Canadian Bet (Super Yankee) Explained – How It Works ...

Welcome back to season seven of the Pittsburgh Pirates rebuild! Here are the links to the previous entries if you want to catch up: 2020, 2021, 2022, 2023, 2024, 2025.
We had another tough season last year, finishing last in the division with a 69-93 record. The owner is worried about my performance, so we really need to improve this season. We should see a lot of internal improvement with our young guys, but still need to make a few moves. As with the previous entries, I’ll list the moves I made, the rationale behind those moves, the season results, and the future outlook.
Here are the salaries (part 1, part 2) heading into the offseason.
Departures:
Batters:
Stephen Alemais
Alemais is a versatile defender with good character attributes but he had -0.1 WAR over five seasons with the team. He entered free agency but didn’t sign with anyone.
Mookie Betts
I’m still not convinced Betts wasn’t sent to sabotage my team. I’ve never seen a player with his ratings perform so bad. He was on pace for a -5 WAR season before I released him.
He signed a minor league deal with the Diamondbacks but didn’t reach the majors.
Jackie Bradley Jr.
Bradley was just about as bad as Betts but had the decency to retire after the season.
Johan Camargo
Looking through this list it’s starting to become apparent why we weren’t very good last year. You can only have but so many older fringe players and remain competitive. Camargo did not sign with a team this season.
Reese McGuire
McGuire thought he was worth $8.5m this season, but apparently no one else did. I would’ve considered him at a lower price, but it was probably just best to move in a younger direction.
Cristian Pache
See move #1 below.
Josh Smith
See move #1 below.
Travis Swaggerty
Swaggerty’s injury proneness and price scared me off. He signed with the Red Sox and did well though.
Christian Vazquez
Vazquez was terrible last season before I released him. He ended up retiring after the year.
Pitchers:
Miguel Castro
Castro was solid last year but I couldn’t afford to bring him back. He signed a friendly deal with the twins and performed well.
Chris Gerard
See move #1 below.
Steven Jennings
Jennings was a disaster last season. He’s still with the organization but has been banished to the minors.
Mauricio Llovera
See move #1 below.
Zach Maxwell
See move #2 below.
Felipe Mezquita
See move #2 below.
Jordan Montgomery
Montgomery was solid the past two years, but I couldn’t afford to bring him back. He performed surprisingly well for the Yankees this year, but his ratings suggest he’s on the way out.
Jeremy Walker
I wanted Walker back, but on a minor league contract. The Nationals offered him 1/$1.26m, so I let them have him.
Additions:
Batters:
Manny Duenas
See move #2 below.
Osvaldo Gavilan
Minor league call-up.
Vladimir Guerrero Jr.
See move #1 below.
Drew Romo
Minor league call-up.
Luis Tejada
Minor league call-up.
Manzo Yoshinaga
Minor league call-up.
Pitchers:
Rio Britton
Minor league call-up.
Ben Hernandez
Minor league call-up.
Brennan Malone
Minor league call-up.
Move #1:
Pirates Receive: Vladimir Guerrero Jr. (65% retained)
Blue Jays Receive: Cristian Pache (100% retained), Josh Smith (100% retained), Josh Hodge, Chris Gerard(100% retained), Mauricio Llovera (70% retained), $1.5m Cash
We had to give up a king’s ransom, but Guerrero should provide a huge boost to our pitiful offense. He has five years remaining on his deal, of which we will pay $10m per season, with the Jays picking up the remaining 65%. The last two years are player options, so hopefully he plays well but not well enough to decline the options.
As for what I’m giving up, Pache is elite, but an upcoming free agent that we won’t be able to re-sign; Smith was an all-star, but he’s primarily a DH, where I want to play Guerrero; Hodge has a lot of upside, but I have other pitchers I like better; Gerard is fragile, meaning he was on the way out anyways; and Llovera had a great season last year, but his ratings don’t suggest a repeat performance.
I’m retaining a lot of salary, but none past this year. If we can find a way through this season we’ll be in a great financial situation for the next few years, especially if Guerrero picks up his options.
Move #2:
Pirates Receive: Manny Duenas
Yankees Receive: Zach Maxwell, Felipe Mezquita (20% retained)
With the departure of Pache we needed someone to man center field, and Duenas should be an excellent replacement. He has elite defensive ratings, high character, durable injury proneness, and the potential to be an above average hitter. We had to give up two good players in return, but I’m betting on Duenas being a star and the general injury proneness of pitchers. We have a lot of starting caliber pitchers in the system, and some of them needed to be moved anyways, so hopefully we kept the right guys.
Final Financial Situation:
We have almost no money heading into the season, so unless we make some moves, or see a surge in attendance, we won’t be able to pay any signing bonuses or sign an international amateur free agent. I have the third pick in the draft, so I’ll probably just roll that over to next season, when the retained money is off the books.
Here are the salaries heading into the season.
Move #3:
Pirates Receive: $8.1m Cash
White Sox Receive: Quinn Priester
Heading into the draft we had -$300k in available funds, so I thought it best to get enough to at least sign my round 3-5 picks. I asked the rebuilding White Sox what they wanted for $5m cash and Priester was one of the options. After a bit of negotiating, we settled on $8.1m for him. Priester is alright, but he’s in his last option year and projects to be a middle of the road starter at best. I was able to sign my round 3-5 picks and an international amateur free agent with this money.
This general strategy of selling prospects midseason for cash has worked out recently, but I probably shouldn’t make a habit of it. There are a lot of years I try this and the best I can get is $3m for a 60-potential player.
Batters:
Primary Lineup vs. RHP when Healthy (\DH enabled in both leagues)*
We went with a slightly different lineup this year, keeping 13 position players instead of 12. I wanted to protect the younger guys with more platooning.
RF – Mike Sanchez
Sanchez was great during his limited stint last year, leading me to give him a full-time role at the top of the lineup, but unfortunately the magic didn’t extend to this season. He remained solid in the field, but his offense was below league average. There’s nothing in his ratings to suggest he won’t bounce back, so he’ll have a spot going forward.
I’ll probably train him at first base during spring training to provide some more positional versatility.
LF – Osvaldo Gavilan
Gavilan was solid in the minors and insisted he was ready for the majors, so I decided to give him a shot. He didn’t provide the offense I’d hoped for but was a plus in the field. He’ll be in consideration for a spot next season.
DH – Vladimir Guerrero Jr.
The big offseason acquisition, Guerrero had a great season. He played in 161 games, winning platinum stick at DH and leading the league in batting average. He was also an all-star starter and finished fourth in MVP voting. If he continues at this pace he’ll probably opt-out after the 2028 season, but that’s not the worst thing that could happen.
The players I traded him for had varying degrees of success (Pache, Smith, Hodge, Gerard, Llovera), but I’m happy with my end of the deal either way.
CF – Manny Duenas
The second offseason acquisition, Duenas was pretty underwhelming at the plate but exactly what I wanted in the field. He won his first Gold Glove, which I hope is the first of many to come. I’m still hopeful he’ll figure things out offensively, but it’s fine if he doesn’t.
Maxwell looked great for the Yankees this year, but I still think we’ll come out better in the long run.
SS – Marcelo Mayer
Mayer missed a few weeks to injury but was great when on the field. He won his first gold glove while providing league average offense. He’s entering his first arbitration year, but his number is still low, and we shouldn’t have any issues retaining him.
2B – Michael Brooks
Brooks missed a good chunk of games for the second year in a row but was good when playing, winning another gold glove while improving at the plate. It might be best to move on from him before he becomes fragile, but it depends who’s available as a replacement.
1B – Didi Gregorius
Gregorius only started against righties but still managed to struggle. He didn’t fall off a cliff until later in the season, at which point it wasn’t practical to replace him.
He sent me an email midway through the season saying he’s retiring.
3B – Willy Adames
The end came fast for Adames. When I acquired him before last season, I never imagined he would be unplayable by the end of his deal, but it’s looking like his career might be over. He’s never been injured, and has great character, but his ratings have plummeted over the course of the year. Obviously, he will not be returning.
C – Drew Romo
Romo got off to a scorching start, posting an OPS+ of 140 through the first 20 games, but cooled off after missing three weeks to injury. He was called up to play defense though and that’s what he did. I see no reason for him not to return.
Bench
C – Jayden Melendez
Melendez thinks he should start over Romo due to his superior offense and comparable defense, but if you dig deeper, he’s just beating up on lefties. I think he deserves an equal split of the games, but I can’t make him the full-time starter.
OF – Christian Moore
Moore primarily started against lefties and performed about the same as my other outfielders, but his ratings suggest he can be better next year. He should be back.
Of particular interest is his pitching potential. I think I’m going to let him work as a long reliever due to his limited appearances in the field. I know he’ll never be a good pitcher, but it could help the rest of the bullpen if he soaks up some garbage time innings.
OF – Jesus Salgado
I really thought Salgado would be better, but I guess he wasn’t ready. He did improve his OPS+ from -39 to 47, so that’s encouraging. I’m not sure what I’m going to do with him going forward.
IF – Isaias Dipre
Dipre doesn’t provide much offensively but he’s an excellent defender at three positions. He’ll be in competition with Tejada for this role next year.
Injury Replacements
C – Manzo Yoshinaga
Yoshinaga filled in for Romo earlier in the year and performed well. I doubt he’ll overtake Romo or Melendez for a full-time position, so he’ll start next season at AAA.
IF – Luis Tejada
Tejada filled the utility infield role when Dipre went down to injury. He performed better than Dipre and has the advantage heading into next season.
Pitchers:
Pitching Staff when Healthy
SP – Travis MacGregor
I don’t think MacGregor could’ve performed any better considering his limited ratings. He’s still under team control, so should be back.
SP – Jacob Smith
Smith was a pleasant surprise this year, winning pitcher of the month in September and finishing third in the Cy Young voting. I’m skeptical he can repeat his performance, but he’ll get the chance to prove me wrong.
SP – Giuseppe Benedetti
I had really high hopes for Benedetti a couple of years ago, but he’s been mostly underwhelming. Hopefully he can break out next season.
SP – Rio Britton
Britton struggled the first half of the season but seemed to figure things out by the end of the year. Barring injury, he should be a solid starter going forward.
SP – Brennan Malone
Another member of the middling starting pitcher club, Malone was decent this season. He missed a lot of games due to injury, so I’m skeptical of his ability to stay on the field. I’ll replace him if a better option is available.
CL – Luke Jackson
Jackson was good but not great. He’s an upcoming free agent I would like to bring back but don’t think I can afford his demands. Hopefully he’ll remain unsigned for a while and I can scoop him up later in the offseason.
SU – Easton McMurray
McMurray remains a solid option and should be back next year. He’s entering his first arbitration year, but his estimate is still modest.
MR – Luis Faringthon
Faringthon was dominant until tearing his labrum in June. Hopefully he’ll be back at full strength next year.
MR – Jeremy Rivera
Rivera performed well and should be back next year.
MR – Gabriel Moya
Moya slipped a bit this season but could return if better options don’t emerge.
MR – Caden O’Brien
O’Brien had a strong year but spent a good amount of time on the IL. I’ll keep a close eye on his health going forward.
MR – Blake Cederlind
Cederlind was excellent this season, earning his first all-star appearance, but will probably not return since he’s an upcoming free agent. His current demand is 3/$27m.
MR – Josh Nifong
A 33rd round pick in 2021, Nifong was outstanding in his first MLB season. I see no reason for him not to return.
Injury Replacements
SP – Ben Hernandez
I had high hopes for Hernandez when drafted, but injuries have stalled out his career. He filled in a few games and performed moderately, but I don’t trust him for a full-time role.
SP – Michael Burrows
Burrows made one emergency start and was superb, throwing a one-hitter. I still haven’t forgotten his abysmal 2025 season though, so I sent him back down as soon as possible. He’ll probably start next year in AAA.
MR – Miguel Toribio
Toribio was called up when Faringthon went down and pitched 32 solid innings. Amazingly he walked zero batters in his 21 appearances
MR – Brandon Williams
The AAA reliever of the year, Williams was called up when the rosters expanded. He struggled in limited appearances, but his ratings suggest he should be fine going forward.
Season Results:
The division race was tight from start to finish, with the top four teams finishing five games apart. We finished second, with an 81-81 record. Even though we didn’t make the playoffs, I’m very happy with our performance. We easily could’ve had a few games break our way and win it.
The starting pitching improved dramatically from last year, and the bullpen and defense continued to be excellent. We still struggled offensively but didn’t finish last in runs scored like last year.
I think a big reason for our success was the roster stability as compared to last season. We didn’t make nearly as many offseason moves, had significantly fewer injuries, and didn’t have to constantly demote underperformers. Players were able to settle into their roles.
The owner is good with my performance and extended my contract for one year, but I still feel the pressure to perform. I probably won’t make any win-now moves, but I’m going to try to stay competitive.
Here are the playoff results.
Top Prospects:
A lot of the players from the past two year’s lists have either been promoted to the majors or traded away, but there is still serious talent in the system. We don’t have the same depth, but the top-end talent is better than ever and should be even better with the addition of the number four and sixteen picks in next year’s draft.
1.) Pietro Bonaccorsi
Pietro is back at number one for the third straight year after an excellent minor league debut. He started the season red hot but cooled as the season progressed. I believe he was just getting bored with the competition, but I try not to promote 18-year-olds before playing a full season.
His defensive ratings have improved slightly since last season, but I don’t think he’s ever going to have the glove to play a middle infield position. I’ll let him play second base again next year, but he’ll probably transition to first sooner than later. He’ll start next season at A+.
2.) Juan Espinoza
Espinoza remains at number two after spending the year in the international complex. He will probably move to rookie ball next season.
3.) Hector Garza
Garza debuts at number three on the list. He has Cy Young potential but is still a long way from reaching the majors. I’ll check his ratings at the beginning of the season to see if he’s ready for rookie ball, but more than likely he’ll remain in the international complex.
4.) Dave Castro
Castro started off slow in A+ but went supernova the second half of the season. He moved to first base later in the year to learn another position for the majors and will probably start there next season at AA. I expect him to be an MLB starter by 2028.
5.) Brad Thoen
Thoen’s ratings have progressed nicely since last season, and he continues a nice trajectory towards the majors. He’ll begin next season at AA and could make his MLB debut sooner than later.
6.) Bobby Dennis
Dennis saw almost all of his ratings increase since last year, while posting a strong season in rookie ball. His talent, durability, and character make his eventual MLB debut inevitable. It’s just a matter of when. He will begin next season at A or A+.
7.) Mike Mueller
Mueller moves up a spot on the list after a great season in rookie ball. He saw his ratings progress since last year and will begin next season at A or A+. More than likely, I will force start him at short stop or third.
8.) Sergio Pardo
Pardo was promoted from the international complex at the start of the year but wasn’t given much thought as a serious prospect until after the season. I let the computer decide his position, so didn’t notice his outfield potential at first, but he has the ability to play any position. I’ll get him some corner outfield experience next season at A or A+, with an eye towards teaching him every position before he reaches the majors. He looks to be a super utility player at worst, but his character and durability could allow him to become a star.
9.) Frank Mesa
Mesa was an established amateur free agent this past offseason that I signed to a minor league contract. It took a $500k signing bonus for him to agree but I thought his potential was worth the investment. He started the season at A+ because his ratings were mostly potential, but they’ve become actual over the course of the year and he looks to be an MLB contributor sooner than later. I don’t like promoting players before they spend time in AA or AAA, but I might make an exception for Mesa.
