The Kenya Story: Golden Fire
***This is a fictional story, No offence to Kenya, Kenyans, Reconnaissance, Golden Cashews, Egyptians, and Sailors ***

A Naveed Rabbani Short Story


Chapter 1

It's been smooth sailing now for a little over two weeks, but still we have no bearings as to where we are located. After all, we're bound to wash up somewhere, but until we come into contact with civilization it seems we're on our own.

"Eh, Cap'n!" Shamus fell in from the hatch, leaving his position on deck. "Weather's a pain today, Cap', can't see a thing, the fog's thicker than the water."

"Keep a close eye, and make sure to steer clear of any danger, we're in no conditions to engage into any adventures now." I had to be quite frank. The new ship with which we escaped the island with was no dream, and of course, it came with limited supplies. Times were tough, and we've been rationing food now for the past few days.

I heard a muffled call from deck, my head quickly turned to the blinking radio light.

"We're surrounded!"

More commotion above, as footsteps scurried back and forth. "What do you reckons got into them?" Keiran interjected from the shadowed corner of the room.

I didn't respond.

The hatch opened once again. "Cap'n! Cap'n!" Shamus's familiar call rang through the room, "Cap'n, we're surrounded. The Egyptians! They're all around us. We couldn't tell, the fog was too thick – and, and we just sailed right into the thick of their fleet.

"What do we do, Cap'n?"

Keiran gave me a troubled look; what was I to do? What was I to say? Sailing into the center of an Egyptian armada is no trivial accomplishment.

"Roll up the white flag," I responded solemnly.

"Ay? Go down without a fight?" Keiran rose and came to the center of the room. "I tell you what, I didn't come here with the intentions of surrendering, and I'm not going to work my goddamn arse off at sea just to go down like this. I am not going down without a fight!"

"Roll up the white flag," I reconfirmed, "tell Michael to roll it up."

Keiran shut the hatch in defiance, and ran over to the radio. He loosened the dial and static sounded in and out.

"This is Keiran Furlong of the USS Kenya, do you copy?"

Nothing but static.

"What the bloody hell are you doing? That's an order - raise the flag!" I called out hoarsely, walking in the wake of the defiant Lieutenant Commander.

"I repeat, this is Keiran Furlong of the USS Kenya, do you copy?" Keiran's hope lay in the hands of a single, abandoned radio, as he continued to yell into the receiver.

Static. Outside the guns started, and our ship rocked violently in the shelling. Panic had stricken the crew.

"This is Lieutenant Commander Keiran Furlong, do you copy!"

"Lieutenant Commander?" A worried voice called over the intercom, but it was soon overcome by the static, which was followed by a convincing yell.

"INCOMING!"

Chapter 2

"Ay, keep moving." The Egyptian seaman prodded the crew with bayonets as he led us to our cozy cells aboard the flagship of the adversary's navy.

"Och, this'll only be for a little while," Pat spoke optimistically as his cell door was latched in. They had us divided into groups of two per cell: Michael and Shaun, Patrick and Shamus, and lastly, Keiran and I.

"Captain's gonna want to talk to you fellas soon, so just sit tight." The guard warned us. Keiran made an intrigued face, and the captain entered the scene.

"Keiran, something wrong?" The heat had cooled down a bit since our quarrel on the second USS Kenya. We were bombarded immediately after he radioed base, the ship was torn into ruins, no surrender and no going down with a fight – nobody got their way, and now we were prisoners.


"Nothing, really, just thought I recognized that guy," he responded preoccupied, busy calculating the situation and that's when it struck me, we've been held captive just too many times, Zorgoth wasn't going to cut us a break anytime soon.

"Ah, Welcome aboard, isn't this ship a beaut?" The Captain spoke finally, after patrolling our cell doors for a few rounds. He paced back and forth in an intimidating fashion. "Don't you worry about leaving this place, you'll have a long and pleasant stay in Cairo, I guarantee it." With a smirk the captain left just as quickly as he had come.

"Eh, what a pointless visit," Keiran muttered from the corner of the cell. Why was it that he was always in the corner of the room?

"What makes you say so?" I responded quickly keeping in mind the atrocious stories that made it home about soldiers stuck in the Cairo POW facilities.

"We're getting off this bloody ship."

"Keiran don't be ridiculo—"

"No," he seemed almost offended, "I know that guard; he's going to get us out of here."

Night fell upon the proud Egyptian vessel as we sailed quietly to hell, with not even the faintest clue of our location – at least we made contact with civilization… kind of.

* * * * *

"Psst," Keiran whispered to the only guard on duty at that ungodly hour in the night, the 'super guard' that was apparently going to get us out of here.

The moonlight faintly shimmered past the vertical bars of our confining cells creating a pallid, striped pattern on the wooden deck below us. The crew was more or less asleep or half-conscious, only the mysterious guard seemed to be fully alert and the captain was nowhere in sight. Every once in a while, though, we heard a creak of footsteps from the deck above.

My weary eyes dragged on from the crew, most of them asleep then to Keiran and then focused on the back of the guard's hideous Egyptian uniform – he faced away from us as he spoke.

"Aye?" the guard responded, acknowledging Keiran with a nod.

"You're the one, aren't you?" Keiran spoke back. I didn't know he swung that way. "You're the guard that left the cutlass for me when the other Egyptian ship sunk." Wait, never mind, this wasn't as romantic as I first judged it to be.

"Aye, you've got a good memory. What's your point?" The guard's tone was flat.

"Think you could help us out on this one?" Keiran popped the question.

The guard contemplated the request for a little bit. "Okay, looks like you've got a party of six and there are 4 emergency rowboats on this flagship, each fitting four people. If I help you out this time I'm going to need to come with you though, so four to one boat, and three to another, because this will blow my cover."

"Blow your cover?"

"Aye, Kenyan spy, four years running."

Och, Motubu (The Kenyan Head of Intelligence – KIA) at last got one of our own men in the thick of it. The Kenyan reconnaissance has finally breached the Egyptian ranks – it's about bloody time!

Chapter 3

"C'mon, off your lazy arse, we're getting the hell oota here!" Michael tried his best to wake Shamus, probably drunk out of his wits. The rest of the crew had awoken and assembled ready for instructions from the guard.

Finally, half-dragging Shamus, we crept up on deck, not a soul was stirring above deck and we were safe to escape. From his pocket fell four cashews, an odd thing to keep as a traveling companion, but I respected him and recollected them from the floor, placing them back into his right side pocket.

"Eh, over here!" The guard hustled us into the rowboats: Keiran, Patrick, the guard and I in the first one and Shamus, Shaun, and Michael into the other.

The rowboats sharply disturbed the nighttime silence as they flopped unto the salty abyss of water. Our insignificant, little, wooden boats were enveloped by the vast expanse of the purple colored ocean ahead. The eerie reflection of the moonlight off the slow ripples illuminated the fog above, these made for horrible steering conditions, but auspicious escaping conditions!

"Let's row."

* * * * *

I must have just slipped out of consciousness for a second when I closed my eyes, but our surroundings seemed oddly unfamiliar, of course, it was hard to tell when all you can see for miles is nothing but water.

"We must have covered a lot of ground through the night," I commented, trying my best not to tip the boat as I stretched.

"Och," Patrick inched to consciousness. "Where are the others?" The rest of our crew members were nowhere to be found.

"Aye, the rest of them fell behind, they'll be sure to catch up soon – we're landing on that excuse for an island over there." The guard, who earlier revealed his name to be Sergeant Matthew Gaffing referred to the faint island ahead, poking its hilly head over the horizon.

Land! My Zorgoth, land!

* * * * *

"Hey, what's all this then?" Shaun awoke miles away, disturbed by his surroundings. He hopelessly searched the horizon for any signs of his comrades. "We've lost them completely," he finally muttered depleted, defeated, and depressed.

"We've got to keep rowing," Michael interject, bringing them back to focus. "Shamus," he turned his head, the third crew member was at the ready, rowing with a terrible hangover, "let's move out."

So my comrades continued on straight, I guess we were lucky, because by chance they were shadowing our path.

Chapter 4

"Where are we?" Keiran tugged his legs off the rowboat onto the smooth shoreline of the arriving island. The lone rock was hilly in the center as it tapered off towards the coast into sandy beeches and exotic, fruit-bearing trees.

"A lost island here off of Kenya, the Egyptians never check it – it's where I've set up base." Sgt. Gaffing responded quickly.

"So, you've really thought this through, huh?"

"Oh, yeah." He sounded a bit odd, but I'm guessing it was all the pressure from his reconnaissance.

"You guys stay here, I've gotta run up and check something, but I'll be back soon."

And so just like that, the Sergeant was gone leaving our half of the crew alone. The calming waves crashed quietly against the sandy shoreline and the trees gave us the impression of a tropical getaway.

"What do you reckons happened to the rest of the crew?" I asked, comfortably crouched on the beach.

"I don't think there's any time to worry about that," Keiran pointed towards the hills.

