Most folks call me Stinger, although you probably know of me as just "John", a semi-mysterious stranger who showed up to study the Bigfoot language at the Hacienda for his own obscure reasons. "John" is me being incognito; I rarely use my first name. But perhaps you may recall an "Agent Stinger" who generously assisted your "Shamballah Mission" heroes back to the Pacific Northwest from the Himalayas with certain Military/Governmental connections. Yeah, that's me too. So much for being incognito. Why incognito? Because I'm not at liberty to say who I work for or what I do. Classified, sorry. But it's hardly a secret that "John" is here to learn Nokhontli, or that he's renting a room in the Hacienda, or that he's becoming personally involved with your local Nohon-NokhSo society. And now I have been personally invited to relate some of my involvements, offering an outsider-become-insider's perception. Maybe they hope I'll explain just what I'm doing here. But mostly because I have been eye-witness and participant to some very dramatic recent events; such as attempted murder and conspiracy to start a war between Sasquatches and Humans, all for commercial gain. Yeah, we got bad guys out there. But hey, I try to be one of the good guys, just so you know. A little non-classified background: during my time in the military, with whom I still hold the official rank of Major, I'd been involved in secret ops , and had come to serve under General Marcus Wisson, whom you may recall as being "Uncle" Wallace's old war buddy. Wallace and Marcus had organized an undercover operation during WWII, activating "Trolls" (European Nokhons) against the Nazis. Like most Nokhons, trolls were useless for killing the enemy, but were fabulous at non-lethal sabotage under the worst physical conditions, such as extreme locations or severe weather. Despite differences of age and rank, Marcus and I became close friends, developing a disciple-mentor relationship dedicated to carrying on the concept of Nokhon super-agents. So I've formulated an idea for a Navy-Seal-type unit of Nokhons. But that would require a special kind of Bigfoot, and everything I hear about this one Nokhon "super cop" and his various missions as Alutna-jii indicate that Daklakht is the kind of Nokhon-guy I need. And now Daklakht and I find ourselves in the same school, learning to communicate. Which to me, seems rather like destiny. It's not something I pre-arranged, honest, I didn't know he'd be here. It also seems that in the process of us each learning the other's language, Dak and I are somehow becoming friends, which is unusual for two taciturn, non-gregarious loners as we both are. Handily for us, young Roberto, the 12 year-old Mexican kid also studying here, has already gotten pretty fluent at Nokontli and helps translate the most tricky parts of some conversations for us. Dak and I have common interests, both being officers of some authority, each with a history of dangerous missions successfully served in faraway lands. It's like we're in the same club. However, Daklakht seems to be going through a depression just now, feeling nothing but shame for his part in the Shamballah mission. Instead of heroically defeating bad guy Da-starda-hat, as planned, he helplessly surrendered to the evil seductions of the bastard and become the enemy's worst agent against his own fellow revolutionaries. It took the tiniest and weakest among them, the little old NokhSo trader Dawalasat, to save the day. The only extenuating circumstance being that Uncle Wallace had some pretty powerful occult backup to put him in the right place at the right time with a loaded and well-oiled Colt .45 in his hand. Even so, my concept of an Altuna mission among humans intrigues Daklakht: he yearns to be of use to someone, anyone, even if it is the no-good skesk-infected NokhSo society. But he is not yet ready to commit himself to such an endeavor. Actually, Daklakht has always hated us hairless little humans, with good reason since his first contact was when his two best friends and his own mother were shot and killed by ruthless skin traders in Northern Canada. But as is common for most prejudiced people, he had never personally met or known any humans. Except Art's Uncle Wallace, of course, but who lives like a Nokhon. I like to think that he began to mellow out towards humans once he met Adam's parents, Art and Elaine, and that crowd of human friends. And now me. But as for Daklakht actually accepting a mission among the wicked human folk, that's only a semi-amusing concept he and I discuss every now and then while practicing our new languages. And as we're both becoming more fluent at our own private mix-mash of Nokhontli, English and sign language, the complexity of the concept is expanding.