10.) Bobby Bosman
Bosman moves down from number six last year due to another lackluster season in rookie ball and a lack of ratings progression, but I’m not ready to give up on him yet. We’ll re-evaluate after another season in rookie league.
Honorable mentions:
Josh Breeden
Breeden was in strong consideration for the ten spot in place of Bosman. He has good character, durability, and the outline of a quality starting pitcher. My only reason for hesitation is a lack of a clear path to three quality pitches. He will probably start next season at A-.
Chris Simpson
Simpson appears to be the total package: good character, durability, catcher ability, and offense. He should move up the list with a strong season next year.
Promoted to MLB:
Rio Britton, Drew Romo
Dropped from list:
Alex Mendez
I probably kept Mendez in rookie league one season too long, so maybe his potential comes back next year, but for now I’m not convinced he’s anything more than a replacement level player.
Future Outlook:
This team reminds me a lot of the teams we had the first few seasons. We have a bunch of good young players, but no real clear path to a championship. I took some risks and pushed a bit harder than I should have with those teams, so I’m going to play it more conservatively this time through. Hopefully we can make a real push in a few seasons, but in the meantime, we’ll try to maintain a winning record.
We have a lot of super talented players in the system already, but I’m really excited about the prospect of selecting this guy in the upcoming draft. We have the fourth pick, so he might not be there, but I’ve seen better guys fall that far.
End of season budget and salaries (part 1, part 2).
2022 Review:
Starting this year, I’m going to review the moves and top prospects from five years ago. I’ll start with the moves:
2022 Move #1:
Pirates Receive: Alex Wood (100% retained) (2022, 2026), Mauricio Llovera (2022, 2026), Christopher Sanchez (2022, 2026), Adam Haseley (2022, 2026), $9.5m Cash
Phillies Receive: Seth Lugo (2022, 2026), Bryan Reynolds (2022, 2026)
This will probably go down as one of the most lopsided trades ever. The Phillies received Lugo, who posted one mediocre season before leaving as a free agent; and Reynolds, who provided 9.6 WAR over a five-year period and cost $40m over that span. The Phillies also received a compensation pick for the loss of Lugo.
In return I received Wood, who provided two excellent seasons in which the Phillies paid 100% of his salary; Llovera, who finished fifth in the Cy Young voting last year and was a major part of the Vladimir Guerrero Jr. deal; Sanchez, who was lights out before getting injured; and Haseley, who I flipped the next year for Aaron Nola. The departures of Wood and Nola both netted supplemental first round picks. We also received $9.5m cash and improved our budget room by $25m.
Final Grade: A+
2022 Move #2:
Pirates Receive: Mike Minor (100% retained) (2022, 2026), $1m Cash
Angels Receive: Kyle Wilkie (2022, 2026)
The Phillies received a career minor leaguer in Wilkie while I got Mike Minor and $1m cash. Minor was very good for me in 2022 and netted a supplemental second round pick when he signed with Kansas City as a free agent. I think I was the clear winner of this deal.
Final Grade: A
2022 Top Prospects:
1.) Dave Castro (2022, 2026)
Castro is number four on the 2026 list and should make his MLB debut soon. In the 2022 write-up I stated concern for his defense, but he actually looks like he will be a plus there, and his offensive potential has increased.
2.) Luuk Ter-Beek (2022, 2026)
Ter-Beek had the look of a back-end starter that could soak up a ton of innings due to his knuckleball, but a torn UCL in 2023 effectively ended his major league chances.
3.) Drew Romo (2022, 2026)
Romo’s ratings are pretty much the exact same now as they were in 2022, but his production at the plate led me to believe he had more offensive upside. He made his major league debut this season but appears to be a non-factor at the plate.
4.) Jayden Melendez (2022, 2026)
I thought Melendez had the potential to be a plus defender and batter, but he’s looking to be more of a defensive focused player. He made his major league debut this year.
5.) Sal Stewart (2022, 2026)
In 2022 I said that Stewart had the potential to be an elite hitter, but it doesn’t look like that’s going to happen. If he makes the majors it will be as a role player.
6.) Michael Brooks (2022, 2026)
I predicted Brooks would be an elite defender that struggles at the plate and that’s exactly what he’s become. He just won his second gold glove while posting an OPS+ of 75.
7.) Cody Bolton (2022, 2026)
I wasn’t very high on Bolton in 2022, just recognized he had major league talent. He started two seasons for me, providing near league average performance, but was traded away due to his poor character. He hasn’t done much for the Rays since they acquired him.
8.) Ben Hernandez (2022, 2026)
Hernandez had the character and talent profile of a guy that would excel in my system but got injured in AAA and stalled out before he ever really got a shot. He made his major league debut this year but probably won’t be a factor going forward due to his fragile injury rating.
9.) Easton McMurray (2022, 2026)
I got excited the second I saw McMurray and knew he would be a member of the bullpen sooner than later. He made his major league debut in 2024 and his been solid for us the past three years.
10.) Josh Dotson (2022, 2026)
I was lukewarm on Dotson’s major league prospects and it turns out I was right to be concerned. He made it to AAA before stalling out, but could possibly see some bullpen action as an injury replacement next year.
2022 Minor League System Grade: C+
Six of the ten players on the list have made their major league debuts, with one more expected to debut soon. Only one player was a true bust, but that was mostly due to injury. There are a lot of major league players here, but not much top-end talent. Looking back, I should’ve known I didn’t have the prospect depth to start contending yet.

Hey Sportsfans — it's time for Week 5 of baseball's 2020 Power Rankings — Five weeks and we are not any closer to understanding what's going on this season or maybe I've just watched too many Giants games. Please enjoy these powerful rankings.
The Cardinals are banished again but they will be returning next week if all goes as planned.
Every voter has their own style / system and the only voting instructions are these:

"To an extent determined individually, you must take into account how strong a team is right now and likely to be going forward. You must, to some degree, give weight to the events and games of the previous week."

TRANSPARENCY: this link will show you who voted each team where and has added neat statistics!
If something is a little messed up, feel free to pester me let me know.
Total Votes: 30 of 30. A perfect vote!

#		Team	Δ	Comment	Record
1		Dodgers	0	Resistence is futile. All must bow down to your leader, Mookie Betts. Fun Fact: Frank Robinson is the only man to ever win an MVP in both the American League and the National League. I don't know about y'all, but I'm starting to think he has a pretty good shot at finally getting some company	16-7
2		Yankees	0	From a semi-disappointing 8 game 5 loss week to a pleasant 5 game 5 win week, the Yankees look strong again. This roster feels like it is too brittle to handle the rigors of a difficult travel schedule, what with Judge, Giancarlo and DJ out. Even more telling is the 9-0 Home record (obviously best in the league). Upcoming this week is the remainder of the homestand for four games against the Rays and Sox, and then a "road trip" to Citi Field.	15-6
3		Athletics	0	The 2020 A's are excelling in several areas- dingers, walks, and "stupid clutch" hits beyond the 8th inning. Matt Olson has 8 HR's, 4 1Bs, 2nd lowest average on the team. Laureano got his suspension knocked down but sat out the weekend. Which left Canha, Piscotty, and Robbie Grossman with his 1.007 OPS/4 steals to carry on. We lost to the Trout's 0-6 TUE, our first shutout. We haven't lost since, and assailed the poor SF closer with 2 historic, yet eerily inevitable comebacks. My first reaction is not triumph, but empathy, because this years SF club has similar failings of the 2015 A's and boy, was that hard to muddle through. 3 game crapshoot playoff round looming? oh, fun	16-6
4		Twins	+1	https://i.redd.it/hjkta6tzjdh51.jpg	14-8
5		Cubs	+1	Losing three one-run games in a row against the Brewers was painful and familiar. I personally am not reading too much into it, since one run games tend to be coin flips. Craig Kimbrel also looked great in his two most recent outings. This week the Cubs play the Cardinals five times in three games and hope to put some more distance between themselves and the rest of the division.	13-6
6		Rays	+3	Is your offense struggling? Water cold? Flappy parts not what they used to be? Sounds like you need a trip to historic Fenway Park, where you can put up 8+ runs a game and revitalize. Some players have even declared the Rays the #1 team in baseball. The Rays capped off a 6-1 week, led by Brandon Lowe (pronounced Lowe) with 4HR, a wRC+ of 297 (205 on the season), and 0.9 WAR. The surge in offense covered up pitching that wasn't at it's best, but they got the job done when it mattered. Oh, the Rays also lead the AL in Runs scored now. Neat!	14-9
7		Braves	-3	sigh We are severly banged up with Acuña and Albies on the shelf. Big City returns this week as a bench bat/DH, but we need someone to step up and STOP STRIKING OUT. Starting pitching is a big issue execpt Fried who is a bonafide ace. A 2-4 week seems pretty damn succesful considering we took a series from the first place Marlins(?!). u/ebennett sums it up: Be quiet, I think he is gonna say something.	13-10
8		Indians	-1	Tribey learned how to hit...uh oh! Sorry, I just watched Happy Gilmore. But seriously, adding some much-needed offense to an already-amazing pitching staff is the key to the Tribe overtaking the Twins in the ALC. Even losing aces/douchebags Plesac and Clevinger to the DL (Dumbass List) the rotation didn't skip a beat, folding in sixth man Adam Plutko with some off-days to make it seem like nothing even happened	13-9
9		Rockies	-1	Maybe the Rockies are who we thought they were? The bullpen is in serious trouble after losing, Oberg, Davis, potentially Carlos Estevez and Jairo Diaz walking the world. Rockies will need Daniel Bard to be more than a feel good story for the rest of the season. Also, isn't it just super cool that Mookie Betts is a Dodger for eternity??? Last week: 2-4 Next week: 2 vs HOU 2 @HOU & 3 @LAD	13-8
10		Astros	+1	Kyle Tucker saved us from yet another extra inning game this season and for that we are eternally grateful. Offense starting to come around a little bit, but pitching is still our glaring weak spot. Blake Taylor is a beast and I will not hear otherwise.	11-10
11		Padres	-1	Here’s a cherry picked stat for ya: In the last five games, the Pads have only scored 3 runs between innings 1-5, meaning 3 runs in 25 total innings. Sunday ended a poor week with awful runner in scoring position numbers, and Tommy Pham having to leave the game during an at bat that ultimately culminated in San Diego’s final out. What does it all mean? We’ve dipped under .500 for the first time this season, free falling on a five game skid. The club will look to rebound at home versus Texas, and Houston, which is a city in Texas.	11-12
12		Brewers	+1	A 10-10 record isn't great, especially when they've scored the fourth fewest runs. However, the bats appear to be waking up and the pitching isn't cooling off. Hat tip to ESPN for calling this out: Milwaukee designated hitters enter Monday hitting a combined .154/.214/.333.	10-10
13		White Sox	-1	The White Sox have to be one of the most frustrating teams this year. They're 500, just like they were last week. After a couple days off, they came out extremely flat in a DH against the Cards and lost both. And then they hit 4 back to back homers the next day. For a team that was expected to hit, they have a bottom 5 BB/K ratio and near the bottom third of runs scored this year. But at the same time, still 500 and currently a playoff team. This team, I don't know man.	11-11
14		Nationals	+1	7(2.7) - 11(2.7) ≈ 19-31	8-11
15		Reds	-1	The Reds are in the midst of their second Covid crisis of the season, as an unnamed player (speculated to be Nick Senzel) has tested positive. There doesn't seem to be any teamwide outbreake, but we all know how quickly these things can change. Still, the team is hopeful they can play on Tuesday. As for the actual baseball we saw, they split with a couple awful teams but looked alright doing it. Jesse Winker and his neck are on a tear, and the bullpen looks better, in no small part to new addition Tyler Thornburg.	9-11
16		Phillies	+1	The Phillies once again had a confusing week. They got swept by the Orioles but pretty much dominated the Mets. The bullpen has looked...better, even servicable in the past three games. The rotation has been solid, led by Cy Young candidate Aaron Nola and Zack Wheeler. The offense scored 48 runs this week, led by MVP candidates Bryce Harper and JT Realmuto. The division is still in reach, and the Phillies should be in dcent shape to make a run for it. #ResignJT	8-9
17		Orioles	+3	Mid August and the Orioles are a playoff team...what the hell is happening? I would say it's really good hitting or really good pitching, but the team ERA is above 4, their hitting though is tops in MLB in a bunch of categories. I guess this team doesn't realize they aren't suuposed to win. If you bet the over on total wins in Vegas this year then you'll get your winnings soon. Also if this was a full season Dylan Bundy would be on pace for a 21-7 record...ugh.	12-9
18		Marlins	0	Well our lack of depth and replacement players are starting to show. Only thing that has not declined drastically is SP. Thankfully all 17 covid players have been cleared to play and are currently in Jupiter rehabbing. This week we got the mets at home for 4 and then 3 in DC.	9-6
19		D-Backs	+7	The D-backs have actually come to life as of late, getting more consistency out of the offense and more great starts from Gallen and Merrill Kelly. A sweep of the Padres in Chase (where the D-backs could cheat by opening the roof) pulled them ahead of the Friars in the standings, and they're almost through their insanely tough part of the schedule to start the season. Watch out for the Snakes.	11-11
20		Rangers	+2	Wear a Mask. Wash your hands. 3 series wins in a row during the last week helped get the record up to .500. This up coming week with series against the Padres and Mariners will show if this team is for real or not. Lance Lynn for Cy Young.	10-10
21		Mets	-5	This was an interesting week in my personal rankings. We're now 4 full weeks in, I figured it's time to make some sweeping changes instead of only moving teams two or three spots if that. As for the Mets, what can you say? We're a middling team that shows ocasional flashes of brilliance. We dodged two big bullets when it comes to injuries to deGrom, and McNeil, but being swept by the Phillies is a big bullet to take no matter what. With our next 13 being strictly against the Marlins and Yankees, we've got some big tests coming up; Let's see if we pass.	9-14
22		Tigers	-3	It's Tarik Skubal and Casey Mize time!! This Tuesday and Wednesday are the days we've been waiting for all year. Personally, I prefer Skubal over both Manning and Mize, but time will tell which one of the new crop of arms takes off the most. The most MLB-ready position player prospect, Isaac Paredes, is getting the call as well. This week: 4 at CWS, 3 at CLE.	9-10
23		Blue Jays	-0	The ever-exciting Blue Jays continue to find new and interesting ways to lose games. Bo Bichette is probably out for a month, and the Trash Birds are looking more likely to make the playoffs than the Bisons Blue Jays. But Charlie Montoyo has a message for all the would be worriers!	7-11
24		Angels	-3	I was reminded this week by a great Sam Miller article from back in 2016 on what would have happened if any of the teams ahead of the Angels had drafted Mike Trout. It's a great read, but essentially, it boils down to the fact that nearly every other team would have at some point been put over the top in the regular season and had made the playoffs in a season they otherwise didn't had he been on their team. One of the only exceptions to this? The Angels. They've made the playoffs with him once in a season they probably still would have made them without him. It's the most annoying thing to hear as an Angels fan, that they are wasting Mike Trout's career, but if they can't even make them in a year where over half the teams will, I think it's a conversation we're only going to hear more and more. Rightly so.	7-15
25		Royals	+2	The Royals might actually be better than we realized. They're 8-9 against teams that are over .500 and have a +7 run differencial in those games. Can they sneak into the postseason? They may have a better chance than Lloyd Christmas did.	9-13
26		Giants	-2	They are who we thought they were. The Giants have bad pitching, bad defense, bad management, and mediocre offense. After spending the week getting their shit pushed in by the Astros and A's, highlights of which included Zack Greinke calling his own pitches on the mound and Trevor Gott's ERA going up by over 12 whole runs, the Giants own the second worst run differential in the league at -43. This week they play the Angels, in a split series where Albert Pujols will almost certainly tie and then pass Willie Mays on the all time home run leaderboard, followed by the Bumgarner-less Diamondbacks. The only good thing about my new job being all night shifts is that I won't be able to subject myself to Gabe Kapler's Wild Ride on a nightly basis.	8-15
27		Red Sox	-2	I may have ranked the Red Sox 29th this week, but they're truly 30th in my heart. Did you know that over the last 6 games, the Red Sox averaged over 1 run per inning? That's right, the sox gave up 1.167 runs per inning for 6 whole games. I can't believe I'm saying this, but man I miss Rick Porcello. Give me 6 IP 5 ER again.	6-16
28		Mariners	0	Evan White's bat has tested positive for COVID-19 and has been quarantined. Evan is still cleared to play without it, however, his activity at the plate is suffering terribly from it. Here's to wishing his bat makes a full recovery.	7-16
29		Pirates	0	The Pittsburgh Pirates have quit unexpectedly. Please reboot the franchise and try again	4-14

N/A, Quarantined Team||Cardinals|0| The Cardinals are finally back! After going up against the White Sox and putting away both sides of a "doubleheader" and losing on Sunday, they're 4-4 on August 17. DAE this season is weird? |4-4

So when you think of cities with high culture and vibrant music scenes on the east coast, what springs to mind? Obviously New York. Thanks to Drake, we all know about the growing music scene in Toronto. You prahbahbly musta tawt a Bawstan tew. Maybe Montreal or Philadelphia or even Baltimore crossed your mind.