I swear I spotted an intricate system of tunnels, leading from one cave to another in the hills, a complicated headquarters for a Kenyan spy – but we were deceived. Upon the hills was a hostile looking tribe of Natives awaiting us armed with blunt-spears and contradicting, complex gadgets.

Och, 'twas all a hoax.

"Welcome, MacKenna. Welcome to my lair," The tribe swiftly advanced on us, with 'Gaffing' behind them. The guard removed his fake teeth and fully unclothed his disguise. The real man beneath was all too familiar.

I couldn't help but let out a gasp, "Jaysus, Flannigan, you just don't give up."

* * * * *

"Ay! Land ahead!" Shamus called, in the most sober voice of the day.

The other half of the crew rowed vigorously, with land in their site they were rejuvenated with motivation.

"Take a look at that," Michael observed the empty row boat on the island, "looks like the boat MacKenna and crew were on before they rowed ahead of us. But oddly enough it's empty."

After a few moments they landed on the same shore. Michael again, quickly pointed out their comrade's footsteps in the sand: "It looks like they went with a crowd, but this is all too suspicious."

"Aye," Shaun replied quickly calculating the situation, "Shamus, you stay here on guard, Michael and I will scope the perimeter."

"Sure thing, lad."

Chapter 5

"You've reached an all-time low, Flannigan." I spurted out as the tribesmen pushed us into our cave-dwelling cells.

"You don't get it do you, MacKenna?" Flannigan spat back, "I will finish you, and I will find the golden cashew."

I pondered the second part of the sentence – the golden cashew? It rang a bell, the antidote to my 'poisonous' hamburger on the island just a few months back. Did it have any real importance?

"What if you don't succeed?"

"I don't think that will be in an issue." Flannigan shut the cell doors and was almost on his way out.

"Ey!" Keiran called from the corner of his cell, "The golden cashew, what's so great about it?" Keiran wasn't with me when I consumed the 'poisonous' burger, but for some reason his voice implied that he was familiar with the subject.

"What's so great about it?" Flannigan paced back to the cell. "You poor, ignorant seamen; I pity you." He paused, "The golden cashew is none other but the most sought-after jewel in all of Kenya."

Great, a prophecy.

"The one who finds the golden cashew is deemed the 'chosen one' and it all links to these tribesmen's ridiculous cult of Zorgoth. But that doesn't matter, whether you believe in Zorgoth or not, when I find this golden cashew, they will think I'm a god, they will fight bravely for me, and that's enough men to turn this war around, MacKenna. It will be the tide-turner I need for Mother England to finally defeat the Kenyans. Do you understand? I will be immortalized!"

I thought of the situation, the waging war between Egypt, England, Kenya and Ireland was in a delicate equilibrium now. The Egyptians had penetrated the shore, and their forces have been deadlocked outside of Nairobi for months now. The Irish have been losing naval battles to the English and Egyptians, while the Kenyans are just barely holding off the Egyptians on land. Any more momentum in favor of the enemy would quite frankly put this war beyond repair. If Flannigan spoke the truth, it all came down to the golden cashew – whoever could successfully win over the fancy of the islander tribesmen would most definitely win the war.

"You're full of it," Keiran responded coldly, but he turned to me with worried eyes. Did he know about the cashew all along?

"Believe what you must, but I have work to do, turns out Cleopatra's got a hand in the quest for the cashew as well." With that said Flannigan walked away, but quickly added before leaving, "Of course, prior to finding the golden cashew I will have to complete my first mission, which is getting you out of the way, MacKenna."

Only a little while passed when Keiran finally broke the silence, "We need to get out of here and find that cashew before he does. I didn't think others knew about it, but he's right. If he or the Egyptians get it, we're done, the war is over and Kenya will fall."

His apocalyptic prediction was unsettling. What made it all worse was that the Egyptian Queen, Cleopatra, was in the running as well, and she would want nothing more than the fall of Kenya. "What are we supposed to do, what do you expect me to do, Keiran? This is what, the tenth time we've been taken prisoner. I can't do everything."

He rose up, "It was your old arse that got us into this damn problem and it better be your old arse that gets us out, Captain!"

"Och, we need to get mighty lucky but your feuding won't help anyone get anywhere." Patrick quickly called from the cell nearby. It was odd how, although Keiran and I may not always get along, everyone respected Pat.

* * * * *

A little while away Flannigan was preparing a magnificent fire in his headquarters' main room. It was an odd flame set in the middle of a large bamboo structure with his many tribesmen surrounding the proximity. It was as if they revered him like a god.

Chapter 6

"Hey, what's that up there?" Shaun pointed to a faint, dancing light in the distance. He and Michael had reached the top of the hill and down beneath in the center valley of the island was a peculiar bamboo building emitting a yellowish light.

"I don't know, but I think it's important; seems to me the only building on this island." Michael responded, eyeing each cave wondering if perhaps his comrades were in any of them. "Let's go down and see what the deal is."

They climbed cautiously, not wanting to be heard, but the tribesmen personnel was elsewhere; they had nothing to worry about yet.

Quickly and quietly they ran to meet the bamboo building, but cautiously boarded a nearby tree, before going all the way down to the building. Perched above the exotic-fruit bearing tree they observed the pseudo-valley.

"Check that out, shadows in the bamboo building," Michael whispered, he had always been the observant one.

"Aye, and look, those three are moving – reckon it could be them?" Shaun pointed to three familiar shadows. "We've got to move in closer."

Unfortunately, a little while away at the shore an unsuspecting Shamus was soon discovered.

* * * * *

"I like how you've decorated the place," Keiran scoffed as Flannigan led them from their cells into the adorned bamboo palace. A fire was prancing about the center as the walls were lined with tribesmen.

"I'd like you all to witness the greatest sacrifice of the season!" Flannigan placed us all in shackles and lined us up before the fire, with tribesmen marking our every move. "Remember, MacKenna, the cashew fields? Remember the great sacrificial pit? I've recreated it all, my tribesmen think I'm the chosen one and I must quell their God! Zorgoth hungers for blood, yours especially, MacKenna. You've been a royal pain in the arse thus far, but I will never go without finishing an assignment."

I squirmed just a bit.

"Any last words, Captain?" Flannigan's hollow voice echoed against the bamboo balls. From the corner of my eye I caught Keiran staring towards the ceiling with an odd expression. He was last in line, so I figure he hadn't quite grasped the seriousness of the situation. But I couldn't help but wondering what had captured his fascination. Surely enough, in the very corner of the ceiling, I caught the silhouette of a familiar comrade.

"Is that Shaun?" I whispered in awe.

"What?" Flannigan blurted out.

"I," I hesitated, "er said, 'bring it on!'"

Flannigan gave me a nasty look and ordered the tribesmen about in some foreign tongue. They were closing in on us, and my skin sweat from the nearby fire's intense heat.

"Know what I'm gonna do after you've been fried, MacKenna? I'm gonna get me a golden cashew! Ha ha!" Flannigan whipped out a piece of paper, "look at that, I've already got where to start. A little puzzle, but nothing's too hard for Flannigan."

I caught a quick glimpse of the paper, the letters were etched into my eyes, if it was the last thing I did, I would remember that first clue.


KUILE + EANFR = RRONN

ROºEast FºSouth


Chapter 7

In the near distance there was an exchange between tribesmen, a quick dialogue in some foreign tongue, but Shamus was oblivious to it all. Just recently he had discovered a rather aged cashew and along with the sea water it was swimming in the nut had performed a fermenting phenomenon.

"Don't see what harm a little cashew could do," Shamus whispered to himself, sipping the fermented cashew water in his hand, and then going for the cashew itself. Lo and behold, cashews yield some of the most powerful alcohols – enough to make any recovering alcoholic its prisoner.

A handful of tribesmen approached the intoxicated Shamus, yelling at him in some foreign tongue. Shamus was numb.

"You boys just don't seem to shut up," he whispered in a daze, "I've got just the thing that'll calm you down." From his pocket the sailor pulled out three more fermenting cashews, quite a treat. He handed them out to each tribesmen as they shared some confused looks. "Go ahead, this one's on me!"

* * * * *

Michael and Shaun continued to move swiftly towards the bamboo building. There was an odd opening at the top, and a tower sticking from the east side, almost as if the building had an oddly shaped tumor.

"There, that's money right there," Shaun pointed to the tower, "that's our entry point." There was no affirmative response from Michael, and so Shaun turned around to find his partner was no longer with him. His eyes dashed from one side to the other, scoping the forest land. Depending on how long ago Michael had left, there may be no chance of finding him now. Regardless, however, Shaun drew his knife (every INN sailor was equipped with the regulation sized knife).

A faint rustling of leaves echoed in the distance along with a gruesome howling of pain from the bamboo house.

* * * * *

"Bloody hell that smarts!" I let out a gruesome howl of pain.

"Aye, let fire cleans your soul, MacKenna. Let it cleans your damned soul." Flannigan scoffed.