My social life has improved since I moved into the Hacienda to study Nokhontli. A common problem for those of us in the "classified" biz is that we tend to be secretive; we don't let people know who we are or what our motives are. We're loners. But sometimes we have to fit into a local group dynamic if we're going to fulfill our mission, so we take on a role and fake it. Although I don't seem to be faking much these days, maybe "John" is who I really am. The Hacienda is located seven miles out of the sleepy little burg of Monroe, Washington. There is a night life in town, if you like taverns and pizzerias, fast-food cafeterias, but I'd rather study the language and hang out here at the Hacienda, where I can practice speaking Nokhontli with the Sasquatches. Some of them-- like Adam and Dak --are very intelligent and interesting. I like them. I get along fine with Art and Elaine too and can even practice speaking Nokhontli with them. But there's no denying that the best feature of life in the Hacienda is... those girls. All of them. Oh, I'm not out to start something with anyone, not that I'm too old or they're too young (I'm only 42), it's more that they all seem to be in good relationships; everybody's in love. But it's really an esthetic pleasure just to see such beautiful, healthy, happy girls. And to hear the music they make together as the Squatch & Friends rock band, which is a real thing. They get more famous every day. Sometimes I sit in on rehearsals, sometimes they even let me play along with my harmonica. But the whole band's out of town now, on their trans-continental concert tour. I miss their beauty and energy, so it's a lot less fun here now. Although now I've got time for new friends. Nokhon friends. I hadn't planned that, I just wanted to learn the language so that I could... well, recruit them to my intended special unit and be able to give them orders in words they could understand. Telling the truth, life on the Hacienda has been pretty therapeutic for "John". We have horses to ride, which I do every now and then, no extra charge. In fact, the only thing I pay for is the room, which is nice and cozy, oh, and we all chip in on meals. And take turns cooking and washing up. It's like a 60's commune here. And now that it's summer, there's the dock out at the new Naked Lake Bigfoot Beach, where there are also nice girls, only naked. Although I like it better when all our naked Hacienda girls are there too. I'm in no hurry to graduate from this school.
A couple days ago a highly sensitive text document was reportedly hacked from some Hacienda computer, allegedly divulging some embarrassing secrets. Or not, it's still unclear if the document is fact or fiction, but the scandal tabloids and populist media have been running with it and having a field day, accusing Adam and friends of everything from "immoralities" to "treason". But Art and Doug are taking it with great calm; can it be that they have themselves planted the document just to cause uproar? Secret ops do that sort of thing all the time. Considering what happened Thursday evening, someone must have been reacting to a stimulus. Was it a coincidence that Roberto and I happened to be up so late, enjoying a midsummer night just as a hit-team was sneaking up on the Hacienda? If we hadn't been there at that moment That same evening as the press meeting there was a recital of Atli performed by that big rotund Master Sasquatch Orator, The Great Dambaraggan, who is apparently some kind of big star in the Nokon world. The squatch version of a thespian, I suppose. Actually, he had recorded the video narration over several sessions, Pokey doing the camera, mike and technical work. They had filmed outdoors and in daylight with a lush forest background so that it mirrored the cultural experience a group of Nokhons might have under normal circumstances. Except for it being shown on a wide-screen video monitor in the Mead Hall. Our amazingly well-integrated Mexican wunderkind, Roberto, had assisted in the production of the videos. Like many modern kids he was amazingly expert with digital technology and video editing software, maybe even more so than Pokey --who was usually the camera man-- he was quite deft with Pinnacle Studio, mixing picture and sound like a pro. Actually, it was he who had clipped and edited this evening's featured video while Pokey was away on tour with the band. And he did a good job, it looked really professional. Big fat Dambaraggan spoke crisp and precisely pronounced Nokhontli, the video capturing the all-important hand-and-body signals, nicely readable subtitles displayed an English translation. It was half an hour long, actually only one chapter of a larger project to document the entire Atli, which might take