Hah. Baltimore.
Time to check your cultural bias, pal. You passed over a quiet little city on the south shore of Lake Ontario, nestled in the Genesee River valley. It has a history as a hotbed of Abolitionism and Women’s Rights. It is the home of Eastman Kodak, Xerox, Bausch & Lomb, Western Union, Ragu and other innovative companies. It has a lively music scene, great nightclubs, world-renowned universities, thriving museums, arts & culture festivals, and (back when we could actually attend it) live theatre. It is a true cultural gem that many folks overlook.
Yep. You bet your ass I am talking about Rochester, New York.
Since we know that Stoner Rock can come from anywhere, it should be no surprise that Rochester has produced one of the leading bands in this genre. This week we are going to check out a band you are going to want to listen to. If you know them, you love them. If you haven’t heard of them, you are going to thank me.
This week’s band is KING BUFFALO.
About Them
Hold on a sec. King Buffalo? Not King Rochester?
To be fair, King Rochester sounds like the villain in a Disney movie. Kinda hard to imagine that on a T-Shirt. King New York sounds like a particularly obnoxious Yankees fan (and yeah, finding a Yankees fan that isn’t obnoxious is a tough go). King Albany sounds like a car made by Kia.
But King Buffalo? That just works.
Our heros didn’t start out together. King Buffalo were made up of members of two other Rochester area bands.
Randall Coon and Scott Donaldson were playing together in Velvet Elvis. That five piece band played heavy rock with space-based themes in the early 2010’s. Sean McVay and Dan Reynolds were in another band called Abandoned Buildings Club (side note: kinda neat that their initials were ABC), who had a pure psychedelic rock vibe. When both VE and ABC appeared to be having limited success, the four musicians decided to merge their talents into one band. Coon had handled vocals and guitar in Velvet Elvis and Donaldson had been rock solid on drums. McVay had done vocals and guitar in Abandoned Buildings Club and Reynolds had anchored the sound with his bass. All the pieces were there for a classic Beatles-esque lineup.
So out of the wreckage of ABC and VE, KB arose. The four members gelled so well that they were able to record their first demo - aptly titled Demo - in just two days. Their sound was immediately compared to tourmates and close friends All Them Witches. But where ATW were bluesy and sludgy, King Buffalo had produced songs full of space. Oh, there were heavy riffs for sure - but there were passages of music that were contrastingly lighter and further apart. The best example of these contrasts can be found in the more than 11 minutes of Providence Eye. The first six and a half minutes come at you at a lulling pace, enveloping you in the moment. You get swept up in the rolling riffs. But then the drop happens and you suddenly realize the song has been building to this peak. The tempo picks up and you ride a relentless rollercoaster until you hit the Black Sabbath-inspired outro, which takes you home. It is an emotional experience. The two other tracks - In Dim Light and Pocket Full of Knife are smaller essays on the same theme.
It was clear right from Demo that King Buffalo had some serious talent. But if you have listened to the band you will notice that one thing is starkly different on Demo than from any of their other releases: the vocals. Randall Coon was the lead vocalist on these recordings. If you play them up against anything since by the band they stand out. Our very own QotSA may have successfully had multiple vocalists on multiple tunes, but King Buffalo was destined to have Sean McVay take over the mic. Shortly after 2013’s Demo, Coon left the band to do a solo project called Skunk Hawk.
King Buffalo stood at a crossroads: did they look to replace Coon, or should they carry on as a Power Trio? The choice for them was obvious. McVay, Reynolds and Donaldson knew that they had fantastic potential together. They decided they didn't need anyone else.
Side note: Regular readers of these write ups know that All Them Witches just went through this exact crisis in 2019. What I didn’t share then is that ATW are close friends with KB. I would not be surprised to learn that ATW had some serious conversations about their lineup with the boys from KB before they, too, decided last year to pare down to just three members.
To re-christen their new lineup, in 2015 King Buffalo went in on a split EP with Swedish band Lé Betre (I mean, hooking up with a Swedish partner is a dream of mine, so I see the appeal.) They re-recorded their standout tune Providence Eye with McVay on vocals, as well as two new tracks - Like a Cadillac and New Time. New Time opens their side of the EP with an infectious, descending riff that hooks you immediately. It is clear from the lyrics - No wasting around, it’s a new time - that they had moved on from Coon. Like a Cadillac follows up and is a three and a half minute jam that leaves you wanting more. The re-recorded version of Providence Eye closes out their side of the split EP and leaves no doubt that they are in charge. It is a tighter, heavier version, and the amazing outro is so low down that it will make you want to rob your own house.
With their lineup now set, it was time to put together enough music to tour on. In 2016, King Buffalo released Orion. Here you can witness the melding of their influences into something majestic and fantastic, and it is here that they really develop their signature style.
To explain this style, you need to understand basic song structure.
Most pop songs tend to go verse - chorus - verse - chorus - bridge - chorus - chorus. Sure, you could add in a solo for the bridge, or a detailed intro or outro, or another verse - but this is a tried and true formula. Some variation of this dominates the pop charts to this day.
Not with King Buffalo songs. These guys are the masters of the drop, and you hear it in most of their tunes. QotSA fans are no strangers to that long build and release; it is an integral part of tunes like The Evil Has Landed, God is in the Radio, Song For The Dead, and I Appear Missing. One of the sickest drops ever recorded happens in the middle of the Them Crooked Vultures tune No One Loves Me & Neither Do I. It is where the music turns around, and a new riff takes over, often along with a pace change. It is then that you realize that the song has built to this climactic moment, and you are engulfed by the music.
King Buffalo does this better than anyone else, and you hear it clearly articulated, again and again, on the album Orion.
Take the song Kerosene for example.
A rolling bass riff from Reynolds establishes the song right out of the gate. Donaldson produces punchy drum beats with cymbal crashes at the end of each phrase. McVay’s slide guitar rounds out the intro. McVay’s vocals - very Ozzy like, if Ozzy had any semblance of self-control - frame the first verse, which ends in a fuzzy, heavy riff with crashing cymbals. This same pattern is repeated a second time and the drop is teased at just past three minutes in, but does not happen quite yet. The listener’s anticipation builds as the airy, soaring solo from McVay calls out in contrast to the rolling bass. After the guitar solo bridge, the band goes right back into the chorus. But then it happens: THE DROP. Just past 5 minutes in, the song takes a complete and abrupt turn for a totally different riff that is at the same time heavier and brand new, and yet has been there all the while.
What King Buffalo does brilliantly is subvert your musical expectations.
The standard structure is V-C-V-C-B-C-C.
Kerosene is V-C-V-C-B-C-DROP-OUTRO. Just when you subliminally expect something the same, you get something different.
The entire album is like that. Orion hardly sounds like a debut. It is a mature and deliberate soundscape built by talented musicians who are making significant choices about their art. Songs like Drinking From The River Rising open with an expansive and elastic topography, but drill down to the molten lava of heavy riffs and distorted fuzz. Sleeps On A Vine begins with one of the most zen riffs you’ve ever heard and ends in a tumultuous and heavy sonic assault that is pure controlled chaos. Every song on the album is a study in contrasts that leaves you with auditory whiplash and a burning desire for more.
They are that good.
King Buffalo were able to tour on their new material, and did so extensively. They played clubs and larger venues, often with friends and fellow Stoner Rockers All Them Witches and other bands like The Sword and Elder. In 2017, the released the EP Repeater as a follow up. It is just three songs (The vinyl ad reads, All songs on one side! No need to flip!) but it is a heck of a musical journey. The title track off the EP is 13+ minutes long and is one huge build. When the fuzz finally drops after almost 8 minutes, it is a true cathartic moment. It sneaks up on you, and is so welcome when it hits - especially after McVay’s repetition that “Every Day is the Same* - that you intrinsically understand how great it is when things finally change for the better. Too Little Too Late is an instrumental tune that is both enveloping and expansive. It is a terrific bridge to the final track, Centurion, which is an unbelievable groove. Centurion has three minutes of set up leading to an unreal fuzzy drop that is so dirty it will get you evicted from your apartment.
The influence of their touring with All Them Witches can also be seen on their next full length release, 2018’s Longing To Be The Mountain. Ben McLeod from ATW produced the album. ATW, The Sword and Elder are all thanked in the liner notes. The album picks up right where Repeater leaves off, with KB experimenting with long form songs like Morning Song and the title track, and shorter jams like Sun Shivers, Cosmonaut, and Quickening. Reynolds and McVay pepper the songs with synthesizer sounds that add colour and texture to the overall compositions. Donaldson drums with impeccable precision to provide each song with a safe mooring to return to, driving the guitars forward at the same time as he holds the rhythm in check. This is most clearly evident in Eye Of The Storm. The result is a rich tapestry of expansive and flowing music full of heavy jams and storytelling that will leave the listener wanting more. Their signature build-to-sonic-explosion style does not let fans down.
The success of Longing To Be The Mountain allowed for extensive touring across North America and Europe. It also led to appearances at bigger gigs, like at Rockpalast and the Stoned & Dusted desert rock event in 2019. Anyone that has seen any of their live work knows that King Buffalo are simply hypnotizing on stage. Reynolds’ bass work is reminiscent of Geddy Lee with his complex and flowing style. Donaldson brings controlled power to the drum kit, and is ready to cut loose when the drop comes. And McVay has become a true front man, comfortable with the lead voice on guitar and the microphone.
Their most recent release, Dead Star, dropped in 2020 and generated all kinds of buzz in the Stoner Rock scene. Of course, the tour planned to support it got axed when the entire world went into lockdown. But the (short album? EP? New material?) is simply fantastic. Red Star Pt. 1 & 2 continues their long form examination and has everything you’d expect from them. Echo of A Waning Star is a lament of just over 3 minutes that is near-perfect. Ecliptic sounds like the soundtrack to a John Carpenter movie and is a complete jam with serious cool 1980’s vibes. Dead Star, the title track, is almost Radiohead-esque in its evocative and regretful take on death and decay.
But the standout track has to be Eta Carinae, which has one of the greatest musical drops and turn-arounds you will ever hear. The entire song pivots just past four minutes in and becomes a 70’s anthem worthy of Led Zeppelin or Black Sabbath. If you listen to no other tune here today, you have to check it out. It will absolutely get stuck in your head.
Even though they could not tour, King Buffalo have not been idle during the Quarantine. Their Quarantine Series on Youtube shared excerpts from their catalogue with fans, all played live. They have been back in the studio, and have promised MULTIPLE full length albums of new material coming our way, starting in 2021. They even have (optimistically) set tour dates for next year.
Some of us learned to bake during quarantine. Some of us got baked. I, for one, am super stoked that KB kept on writing and recording. I cannot wait for Rochester’s finest sons to release new material. I want everyone to hear this band because they really are something special.
Links to QOTSA
We know that QotSA front man Josh Homme and Kyuss invented Stoner Rock in the 1990’s. They were the genre-defining band. King Buffalo (and other bands like All Them Witches) have picked up this proverbial torch and are now bringing the sound to the next generation of fans. King Buffalo drummer Scott Donaldson is known to be a huge QotSA fan. Perhaps he saw them live when they played in Rochester in 2014 in support of ...Like Clockwork.
It is also sometimes easy to forget that Josh was not the only architect of the low desert sound. Original Kyuss Drummer and co-founder Brant Bjork wrote many Kyuss tunes and continues to be a leader in the music scene today. King Buffalo have played with Bjork at festivals three times: Freak Valley Festival, Black Deer Festival and the aforementioned Stoned & Dusted. There is also a planned collaborative project between Bjork and King Buffalo that may be coming our way soon.
The future is bright, my friends.
Their Music
Providence Eye
In Dim Light
Pocket Full of Knife
King Buffalo songs from the Split EP with Lé Betre
Kerosene -- live in 2016
Drinking From The River Rising
Orion - entire album on Genesee Live
RepeateCenturion -- Recorded Live in the Quarantine Sessions put out by the band
Live at Rockpalast in 2019 - includes songs from LTBTM
Longing To Be The Mountain - Quarantine Sessions
Quickening -- everything is cool until the snake head pops out. Red Star Pt. 2 -- the official video
Ecliptic
Eta Carinae
Dead Star - Full Album
Show Them Some Love
/KingBuffalo - C’mon, everyone -- there are just 96 subscribers. Those are rookie numbers. You gotta pump those numbers up.
Previous Posts
Tool
Alice in Chains
King Gizzard and the Lizard Wizard
Rage Against the Machine
Soundgarden
Run the Jewels
Royal Blood
Arctic Monkeys
Ty Segall
Eagles of Death Metal
Them Crooked Vultures
Led Zeppelin
Greta Van Fleet
Ten Commandos
Screaming Trees
Sound City Players
Iggy Pop
Mastodon
The Strokes
Radiohead
All Them Witches
ZZ Top

Day One Here
Day Two Here
JULY 3RD
A FEW HOURS AFTER MIDNIGHT
The night fighting on Culp’s Hill was slow and torturous. The Confederate assault from Johnson’s division had to cross rough terrain and a river before it even started going uphill, which at night was an incredibly miserable task even without Union troops firing at them. Union skirmishers played hell with their progress, and after brushing them aside, Johnson bumped into a defensive line that his Union counterpart Geary had spent all day perfecting.
As mentioned yesterday, their only success was to grab tiny footholds on the Union side of Rock Creek, which ran between the two hills.
As the fighting died away and the bone weary soldiers on both sides crashed asleep hard, Lee plotted. He smelled blood; on July 1st, they’d carved up the Union men good and drove them from the field. Yesterday, on the Union left, they’d wrecked a Union corps under Sickles, smashed into the Union center and almost broke it (damn those blue belly reinforcements showing up in the knick of time), and even gained a toehold on the Union right. The men’s morale was high. Lee decided to repeat yesterday’s plan, but better executed. Simultaneous attacks on both flanks should overwhelm them, and J.E.B. Stuart could make it up to all of them by chasing down the shattered Army of the Potomac to scoop up all the heavy guns and supplies and wounded that could not retreat rapidly. To which end, Lee sent Stuart on a super wide flanking attack around the Union right so as to be in position to strike at the right moment. Lee generated the orders in written form and sent them off by messenger to his corps commanders.