"My arse, Flannigan!"

We three prisoners had been organized now, in some sort of death assembly line. Ahead of us was the fire, continuing to burn with its initial ferocity. It had just reached my attention that this fire, though, was covering up a much deeper ditch below it, our final destination once we were pushed into the flames.

Damnit Shaun where are you…

* * * * *

"Michael!" Shaun whispered. His eyes followed the sound of the rustling leaves and soon caught a glimpse of the swaying tall grass. "You're mine now." He set off in a full sprint, knife first.

Before he knew it, he'd reached the entry point of the bamboo building. Up above in the tower there was some muffled quarrelling. Shaun grabbed the ladder before him and climbed up quickly, letting out the most untamed war-cry.

"Michael get down!" He sprung into the tower and dug his vorpal blade into the first flesh that met him. Wait – that's not flesh.

After a few moments Shaun returned to reality, there he was, standing dumbfounded at the top of a bamboo tower with his knife dug deep into a heavy twig. "What's all this then?" the sailor whimpered.

"I'm glad you could make it," Michael called, pulling Shaun's knife out of the primitive, twig weapon he had found laying auspiciously on the ground. "Thought the tribesmen had gotten to me, eh? Well they would have, but I know how to defend myself," he lifted the club-like, heavy twig in his hand. "This baby's more dangerous than it looks."

"Aye, Zorgoth's with us on this one, isn't he?" Shaun sighed, realizing how close he had come to stabbing his partner. "No time for wasting though, we've got to penetrate this building!"

* * * * *

"Better luck in the next life, MacKenna. Count yourself lucky that you won't be here to watch Nairobi fall." Flannigan continued his campaign of trash talk, as the fire burned through my toes. Despite the hell-like pain, I tried my best to keep a strong face. Surely anything was better than this.

Patrick turned away at every whimper of pain I let out; even he was beginning to lose all hope. But for some reason, Keiran continued to keep his cool. He gave me an assuring nod a moment before I received Flannigan's death penalty.

"Alright boys, I've seen enough of this old man," the British spy pointed with disgust towards me. "You," he signaled to an eager tribesmen, "finish him."

I turned to watch my deliverer, a fiery-eyed, ambitious, young man. Ignorant but loyal, determined but corrupted. In the last few moments of my life it was all I could think about, all I could do was keep my eyes glued on the one who would kill me, just another unknown, unimportant man. He had accelerated to a jog now, his hand half outstretched to deliver my final push into hell. Fancy that, I would go with him, I promised, a thousand crazy thoughts fished through my mind, it was all I could muster up, the last few moments were blurred, slow-motion, and in all of this Keiran flashed me a smile.

Are you insane? I'm two steps away from dying and you smile!

The young man had but one more step to reach me for the final push, when suddenly his face went blank, his arms fell to his side, and his body limped, lost control and keeled over into the fire before me. I caught a quick glimpse of his backside as he fell harmlessly to my right, and found there an INN regulation-sized knife lodged just centimeters from his spine.

"What's this blasphemy?" Flannigan called in a fit of rage.

A moment later, Shaun and Michael rolled in from one of the doorways into the main room, Michael wielding a blunt, rather primitive wooden weapon, and Shaun still marveling over his perfect shot. "The show's over!" Michael called, a smile running across his face.

Quickly the tribesmen advanced on us. In the frenzy of the moment Michael dipped his weapon into the fire, and swung it dangerously near any approaching adversaries. "Sorry, boys, but it's time for us to go." Shaun, wishing he had his knife back, helplessly watched Michael, as he strutted about the bamboo foyer, unarmed.

"Better luck next time, Flannigan!" I called, feeling rejuvenated by my dramatic rescue. The five of us moved towards the back wall, as Michael set it aflame; it was a matter of seconds before we broke through the burning embers of the wall.

"And just to make sure none of you come back, I'm leaving a gift for you all," as everyone sprinted out the hole, Michael tossed his torch-like weapon to the middle of the bamboo floor. Never before had I seen a building burn down so fast, as the magnificent, golden fire enveloped the unsuspecting bamboo dungeon.

* * * * *

We sprinted in unison; this must have been the quickest I've ever run. And in the background we could hear the muffled screams of frustration and failure from Flannigan and his crew. I looked back just in time to watch the whole building behind us collapse in a confusion of ashes and embers. Suddenly, the island went quiet again, with just the calming noise of the hungry flames feeding on the island's foliage.

The shore was nearby, and now the symphony of the fire was joined by another song. The five of us emerged from the bushes unto the sandy coast, just meters away from our boat, and there it was right before us: Shamus and three tribesmen singing hand in hand in what was the most flamboyant violation of Shamus' twelve step alcohol recovery process that I had ever witnessed.

"Good Zorgoth," Michael let out a gasp. The crew quickly cleared the area, as we said our goodbyes to the drunken tribesmen.

"What's this?" Shamus called in a loose, drunken voice, "we're leaving already? But the fun had just begun!"

Some moments passed as the six of us jammed ourselves into the small rowboat, originally meant for four. There was no way we would take two separate boats this time. So once again, we set sail from a foreign island far from home. Naturally, we renamed our rowboat the "USS Kenya III".

"Well where are we off to now, Captain?" Keiran addressed me, squirming between sailors.

"The answer is simple, my friend." I watched the barren rock slowly drift away from us. The moonlight created an eerie reflection across the slow ripples of the calm waters, illuminating the fog above. An odd summertime resort, if you asked me. I had become so accustomed to the sea now, so used to island hopping, that I might have forgotten my true home, and although I longed once again to return to Kenya, I knew what we must do first.

"We've got to skip from island to island until we find the golden cashew, we have no other choice – the fate of Kenya rests upon our shoulders, and although my memory may be dwindling away with my youth, I still vividly remember the first clue, which Flannigan flashed before my eyes." I rested my hand upon Keiran's shoulder, "Are you willing to put up with this 'old arse' of a Captain for just a little longer, Lieutenant Commander Furlong?"

"Aye, it'd be an honour."

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Okay, so first off, sorry for not getting the Third Kenya Story on time, but now I have it as an early spring-time present! So, after I was visited by the ghosts of Valentine's past they made me realize that I have to get crackin'.

During the past few days I really hustled. I typed away for hours on end with my trusty bottle of thenr.net number on brand non-alcholic vodka and wrote up the first six chapters of Kenya Story III! Now, if you're into the Kenya Story's you'd realize that each story has 7 chapters, so that means I only have one more left! Look for the story to be published sometime in early March.

As far as the story goes, it really opens up the series, and introduces the central goal and adventure, bringing the first two stories together. We also get a visit from one of our friends in Kenya Story I. The third Kenya Story is already longer than the the other two, with only six chapters typed, so the stories are getting more complex. Also, I have yet to give it an alternate title, like 'Unsung Heroes', but not much left until it's ready for publishing. Now, I've kept you waiting far too long so I'll be nice and give you a sneak preview. If you've got any questions just leave a comment!

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Here's your Thenr.net Excluxive Sneak Preview - brought to you by thenr.net non-alcholic vodka "it's not non-alcoholic, unless it's thenr.net":

Chapter 1

It's been smooth sailing now for a little over two weeks, but still we have no bearings as to where we are located. After all, we're bound to wash up somewhere, but until we come into contact with civilization it seems we're on our own.

"Eh, Cap’n!" Shamus fell in from the hatch, leaving his position on deck. "Weather's a pain today, Cap', can’t see a thing, the fog's thicker than the water."

"Keep a close eye, and make sure to steer clear of any danger, we're in no conditions to engage into any adventures now." I had to be quite frank. The new ship with which we escaped the island from was no dream, and of course, it came with limited supplies. Times were tough, and we've been rationing food now for the past few days.

I heard a muffled call from deck, my head quickly turned to the blinking radio light.

"We're surrounded!"
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On behalf of thenr.net, I'd like to wish you all a happy thanksgiving, and hope you had a gastronomically satisfying and warming day; also hope all of you who caught up with your family and loved ones enjoyed today's feast of a holiday.

But, over the years many of us have strewn from the righteous path of Zorgoth, and have forgotten the TRUE meaning of Thanksgiving Day.

I'll elaborate more once the Doctrine of Zorgoth has been released, but it all began the evening after the Sinking of Hallstrom. Nairobi was silent in prayers to Zorgoth and grieving for the death of their King, Motubu. However, through all of this, they remained the still the most prosperous city-state.

So, that night they held a wonderful feast in honor of the lost ones. During said feast, a band of Native Americans, on their latest colonizing expedition stumbled upon the solemn African city-state. The lost travelers made treaty after treaty, breaking each one, but because of their inegenious invention of the bow-and-arrow their armies were unbeatable. Eventually, our fellow Nairobians were pushed off to reservations about the African city-state.

Finally, Zorgoth interfered, and in all his wrath gave the Nairobians the power of lightning. During the great story of 500 BZ (Before Zorgoth), the Nairobians pushed away their Indian adversaries, but of course, they had to treat their guests with respect. So, that night they rejoiced in the greatest feast of the year, making sure to provide more-than-adequate sacrifices to their great Lord Zorgoth, who had saved the beautiful city-state of Nairobi.