years to finish, rather like of a reading of the whole Bible. It was presented like a big Hollywood movie premiere, just for fun, in the Mead Hall, with drinks and snacks. The audience was mostly Nokhons and a few of us little humans, including myself and Roberto. T. G. Dambaraggan himself was there too, basking in the glory of being a video star. He loved to see and hear himself pontificate, the guy's a real ham. But good at it anyway. Listening to most of an hour's recitation of what passes for holy scripture in the Nokhon language is perhaps above and beyond what I need to endure to facilitate my concept of that special Sasquatch unit, but it's often that I find himself going deeper into the Nokhon culture. Makes me wonder if I'm going native, just like Old Wallace did. It's about 10:00 in the evening when we come out of the Mead Hall. It's a soft, warm mid-summer night, being almost the solstice, so the sky never quite gets all the way dark, just stays a bright blue with a pink-tinted horizon until the dawn goes all the way pink about four in the morning. The crowd disperses, Nokhons back to the frivolously-named "Refugee Camp", humans... well, I'm the only NokhSo there and I don't feel like going into my nice but indoors room on a beautiful night like this. So I just hang out, visiting the horses and sipping on a beer. Eventually, Roberto, the Mexican kid, comes out of Mead Hall, last man standing. He'd also been at the session, in fact, he was the one operating the video equipment. He'd just finished putting the computer away and shutting down the lights, being a conscientious kid. He sees me when he comes outside and comes over to join me; fellow students, you know. So we hang out, basking in the twilight. We talk, and somehow we get on the subject of his father's drug cartel operations. He doesn't want to accuse his father of any crimes, but clearly disapproves of what the cartels do: terrorizing the local folk with murder and violence. He hopes to put a stop to it someday. It gets late, well after midnight. We're both living in the main house so we start heading that way because it's long over sleepy-time but we are startled by a gigantic figure stepping out from between the trees to stop us. We're both jumpy because it was dark and so silent, but a Nokhon greeting is whispered and we recognize Daklakht. He tells us there is a sizeable group of NokhSo males-- human men --with "noisekillers" unloading from unusually large cars in the woods near the Main House. He'd heard and smelled them all the way over from the Refugee Camp and thought it seemed suspicious so he was on his way to check it out. We hadn't heard (or smelled) anything and were by now almost next to the house. (See, this is why I want to form a Nokhon Commando Unit: they've got superhuman senses and abilities, which can always come in handy in field operations.) Daklakht is still not quite comfortable with groups of humans, a little uncertain of social rules, so he asks us to come with him and give our opinions of the situation because he didn't want to make some embarrassing social blunder. He knew I had a military background and that Roberto's father commanded troops of men in warlike situations; we'd talked about it quite a bit. So we moved closer to the house but moving through the bushes rather than the trail way, cautiously. Then, moving through the woods in the not-so-dark we notice a couple of military-type Humvees silently-- no motor sound at all --approaching the Main House, all lights turned off, even brake lights. This seems unusual. Watching, we then see what looks like soldiers unloading and falling into formation in the dark. Adjusting weapons. Sort of like a swat team. "I'm not sure about NokhSo ways," Daklakht says, "but does this look like we should interfere?" Roberto answers, "To me it looks like cartel soldiers getting ready for an attack." "And you should know, right?" "I've seen it before, yes." I say, "This looks illegal as Hell, so yes, let's interfere." To Roberto Daklakht says: "Please run as fast as you can to get Dagrolyt and Dabronat and send them here. We'll be checking these guys out." I am paraphrasing everything, of course, our languages are all mixed and messed up: we'd memorized all sorts of polite phrases, but saying something we'd never discussed before, such as precise instructions, is sloppy. Roberto is the most fluent multilingual among us, best at filling in comprehension gaps, and we've just sent him away. But the kid catches the urgency in Daklakht's message and runs off full-tilt, the twilight just bright enough that he can discern the trail between trees, deliberately avoiding to use the flashlight app of his cell phone. Smart kid, he knows not to be a target. Daklakht and I move