Meanwhile, Meade had another war council face to face with his generals. They decided to stand pat, to neither attack the Confederate positions nor retreat back towards Washington. The terrain massively favored them and Lee would (more likely than not) walk into their gunsights again.
A defensive stance, however, doesn’t mean pure passivity. A few hours after the Confederate assault petered out and Lee’s decision was made, the Union started a counterattack on a small scale.
————————————————————————
DAWN
At dawn, the Union right flared up. Fresh troops had marched in overnight and Meade wanted his damn hill back. The extreme end of the Confederate left flank (which is of course opposite the Union right) found itself getting hammered in front of Culp’s Hill by artillery from the Baltimore Pike. Clearly, such a bombardment was meant to be followed up with an assault to retake the bridgehead.
Johnson, having received his orders from Lee and being under the impression that Longstreet was attacking in tandem a mile and a half away on the other side of the hills, attacked Culp’s Hill again before the Union could attack him first. The plan was what the plan was; pressure here, successful or not, was needed for someone to break through somewhere. But Longstreet wasn’t attacking. Later on, Longstreet would claim to have never received the order to advance, but the sources I have assert this is untrue- he received the order, he just didn’t do anything about it. Instead of spending the night getting his troops on line to attack Little Round Top and the southern chunk of Cemetery Ridge, he just sat tight and did nothing. Oceans of ink have been spilled over the years speculating as to why. The Lost Cause narrative asserts that Longstreet was a Yankee-loving turncoat who deliberately sabotaged Lee’s plan and lost the battle on purpose. Others think that Longstreet's conviction that attacking here was insane and that they should fall back and look for battle somewhere else on more favorable terms had been strengthened by the results of July 2nd, and as such was dragging his heels trying to not attack again. Or maybe it was just the general haze of Civil War era incompetence taking its toll again.
————————————————————————
MORNING
As Johnson’s men gamely attacked the untakeable Culp’s Hill and were cut down by accurate rifle fire and close range cannon fire, Lee hunted down Longstreet to demand an explanation for his borderline insubordinate refusal to attack.
Longstreet pitched his idea again. He’d spent all night scouting the Union line. The enemy line was unbreakable. They shouldn’t try to attack them here. They should slip around the Union left, south of Big Round Top, to threaten the Union supply lines. Do that, they would make the Union respond to them, fight them on more equal terms. That’s the plan Longstreet had been preparing for all night, not a suicidal-
Lee cut him off with a raised fist. There would be no tricky maneuver around the flank. They would assault the Union line under the present conditions.
To the north, Johnson was still getting his teeth kicked in. Lee sent orders to call off the assault, but it would take a while for the messenger to get there and for Johnson to get word to his brigades to stand down and fall back. Meanwhile, across the way on Cemetery Ridge, Meade stalked his line, double checking all the positions for any confusions or errors to correct, emitting confidence and good cheer.
Lee scoped out the Union center personally, being in the area anyway. His complex double flanking maneuver wasn't working. A new plan was needed.
Lee figured that Meade had reinforced Little Round Top and the surrounding area yesterday, and that those troops hadn’t gone anywhere since. The Union defense at Culp’s Hill has been similarly fierce that morning, fierce enough to threaten Johnson with an offensive. If both flanks were strong... the center must be weak. Yesterday, a small Confederate brigade had crossed the Emmitsburg road under fire and smashed into the Union line on Cemetery Ridge, just south of Cemetery Hill. They had straight up routed the enemy- had there been more men available to back them up and follow through, that small brigade might have won the battle outright instead of being pushed back as they’d been.
Lee was satisfied. The Union center was brittle, undermanned, and the best point to hit it was at that same place.
Meanwhile, J.E.B. Stuart was stepping off on his flanking ride.
————————————————————————
LATE MORNING
Johnson’s last big push up Culp’s Hill was heroic. By that time, all of them knew how strong the Union position was. They surely walked into this with their eyes open.
A three brigade front set up for a shock attack, backed up by four more to exploit the hoped-for opening. Among them was the famous Stonewall Brigade, Jackson's old unit that he’d raised up and trained personally before being tapped for higher command. The Stonewall Brigade was, arguably, the elite of the Confederate army. The year before, they’d outmaneuvered and outfought a Union stab at Richmond coming through the Shenandoah valley.
The charge was cut down and butchered like all the others, and Johnson fell back.
Williams, whose batteries on the Baltimore Pike had kicked things off that morning, got a little overexcited and counterattacked without orders. His orders to attack the Confederate flank left his subordinates sickened with dread, but were obeyed nonetheless. Once the Union counterattack was butchered in retaliation by the entrenched Confederates, combat on the Union right ceased after six straight hours of gory, hopeless combat.
Meanwhile, Confederate artillery under the command of Colonel Alexander set itself up on a mile wide front, all carefully sited and positioned both for protection and for good lines of sight on the Union center. A brief but fierce artillery duel kicked off as each side tried to knock out the other’s firing points before the big moment, but was soon cut off to preserve ammo.
Lee mustered his available forces, bringing in troops that were only now straggling in and combining them with some units that had fought the day before. It was a haphazard and frankly half-assed piece of staff work- veteran units who hadn’t fought at all in the last two days were left in reserve, while exhausted troops who’d already suffered 50% casualties were included. Many of the brigades who were to charge Cemetery Ridge had green colonels in charge because their generals had been killed or wounded the day before. The gap between the northern half of the assaulting force and the southern half was four football fields long, and nobody seemed to notice or care. The division commander to lead the north side of the assault, General Pettigrew, was selected not for any rational consideration or advantage, but because he happened to be standing nearby when the decision was being made. Longstreet, who by this point wanted nothing to do with any of it, was placed in overall command. It took a few hours to organize this clusterfuck into something resembling a coherent unit- three divisions spread over a mile wide front, with Pickett on the left, Pettigrew on the right, and Trimble behind them to provide some depth to the big push.
There is no particularly good reason why the upcoming Pickett’s Charge is known as “Pickett’s Charge”. Pickett was not actually in charge of it, or even in charge of most of it. He was a division commander who had never seen proper combat before- in every battle since 1861, his unit had been held in reserve or absent. This was to be his first chance to get in this war. I suspect it’s known as Pickett’s Charge because he and his men were Virginians, and it was fellow Virginians who would pour over the battle to find out why the wrong side won. Accordingly, they conceived of it as being a Virginian affair, overshadowing the Tennesseans, Alabamans, North Carolinians, and Mississippians who formed the other two-thirds of the attack.
I was surprised to learn that we have a hard time figuring out how many men were actually involved in Pickett’s Charge (this being a basic narrative history, I am sticking with the common name for it despite the inaccuracy); I attribute this to the confusion involved in organizing it. I’ve heard as low as 12,500 men and as high as 15,000. I’m going with 14,000 men because it’s a nice even number that is approximately midway between the upper and lower limit, so don’t mistake my choice as being accurate or even evidence-based per se. Regardless, the agreed upon number of Union defenders is 6,500. The Confederates would outnumber the Union by about 2-1 or greater at the point of contact.
These days, a lot of people show up at the battlefield and stare out from Cemetery Ridge at Spangler Woods where Pettigrew would have emerged from (or stand in Spangler’s Woods and stare out at Cemetery Ridge, same difference) and wonder what the hell was going through Lee’s head. The ground there is now flat and devoid of cover, the exact kind of terrain that time and time again had proven to be a death sentence for infantry assaults. The answer is that the ground changed between 1863 and today. Just before World War One ended in 1918, the field over which Pickett charged was artificially flattened for tank training. Before that, it was the kind of rolling terrain that Buford’s skirmishers had exploited on day one- an observer from a distance would see the troops disappear and reappear as they went over and down each gentle slope. The 14,000 attackers would have some cover as they advanced- not perfect terrain to keep immune from artillery and bullets, but not explicit suicide either.
————————————————————————
EARLY AFTERNOON
By 1 PM, Alexander had his guns set up the way he liked them. What followed at his command was the single largest coordinated artillery mission that the Western Hemisphere had ever seen.
In the south, cannons at the Peach Orchard suppressed the Union firing point on Little Round Top. All along Seminary Ridge from whence the charge would spring, cannons lined up practically wheel to wheel for a mile, aimed at wrecking Cemetery Ridge.
Longstreet was in what you might call a high stress kind of mood. He was having second, third, fourth, and fifth thoughts about attacking, but orders were orders and he was in charge of this damned charge. As the guns began their bombardment, Longstreet did something that frankly goes beyond the pale of any command decision I’ve ever heard of. The film Gettysburg and the novel it’s based on cast Longstreet in a very sympathetic light, as a kind of deliberate pushback against the reductive myth that Longstreet was personally responsible for losing the battle and by extension the war, leaving Lee off the hook to stay firmly in the saintly canon of the Lost Cause. But here, Longstreet indisputably abdicates any pretense of the responsibility of command.
He fired an order off to Colonel Alexander, telling him:

If the artillery fire does not have the effect to drive off the enemy, or greatly demoralize him, so as to make our effort pretty certain, I would prefer that you should not advise General Pickett to make the charge. I shall . . . expect you to let General Pickett know when the moment offers.

Allow me to reiterate in case you were reading this on autopilot. Longstreet, the man in charge of the whole offensive, was telling a lowly artillery colonel that the decision when and if to attack was on him and no one else.
Alexander was a subject matter expert on artillery and not infantry for a reason. This order hit him from out of left field. He wrote back for clarification, and the professional in him mentioned that since the plan is to use every single artillery shell they can spare, if there is any alternative plan to charging Cemetery Hill at the end of the bombardment then they’d better tell him before he runs out of ammo.
And Longstreet reiterated his first order. He told Alexander to advise General Pickett whether or not to attack. And with that on his shoulders, Alexander gave the order to open fire.
All told, somewhere between 150 and 170 guns opened up at the same moment. The 75 Union cannons they had on hand briefly engaged in counter-battery fire, before being ordered to go quiet and save ammunition for the infantry assault to come. For about an hour, the Union troops just had to sit still and take what the Rebel had to give them.
What Lee was doing was classic Napoleonic tactics. Massing artillery against the weakest point on the enemy line was literally by the book soldiering. The problem, as was noted here before, was that technology had changed. Napoleonic could bring his cannon close to the frontline with the reasonable expectation that they wouldn’t be shot, since smoothbore muskets are basically harmless from 200 yards away. But that was no longer the case. The long stand off distance that the enemy rifles dictated meant that the cannonfire was proportionally less accurate and devastating. The smoke covering the field concealed the truth from the Confederates- their artillery fire was off. Most of the shells flew high overhead and exploded behind Cemetery Ridge. Some shells hit the target area- Union men did die screaming by the score. But the positions on Cemetery Hill were only lightly damaged, and the units manning them were intact and cohesive. Most of the damage done was to the rear echelon types- surgeons, supply wagoneers, staff officers, that kind of thing. Such men were massacred as the shells aimed at men a quarter mile away arced over and found marks elsewhere. Meade, of course, was on hand, showing a brave face and cracking some jokes about a similar moment in the Mexican-American War 15 years back.
Throughout the hour, as his line endured the steel hailstorm, Meade’s engineer mind was working. He’d already suspected that Lee was about to hit his center- he’d predicted as much the night before- and now the shot placements confirmed it. He was already ordering troops into position, getting ready to reinforce the line on Cemetery Ridge if needed. He hedged his bets, putting them in a position to relieve Cemetery Hill as well, just in case. Little Round Top became somewhat less defended as men marched out, using the high ground to mask their redeployment.
Irresponsible and insubordinate though Longstreet was at that moment, he was right. Lee’s improvised plan had already failed, though it hadn’t happened yet. Pickett’s Charge wasn’t going to slam into a fragmented and demoralized Union line. It was heading into a mile long, mile wide kill zone backed up by a defence in depth.
————————————————————————
Pickett’s Charge
Confederates were getting mangled before the charge even started. Union artillery fire reached out and touched out them in Spangler’s Woods, rolling solid iron shot and explosive shells into their huddled ranks.
Longstreet rode the line, exposing himself to the artillery fire to set an example of courage. The men didn’t need such an example- or rather, they’ve seen such examples in a dozen battles over the last two years and have already learned valor as a second language- but there’s something to be said for showing the groundpounders that their boss is in the wrong end of the shooting gallery the same way that they are.
Just before 2 p.m., Alexander decided if it’s gonna happen, it’d have to be now. He needed at least a small reserve of shells to function after the battle and he’s running out fast. He dashed off a note to Pickett telling him to step off. In keeping with the standard of Confederate comms thus far, Pickett then took Alexander’s note to Longstreet in person for confirmation, because nobody had told him that Longstreet was trying to dodge the responsibility of command.
Longstreet was desperate for an out, and in one crazed leap of illogic he thought he found one. Alexander was low on shells, with only a tiny reserve of ammunition left over for self-defense! Longstreet issued orders to halt in place and delay some more, so that they could replenish their ammo chests from their strategic reserves.
I really feel for Alexander, man. I've had bosses like that too. Alexander had to break the news to Longstreet that there was no strategic reserve, he already told him, they were shooting every round they got. Longstreet was shocked- apparently nobody on Lee's staff had been paying attention to how fast they'd been burning through their artillery rounds. (Meade's staff paid attention to such banal details- that's why they now had tons of ammunition standing by their guns on Cemetery Ridge, patiently waiting for something valuable to shoot at). Even then, Longstreet couldn’t bring himself to actually say the words to order the attack. He just nodded, mute and numb.
At 2 p.m., the attack started. 14,000 men rose up and walked forward, a giant line of infantry one mile across. In lieu of specific instructions about where they were going and how to get there, the order was to aim for a copse of trees on the objective- an easy visual marker that was easy to remember. As long as you kept the trees in sight and kept moving forward, you were right.
(Miles and miles away, J.E.B. Stuart’s flanking maneuver was being countered by an equal force of Union cavalry. Their clash had one of the few cavalry-on-cavalry battles of the Civil War; fun fact, this was one of the fights that put Custer’s career on the map, until getting killed off by the Cheyenne at Little Big Horn 13 years later. The battle was intense, but a draw; Stuart couldn’t break through. Even if Pickett’s Charge worked, there’d have been no way to follow up and finish Meade off for good. Lee’s plan was well and truly fucked.)
Things immediately stopped being clean and neat, as per the usual. The center of Pickett’s Charge sprang up and walked before the flanks did, but the brigades on the south and the north of them set off late, leading to a kind of droopy effect where the center bulged out unsupported.
When the Union soldiers manning Cemetery Ridge saw the Confederate advance begin, they began to chant “Fredericksburg! Fredericksburg! Fredericksburg!” Just a little “fuck you” from one set of veterans to another; at Fredericksburg eight months before, Union General Burnside had ordered several such suicidal attacks on prepared defenses which the Confederates had gleefully blasted into chunky salsa.
70 odd guns opened up on them all. To give a sense of the skill involved, the artilleryman in charge of the Union guns, Colonel Hunt, had written the book on artillery- literally, because his work Instructions for Field Artillery was the go-to manual for the US Army- and at West Point had personally taught most of the Confederate artillery officers across the way everything they knew about the big guns. One must not mistake this as just plopping down the cannons and pointing them in the right direction. Hunt was an artist with his weapon systems, and the pattern of explosions that snaked into the advancing infantry had been painstakingly designed by a master craftsman.