From then on, the day came to be known as Zorgoth-Sacrifice day, and as it was adapted by Americans and transfered through several different cultures and dialects, it finally became more commonly referred to as Thanksgiving Day, and the original story was replaced with Native Americans and British Colonists... I don't know how it got so far off.

Anyway, I hope you all enjoyed your Thanksgiving or Zorgoth-Sacrifice Day. And may you have an equally successful Black Friday. (thenr.net dept. stores have a 50% off door-busters special from 4-6 AM).

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So, this is a special entry. Why? Because it's my second entry in a long arse time, and because it's the beginning of a new category at thenr.net and I'm making up for the ASCII animation I missed!

Yes, it's going to be a massive update.

The new category is "Zorgoth" the God that the Kenyan tribes worship, and I've elaborated on that section of the story, organizing the religion and fully developing it. The name of the religion is "The First Order of Zorgoth" or FOOZ. So check out www.thenr.net/zorgoth to see more, I'm also typing up the Doctrine of Zorgoth, which is kind of like their Bible, which dictates the life of a Zorgoth follower telling the story of the beginning of the earth. And make sure to check out all the Zorgoth related entries I post by clicking the "Zorgoth" link under Categories.

But first, my ASCII Animation of October, with a special Halloween theme:


"Happy Halloween!"


Hope you enjoyed that, and sorry I missed it on the ides. Next month will be on time, I promise (hope).

Now next on the list, I will share with you the Fourth Story of the Doctrine of Zorgoth, which explains the TRUE story of Halloween.

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The Doctrine of Zorgoth: Book IV

Duke Hallstrom, the newest to ascend to the throne of Veenshire lay discouraged in his bed that night. The future seemed grim; Veenshire was the second most powerful Kenyan city-state, a small island off of mainland Kenya, topped only by Nairobishire, the ascetic, war-driven colony led by King Motubu.
The Duke tossed and turned, fearing that any second now his intellectual metropolis would be toppled by the barbaric Nairboians - when suddenly his nightmare was ended. There in the window appeared Zorgoth, in the form of a goat. Very few people have been blessed with such a zorgasm, but this spiritual enlightenment would set in a series of events from which Kenya will never be the same again.

"Duke Hallstrom," whispered the goat, near the bedstand of the worried Duke.

"My LORD!" The Duke jumped from bed and immediately bowed to the floor. He quickly grabbed the golden cashew which lay hidden under his bed.

"I see you have not forgotten my gift. Remember the terms?"

"Yes, my LORD, I must give it to 'the chosen one'."

"Very well, tomorrow will be the test of your faith to say whether you truly are worthy of such a responsibility. All of the young men of Kenya will row to your humble city-state dressed up as their rendition of my reincarnation, and you must decide who is the chosen one and who are the imposters. To every imposter you must give a fake, candied cashew, but to the chosen one you must award him the coveted golden cashew."

"But of course, I will not fail you. But my LOR-" and Zorgoth was gone just as quickly as he had came.

Duke Hallstrom didn't get any sleep that night, planning how he was to decipher the fake ones from the real. It was an awfully important task, for the chosen one was prophecized to be Zorgoth's reincarnation on earth, and he was destined to set the world free of its evil. The Duke eyed the cashew, which seemed to wink back in a sparkle, and before too long tomorrow became today.

His maid walked in for the daily wake up ritual, "Sir, it is October 31, seven o'cl - Oh, I see you've awaken!"

"My maid, I need you to get the palace ready we will be hosting several guests tonight - it's going to be a short notice party, but believe me there will be plenty of guests." He walked over to his dresser, golden cashew in hand, and worked his way into his Duke-like clothing. The day was October 31st, the end of the Kenyan calendar, and what a way to end the year.

Minutes turned into hours, which drained away the day, and suddenly it was nighttime. Veenshire was alive with lights and decorations for new year's eve, but this year things were going to be a little different. Hallstrom watched from his highest tower, spotting all the boats clogging up his docks with ambitious young men, each claiming possession to the golden cashew. He sighed and made his way downstairs.

Of course, the party was top notch, Veenshire was known for its intelect, and experienced jesters, but suddenly the clock struck ten and Hallstrom decided it was time for the decision.

All the men gathered in a line across his palace, as Duke Hallstrom paced back and forth, deciding who was the imposter. In one hand he held a bag of candied cashews, and in the other he held the golden cashew, now glistened with his anxiety.

"But, who could it be?" he thought to himself. This was no time for mistakes, he couldn't fail Zorgoth's second test of faith. But, it suddenly struck him.

A-ha!

"Ladies and gentlemen," he began, "tonight, I shall be handing out only candied cashews for no one here is of the stature and wit of the chosen one. I can sense the weakness in your eyes; this world is not yet ready for the chosen one, perhaps our generation will not be blessed with his presence, but I must uphold my duties to Zorgoth!" And so Duke Hallstrom distributed candied cashews to the many disappointed Kenyans as they shuffled out of his palace. However, one man, King Motubu was most displeased, and he voyed revenge upon his exit.

Duke Hallstrom had more important things to fret over, though. So, that night the wisest man in all of Kenya went to bed, with the golden cashew still by his side, and Zorgoth again came to him this time as a goat-man centaur. "Your sagacity continues to impress me, Duke," the centaur-God cooed.

"My LORD, why thank you!" Hallstrom responded, happy to know he had passed.

And so, that night Zorgoth rewarded him with the meaning of life, but the Duke promised never to share it with another human being lest he be the chosen one. So, there it was, the Duke had the cashew and the meaning of life, only to share with the chosen one, but how will he know when and who?

The next morning Duke Hallstrom awoke to a worried town. He scanned the horizon to see it was tainted with a dark cloud of smoke. His city was burning! Who was responsible for such a terror?

It soon be came clear that late last night King Motubu rallied his navy to get vengeance upon the Duke, and now it was his climax.

The palace doors swung open with a blunt noise. All the maids and workers were taken as slaves, as Motubu and his band of soldiers moved vigorously up the stairs, until they finally reached the high tower of Duke Hallstrom.

"Good evening, Duke," Motubu snickered in the sharpest of tones.

"Your Majesty, please, I beg of you, spare my city!" Duke Hallstrom fell to his knees in desperation. Motubu and his men surrounded him, and similarly surrounded his city.

"Give me one good reason," the King responded curtly.

And so, with only the hope of faith, the Duke prayed to Zorgoth, who watched intently from above. Alas, the clever Duke constructed a response, "I will give you the golden cashew if you spare us!"

Zorgoth was stricken, the Duke had promised him to give it only to the chosen one, and Motubu was by no means the chosen one. But the merciful God let this slip slide, deciding to punish only if the Duke made a second mistake.

To this request the King answered, "What do I need that for? I'll merely rob it from you when I sack your city," he finished with a smirk.

"Perhaps, I have a better plan. I'll share with you the meaning of life if you spare my city!" The Duke yelled in desperation.

The poor Duke. In the distance began a horrible rumble as the earth shook and houses toppled. Motubu and his men looked around confounded by the situation, and the Duke looked up towards the sky, now aware of his mistake.

Desperate men resort to desperate measures, and this was the Duke's second mistake, so before he could share the meaning of life to someone other than the chosen one, Zorgoth made sure to prevent it and punished the Duke. He sunk the island city-state of Veenshire, and with it went the golden cashew and the meaning of life, along with its Duke at the bottom of the ocean, the only mortal to possess the two. The island and all of its inhabitants were merely stricken off the map.

So, the tradition continued, every October 31st citizens would dress up as their rendition of the reincarnation of Zorgoth and go out hunting for the golden cashew, or go house to house to pick up candied cashews - but the chosen one is still to be born. The holiday came to be called Duke Hallstrom of Veenshire Day, but of course this was too long, and because of a combination of cultural diffusion and laziness the holiday was shortened to Hallo'veen Day.

...But of course, after the V Restriction Act all the V's used outside of the Doctrine of Zorgoth were replaced with W's and so the holiday then read as "Halloween Day", which stands today.

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*Please note, that today our society has been plagued by businesses and this strictly religious event has now turned into a commercial holiday. The term "trick or treat" is merely a Hershey's propoganda slogan used to raise candy profits. Yes, I know the number of true Zorgoth followers is falling, but hopefully together we can bring back to the true spirit of the First Order of Zorgoth.*

Well, hope you all have a great halloween! Be safe trick or treating, or if you're not going this year then be safe eating the left over candy at home!

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The Kenya Story: Unsung Heroes
***This is a fictional story, No offence to Kenya, Kenyans, Tribesmen, Egyptians, the Irish, and Guinness beer***

A Naveed Rabbani Short Story


Chapter 1

It was like any other night aboard the USS Kenya… We were all a bit dazed from the alcohol and the feast, but I still remember the incident like none other.

