He can only think, arguing diligently with his eighty voices.
Who did I hurt?
Was this an act of a coward or a hero?
Did I do the right thing?
Was it worth it?
The deed is done and the only way he can look is forward.
The braves 20 meters down, he surrenders himself.
He a sneed smirk the leaders grabs his neck,
“The buck stops here, Hostile Spy”
He silently agrees knowing this could be the end.
He knows what he did.
And he knows he must wage war with the Eastern Braves.
The scalp still in the cave.
His life still in the hands of another.
If he is caught, he pays his captor 10 arrow heads, ransom for his life.
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| Dedicated to Truman, Harry S. |