At the distance of a mile, it was iron shot and shell that carved bloody little holes into the line. The Confederates took the beating, closed ranks, and pushed on. On the south, the cannons on Little Round Top delivered particularly hideous effects from the flank, driving their line into disorder; some brigades cut in front of other brigades, and what should have been a line became a muddled column. On the north, a brigade under General Brockenbrough bumped into a small detachment of 160 Union men who were jutting out north of the road. The Union men fired a small but devastating volley that raked them from the side and broke their nerves. Brockenbrough’s men ran- the first to break, but not the last.
Similar small detachments of skirmishers dotted No Man’s Land between the armies. Between their vicious little ambushes and the massive shock of massed artillery, Pickett’s Charge slowed down. Slowing down just left them in the kill zone for that much longer.
When Pickett’s Charge reached the Emmitsburg Road, they were further delayed by the stiff fencing that lined it. As they clambered over it, Union infantry opened fire at long range. The casualties skyrocketed as the Confederate line absorbed the fire. If you want to know what it was like under fire, picture the start of a rainstorm. The water droplets go taptaptap tap taptaptap taptaptaptaptap taptaptaptaptap taptap taptaptaptaptaptap taptaptaptaptaptaptaptaptap... that's how the survivors described the musketry that pelted the fence they were trying to climb over. One small contingent of Davis’ brigade (you recall how roughly they were manhandled on July the 1st) accidentally got ahead of everybody else and found itself standing right in front of the Union line all alone. The guys closest to the Union defenses surrendered as one; the rest got shot up bad and ran for their lives.
Pickett’s Charge was pure chaos by then- their mile wide front that had surged forth from Spangler’s Wood had shrunk down to about a half mile, partly from taking casualties, partly from brigades running away after the shock of massed fire, and partly from bridges shifting north away from flanking fire from their right side.
From the fence line on the Emmitsburg to the stone wall that protected the Union defense was about two hundred yards. This is a long shot for a rifle, especially under pressure- that’s the whole point to volley fire, so that everybody shooting at once will create a sort of probability cloud of danger even at long range. Some Confederates, desperate to hit back after enduring hell, shot anyway. Their fire was ineffective. It is a very, very short shot for an artillery piece, even under pressure. A battery of cannons placed just behind the Union line switched to canister and blasted massive bloody holes in the bunched up Confederates.
A lot of Confederates huddled up behind the fencing and stayed put. It is marginally safer than moving two feet forward past the wooden railings, and the spirit had been knocked out of them by the mile long charge and the mile long shooting gallery they’d been subjected to. The left side of the attack had been stopped dead and turned back; the right side pushed on, disregarding any thought but closing distance. 1,500 men blitzed those last 200 yards to the stone wall
Scores of them died from rifle fire as the cannons reloaded.
The surviving Confederates, running on pure adrenaline, reached the stone wall at a place called the Bloody Angle. The Union line was disjointed, with the Northern section slightly back from the southern section. The Angle was the little joint that connected the two walls; it was also right by the copse of trees that everybody was racing towards.
A fierce firefight broke out once the Confederates reached the wall. Most of them stayed behind the wall; like their buddies to the west still behind the fence on the Emmitsburg pike, they’d finally found a few square feet that was sorta kinda safe, and every instinct they had in their brains screamed at them to stay there. The Union troops were outnumbered at the point of impact, and backed off in good order.
Reserve regiments were already marching up to plug the gap that didn’t exist yet. Units north and south of the Bloody Angle shifted in place to fire at the beachhead. Behind the Confederates on the Angle, there was a small ocean of blood on the ground and a mile long procession of silent, mangled dead and writhing, screaming wounded... but no follow on reinforcements to help exploit the breakthrough.
General Armistead, the only Confederate General there still on his feet, still believed in all that chivalrous Walter Scott romantic nonsense, still thought that raw valor and heart could somehow beat a superior enemy. He stuck his hat on his sword as a makeshift battle flag and rallied his men to leave the safety of the Bloody Angle and close distance.
Just as the pitifully few Confederates got on the east side of the wall, the cannons shot canister again and puked metal death all over them. After shooting, the artillerymen ran back to safety before the rebels could stagger up to them.
Hundreds of men surged forward by inertia; hundreds out of the 14,000 that they’d started with. They drove off the understrength Union regiments with the bayonet and capture those hated big guns, turning them around to use against the inevitable counterattack. This failed; there was no more ammo left for the guns. Colonel Hunt had measured out the number of rounds needed for the job at hand with the utmost precision.
The counterattack was messy and bloody for everybody involved, for the brawl saw everything available used as a weapon- bullets, bayonets, rifle butts, pistols, knives, rocks, boot heels, bare hands. But the Confederates all just dissolved after a short while. Nobody ordered a retreat; nobody was alive and of sufficient rank to order a retreat. Thousands just plopped down where they stood and waited for Union men to come out and collect them. They were too numb and exhausted to walk anymore. Others streamed back to safety in ones and twos.
For every Confederate who died, four more were maimed and crippled. For every wounded man, another was taken prisoner. It was an unmitigated disaster for the Confederate cause, and correspondingly it was a triumph of humanity as the stalwart defenders of the slave plantations died in droves. Remember, like I said, we’re rooting for the Union.
The battle wasn’t over, not really. Not was the campaign. But it certainly was decided.
————————————————————————
RIGHT SO
Interestingly, at first it was kind of ambiguous who won.
Meade got fired from the job after Lee got the Army of Northern Virginia home intact. Lincoln was seething that Meade hadn’t shown some aggression and had failed to destroy Lee’s army as he had been ordered. Meade, however, didn’t have much of an army at that point, just a diverse collection of units that had suffered 50% casualties and were in no condition to do anything. Moreover, there had been no way to bring the retreating Lee to battle without taking a lot of risks that might see all the good done at Gettysburg undone. Still though. Meade was out, and Grant, riding high after his conquest of Vicksburg, was in. Lee initially claimed victory in the Richmond papers, and it was hard to gainsay him at first. He had indisputably invaded north and thrashed the living shit out of the Army of the Potomac so bad that they could not invade again in 1863, which was indeed partly the point of the strategy.
But soon the facts of life made themselves clear. Lee had holes in his ranks that simply could not be filled anymore. Southerners didn’t want to die in a losing war, and coercing in them into the ranks through State violence only gave him shitty recruits who would desert the second they were put on guard duty. In contrast, tens of thousands of men poured into training depots across the nation, all armed and clothed and fed by the grandest industrial base in the world. Thousands of experienced veterans re-upped their contracts in Gettysberg’s wake to become these new recruits’ NCOs and commanding officers. Lee has gone north to break the will of the Union to continue the fight. Gettysburg had, if anything, demoralized the Confederacy and reinvigorated the Union instead. I do not believe that Gettysburg started this trend, but I do think it sped it up significantly. Patterns that might have taken a year to come to fruition instead took months.
Gettysburg, in my opinion, is significant not because of any great gains or losses on the material level, but because of its effects on the minds of voters and soldiers and politicians in the North and the South. To crib C. S. Lewis really quick, what matters was not whether a given action would take a specific hill, or seize a certain road; what matters is whether a given action pushes people to either dig their heels in and seek victory at any personal cost, or whether it pushes them to back down and seek a safer compromise. Gettysburg pushed all of the American people in the directions they were already heading down, that’s all. Any conclusion beyond that is on shaky ground, I feel.
Having said that, I shall now irrationally contradict myself; Gettysburg can also act as a Rorschach test with symbols and images and stories in lieu of the ink blots. Like I said, it’s a place of religious significance to me to an extent far beyond appreciation for its historic value.
I just don’t think it’s possible for that many people to die in such a short period of time, in so compact an area, and with such blunt contempt for the foreseen probability of violent death, and not leave an indelible and ineffable mark on the land itself. Like, if humanity went extinct and Earth got colonized by Betelgeusians a hundred years after, I am certain that the aliens would somehow feel a chill in their exoskeletons when they walk over the soft leaves and through the bare trees of Herbst Wood, or tromp around the south side of Little Round Top, or poke about on the steep slope of Culp's Hill, or splash across the Plum River in the Valley of Death.
I’m not saying I’m right, of course. But I am saying how I feel.

“We’ll reach the coordinates you gave me by nightfall,” Moira said in her thick Glaswegian brogue. Her ever-moving eyes roved over the granite, heather and larch of the highlands, “You said you’d tell me what we were going tae find when we got close.”
Professor Brian Wicklow hesitated. “You’ll think I’m quite insane. That’s fine.”
Moira nodded in agreement. “Madmen use the same money as sane men. Makes nae difference tae me.”
“Very well. What do you know about Pox?”
His native guide's eyes stopped their ceaseless mvoement for just a moment, to level a disdainful look at him. “I've heard of it, once or twice”
“Fair enough, but do you know where it came from?”
“Central Asia. Loony religious zealots stole it from the Chinese government after it collapsed and decided tae settle a border dispute with some light genocide that got a bit out of hand.”
“And where did the Chinese get it?”
“They didna' get if from anywhere, they made it in a lab.”
“From a disease that already existed—smallpox.”
“Sure.”
“Only, smallpox didn’t exist for quite some time—not in a location the Chinese could access, anyway. Like our modern Pox, it was not zoonotic, and had been eradicated from the human population. There was some held under lock and key in the United States, that part now called The Confederacy, and there was some in Russia, but none in China, and certainly none in Scotland.”
There was a heavy pause. “What does Scotland have tae do wi’ anything?”
“The 2047 smallpox outbreak. A historical footnote far overshadowed by its aftermath, these days, but quite odd in its time. A disease long-dead that emerged as if from thin air—not from some isolated community in darkest Siberia or island in the Indian Ocean, but in rural Scotland nearly a century after it was eradicated off the face of the earth.”
Moira turned on him. “Rural Scotland. Are you telling me we’re heading toward some super-disease?”
Brian shook his head. “It may have been ‘super’ enough in its time, but it’s a kitten by today’s standards. Some people survived smallpox, and weren’t even shambling disease vectors thereafter—unlike the Pox we have these days.”
Moira scratched absently at her shaved head, shifting her gas-gun from one shoulder to the other. “Can’t say I get it. A disease that’s slightly less apocalyptic in scope seems like a piss-poor prize tae be chasin’ after.”
Brian considered this. “What is the biggest threat any city faces in the modern world?” he asked
“Shamblers,” Moira said.
“Essentially, yes. More specifically, the Pox they carry. Each aftershock of epidemic brings humanity closer to extinction or barbarism. What if there were a place utterly secure against shamblers?”
Moira rolled her eyes. “Let me guess, a cult bunker? Most of the shamblers that have cropped up in the past decade are the remnants o’ ‘pox-proof’ sepratist utopias.”
“This place is different, I assure you. It has the best possible defense against any threat, including the pox.”
“An’ what’s that?”
“It doesn’t exist.”
Moira pondered this for a while. “It’s a bonny riddle, professor,” Moira said, “But ah’ve no interest in goin’ tae Thebes or boinkin’ me dear ol’ mum, so make like a sphinx an’ eat me.”
Brian opened, then closed his mouth. A Sophocles reference? From this savage? He woudn’t bet money that she was literate, clad in a great kilt and cream-colored linen tunic, a dirk at her narrow hip and a woad triskelion tattooed on the back of her shaved skull. “Very well. I will come to the point. I have, for some years, been most interested in the journals of a twentieth century businessman who, along with a friend, went on two trips to the Scottish Highlands. His friend did not return from the second. The body was never recovered, and a suspicion of murder hung over him for the rest of his life. In his journals, though, he wrote of a town which seems detached from the flow of time. It appears for one day every hundred years, then vanishes once more.”
Moira snorted. “Oh aye, an entirely plausible account from an unimpeachable source.”
“I initially had a similar thought. As, indeed, has everyone else to whom I’ve relayed this story.”
“But you believe it?” Moira’s voice was flat.
“I believe it’s worth a look.”
“And why the fuck is that?”
Brian chewed his lip contemplatively for a moment. “1947—A man reports encountering a Georgian-era Scottish town that appears only once every hundred years. 2047—an extinct disease appears as if by magic in Scotland.”
Moira snorted. “An’ now it’s 2147.”
“Now it’s 2147,” Brian confirmed with a smile.
The somewhat jeering good-humor Moira had barely been able to conceal the night before was notably diminished when Brian woke her before dawn the next morning.
---------
"Moira! Wake up!"
She was instantly on alert, a hand on her dirk. "What?"
"It's the fog, Moira!"
Several seconds of silence followed, before, "I'm sorry, what?"
"Fog! It came on practically in an instant! I think this is it!"
Several more seconds, then Mora said, in a voice labored with patience, "You're tellin’ me that you woke me up during your watch tae report that fog appeared suddenly before dawn in the highlands. Ach, wheel, I'll just fight it off, shall I?"
"No, it's not a problem, it's what we've been waiting for! The fog is a harbinger of Brigadoon’s materializing!"
"The fog is a harbinger that the relative humidity has reached the saturation point of the air due tae declining nighttime temperatures, yeh mad Yankee bastard. Wake me when Marty of Clan MacFly rides up on a donkey cart wi' a flux capacitor." With that, she rolled over and went back to sleep.
Not an hour later, she got tired of Brian's louder-than-strictly-necessary breakfast preparations and got up, annoyed. "Will ye quit that racket? The sky's barely gray, man. You're like my daughter on Yule morning."
Brian hesitated. "You have a daughter?"
Moira began packing her bedroll. "Aye. An’ a son, but he's too small tae get excited yet."
Brian stared at her.
"What?" she asked.
"Sorry, you're just...very young and, um. Don't seem like the family type."
"Wheel, aren't we judgy? A woman cannae ha'e her own career while her husband an’ his boyfriend look after the bairns?" She checked the pressure gauge on her gas gun before lifting the lid on the steaming pot of field rations Brian had been cooking.
"Just surprised, not critical," he said, "Wait, are you serious about—? Sorry, nevermind."
She grinned up at him. "You Americans sure have gotten prudish since the fall. No, my husband doesna have a boyfriend. But we do have two bairns."
She was the least maternal person he may ever have met, and besides, a girl her age back home on Long Island would scarcely be done with her second year of University, and would be the target of no little gossip for being too familiar with men at all, much less starting a family. It was another of her paradoxes—a woman so aggressively buried in the past, yet so non-traditional.
They ate their fortified porridge and packed up the little Stirling stove, then made their way into the valley.'
The roads were the first indication that something was different, here. The few plasphalt roads that had been built through this region prior to the Pox had been ravaged by frostheave and errosion—it wasn't uncommon to see young trees rooted in the cracks. When they'd turned off those, the even more ancient tarmac roads had been reduced to little more than gravel beds. Now they were on a dirt road—a rutted track which, rustic as it was, looked more heavily and recently trafficked than anything they'd seen since departing Glasgow's sphere of influence. Moira said nothing, but Brian could tell the oddity wasn't lost on her. Brian only really let himself start grinning in earnest when they met the man on the road, however.
He was short—shorter even than Moira, dressed like an actor in a period piece, and hailed them with a completely incomprehensible string of syllables before catching himself and switching to English. "Ach, wheer are my manners," he said, with an accent that made Moira's exaggerated and somewhat transient one seem pale and paltry, "Welcome tae Briga Na Dun!" Brian and Moira might have had wildly differing backgrounds, but the history professor and the neo-primitivist were both, in their own ways, fanatical about the same things. Moira dressed like a Mel Gibson fan who couldn’t choose between William Wallace or Mad Max, but she knew the history of Scotland like the back of her hand. This man’s outfit was as authentic as could be; it was an honest-to-god Georgian-era highlander’s outfit.