Of course we were feasting when it all happened; that's just my luck. The whole crew was ecstatic; the USS Kenya was full of the young blood that gave it its energy. Everyone was glad to help out with the war effort against Egypt; we had to protect Mother Kenya, but the reality of war had not struck us yet.

Nobody knows exactly what happened, but an alarm went off during dessert. I watched as Shamus Madigan, a recovering alcoholic, slipped in a few bottles of hard liquor. They were small bottles, no bigger than one's palm. Michael Caber, the only Scottish and Kenyan crew member amongst us half Irish half Kenyans, skipped dessert and selflessly took his post at the radar. Shaun Fagan, Patrick O'Flaherty, and our captain, MacKenna, were all conversing, while I, Keiran Furlong, sat on the other end of the table. I was second officer of the submarine, after MacKenna and O'Flaherty, and probably the only serious crew mate aboard the doomed submarine.

Suddenly, we were hit. Caber yelled from his post, something was fast approaching on the radar screen. The whole submarine shook as the vessel filled with ocean alarming quickly. We ran frantically to patch the hole and close the compartment, but there was no chance. Just our luck, at that same moment the waves tossed and turned us, as if the submarine were merely Neptune's toy. The violent shaking sent me out like a light. My eyes slowly obeyed to my fatigue as my bruised, helpless body sank into the deep.

* * * * *

"Bloody hell! Wake up, before it's too late, lad." Cold hands shook me, much like the gripping hands of death. No, it was only Shaun. But that was the problem, there was only Shaun; Shaun and I stranded, all alone.

"Where are we?" I inquired slowly getting up, rubbing my hand against my bruised forehead.

"Ye went oot like a light during the crash. We're stranded, lad. Stranded and done for on some gosh forsaken island. There's no communication and I haven't spotted any life for miles… nothing but us."

"Have you actually tried looking?" Shaun was the king of exaggeration.

"Well…"

* * * * *

Only a few hundred meters away, on the bend of the mountain lay two other crew members. Shamus and Michael limped across the rocky terrain struggling to find a way out, if only I had known at the time.

Things seemed hopeless, there was nothing but barren rock as far as the eye could see. Suddenly, though, there was a rustle in the bushes.

"Shamus?" Michael's voice quivered as he turned around shaking.

"Twasn't me," Shamus responded, feeling his pocket for the two mini bottles of alcohol he slipped in during his last seconds aboard the lost submarine.

"Never mind it, then, just a slight breeze is all it was." Michael was always the jumpy one, the suspicious Scott.

Four men emerged from the wild plants, tiptoeing with care towards the unsuspecting outcasts. They were dangerously armed with blunt spears and their ferocious faces were painted carefully with only the finest home made face paint. One of the tribesman, probably the higher ranked, for he had the most extravagant face paint, looked to the other three echoing their orders in his mind… leave no survivors.

They acted swiftly. A warm hand grabbed Michael and twisted him around while a blunt spear placed strategically on the head meant lights out for Shamus.

Chapter 2

I searched our cashew infested death trap of an island and realized that Shaun was right. There was nothing as far as the eye could see, nothing but cashew bushes and oddly shaped rocks.

"We're cooked," Shaun whispered, was he crying?

"Now, now, don't be too sure." I thought of our other crew mates, Shamus, Michael, MacKenna, where were they all? This island couldn't be too big, they had to be around here somewhere. "I say we take a walk, we're bound to find something."

And so we headed out, not before I took a few cashews, I had to surrender to the commands of my grumbling stomach, first. We moved at a quick pace, similar to the panicky gait of a marooned pirate who knew he was done for.

An hour later, and our surroundings hadn't changed. So, we changed our direction and worked our way up the mountain now instead of around. The abundance of cashew bushes seemed familiar though. Kenya's number one export is cashews, so we couldn't have been too far from the Kenyan port we started in.

I glared at a cashew bush, engaging in a staring contest that I couldn't win. When suddenly it moved; was it my tearing that impaired my vision? Or was the bush actually moving.

My questions were answered quickly. A gang of three tribesmen sprang to life from the swaying bush, equipped with arrows and spears. Suddenly from the back two more sprang out. Before anyone would have noticed me, I myself took refuge in a nearby bush. Shaun, however, was not so lucky. He saw my mad sprint for coverage and eyed me with disgust. The five face-painted terrors roped him and took him away, jutting the blunt ends of the spears at his back (ironically both ends of the spear were blunt). Shaun looked back at me and mouthed something, something like "how could you?" or "you jerk!" either way, it wasn't important. But I had to run, I had to save myself.
You selfish fool.

Chapter 3

Was it safe to come out? It seemed like a lifetime that I was stuck in those bushes. I couldn't help but feel remorse for abandoning my comrade, but I comforted myself. Reasoning that I could do more for him outside of captivity, and so I emerged from the bushes and began to plan away.

How to get off this bloody island…

* * * * *

The tribesmen moved swiftly through the mountains; you could tell they knew their way around this death trap of an island.

They reached some sort of shack at the top of the mountain. Someone undid the heavy ropes binding Shaun, and shoved him into an empty cell. Welcome to prison.

"Welcome to the club, mate," Shamus called from the nearby cell. An odd reunion.

Shaun turned around in amazement, "I'm not alone, I see."

"Buggers got us, too, no worries lad. But where's Keiran?"

"Bloody traitor fled and left me to die."

"Och, you know, on a lighter note, I managed to slip a few bottles of that hard liquor before our submarine went down." Shamus reached for his pocket and pulled out two mini bottles. "We are down in the dumps, but there's three of us, and only two bottles and—"

"No, Shamus, save it for a better time, we may need it later," Shaun interrupted him mid sentence. He wasn't too pleasurable during times of stress.

* * * * *

The night passed away slowly, as the sun poked its bright head from behind Mount Kenya. I had found a cave to crawl in the night before; it was much too dark to see what was inside. Upon sunrise, light streamed in and I opened a tired eye only to find I had slept in a cave full of skeletons. I struggled to get to my feet, panicking as I stared at death. Two rotten bodies and a cashew gun, with one bullet left lay in front of me. I had nothing to work with, so I picked up the weapon, hoping it would come in handy. A bad start to an interesting day.

For several hours I sat lamely by the coast waiting for help, when suddenly an off-shore Egyptian vessel caught my eye. At the time Kenya and Egypt were at war, and our submarine was sent out on a mission to further the war effort, but perhaps the enemy ship I was glaring at was the only way to save myself. I could do more as a captive in the Egyptian ship than a wanderer on this island. So my mind was set, I had to get the ship's attention. After a few minutes thinking time I pulled out my cashew gun and aimed it perfectly at the vessel's side. With a great bang, I watched my cashew arc in the air and finally dent the side of the enormous vessel. The captain awoke and within minutes I was taken captive aboard the ESS Cleopatra. However ironic it would seem, maybe turning myself into the enemy was for the best of things. Now I was finally off that forsaken island, but my situation as a prisoner aboard a foreign ship in the middle of nowhere didn't seem much improved.

I went to bed that night as a prisoner of war.

Chapter 4

Shaun, Shamus, and Michael were awoken the next morning by the refreshing sounds of whips and labor. They were dragged out onto the rocky fields that were the tombs of so many prisoners. The three crew members were forced into hard labor in building the tribe's shrine for their God, Zorgoth. It was soon sacrificing time, and they needed the shrine to be made in five sunsets. So far, progress was not good.

The prisoners wore a hopeless expression on their worn faces. Work was hard and the hours were long as everyone chopped away and shaped the lumber that would make up the wonderful shrine.

* * * * *

Miles away, out at sea I sat in my lonely cell aboard an unfamiliar Egyptian ship. The ship was making its usual patrol around the islands, keeping watch for the Irish armada it was battling against. My country stood little chance in winning this war, and if we failed Kenya would fall to the Egyptians once and for all.

The Egyptian crew displayed an unmatched hostility towards their prisoners, unfortunately, I was no exception. A crew member approached me with disgust and threw me my breakfast for the day, stale bread and rotten butter; the monkeys aboard got better food than I.

Suddenly, chaos struck the ranks of the crew. Egyptians ran and yelled back and forth, confused seamen took their battle stations and it wasn't long until the horrifying, low, ringing sounds of the cannons echoed across the sea. Cries of pain and the yells of commanders filled my ears, and piercing cannons broke the ship's walls.

"What's going on?" I yelled in all the tumult.

"Yours truly, Irish navy is here. It's about time we taught your people a lesson."

I sighed, in the background I heard a panicked henchman explain the situation to his captain, "We're outnumbered and outmanned. We've got to abandon ship." This was quickly followed by another cannon, right on target, and now terror filled the Egyptians. There was a yell, and quickly everyone made a mad dash for their lives.

Abandon ship!

A crew member passed by and looked back at me, "Sucks to be you." He gave me a toothless, malicious grin and jumped off with the rest of the crew, making sure to leave his cutlass behind. The ship was filling up with salt water, and it was sinking fast. There I was with water up to my knees all alone as a prisoner in the enemy's ship. Just my luck.