in the opposite direction, towards the Main House, keeping to bushes and avoiding the yard lights. Sure enough, it's a military hit team in battle armor and they're readying weapons for an attack, but who would they go after here? There are only Adam's family and some random visiting Nokhons. Unless they are after me. Or Roberto, for his father. I move closer, even more careful to stay hidden, trying to overhear the swat team talking to each other. They're obviously an experienced unit, speaking mostly in coded phrases, but I distinctly hear someone say, "...target acquired, ready one..." I know better than to interfere with a military operation and expect them to respect my rank, officially major, or to obey my orders. They've already got their own orders and I can get shot if I get in their way. But we need to know what their intentions are. First I'm trying to see just WHO they are; Police? Army? Marines? But they're completely unmarked: no unit patches, no rank, no name tags, no license plates. But well-equipped with military ordinance. This is a covert in-country operation against civilians, definitely illegal. I have no weapon-- not that I want to use one, but I can see that these soldiers are equipped with Heckler & Koch HK416 assault rifles, flash-bangs, tear gas grenades and Desert Eagle Mark XIX pistols. Powerful stuff, they're not bothering with measly tasers, everything's lethal. It looks like they are going after Big Game. Big Foot? But why? It would be best to find out before they attack. I'm smaller, so I creep in closer behind smaller bushes, leaving Daklakht to circle around from another angle. I'm looking for anyone who might stray from the flock and eventually I spot a man clearly going into the woods to take a pee. I have to make a quick detour to get behind the soldier without myself being spotted by other soldiers. The twilight is just dark enough to allow a little slipshod. In the woods I find myself behind a man much bigger and younger than me, so there's no guarantee that I can wrestle him down without making lots of noise. Or at all. So I've got to outsmart him. I take a handy twig up from the forest floor and prod the man's back with it, saying "Don't move!" That soldier does not panic, he just continues pissing. "Yeah, right, you got me, pardner." "I need you to tell me: who are you attacking?" "And I need you to quit poking me with that stick," he starts to turn, fast, up to the challenge. I kick him behind both knees and he goes down. Yeah, I know karate. But hell, every soldier knows karate too and he goes into a roll and comes up just barely limping a little bit, but officially pissed off now, ready to fight. It's pretty dark but I think he can see that I'm not one of his teammates. But he doesn't go for his pistol, after all, I'm just a civilian and he's a pretty big guy, so he's confident that I'm not a real problem. He's insulted that I've kicked him so he's not going to let that go. He moves in to punch me in the gut, but like I said, I really do know karate. It's just that I really am not interested in a big fist fight right now. I deflect his blows a few times, but I can tell he's a better fighter than I am. I've always been good at hand-to-hand combat, I've instructed it, but there's always someone better somewhere and this one was here. Aggressive, strong, skilled. This was not looking good. He could also call out to his team, but they're all trying to be covert, so he doesn't. So I'm thinking this is going to be a sporting event, Marquess of Queensfairy rules, but then I see the glint of twilight shine on his knife. I back off, even in the dark I can make out that it's a big bladed Bowie-type knife with saw-toothed top edge and hard-knobbed knuckle-guard, if he pokes me with that he'll open me up. I throw myself backwards as he swings and misses, but he keeps coming. I'm thinking, this what you get for stupidly trying pseudo-heroics when you've got a Bigfoot in your arsenal... but then a wall of hair and muscle descends upon us and the contest is over. Daklakht is a hell of a lot bigger than the soldier. He takes that big man in one hand and just holds him, while plucking the knife and tossing it away. There's no struggle, the man simply freezes in fear. "Skog karang dake, I say in my most fluent Nokhontli (Don't hurt him.) to which Daklakht replies, "Wouldn't dream of it, old chap," like a proper gentleman. Then Dagrolyt and Dabronat show up, both having been asleep in their family hut near the Refugee Camp when Roberto came running with his out-of-breath message. We carry the terrified soldier far enough away from the others in his unit so that we can question him without being heard, to where I can say, "I just want you to tell me what your mission is. If