Moira stuttered out a few words Brian couldn’t understand, and the man’s face lit up. “Tha mayest dress queerly, lad, but I’m glad the English still havenae managed to stamp out the Gaelic and those who speak it—however poorly.”
Moira’s face fell, but the man pressed on. “If tha’ shouldst follow along this road, tha’ may’st reach the town. Folks there will answer any questions ye may have—I must be getting on.”
They thanked him, and he continued up the road the way he’d been coming.
“Alright,” Moira admitted, “This...disappearin’ city seems distressingly plausible at this point. So why are we here?”
“We? You’re here because I needed a guide. I’m here because I want to be an elasmosaur.”
They walked in silence for a few moments, before he caught Moira’s air of skepticism. “Metaphorically, I mean.” he waved a hand impatiently. “Like the elasmosaurs of Loch Ness…countless studies for decade upon decade with no trace. Everyone was convinced they were a hoax, until boom—2034, a whole pod of the damn things turn up. Marine biologists captured four alive and that fisherman killed one, but the others were never seen again. Now, the idea that the only remaining population of dinosaurs—or their aquatic cousins, or whatever—survived in a lake dwarfed by many North American reservoirs for 65 million years…that’s a bit farfetched. But if they only turned up for a single day every century? That’s less than 3000 years since the comet wiped out the rest of their kind. An extinction event is far less worrisome if you can just fast-forward through it.”
Moira was silent again, but this time in contemplation rather than derision. Finally, she quietly said, “You’re lookin’ tae fast-forward through humanity dyin’ oot.”
“That is my sincerest desire, yes.”
“An’ what if we make it through? If humanity doesna’ go extinct?”
“Even better,” Brian said, “But it could take a very long time for this plague to pass. While your type take up dirk and targe, seeking refuge from the present in the distant past…I look the future.”
They passed several other travelers on the road, only some of whom spoke English. Everyone stared, but most seemed far too preoccupied with their own business to stop or talk for any length of time. Brian did decide to stop beating around the bush with one anglophone and asked directly, “Am I correct in thinking this is the same Brigadoon that appears only once every hundred years?”
The man seemed entirely taken aback. “Briga Na Dun it is…but I’m nae the one tae tell tha aboot such things. Ask frae Mister Lundy in town. He’s the one tae ask.”
Brian broke into a broad smile at this—“Ah, yes. Mr. Lundy. I’ll do that, thank you.”
They did eventually reach the town, a walled village with only a few roofs that were slate rather than thatch and a low stone wall surrounding it.
“What…what makes it work?” Moira asked as they passed a vegetable vendor setting up shop.
“Have a look at these carrots!” Brian said excitedly. “No cultural diffusion from the orange Dutch breeds…”
“Sure. Bonny shade o’ purple, Professor, but how the hell does a town travel through time? Or a Loch, if you’re right about the Nessies.”
The stall’s owner was unloading various root crops from a cart, watching Brian and Moira with the mild fascination people everywhere directed toward boisterous foreigners.
“What? Oh, damned if I know, I’m not a physicist. Read that old Hawking tome once—found it more impenetrable than Newton’s, and that was in the original Latin.”
“And it started in the 1700s—in 1747,” Moira mused, “This town wasna built in a day. It was a normal town until…what? 4 days ago, it just vanished? 4 days, 400 years…”
“Imagine what the world would be like in a few weeks,” Brian said excitedly. “Hyper-advanced societies, perhaps, but just as likely, a world that may as well never have felt the ravages of humanity. Carbon levels back in equilibrium, ecosystems stabilized…a fresh start for mankind.”
“Uh-huh.” Moira stared around at the villagers. “An’ repopulating this brave new world will be…you an’ a bunch of pre-Enlightenment-era sheep herders?”
Brian wagged a finger at her. “Now who’s being judgy about other people’s lifestyles?”
Moira’s eyes snapped to the side, and as Brian followed her gaze he saw a man wearing a powdered wig and a severe black coat hurrying toward them.
“Welcome, welcome,” he said in English, “My name is Callum Lundy. May I ask your names, sirs?”
“Brian Wicklow,” Brian said, extending a hand to shake.
“Thou art an American, I think?” Lundy said, accepting it gladly.
Brian hesitated. “The United States of America no longer exists as a sovereign entity,” he said. “But I am from a city-state located within the former borders of that nation, yes. Long Island, formerly of the state of New York.”
“Ah! We had some visitors from that part of the world only two centuries ago!”
Brian nodded—as if this were a perfectly normal thing to say. “Mr. Douglas and Mr. Albright, yes? I found this place after reading Mr. Douglas’ journals. Is Mr. Albright here?”
Lundy’s bushy eyebrows drew together in consternation. “Nae—he left wi’ Mr. Douglas before sunset the day before yesterday.”
Brian’s face fell a little. “Mr. Douglas’ journal said that Thomas Albright was able to re-enter Brigadoon—Briga Na Dun, if I am to understand that that is its proper name—some weeks later. That he woke you from your bed and that the town rematerialized so that he was able to re-enter it, they having returned with that goal.”
Lundy’s face was grave. “Such a thing isna possible, I fear. Mr. Douglas…may no’ ha’ been telling the truth.”
Brian shrugged. “I always knew it was a possibility.”
“An’ thou, young man, wha’ may I call thee?”
Moira arched an eyebrow, but said, in a voice that seemed a few notes lower than her natural speaking tone, “Logan Fraser.”
Lundy seemed a bit nonplused by the terseness of ‘his’ answer, but didn’t pursue it further, turning instead back to Brian. “Thou sayest thy country is nae more? Right sorrowful am I tae hear it. A nation that hath thrown off the yoke of English oppression is a sad loss tae the world. If I may ask…what happened?
Brian shook his head. “I fear the world has suffered a great many losses since you went to bed last night.”
As Brian told Mr. Lundy all that had transpired since the outbreak of the Pox, Moira’s constantly roving eyes noticed a woman near her own age lingering nearby, watching the newcomers with a distressed look on her face. She observed with apprehension as Moira approached, but she stood her ground.
“Can I help you?” Moira asked in Gaelic, despite a twinge of self-consciousness at the reaction her previous attempt with a native speaker had produced.
The girl gulped, but stuttered out, “You speak our language?”
“I speak my language,” Moira said, “My sires have walked these lands since before Hadrian built his wall.”
“Your pardon…sir,” she said, and her inquisitive look as she said it made Moira think she was a little less quick to assume the clothes made the ‘man’ than the men they’d so far encountered.
“You seem mighty fearful of us,” Moira said.
“Oh, no! Not at all sir,” the young woman said, “It’s just…I don’t suppose you know a man named Tommy Albright?”
Moira hesitated a moment then said, “Albright…my companion spoke of him. He came here two days ago.”
“Yes.” The woman looked like she was about to cry.
“I’m afraid I haven’t met him myself,” Moira said carefully. “He…he tried to come back here, but I’m afraid he was unsuccessful.”
The woman broke down crying. “I knew it,” she said, “I knew he didn’t want to leave. I don’t care what Mr. Lundy says, Harry Beaton was right! This town isn’t blessed, it’s cursed!”
Moira was about to ask what she meant when an enraged scream from Mr. Lundy himself cut her off. “WITCHES!”
Moira wheeled around to find the man red-faced and breathing hard, pacing back and forth in front of a rather nonplused Brian Wicklow. “Mohommetan witches from the Orient, unleashing a plague upon the world. War, Pestilence, Famine, and Death! Death on a pale horse! I knew it was coming! The tribulation has begun! A thousand years shall we dwell here on the fallen earth ere the kingdom of God returns!”
“Um—” Brian seemed inclined to interject, but Lundy would not be dissuaded, a mad light in his eyes.
“I knew it. When the witch came here, God saw that even the righteous would not long be safe from the corruption of interlopers! He set us free from the fallen world! And the thousand years of darkness shall be as ten days to us! Praise be to God!”
He turned back to Brian suddenly. “This news thou bringest is grave, but in a way, welcome. I ha’ much tae do, friend, alerting the village patriarchs to the threat these abominations you spoke of pose to us. Wilt thou excuse me?”
“Um. Of course,” Brian stammered out, still seeming off-balance.
Without another word, Lundy turned on his heel and stalked off, the other villagers giving him a wide berth.
Brian walked over toward Moira, his face troubled. “Well,” he said, “Rather an excitable gentleman. Oh, hello—my apologies, young lady, I don’t believe we’ve met. Miss…?”
“Campbell,” the young woman said, though her voice was still tight with distress.
“D’ye still mean tae stay here, professor?” Moira asked.
“Oh absolutely,” Brian said, “Charming place, if a bit…rustic in their outlook.”
“Well then I do believe our contract is fulfilled. I’m off.”
“So soon? I’d think someone with your interests would want to explore a bit. Quite a fascinating timecapsule we find ourselves in—less than a year after Culloden, and it wouldn’t surprise me if there are men here who fought in the battle. Rather a Jacobite stronghold, if Mr. Lundy is anything to go by. Honestly, I’d consider staying, if I were you. This may be the only safe place in the world.”
“I wouldna abandon my hus—” she caught herself and looked sharply at Miss Campbell, “My spouse and our bairns tae a world I wouldna face mysel’.” She said coldly. “An’ on top o’ that, I dinna really feel dressed for the company. I’m guessing their outlook is no less ‘rustic’ when it comes tae…tae people with two X chromosomes actin’ like I do.”
Brian sighed. “Very well. You’ve fulfilled your contract admirably, and I wish you and your family all the best.” He extended a hand.
“Good luck wi’ your wee holiday here,” Moira said, and shook it.
“May I accompany you to the edge of town?” he asked, and Moira nodded.
“May I as well?” Miss Campbell asked suddenly.
Moira raised an eyebrow but nodded assent, and they started heading back the way she’d come in.
“I want to leave,” Miss Campbell said quietly in Gaelic, and Moira glanced sharply at her.
“Today might not be a good day,” she responded in the same language, after some consideration, “The world is in a bad way, Miss Campbell.”
“Call me Fiona,” Fiona said, “And I don’t care. It can’t be worse than here. Mr. Lundy is going to do something awful, I just know it. He’s accused half the women in the town of witchcraft at one point or another, and since the old priest died and we broke loose from time, there’s been no one to keep him in check. I think he’s going to hurt someone soon…maybe today, with the state he was in when he left your friend.”
Moira sighed. “Do you think people will be upset if you leave?”
“I fear so. But after Tommy left it’s been all that I could think of. I packed a bag…please. If we just stop by my house, I’ll tell my father I have herbs to take to a family friend outside of town. They’ll never know I’ve left until it’s too late. I think you understand how powerless a woman can feel in these situations.”
Moira gritted her teeth at the implication of those words, but nodded. “We’re takin’ a wee detour for Fiona here tae pick up some things for an errand she’s running,” she said in English, and Brian nodded in happy unconcern, his eyes following a man carrying a rather ratty sheep up the lane.
Fiona led them to her home, disappearing inside for her things. As soon as she had, Moira turned to Brian. “Yon lass is leavin’ wi’ me,” she said, “She doesna want tae stay here and I dinna blame her. It’s none o’ your business, except it may make things a wee bit uncomfortable if people think you were involved, so I figured I’d tell you.”
Brian’s face contorted with dismay. “Well I wouldn’t have been involved if you hadn’t said anything! God, I’m a terrible liar, Moira, I wish you’d kept it to yourself.”
Moira shrugged, genuinely apologetic. “Sorry. I didna think of that…” she trailed off, head cocked to one side. “D’ye…d’ye hear that?”
Brian went quiet and listened, as well. “Singing?”
“The Skye Boat Song,” Moira said.
From a nearby house they could hear the faint words,
“Billow and breeze, islands and seas,
Mountains of rain and sun,
All that was good, all that was fair,
All that was me is gone.”
“Well, as I said, this place does lean that way politically,” Brian said.
Moira shook her head. “It’s no’ a contemporary song—you said yourself, we’re less than a year oot from Culloden’s Field. The Skye Boat Song was written well after that.”
Brian hesitated. “How long after?”
Moira shrugged. “I’ve no’ a clue. But those particular lyrics aren’t even original. They were written by Robert Luis Stevenson.”
Brian bit his lip. “Gah, when the hell was he alive? He wrote Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hide, so 1800s at the earliest.”
Moira nodded. “We’re no’ the only outlanders here. There’s a stowaway. Probably the woman who’s singing.”
Fiona emerged from her own house, dressed in a more rugged travelling dress and with a wicker basket on her back. “I’m ready.”
Moira strained her ears to pinpoint the song’s origin, but the singer had trailed off. “Fiona,” she asked, “Did anyone come here the day before Mr. Albright?”
She nodded. “An Englishman and his wife. That’s how we knew for sure we’d broken away from time.”
“Did they stay here? Either of them? The woman?”
Fiona hesitated, but shook her head. “No. They are no longer…with us.”
“And did anyone else come the day before yesterday? The same day as Mr. Albright and his friend?”
Fiona shook her head again. “Not that I know of.”
Moira thought about this for a few seconds, then shrugged. “Whatever. Let’s go.”
The three of them headed once more toward the edge of town, but when they reached the low stone wall, a group of men were loitering by the gate, and they didn’t look too happy to see Fiona or her companions.
“Another sassenach, eh, Fiona?” one of them said. He stepped forward and his friends edged sideways, blocking the gate.
The man who’d spoken gazed levelly at Brian, then Moira. “Our little Fiona has a hard time staying on her feet when there’s someone from out of town passing through,” he said to his friends in Gaelic.
“Move,” Moira growled in the same tongue.
The man feigned surprise. “Well, this one even understands civilized language, lads,” he said,
“Fingal, please,” Fiona said, “This gentleman just offered to escort me to—”
“Shut up, slut,” Fingal hissed angrily.
Moira punched him straight in the nose. He staggered back, clutching his face, then drew a knife, glaring at her.
With a practiced motion, Moria unslung her gas gun from her shoulder with her left hand, aiming from the hip, and drew her dirk with her right. “We’re leaving. Move.”
Brian’s eyes went wide and he and Fiona both backed up several paces.
In contrast with the sharp, hissing snap of the gas gun that Brian had expected and feared, a deep boom sounded, and Moira lurched sideways, blood erupting from her leg. Another local man emerged from a small outbuilding off to one side, dropping a blackpowder pistol and drawing a long knife as he approached. Moira hauled herself to a sitting position, her face a mask of pain and rage, and leveled the gas gun at Fingal, but he had already closed the distance and kicked it out of her hands. Moira was swinging her dirk as he did so, though, and opened a nasty gash on his arm. As he staggered back, she climbed shakily to her feet and dodged a knife thrust from the man who’d shot her, slamming the pommel of her own blade into the left side of his face with a sickening crunch before giving him his own gushing leg wound in turn.
The remaining two men rushed her simultaneously, one of whom had a blade longer than Moira’s. She deflected his swing easily and despite her wounded leg caught him a savage kick under his kilt that put him off balance while she landed a blow on his head that dropped him to the ground, perhaps permanently. The second man managed to put a shallow gash across her arm with his small knife, but stumbled back as Moira turned from the possibly-corpse of his friend and leveled her gaze on him, looking like a goddess of war.
“Fiona?” A man’s voice came from up the road, ringing with concern.
The final combatant turned and ran, and Moira collapsed to one knee, then fell flat on her face as a man and a woman who was clearly kin to Fiona ran up, the man holding a basket-hilt claymore in one hand.
The three of them exchanged several words in Gaelic, Moira unable to focus on the words, drifting in and out of consciousness. The last thing she heard before a terrible dark coldness took her was “We have to take her to the witch.”