Chapter 5

My three comrades still on the island were ushered back to their jails. One day made a big difference. The wooden shrine, with glass ornaments, was really coming together. No one could tell what Zorgoth looked like, just yet, but rumors were that He was a giant goat. Shaun and Michael stared at their work proudly while Shamus planned his way out.

"What is it that be eatin' you up, lad?" Shaun looked over to Shamus in the cell across from his.

"Just think of a way to get oota here. And I think I've got an idea." The others gave him an interested look. "I slipped two little bottles of alcohol from the day of the feast into my pocket, and I still have them. If we can get a fire going, maybe I can create enough chaos to get us out of here."

"Brilliant!" Shaun called out; he had watched too many Guinness commercials aboard the submarine.

"I've got an idea…" Michael was back to his old mysterious self. He slipped off his shoe, and ripped off the bottom, rubber part of it, to expose the metal sole inside. He slipped the piece of metal out and rubbed it against the iron cell bars. "If we keep this up, we'll get a small flame going. You try it out." Sparks rained upon the cell's floor.

Shamus took off his shoe and mimicked Michael's actions. Soon he got enough sparks and heat to get the smallest fire started. It's all they needed. Reluctantly, he opened one of his mini bottles of liquor and put them in the shoe, he slipped the other one back in his pocket. The shoe was now ablaze, and the flames were growing quickly. His throw was aimed meticulously, and was right on target. Soon enough the giant goat shrine erupted in flames.

The tribe members yelled commands to each other, and ran to put the flame out. The liquor spread the fire too fast, and they couldn't control it. In an act of desperation, they went to the jails and freed all the prisoners so that they could help control the sacrilegious fire. Shamus, Shaun, and Michael took advantage of the situation, and quietly slipped away into the bushes under the cover of the night, but before leaving Shaun took a glass ornament that was once a piece of the shrine as a souvenir.

* * * * *

What I learned over the past few days is my bad luck was no match for my sharp wits. As the cold sea water began to envelop me I had to think up a plan fast. I sketched a crude escape plan and began right away. After a stretch and a half I reached the cutlass that the toothless crew member left behind, the water was now up to my waist. In my final minutes I chopped away at the floor boards above me and pierced the wooden roof. It was not a big enough hole for my whole body, but that didn't matter anymore. The water was up to my neck, and I could no longer get enough power to force the hole bigger. In my last attempt at survival, I took off my white over shirt; don't get excited, the Irish navy uniforms required me to wear two shirts, and put it on the end of my cutlass. The water now reached past my nose; I could barely see. In a blinded chaos, I thrusted my cutlass through the hole in the roof and waved about my white shirt, hopefully my surrender flag would be noticed by the Irish ships around me.

A crew member aboard the I.N.N. Guinness, a nearby Irish warship, caught my shirt on a cutlass. He informed his captain immediately, "Sir, a surrender flag, there must have been an Egyptian that didn't flee his ship. Should we take him aboard as a prisoner?"

"Spend all that energy for one lousy Egyptian? Of course not! Fire the cannons at him."

The crew quickly complied and the Irish shot their cannons at me. One cannon ball hit the target and ripped through the prison cell, missing me just barely.

I took advantage of the situation, and quickly swam through the conveniently large hole created by the deadly cannon, which sped by me just seconds ago. I clumsily left my captivity and made a mad swim for the water's surface. I poked my head out, and the Irish ships quickly noticed my familiar uniform, as each one threw me a life line. Perhaps my luck was turning around.

Chapter 6

I was quickly brought on board the smallest of the warships, the "midget of the sea." However, its light weight made it unbeatable in a race, and we raced warships all the time. After a talk with the captain, I told him the situation of the crew, and he agreed to hand over control of the ship to me, in order to rescue my imprisoned brethren. I soon set sail; it was awkward being all alone, but the small, cozy ship made for easy navigation.

I would be at sea for two days until I successfully retraced my path back to the island. I took advantage of all my free time and did a paint job. Renaming the ship to the USS Kenya, the name of our old submarine. Now I could only hope that my comrades were still alive on that forsaken island.

The sun was quickly setting on the third day, when I caught a glimpse of land.

* * * * *

Two days and two nights passed, there was nothing to live on but cashews and goat meat and the fugitive crew members were in a perpetual state of fear. No one wanted to return back to the sub par prison conditions. Shaun and Shamus conversed by the fire, as Michael kept an eye out on the shore.

Suddenly, the familiar form of a ship caught his eye. He focused on the horizon, and surely there it was, their miracle. Michael always had a sharp eye, and distance was no match for his acute sense of site; he read aloud the side of the ship, "USS Kenya. It can't be." He stuttered in disbelief. "We've got to get its attention. Now!"

The crew members seemed disheartened as they were lost for a way off the island. They would have yelled, but then the patrolling tribe would have caught them. Shaun was the first to act, this time. "Of course, I've got it!" He pulled out the glass ornament he picked up from the shrine, and positioned it perfectly so that it reflected a piercing beam of light through the windows of the captain's deck.

"Och, Zorgoth is with us, now, lads!" Shamus exclaimed facetiously.

* * * * *

I rubbed my eyes, as if to protect them by the bothersome rays that pierced my captain's deck. What a rude awakening. I shielded my eyes, now fully awake, and realized the true source of light. It couldn't have been. If what I saw was truth my comrades had survived and were now patiently waiting on the island's shore. Overcome with joy, I blew the horn of my ship letting them know that I was coming to their rescue. Little did I know, my careless act gave away our positions to the patrolling tribesmen. We were ripe for the capturing now.

I drifted dangerously close the shore, when I pulled down one of the emergency row boats, and rowed the rest of the way to the island. When finally reaching land, I hastily pulled my row boat ashore, making sure it would be there for my trip back to the USS Kenya with my three other crew members. As I was cautiously slipping my row boat on land, a pack of tribesmen snuck up behind me, and upon turning around, they conveniently knocked me out with one hit of their deadly spear. I fell lazily to the ground, unconscious and unsuccessful.

Chapter 7

I awoke just minutes later, to the chaotic sounds of war. To my left I saw three of my crew mates, Shaun, Shamus, and Michael, to the right were the fleeing tribesmen, and behind me was my rowboat now ablaze because the tribesmen set it on fire. The only way back to the ship now was a tedious swim. At first this made no sense, but it finally struck me. My comrades came riding in on their valiant goats, armed with heavy branches. Their surprise attack drove the tribesmen back into the forest, where they were regrouping. Michael assisted me in getting up, and explained everything to me. He showed me the glass ornament Shaun used to get my attention, and explained Shamus' fiery shoe. Suddenly, Shamus rode by me, and the last of his tiny liquor bottles fell from his pocket. I made a swift grab for it, there was no reason a recovering alcoholic, like himself, should have this. He gave an innocent smile and explained he was saving it for celebration… a likely story.

An unexpected wave of arrows came from the forest. The tribesmen were almost fully regrouped and were on the brink of their counter attack. There was no way we could make a mad dash under such heavy fire. I had to think quickly.

I reached for my cashew gun I had found so many days ago in the mysterious cave, and reached for a nearby cashew. Taking the mini liquor bottle I just confiscated, I poured it on the cashew, and down the barrel of my firearm. I lit the end of my weapon on fire, by using the flames of my burning row boat, and shot my cashew at the forest. The burning nut soon had the rest of the trees burning. The forest fire forced the tribesmen to give up their positions. In all the chaos, I threw my cashew gun, towards the tribe, as my crew members sent their goats rushing forward. These distractions bought us enough of a head start. We made a mad dash to shore, and dove into the refreshingly cool water. Our ship was only a hundred meters away.

After a tiring swim, we climbed aboard with much difficulty. Our miracle was hard earned. We waved back at the tribesmen, still on shore, battling the forest fire.

* * * * *

We were free men for a very short period of time when Michael looked back at the island, as we got the ship's engine started, and he noticed an impressive smoke stack at the top of the island's mountain. I decided to head back and give the other side of the island another look. After all, we were missing three other crew members.

Reluctantly the crew helped me navigate around, and on the other side we were confronted by our captain, MacKenna and his first mate, Patrick O'Flaherty, who were riding their goats down the mountain, escaping the tribe at extraordinary speed.

They soon joined us aboard. No one knew where our seventh crew member was. 'Twas a shame that ol' Flannigan was a spy after all… we decided to carry on without him.

* * * * *

It was all smiles that night, during our first feast aboard the new ship. MacKenna was back to his old position as captain, Patrick as first mate, and me as second. Even though we were a man down, the smaller ship was easy to navigate, so we turned out fine. It was going to be a long trip back to Kenya, but at least we were all off that bloody island.