you won't talk," I point at Daklakht, "he gets to eat you." Then to Daklakht I say in Nokhontli, "We need to scare this guy: pretend you want to bite him." So Dak bares his big bright shiny teeth, growls and drools, and that does the trick. Suddenly our captive is a blabbermouth. The long and short of it is that those soldiers are here to kill Art and Elaine, which is bad enough, but they've also been ordered to make the hit look like they'd been murdered by a Bigfoot. To do that they have with them a specially built contraption that they'll use to crush their skulls and make it look as if squeezed by a big Sasquatch hand. To justify a war against Nokhons. It's absolutely crazy: no Bigfoot has ever killed anyone that way, if ever any way. But that's their plan. We'd ask who was responsible later, but first we needed to hurry. They're already in the Hacienda house when we get there: the lights are on; we can see them through the windows. We're not wasting time being sneaky, arriving like thunder over the porch, the double front door is already wide open and we go on through to find four soldiers trying to shove Art's head into that evil contraption on the floor, getting ready to throw their weight onto the long lever that will close the five "fingers" of the machine with cranium crushing force. Daklakht jumps ahead and sends all three soldiers sprawling with one swipe of his arm. Before they can recover Dagrolyt and Dabronat are grabbing and shaking them so that all their weapons go flying and clatter to the floor. Two other soldiers are holding Elaine's wrists while she's struggling to break free. They release her and raise their sub-machine guns to shoot at us. But they each get Elaine's fingers in their eyes, and before they can see again Daklakht has them both by their throats. You'd think he would have just snapped their necks (I might have), but he doesn't allow anger to take over, he's extremely cool-headed. Just does what needs to be done, a professional lawman, stopping them without harming them. I really want this guy working with me! Art, on the other hand, is pretty pissed at those soldiers who've just tried to murder him and his wife. He grabs one of the pistols on the floor, a Desert Eagle Mark XIX, and aims it directly into the face of the leader who'd been giving the orders to push Art's head deeper into their egg-crusher. For a second I'm sure he's going to shoot, but Art clearly sees that Dabronat has a firm grip on the man and he just can't execute someone if it isn't in self-defense, so he lets the muzzle drop with a frustrated grunt. But the danger's not over yet: there are two more soldiers who've been on watch outside, they step onto the porch and stand outside the door with submachine guns at the ready, do a quick scan and decide who to shoot. Art's the only one of us with a pistol in hand, but he's delayed because he's just made a moral decision not to commit murder and now he has to re-decide. That can happen to anyone. But it doesn't matter. Daklakht turns to face them, lifting a finger for them to look at, like a magician uses misdirection to work a trick. The soldiers concentrate on shooting that finger, right in front of his face. They fire off about 20 bam-bam-bam rounds as he stands perfectly still. Every shot misses, to the right or the left. It's a trick Nokhons do, which I'd really like to learn some day. Our two brothers, Dagrolyt and Dabronat, have plenty of time to snag rifles out of hands, and when those soldiers reach for their side-arms they get each a tap in the chest that leaves them sprawled on the porch floor gasping for breath. Now we can start asking questions. Like what idiot masterminded this attack? This "Bigfoot Hand" contraption is an amazing exercise in cruel technology, reminding me of the robot hand in the Terminator Movies, although this is all gears and levers, nothing electronic. It's heavy, takes two men to carry it. It's a visually impressive design for something that is never meant to be seen, all shiny stainless steel and tanned leather that must have cost a lot of time and money to make. Probably just for this one attempt. In their swat-van we also find oversized "Bigfoot boots", I suppose to make fake footprints. Although why they would bother here at the Hacienda where Nokhons walk back and forth all the time? It's like a really stupid committee put together a half-assed conspiracy. And yet, so cruel: murdering Adam's innocent parents to start a war that nobody wants. Any modern forensic team that studied this murder, looking for DNA and Bigfoot hair, would realize that it was a phony set-up. They could never get away with it. Unless they had the authority to control the investigation.
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