Continued in part 2 due to character limit

Continuing
The flight continued along as smooth as a baby’s bottom. Nary a bump or jostle. Hours later, I was playing with the in-flight entertainment system when Major Nak awoke.
I toasted him with a fresh drink and asked if he felt fully functional.
“Doctor?”, he asked, “Have you slept at all?”
“On the flight? Nah.”, I replied, “I slept well last night. Besides, this flight’s been fascinating.”
“Do you always drink like that?” he asks.
“Of course not!”, I replied, indignantly, “Sometimes, I really twist off and tie one on.”
“Seriously?” he asks, shocked.
“Major, I’ll let you I on a little secret.”, I said in confidence, “I’m a member of a certain class of unusual creatures; I’m an ethanol-fueled carbon-based organism. Many other geologists are as well. We tend to be drawn to that particular science.”
He stares at me with a look that is a cross between incredulity and “you fuckin’ with me?”
“You’re not normal…”, was his only reply as he shook his head.
“Not by a long shot!”, I laugh, drain my drink, and signal for another.
After one arrives, Major Nak stumbles to the head. A few minutes later, the annunciator notes that we are on the flight path to Bhavnagar Airport and should be landing in 20 minutes.
Another drink and beer chaser later, we’re buckled into our seats and on final approach. We land light as a feather without a crosswind, a perfect three-point touchdown. We taxi for a bit and stop out on the tarmac, next to a large non-descript gray-colored four-door sedan.
We begin to deplane and I see my luggage being loaded into the sedan already. Before I get off the plane, I am asked for my passport. The steward of the flight stamps it and welcomes me to India.
Off to the sedan and I see it’s larger than most usual 4-door types. It’s a minor limo of sorts, with rear and front-facing seats, like an old London taxi, except one wall is taken up with a fold-out bar.
Oh, I’m going to like this job.
I am instructed to sit in the back. Major Nak is sitting up front, working on papers of some sort.
I am told the travel time to Alang, the place where I’ll be staying, is approximately one to one and a half hours. I am asked to please make myself comfortable and if I desire, there is a humidor on the back forward-facing seat. I am to help myself to that and the bar, and enjoy the ride.
Which I did. The scenery was your bog-standard usual coastal highway sort of stuff, moderately interesting for the first 5 minutes, then it just sort of blurs together.
I sampled the humidor and most of the bottles in the bar while we wound our way south to Alang. It was getting late in the afternoon, so it was decided that I would be taken to the “Raj”, the company’s corporate house for when high-ranking business types, visitors, and guests arrive for more than a single overnight.
Alang is a company town, and that company is the Ship Breaker’s. It’s a fairly common sort of one-industry town; kind of shabby, kind of old, kind of desperate. It’s not horrible like some oil towns in West Siberia, Venezuela, or West Africa; but it’s no Paris, Texas either. There are some green areas, quite a slew of shops selling sea-sailing ship-sourced stuff, and a few residences.
We travel along and I can smell the diesel, dejection, and desperation in the air. This place is an area of low wages, hard work, little to no environmental or HSE controls, and throngs of men wanting to work. This is going to be some kind of experience.
We wheel around a well-planted and manicured corner and arrive at the “Raj”. It is a colonial-era, how can I put it? It’s a fucking mansion. Situated behind security fences on grounds of approximately 4 acres, at least. It’s an Edwardian or Georgian pile some four stories thick. There is a security shack out front and even Major Nak has to show his ID in order to enter.
They take my photo, particulars, and have me sign-in. Looks like I’ll be the only VIP staying here for the duration of my contract. However, I certainly won’t be alone.
There are butlers, cooks, chauffeurs, maids, and other forms of domestic help. And they are all there just to make my stay as pleasant as possible.
We drive into the compound, for the lack of a better term, come to a thick security door where the driver punches in a code and we are allowed to enter the underground parking facility. There are several security vehicles parked down here, a couple of motorcycles that I intend to ask to borrow. Before we went underground, I saw at least two teams of security forces patrolling the grounds with huge Alsatian dogs.
“Is all this security really necessary?” I asked Major Nak.
“Better safe than sorry”, he bewilderingly replies.
“OK”, I reply, “Thanks for the clear-cut answer.”
He smiles and confides that they’ve never had any trouble here, but since it’s where VIPs and corporate shills stay, they make a brave noise to dissuade anyone with evil on their mind. Shipbreaking is big business, with receipts measured annually in the billions of rupees. Yes, I agree, better safe than sorry.
We exit the sedan as two worker bees attend to my luggage. We are lead to an elevator and get in, take a quick ride due up, and exit on the main floor.
“Holy shit!”, I exclaim lowly. “This place is incredible.”
Full late 1800’s glory expressed in dark, thick hand-carved wood, leather, and dripping in opulence. It’s quite the sight, and it takes me a minute to realize that all this pomp and circumstance is being laid out for me. Now it’s Major Nak’s time to smile on my bewilderment. He asks me to walk with him as he needs to ‘introduce me to the staff’.
But first, a young lady appears, in a traditional maid’s outfit, and asks if I require anything.
“Loaded question”, I smile, “But I am a bit dry. If you could rustle me up a drink, I’d be beholden to you.”
She smiles and looks to Major Nak for a translation. He speaks in Hindi and she smiles wider and scurries off.
“What did you tell her?” I ask.
“That you’re American and can’t be expected to speak normal English”, he laughs, “Plus I told her of your favorite drink.”
“Why, thanks Major.”, I smile.
“Anytime, Doctor.”, he replies.
We walk along and the cute maid reappears with my drink. Major Nak is holding off and abstaining for the time being.
We walk along and meet the head of the household, the Majordomo, one Mr. Kanada. We exchange greetings.
“If you require anything, Doctor”, he tells me, “Please let me know. I have read your contract so when I say ‘anything’, that is precisely what is meant.”
“I will do that”, I reply and give him a hearty handshake in return.
Suddenly, a young male individual type appears. He looks very intent and earnest.
“Doctor Rocknocker?” He asks.
“Yes. And you are?”, I reply.
“I am Sanjay. I am your personal assistant while you are here in India.” He smiles back.
“Nice to meet you, Sanjay”, I reply, “What are your qualifications?”
I’m not messing around. I’m going to have a full tour on this job. He appears quite young but does have a good handle on English. At least English that I can understand.
“I hold a Bachelor’s Degree in Geology. I am going for my Master’s next semester, once this virus business is over with. I speak Hindi, Urdu, English, and some Russian. I carry a light, the time, and your favorite vodka. I am 100% at your disposal.” He smiles and hands me an airline-sized miniature of Blest Vodka; a local favorite.
I look at Major Nak, “Oh, I like him. Good choice.”
Sanjay beams. Major Nak smiles as well.
Major Nak continues, “Sanjay here can show you the rest of the house. If you’ll excuse me, I must be off to camp”.
“Most certainly, Major Nak. It’s been a pleasure.” I reply as we shake hands in a very manly fashion.
“I hope to see you before you leave, Doctor. Perhaps at the yards to see your progress. “ he notes.
“I look forward to that, Major.” I smile
He smiles to Sanjay, and does a briskly military about-face and disappears.
“Doctor Rocknocker”, Sanjay continues…
“Sanjay.”, I interrupt, “Call me ‘Rock’, it’ll save everyone a lot of time.”
“Oh, OK. Sure. Doct…um, Rock”, he says, as I smile back. “You must have made a big impression on Major Nak. He hardly talks to anyone he oversees.”
“Oversees?”, I smile, “OK, he seemed harmless enough. Affable chap. Can’t hold his liquor worth a shit though. But you’re not to say I said so. ..”
“Understood, Doc…Rock”, Sanjay smiles, “Let me show you the rest of the house. Let’s go to the basement first. “
“OK, fine. You lead and I’ll follow.” I replied.
The basement was one of wonders. A large heated and chilled pool, a sauna, fairly well kitted out gym, and a game room. The game room held a snooker table, a billiards table, a ping-pong table, and a Ms. PacMan table video game and a Galaga upright game. Vintage. Sweet.
There were cupboards full of ping-pong paddles, ping-pong balls, pool, and snooker cues, as well as the remotes for the sound system and large, flat-screen TV, with uncensored 7-satellite feed, hanging on one wall. There were several comfy chairs strewn around. This would be a nice place to relax after a long day of blowing the living shit out of old rusty boats.
“Nice”, I noted, “But no beer cooler or bar in the rec room?”
Sanjay smiled and motioned me to the elevator.
“Moment.” was all he said. He did speak a bit of Russian.
We go up two floors and exit the elevator. One side of this floor was taken up with a huge library, complete with a huge antique harp, a very shiny black Steinway grand piano, hundreds if not thousands of books, and several large leather chairs and a couple of leather couches and ashtrays strewn about.
Another place to waste a modicum of time.
Then Sanjay points me north to the other side of the floor.
There was a huge bar, fully stocked, with about a dozen barstools in front. There were at least a dozen taps of Indian, British, and Indonesian beer. There were hundreds of bottles of non-repeating liquor. There was a large ice machine humming away in the corner, full bar glass set-up, wash station, and dishwasher under one corner of the bar. There were several under-bar coolers full of carbonated drinks, juices, and other potential mixers.
“We have two dedicated barmen at your disposal”, Sanjay smiled, “Or you can go ahead and use it self-serve if you desire.”
I look at the empty glass in my hand and decide we’ll go ahead and inaugurate it now and not bother to call the barmen.
Sanjay, eager to please, runs behind the bar and asks what I’d like.
“Well, since we’re in India”, I say, rubbing my chin, “Let’s start out with a nice IPA.”
“Certainly”, he replies, “Light or dark?” as they had two on tap.
“Oh, dark, I think.”, I said, “And since you’re back there, why not grab yourself one and get me 100 milliliters of the finest chilled house vodka.”
“Yes, Doctor!”, he smiled and fetched our drinks.
Sanjay and I spent an hour or two at the bar getting to know each other. Several times, house employees rolled through to see if I needed any dinner or a cigar or…
“Good lord”, I say to Sanjay after the fourth one in an hour was dismissed, “They keep this up and I might take them up on something off the menu.”
“I can arrange that”, Sanjay smirked.
“Thank you, no. That was a joke.”, I told him, “I’ve been married 39 years to the finest partner and deadliest crack shot this side of Annie Oakley. Besides, I have no desire for any of that sort of extracurricular shenanigans. It was a joke. Seriously.”
“Understood, Rock”, Sanjay said. “I’m not married, but I am engaged. I understand fully.”
“Good and congratulations”, I replied, “No need to get off on the wrong foot or anything.”
“Or anything?” Sanjay smirks and raises an eyebrow.
“Keep that up and I might just keep you on as my assistant.” I said, “You will need a good sense of humor before this all over.”
Sanjay quaffed his beer and smiled broadly.
After I had him get me another beer and asked for my room as I was needing a cigar. He pulled out a phone, dialed a few numbers, and Hindi’ed directly into the device for a minute.
“No worries, Rock”, he said, “One will be here directly.”
“Fine”, I replied, “Now Sanjay, this job is not all skittles and beer, if you take my meaning.”
“Oh, look. Your cigars have arrived.” He says, totally distracting me.
An ancient butler pushing a silver tea cart appears. On the cart is a very large humidor full of many different shades, shapes, and sizes of cigars.
I went to grab one when the butler stops me and tells me to make a selection.
“Oh, oh, oh! Very nice.” I say and point to a likely looking Oscuro Churchill.
He takes the cigar, carefully wipes it with fine cheesecloth, and asks what type of cut I like; V-cut, punch, or slant.
“Oh, V-cut, if you please,” I reply.
He V-cuts my cigar and with his with gloved hands, holds it out for me to inspect.
“Lovely,” I reply. I jam the cigar in my yap and start digging around the pockets of my field vest for my lighter.
He taps me on the shoulder and extends a lit piece of cedar bark. The ‘traditional’ British way of lighting a cigar.
After all that, he tells me his direct number is 214 and that if I need anything more to have one of the staff ring him. With that, he turns heel and exits without another word.
“Well”, I smirk, “That was weird.”
Sanjay just smiles and tells me to get used to it. They will do everything here for you if you allow them.
“Yeah, I’ll bet.”, I say, get up and pour myself a new beer. A ‘Tiger’ this time. I ask Sanjay if he’s ready for a refill and he tells me he’s good.
I grab another 100 milliliters of chilled Old Fornicator Vodka and sit back down at the bar.
“Now, where were we? Ah, yes. Can you be a hard ass, Sanjay? Can you tell your peers ‘no’?” I ask.
“Will I have to?” he asks.
“Yep.” I say, “Damn, this is a really fine cigar. But working with me, you best develop a thick skin and a hard head.”
“Oh, OK”, he says, obviously confused.
“Right.” I say, “Serious talk time. I’m the boss on this project. What I says, goes. No questions. Period. You’re my de facto second in command. We are here to teach 24 of your comrades how to blast boats to smithereens and how to train the next set of like-minded individuals. This is a step up for them, every one. It means more money, more security, more prestige. I need only 24 and from what I hear, there’s what, up to 30,000 workers here? Guess what? That means a lot that are going to go home disappointed. They might hold that against me and you, Me? I don’t give the tiniest shit. But I’m going to leave after a couple of weeks. You’re here for the duration and going to take over my spot. Some of these characters might get shirty and decide to tap dance on your head if you tell them no. You have to be ready for that. Can you deal with that situation?”
Sanjay just sits there and looks intently at the finely polished hardwood floor.
“This is old hat for me,” I tell him. “I’ve had to tell some good friends that they weren’t picked for the job or contract. It’s business. And some have been less than adult about how they handled the rejection. There have been threats, usually hollow and empty. There have been altercations, usually unimportant. There have been fights with bloodied noses, broken arms, and police reports. But in the end, I had to stick to my guns. You ready for that, young Mr. Sanjay?”
“Thank you, Doctor Rock…”, he replies, “I never thought about it that way. But, yes, I think I can handle that situation if it arises. It’s business like you say and I am able to defend myself.”
“That’s good”, I reply, “At least physically. What about mentally? You might have to tell a good friend to get stuffed; in a nice manner, of course.”
“I think so.”, he replied, “I’ll follow your lead over the next couple of weeks. Call it ‘on the job training’.”
“Mr. Sanjay”, I say, “I do think you’ll do.”
We talk a bit more and I decide that after one more round of drinks, I’ll call 214, grab a couple of cigars and have Sanjay show me my room.
On the way down the long hall, Sanjay is smiling in a weird sort of way.
“OK, give,” I say.
“No, no yet. Wait until you see your room.” He snickers.
Now I’m worried.
We come to a large, polished, and engraved oak door. He produces a key from out of the depths of a Stephan King novel, twists it in the lock, and the door silently swings open.
“Holy shit!”, I exhale.
The room is enormous.
En suite bathroom where one could hold an Olympics meet in the Jacuzzi. American Standard bog, flanked on either side by bidets. Twin sinks, a shower with tropical, right out of the ceiling rainfall, or the new waterfall shower design. Or both. With steam function. Not boiling water, but live steam like any sauna.
“I could get to like this”, I mutter.
The room is fully carpeted with tapestries on the walls. A large, Victorian oak desk is over on one side, with a very nice dual-screen computer work station at my disposal. There is a note with my login and password in the leather-bound legal pad on the ergonomic computer chair before it. There is a huge flat-screen TV over on the other wall with the same 7-satellite feed as in the rec room.
“Whoa!” I say, “Data overload.”
My luggage is next to the built-in wardrobes. One houses a bespoke mini-bar.
“The maids would have put your clothes away”, Sanjay explains, “But they were locked. I can call them if you’d like.”