It nagged me though, throughout the night, that I received almost no praise and no credit from my crew members for my valiant efforts in rescuing them. I truly was the unsung hero, or so I thought. But a quick look around, proved me wrong. I looked over to my three closest comrades, the ones who had saved my life, Shaun, Shamus, and Michael. They all gave me smiles of appreciation, and it suddenly hit me. I wasn't the hero tonight, no, not at all. It was all of us that were the heroes.

We were the unsung heroes.

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Yes, the story is now officially FINISHED. That's right edited and done. The Kenya Story: Unsung Heroes will be coming out tonight at MIDNIGHT. It is the second installment of our young lads aboard the USS Kenya.

Just a bit of overview on the story. We strongly recommend you read The Kenya Story first, you can find the link on the right side under "Kenyan Chronicles" before reading the Unsung Heroes, and reading anything past the disclaimer.

Praise for the Unsung Heroes:
"A masterpiece of suspense and wits"
-New York Times

"Short story of the year!"
-Chicago Post

"It kept my eyes glued to the screen until the last '<br>'"
-Anonymous Webmaster

"A great puzzler, kept me on my toes 'til the very end"
-Washington Post

You've heard it from the best. Now buckle up and get ready for the full adventure! Unsung Heroes is coming out this night at midnight!!

*praise for the unsung heroes may or may not be true

DISCLAIMER: Anything beyond this point may provide spoilers for the FIRST Kenya Story, please read that before reading on
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In the Unsung Heroes, we learn the story of the four other crew members that come and save MacKenna in the end. So, the story takes place on the same island, during the same time as the first Kenya Story. Therefore, it is crucial you read that story first, and you can see how those stories tie together. Anyway, hope you enjoy the read!

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The Kenya Story
***This is a fictional story, No offence to Kenya, Kenyans, Cashews, Cashew Farmers, or any other persons***

by Naveed and Brian

CHAPTER 1

We were out at sea for four months, returning in our submarine. The waves crashed against the U.S.S. Kenya. The tumultuous sea swallowed my ship completely.


* * * * *

I recall nothing afterwards 'til I awoke again near the base of Mt. Kenya; my crew was nowhere to be found. "Ba-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-u-u-p" I was approached by a mountain goat, its hooves almost magically pointed to the summit of the mountain as it yelled something that sounded close to the word 'up.' I had no choice; it was a sin in Kenya to disregard the advice of a mountain goat. So I headed up the mountain, only to learn that it was the biggest mistake of my life.
It was on the long hike up through the dense, lush underbrush that I began to first notice the only way I could ever survive, though I did not know it at the time. There appeared to be many nuts, each about the size of my thumb and half moon in shape. It seemed to me that these could be cashews, but I was not hungry enough to try them yet. In training aboard the USS Kenya, we learned that the last thing you should do is eat potentially dangerous food when in unknown areas. I prayed that over the mountain there was a nice McDonalds, with fatty, artery-clogging food. After several hours I came to a ledge overlooking the sea covered in the bushes loaded with the nuts. While I was observing the sea to see if I could find any sign of my submarine, a few goats snuck up behind me and said "Ba-a-a-a-a-up, ba-a-a-a-a-a-u-u-p," so I began to climb the mountain again.

* * * * *

My legs grew tired, thoughts swirled within my head. Where the hell am I? My stomach growled with a vengeance; the last time I had eaten anything was the feast one night ago while aboard the U.S.S. Kenya. I sobbed softly, as I remembered the great submarine, and of course my trusty crew. We called her the Queen of the ocean. A goat travelled along my side, constantly urging me to go "b-a-a-u-p."
"I got the idea, sheep. Hey, you have any good meat on you?"

I began fantasizing about having roasted lamb, but it seems as though the goat caught the hunger in my eyes, and he quickly made a run for it, before the situation got desparate. Those cashews were looking mighty appetizing now.

CHAPTER 2

My legs felt like they were filled with lead. Looking down the mountain, I saw how far I’d come. I thought that I was about halfway up the mountain, but there was no way I could get anywhere near the top without food.

I never realized how hungry hiking can make you. But then again I had never hiked up a mountain 10 hours a day for 3 days without food. I found myself missing the slop they tried to pass off as food on the USS Kenya. It seemed like years since I have seen another person or anything civilized.

I thought to myself, "Should I go back and eat those cashews?" But what I found on the horizon next answered my question.

The sheep was gone now, as I hiked peacefully up the tallest mountain known to man. This happened during a freak accident when a pilot crashed into Mt. Everest and knocked off the top. I searched the summit, no signs of life. Except...

On the horizon sat a quaint McDonalds. I ran, with any strenght I had. My legs were so tired I felt like I was gliding. Quickly opening the door, I busted in.

"FOOD! THANK GOD! YOU HAVE FOOD!"

"No, we have McFood," replied the cashier. Her eyes dropping as she responded in her monotonous voice. It had obviously been a long day for her. I thought it must be hard having to drive up a mountain to go to work.

"What's the difference?"

"Oh, you're not from around here, are you? McFood is made solely of cashews."

I thought a second or two, before deciding that cashews would be the only thing I could get my hands on, so I gave in.

"I'll take the McKenya burger!"

"Are you sure?"

"Why not?"

"We have the McCashew burger, too"

"What's the difference?"

"One is poisoned..."

So there I sat, I had to think hard before making a decision that could end my life. I stared down at the skanky menu, only two items, and I gave a snicker. The cashier gave me a nasty look and I apologized.

After several minutes of pondering the situation, I ordered.

CHAPTER 3

"Can I have a McKenya Burger?"
The cashier gave me a nasty look but said nothing. She slowly handed over the burger, as if it was a sacred ritual. I was so hungry I took the first bite through the wrapper, eating the paper in the effort to get at the delicious sandwich inside.

That was when the cashier started laughing. Her laughter rang off the cliffs and valleys that surrounded the mountain, scaring all of the wildlife into their homes. All the plants within 50 feet of the store shriveled up and died.

"Just a guess, but did I choose the wrong one?"

"Yeah, sucker and there is only one antidote, the Golden Cashew. The bush that it grows on is in the center of the mountain."

"So, I’m going to die?" I asked, already knowing the answer

"I’d say the side effects should kick in in ahhh, about a day or two. Here are your supplies." She said, handing me what appeared to be a shotgun and a leather pouch.

"What are these?"

"That’s your cashew rifle, shoots cashews about 500 feet, and your cashew sack, for holding cashews that you aren’t using."

I wandered the mountain, pondering how I would ever reach the top. I looked up towards the summit. There was no way I'd make it in two days, I was a gonner for sure.

I carried my leather pouch and rifle, remembering clearly what the cashier had told me, "You get one cashew shot. You waste it, and you're dead." She never specified what waste it meant.

As I wallowed around in my own self pity I thought of my desperate situation some more, "I need a sherpa." And as if the goat gods had heard my prayer, I soon spotted a man running in the distance. He was being ushered by a pack of mountain goats, as was typical.

"Hey! Slow down!" I yelled across the mountain, my voice echoed across the valley beneath me, which of course triggered the man to turn around.

"OY! You're alive?" The man replied in his thick Irish accent.

I found my first crew member, half Irish, half Kenyan. Patrick O'Flaherty.

"Ye, but not for long, you see..." I explained my situation to my good Irish friend, after all, two heads are better than one.

Pat and I discussed the events of recent days and came to the conclusion that there was something not right about this island. Since when do submarines sink? We decided that there was a lot more to this than first met the eye, including the cashews. Pat said that he had eaten a few, but they gave him a stomach ache.

'Aye, they weren’t actually that bad. And there is a stream back a ways, incase you are thirsty.'

I had resolved not to eat or drink another thing, but thirst got the better of me, soon I was guzzling noisily at the stream.

'This water is so good, it has to be fattening.' I yelled to the rolling mountains. Birds flew off in all directions and a warm breeze started blowing up the mountain and ruffled our hair. We set off for the summit, this time with a hope and feeling better with the whole situation.


CHAPTER 4

"Pat, you ever heard of the golden cashew?"
"Naw, be there such a thing? Sounds but merely a fable to me."

"Well, it better be real, it's the only thing that'll save my--"

"Arse?"

The nights were cold, the days were hot, we soon learned Kenya did not have a favorable climate. I thought of the crew, the submarine. What went wrong? Where were the others?

"We lost a lot of good men last night."

"Lost?" It was always Pat's nature to be optimistic, but in some cases his optimism just seemed like a sheer lack of common sense. "There are five men out there. Och, I bet you they're still alive."

His bet seemed a bit one sided, for there were only three floating devices on the ship, granted that Pat and I took one each, it was most probable that only one other crew member had survived.

"Ay, what are you doing, anyway. Don't lose site of your goal. Find that bloody cashew, for the life of ye."

We climbed all night, no sleep, and now, I have only a matter of hours to live. But the question is, how many hours?

By then I didn’t even know what was worse, the hunger, the lack of sleep, the pain from my aching feet or the realization that I was going to die. I was actually leaning toward the lack of sleep being the worst, but we couldn’t stop then, we only had about 150 feet to the top, but this looked like the toughest going yet.

"I’d say that I have about 8 hours until I start feeling weaker and most likely dieing from the poison"

"Och! Don’t think that way! I’m sure that ye have at least 15 hours left."

"Bloody…" I yelled, there seemed to be a stairway cut right into the mountains side, which appeared to go right up to the top.

We scaled the last 100 feet to the top as quickly as we could, but as soon as we got there we were disappointed.

At the peak of the mountain there was only a hole about the size as the manhole covers back home.


CHAPTER 5

"Well, it's not all bad!" Patrick called from the middle of the mountain. He was peering inside the empty space where I figured the golden cashew bush should have been. I stared in wonder, the hole was filled with liquor.
"Says roight 'ere it's cashew ale."

"Pat, we can't get drunk at a time like this!"

"Drunk? 'oo says we're getting drunk!"

An hour later we were completely wasted. As we sat together in the summit of Mount Kenya. We climbed the tallest mountain in the world, and I had 6 hours to live, yet we weren't sober enough to appreciate the situation. And so, with our cracking, drunk voices, we sung the song of the U.S.S. Kenya.


Let's sing a song for the ol' days
Let's sing a song for the crew
Let's sing a song for the Queen
Let's sing a song for you

Let's sing a song for the good ol' times
Let's sing a song for the sea
Let's sing a song for our drunken rhymes
Let's sing a song for me


We awoke the next morning. Surrounded completely by a tribe of indigenous Kenyans. What seemed to be the leader stepped in front of the rest and spoke in a foreign tongue. His face oddly resembled that of the cashier. We were tied up and taken to a small hut, a little down from the summit, on the other side of the mountain.
"Och, maybe they be nice people, eh?"

They threw us into a stone cell deep in the heart of the mountain. It was damp and very large. I was sure that there were hundreds of rats in there with us. The funny thing was that I was not dead yet.

"Hey, Pat, why do you think that I’m not dead yet."

"I says that the burger never was poisoned"

"What? That doesn’t make sense"

"Yeah, ‘t does. We walked right into a trap."

"You mean that they just told me that to get me to the top of the mountain so they could capture us?"

"That sounds about right"

We lapsed into an uneasy silence. We had no idea what they were going to do with us. I thought that they were going to either kill us and eat us or turn us into slaves and make us work in cashew fields all day long.

I was awoken by a whip that morning. My fate was clear: Cashew Farmers.

"Wake up you bloody ingrates."

"Och, calm down."

The sun beat down upon my back, we had hours upon hours of brutal labor ahead of us. I wonder if Pat could see any good in the situation now.

"At least you're not poisoned, right?"

"Ha ha, too right," I knew he had the right attitude.

I looked around the cashew fields. Each worker had to fill up a large barrel of cashews before they could rest for the day. I wondered if there were enough cashews for all the barrels, I figured not. However, in the distance there was a man nearing the end of his shift.

"OY!" called Patrick.

"O'Flaherty! Be that you?" the man bellowed back at us.

"Aye, it be me! Long time not see, eh, Flannigan?"

Michael Flannigan, the third and final crew member of the U.S.S. Kenya that was still alive. Rumor had it he was a British spy, but he had not done anything to raise our suspicions.

* * * * *

The sun was ousted from it's throne up in the sky as the moon took it's place. Mike, Pat, and I sat by the bars of our cells.
"So, what happened?" I asked Mike.

"Ye see, I went down to the McDonald's roight? But I ate the McCashew, and the cashier told me it was poisoned. O' course I went searchin' for tha golden cashew, but it be nowhere to be found."

"Aye, I ate the McKenya, turns out it wasn't poisoned."

"Och, we got right cheated. Why do they want us?" whispered Pat.

"This is the 'cleansing' period. The strong ones live through the labor, and are sacrificed. The weak ones, well I'm not quite sure what 'appens to them, just try and live this through."

"Sacrificed? For what?"

"Och, they be a bunch o' psychos," Pat added again, he was talking in an unusually quiet voice.

"Their God, Zorgoth."

CHAPTER 6

After about 2 weeks of hard, back breaking work in the acres and acres of cashews, our time had come. It was time to be sacrificed. All of the work had toned our muscles, we were going to be nice and buff and ready to be sacrificed. The captured people around us began to drop like flies. Stepping over dead bodies was almost a way of life after 2 weeks of it. No one bothered to pick them up.

But we survived, at least there was plenty of food, the cashews were not that bad to eat if you got used to the taste and the stomach ache.

When the day finally came it was a bit of a relief. My bulging biceps were quite ready to be sacrificed but I still decided to come up with a plan.

* * * * *

"Flannigan," I called from my cell, I figured my arms were strong enough to bend the bars open, I was wrong. "You still got your shotgun?"
"Sure, do," he responded from the darkness.

"Alright, all's good." He didn't question me, and let me to my work. I barely went to bed that night. During the night I was able to draw up a map of at least half the island, for I hadn't explored the other half; in addition, I drew up a half-decent escape plan, but my chances of survival were slim. I blew out the candle as the light streamed through the windows, and heard Pat call from the cell nearby.

"Och, you're gonna get us all killed with yer plannin'."

* * * * *

We were hauled out of our jail cells in the most hostile manner, whips and all, and were set in line before a spewing pit of fire and lava. What I presumed to be the sacrificial pit. As I stared down into hell on earth, the chief recited his sacrificing incantations to the beat of three large drum players...Bom...Bom...Bom

Bom "May the Zorgoth" Bom "be known for his merciful soul" Bom "and may he accept our" Bom "plentiful sacrifices" Bom "the best cashews of the land" Bom "and the strongest men of the island" Bom "Bring Peace to our lands."

The pace of the beats quickened, and the first man was to be sacrificed. He yelled and squirmed in defiance but was no match for knots so tight they must have been tied by Zorgoth himself. I eyed the cashew barrel behind Flannigan, he was ahead of Pat and me in line.

I heard the cock of a gun, which quickly initiated the cock of my head, I turned to see Flannigan sneak out a shotgun from underneath his clothes, or what remained of his clothes.
"Alright, boy, give me the map."

I turned around, and reached my left hand into my pocket, while at the same time drawing my shotgun, and I turned around to face Flannigan. Shotguns staring each other in the eyes.

"Don't be stupid Flannigan," I snickered.

"Och, ye blew yer cover," I heard Pat call from behind me.

I eyed the barrel of cashews behind Pat, it was upright and ready to be sacrificed, but the spewing lava did it's toll, there was a weak bit of wood on the barrel, where if enough pressure was applied, the whole thing would snap into pieces. I had my mind set, the escape was clear.

"Och, don't waste your shot, laddy."

"Shut up, Pat. Now hand me that map of yours."

"Over my dead body," I answered coldly.

O'Flaherty fired his gun...the air was pierced by the sharp noise of the shotgun. The cashew raced towards my chest and the impact caused a small crescent shaped bruise, before it bounced off of my body and fell harmlessly to the ground.

"Och, ye wasted yer shot, lad, now ye asked fer it."

My sites were aimed right for Flannigan's eyes; moving my gun a bit to the left, I fired.

"Ha! Missed your shot," Flannigan called, satisfaction ringing in his voice, "now you get to die with me, you filthy Irish basta--"

Before he could finish his sentence the barrel behind him erupted, causing cashews to bury anybody nearby, this included Flannigan. The tribemen ran to the broken barrel in fear that they had angered Zorgoth. Cashews shot into the spewing pit, and caused a stack of smoke to rise towards the heavens, higher than any man could throw a spear. Pat gave me an optimistic look, but the unusual part was, I gave him the same look of optimism too; I had created the perfect diversion. The advice of the cashier echoed in my mind.

"Don't waste your shot."

"Och! 'urry your arse up, let's get ootta this freak show."

Chapter 7

We ran at a steady pace, watching the lava behind us turn restlessly under the smoke stack caused by the cashews falling in.

"Och, we won’t make it in time." O’Flaherty called from behind me. He was right, we needed a faster source of transportation. Suddenly an idea struck me.

"Take the goats!"

"The goats?"

There was a flock of goats ahead of us, "Just take one and ride it down the mountain."

"You’re bloody insane!"


* * * * *
The goats proved to be nothing less than a trusty steed. We were soon at the bottom of the mountain and soon to the shore of the island when Pat spotted a ship ahead.

"Well I’ll be," he was on the verge of crying, as he squinted his eyes to peer in the distance. An Irish vessel sailed gallantly towards us. They had seen the lava and cashew smoke stack, they were here to save us. The cashews that had "poisoned" us, were now saving us.

After much anticipation we walked aboard. The crew seemed vaguely familiar, and it soon hit me. "Welcome aboard the U.S.S. Kenya, Captain MacKennya."

MacKennya my old nickname…I was back with my old crew again, and back in my old position: Captain Doyle MacKenna of the U.S.S. Kenya.

"Och, I told ye ‘twas going to turn out right."

(comments/reviews/and ratings are much appreciated!)

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