“Sure”, I reply, “Why not?” I see two of the aluminum cases that I marked “Careful: Scientific Instruments” are next to the computer workstation.
Two maids presently arrive and I unlock my luggage. They set to putting it away and are tsking that it needs to be pressed first.
“Perhaps later”, I said, “It’s been a day and I’m a bit knackered.”
“I will turn down your bed then”, one of the nubiles remarks.
Sanjay is now smiling way, way too broadly. I go through the door to the master bedroom.
“Holy shit squared,” I say.
There is a huge four-poster Edwardian? Georgian? bed. The carved wooden uprights are the diameter of telephone poles. I’m a pretty large person, but on this bed, I’ll need a personal transponder as its large enough for me to get lost. Easily 3x4 meters and the mattress is nice and firm, just the way I like it.
On top of the bed are blankets, a comforter, a quilt, an afghan, and more feather-stuffed keep-warms than I ever saw outside of Siberia. Under those, I’d sweat away to nothingness; but it looks so damned comfy.
The bed properly turned back, I thank the maid and make the noises like I want her to get the fuck out so I can get horizontal.
Sanjay notes that and has her and the other maid exit. All my clothes are put away, even my field vest I discarded when we walked into the room is tutted over and hung up.
“So, Rock?” he laughs, “What do you think?”
“I think if I didn’t have a serious job to do, I’d come down with some damned virus that would require me to stay home and socially distance myself.” I laugh.
“Sorry, but work begins tomorrow. What time would you like for me to ring you?” he asks.
“Right”, I said, “About that. I want to be on the job at 0600. Not leaving here at 0600, not wheels up at 0600. I want to be ready to select my 24 candidates beginning at 0600 tomorrow. I leave that to you. When do we need to leave, so when do I need to be rung up?”
“I’ll call you at… 0430…?” he cautiously says.
“Fine.” I reply, “Make certain that the notices I sent were posted. I want my 100 applicants ready and on-site spot-on 0600. I’ll need a large black coffee in a travel mug. Green?”
“Green?” he asks.
“My shorthand for ‘are we in agreement?’” I say.
“Oh, yes. Rock. Very green. See you in the morning.” He says, shakes my hand and departs; but not before leaving me the room key.
I lock the door and strip down. A steamy shower and a couple of very well-appointed in-room mini-bar bourbons later, I’m going over Email. Seeing nothing that can’t wait until the next day or two, I flop into bed and immediately become a missing person.
The phone cheerily chirps at me at precisely 0430. If I had my Casull, that phone would be in another dimension. As it is, I drag my carcass to vertical, grab the phone, say “Thanks” and hang up.
A quick shower, a couple of shower sunrisers, and I’m feeling much better. Damn near human. I gather the day’s necessities, don my vest, and Stetson over my usual field outfit and toddle downstairs. I’m not 5 steps out of the room when the maids arrive with the intent of committing premeditated neatness in my room.
I wave to them, and gargle an obligatory “Morning”, and head down to the main floor.
I am greeted by Sanjay, who is holding a large metal thermal coffee travel mug for me.
“You are a gentleman, scholar, and life-saver”, I say to him.
He beams in the way-too-early morning light.
“Breakfast, Doctor?” he asks.
“Just coffee. I don’t want to eat too much these first few days. ‘Delhi belly’ and all that. Too much work to do.” I remonstrate.
“Understood.” Sanjay complies, “Cigar?”
“Yes, it is,” I say.
“I have brought along a box of them for you today,” he adds, smiling.
“Outstanding”, I say and sip my coffee. Surprisingly, it is of the Greenland variety.
“The driver is waiting. Anytime you are ready, Rock”, Sanjay informs me.
“Give me a few minutes,” I say as I review the morning edition of the Times of India. I was actually waiting for the fine coffee to take effect.
A few minutes later, we’re headed down the coast to the beach; right where the rubber hits the road. Or rather, the ships scrape the sand.
Alang is the biggest ship breaking facility in the world. There are more than 400 ship breaking platforms here. They break about 1,500 ships every year. At any time about 300 people can be working on a single ship. The total workforce here is 40,000 plus. There are complaints about the treatment of workers and their service conditions. Ships are broken down crudely by hand using the minimum machinery; typically oxygen lances and welding torches.
It’s a horror show. Huge, rusty, jagged pieces of ships everywhere. Puddles of every color, containing noxious chemicals of every description. Lead, organotins such as tributyltin in anti-fouling paints, polychlorinated organic compounds, by-products of combustion such as polycyclic aromatic hydrocarbons, dioxins, and furans are found in ships and pose a great danger to the environment and personnel.
There is a singular lack of PPE (Personal Protective Equipment) here. Thatched, woven palm-frond ‘hardhats’. Steel-toed sandals; if you grasp the irony. No coveralls, gloves nor much else. Ragged shorts, torn shirts, and car-tire soled sandals are the uniforms here.
Well, if there’s one thing I can do, it’s change this.
We wheel into an area containing a huge tent-like structure, a couple of Quonset huts, and a smattering of non-descript outbuildings. The place is swarming with workers. All male, all young, and all looking to be part of the chosen 24 today.
We park and I’m shown into the large tent-like structure. At the head of the tent are a table, a PA system microphone, and a desk where we can sit down and tally the day’s take.
“OK, Sanjay”, I say, “Time to work. Remember I sent ahead the qualifications I’m looking for in trainees?”
I had cabled ahead for them to pre-select 50 candidates, 175-225 pounds, 5’ 9” to 6’ 3”, preferably unmarried bachelors, which tend to be the best kind. They must be English reading and speaking. I need the larger guys to handle the physical demands of the job. They need to be within the height requirements as those are the heights my pre-ordered coveralls will fit. They must be fluent in spoken and written English as I don’t have time to learn Hindi.
There were easily 5 times that number milling about just outside.
“OK, here’s the deal”, I said, “Here are 100 numbered chits. You will pass them out to the first 100 gents outside that pass initial muster. That is their ticket inside. Pucker time. Think you can handle the throng?”
“I’ve got this, Rock”, he says, with a stalwart look.
“OK, but if you need help, you know where I am,” I reply.
I busy myself constructing a 10x10 grid on a sheet of paper. I number it 1 to 100. This will keep tabs on our candidates.
Behind me, on the wall, are 24 brass tokens, ‘chits’, about the size of a US$1 Silver Bullion coin, about 1.5 inches in diameter, numbered 1 to 24. They have a flat space for a name to be engraved upon. These are the coveted chits that enable a person to graduate out of the swill and into the ranks of blasterdom and eventual teaching.
Right now, they are the most coveted possession within hundreds of miles.
One by one, pre-selected individuals are filtering in and finding seats. Sanjay is doing quite the job, as so far, they all fill the bill nicely. Whether they pass or fail muster will be determined in the next couple of hours.
I sip my coffee and smoke my cigars. The room swells by the numbers. Soon, all the seats are taken and Sanjay rejoins me at the head podium.
“Good job, Mr. Sanjay”, I say, shaking his hand. “Let’s take a couple of minutes and then we shall begin, OK?”
He agrees. I head to the loo and he takes my coffee for a refill. We reappear a few minutes later and I grab the microphone for the PA system.
I key the mike, “Hello! Please, everyone, quiet down and pay attention!”
Very few replies much less capitulation.
Sanjay stands and shouts something in Hindi.
The room goes deathly silent.
“Remind me to ask you to teach me that,” I say and return to the job at hand.
“Gentlemen. Welcome to the selection board for Blaster’s Assistants. If you are not here for that particular position, the exit’s to the rear.”
No one moves, except to shift to pay me more attention.
“OK. Great. I am Dr. Rocknocker, the headmaster of this special education class. I am the boss. The hookin’ bull. The head cheese. I am the Maharaja of this project. What I says, goes. I am an American, I am a geologist, and I don’t tolerate tomfoolery or bullshit from anyone. I say jump, you say ‘how high’? I say shit and you ask ‘what color’? You will follow my instructions implicitly, without question. Are we in agreement?” I ask.
There are a few feeble “Yeah’s”, and “OK’s” that drift up out of the crowd.
“Gentlemen. I am an American, as I said, and I’m old, weary, and slightly hard of hearing. I don’t expect you to use your indoor voice around me. You answer so I can hear you, loud and clear. Understand?”
“Yes.” Comes a few half-hearted attempts.
“GOD DAMN IT! I’m the fuckin’ deaf one. DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME?!?”
“Yes, Doctor!” came the reply.
“What? I CAN’T HEAR YOU!”
“YES, DOCTOR!” came the thunderous response.
“Outstanding,” I reply.
There were some snickers and chuckles in the crowd. It was time to toughen up the crowd and see if I can thin the ranks early.
“Gentlemen! Your attention.” I roar.
I had their attention.
I hold up my gloved left hand. I rip off the glove and show everyone my physical deformity. There were gasps, groans, and a couple of less hearty souls bolting for the door.
“I received this in a Russian rig accident years ago. It was not from a blasting accident. I’ve never had one and don’t intend on starting now. If this bothers you, leave. This is me and I’m the instructor.” I announced. “That fact will not change.”
Physical deformities here really scare some folks. I figured I’d get this out of the way straight off, and that would be one less thing to worry about. We lost three with that revelation.
“Groovy,” I said as I replace my glove.
“Now, we will begin the final selection. You all have your numbered tokens, one through a hundred. If you thought because you had a low number, you’d be first, forget it. I have a random number generator application on my phone, set from one to one hundred. And the first number is number…Lucky 13! Lucky 13. Come forward, front and center, and be recognized.” I say.
Sanjay is seated next to me with our book of the job. He’ll be handling secretarial duties whilst I do the interviewing.
“Your token?” I ask.
The young gent hands me lucky number 13.
“Fine.” I say, “Name?”
Name go in book.
“Age? Company number? Years with the company? Married? If so, children?”
All data goes into the book in the proper zones.
I ask a few questions about the job, to make sure they know what they’re in for.
“How’s your English?” I ask.
“I speaks it very goodly”, was the reply.
“Marvelous.”
I pick up this month’s Journal of Explosives Engineering monthly and hand it to him.
“Page 22. Read the first paragraph, please.” I instruct him.
He fumbles with the magazine, counts singly to page 22, and tries to read some random, but not first, paragraph.
I retrieve the magazine, thank him, and tell him we’ll be in touch.
Everyone and I mean everyone, chosen or not, will be personally told of their results.
I mean, it’s only right and fair. It’s the way I’ve done business for 40 years and it’s worked pretty well so far.
Candidates number 9, 57, and 42 results in much the same way.
“Number 77!” I call.
He lopes up to the podium.
“Your token, please,” I say
He hands it over.
We gather the information and he’s unmarried and without children.
How refreshing.
I hand him the journal and ask him to read the last paragraph on page 52.
“iRing has announced, “a breakthrough technology in ring design for underground mines” that uses a completely new blast design model. The development of this innovative blasting technique uses a unit charge and stress reflection methodology in conjunction with electronic detonators to design ring patterns with the objective of transforming underground blasting operations into primary crushing operations.”
“Your name again?” I ask
“I am Waazir Naidu.” He replies.
“Mr. Naidu, welcome aboard,” I say as I hand him his brass token. “You are trainee number one. Do not lose your token. It is your key up out of the swill.”
He smiles broadly and turns to the crowd to display his brass letter of acceptance. There are growls from the crowd, as well as a smattering of applause.
“We will reconvene in Outbuilding #2 at 1300 hours. See you there.” I say and shake his hand.
He’s all beaming smiles as he almost literally floats out the door.
We spent the rest of the morning thinning the herd. There were some judgment calls, but by 1130 hours, we were down to two candidates and one last brass token.
“Number 79!” I call.
He approaches, we do the usual and get his information.
“Please read paragraph three on page…oh, I don’t know, 31.”
He fumbles with the magazine a while and stutters and stammers somewhat.
“OK, thanks.” I say, “We’ll let you know.”
“OK, number 5! The best and last number 5!”
“About time!’ He scowls.
“Excuse me?” I said.
“You really are deaf, Yankee benchod.” He sneers quietly; but loud enough for me to hear.
He figures he’s a shoo-in; last number called, last chit on the board.
“Sanjay, a moment,” I ask.
“This “benchod”? Not a term of endearment, I take it?”
“Ah, no”, he stammers.
“And it means?” I ask.
“You don’t want to know.” Sanjay hopefully replies.
“But, yes, I do. I insist.” I reply.
“It means colloquially ‘motherfucker’. ‘Sister fucker’ literally.” He splutters.
“Hmmm. OK. A new term for my dictionary. Fine. Let us continue.”
Name, age, etc. all go in book.
I hand him the magazine. He almost rips it from my hands.
“OK, please read the ad on page 55. All of it.” I instruct.
He flips the magazine to page 55. There’ a half-page ad in Russian for a new form of blasting cap super-boosters.
“I can’t read that.” He complains.
“Well, then me ol’ mucker; looks like you’re just shit out of luck. Good day.” I say.
“Sanjay”, I say, “Go outside and find number 79. He’s our last candidate trainee.”
“You said you wanted good English readers.” The rejected complains.
“Yes”, I agreed, “But I also need people that can follow instructions and not have a Gibraltar size chip on their shoulder. I’m the boss, and what I say goes. And I say you go, dick cheese. Ta-ta.”
He realizes his mistake and beings to entreat me with tales of woe.
“If that was a loose blasting wire, we’d all be dead. I don’t need an attitude. I need people with brains enough to listen. Now, piss off. We’re done here.” I say.
“Benchod fucker”, he snarls. “I keel you.”
Luckily my coffee mug was nearly half empty. Otherwise, it could have really left a mark across his face where I slammed him with it.
He’s down on the ground, wondering what hit him. I’m standing over him, towering and glowering. It was that kind of day. I don’t have time for monks resisting the carnival.
“You get the fuck out of my sight, you sawed-off little prick. You’re lucky I’m in a good mood and don’t give you a fucking C-4 enema. Or kick your scrawny ass to death. You might still have your shit job here in the yard, but I hear from anyone one more foul oath or unkind word out of you and you’re going to be Alsatian chow back at the Raj. You diggin’ me, Beaumont”
He just looked at me with eyes as wide as cheap paper plates at a windy Sunday picnic.
“Get out of here, you asshole.” I snarled and puffed mightily on my cigar.
He got up and scarpered. He didn’t even take the time to dust off.
Sanjay arrived with number 79 just as he hit the exit.
I hand number 79, one Mr. Yudhishthira Bahaiti, brass token number 24.
“Welcome aboard. Sorry about the foul-up. It’s been handled. See you in building #2 at 1300 hours.” I say.
“Sanjay? Lunch?” I suggest. “I could really use a fresh coffee.”
After lunch, Sanjay and I are smoking away in Outbuilding #2. It’s about 1245 hours or so and already a couple of new recruits have appeared. They are sitting in one of the 24 seats which look for all the world like elementary school desks way back in the day.
There are 24 locker boxes stacked along one wall. These are the new locker boxes for my recruits.
These contain a number of specialty items which they will now need in the execution of their new jobs.
Some of it could be considered quite pricey and there are needs for security, especially since this bunch will be dealing with high, low, and medium explosives. I’m getting that teaching vibe again. I love geology, I love blowing shit up, but I really love to teach. Especially a new crop of fresh recruits.
I’ve watched Full Metal Jacket far too many times.
It’s 1300 hours on the nose. All 24 recruits are assembled and in their proper numbered chair. Sanjay has made up a seating plan for me so I can get to match a name to face and locker box number.
It’s showtime.
To be continued…