Miranda on wheels

The war continued, with a digression on a young woman's mind.

By Diomedes | Robert O'Reilly | 23 Jul 2022

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The next morning all three of us squeezed on the bike. Miranda was dressed in jeans and a denim jacket which I’d never seen before, probably some relic of Jim’s. But it fit her nicely. She was also wearing a pair of tight, black leather gloves, perhaps borrowed from Dora, and had a knapsack with who knows what in it. I could tell from these preparations she was dead serious.

We were ushered into Wilde’s office and, lucky for me, there was a biker there too. Greg had delivered his message before midnight. General Steele read the vital dispatch and wanted Wilde to know that everything was in place and well-hidden and that the Russians had just left Boston with a force of some ten thousand men and two hundred tanks, heading west along highway ninety that morning. Greg was too tired for a return trip and this trusted man was at his headquarters, requesting more ribbons and medals, as they were gaining more recruits every day and had run out. So he volunteered and drove the rest of the night north with Steele’s reply.

As I heard the end of his story, I had to ask:

“New recruits? How many? And are they staying in our camp?

“Over a hundred” he replied. “Some of the soldiers they gave us could ride and wanted to join our group, as we kick the most ass. And there’s others still coming in, and the word’s being spread by Tom’s commandos to all the people who fled the coast, if any could ride they should join us. We have three hundred now, some former Bandito’s and a few women even. We’re all working as a team. I suppose we’ll take up our old feuds when this war is over. But some of those Bandito’s are pretty good and with this invasion we’re all eager to teach these Russians a lesson as soon as the order is given.”

I couldn’t help but notice, besides the machine gun slung over his shoulder, he had a holster and gun on his wide belt and a large knife, which all of them seemed to carry, at all times, even when they slept.

I asked: “Are you headed back to camp?”

“Yup. Unless there’s another urgent message. I want to get back so I don’t miss the war.”

“Well you can do me this big favor. Miranda here is my daughter and she wants to ride and fight. Take her straight to Captain Jack or Stalker. Tell them I said to keep her safe for now and give her a tent. I should be back later today.”

He eyed her up and down, and started to speak: “Isn’t she a bit scrawn…”

I interrupted him before he could finish. “I know. But she’s full of fight and venom. She’s been in two battles already. She wants revenge.”

He looked surprised at this statement and glanced at her again. She stared straight back at him, with steely eyes.

“No problem. I’ll hardly notice her behind. She is cute.”

I didn’t know if this was innuendo or just inept wording. It didn’t put me at ease. But I gave her a hug and sent her off with this two-hundred-and-fifty-pound guerrilla, or gorilla. She seemed fine with the arrangement.

As she left I whispered in her ear: “Just tell everyone you’re my daughter. Find Stalker as soon as you get there and you’ll be OK. See you soon.”

Now we were able to get down to business with the general. He still had an odd expression on his face over what just transpired, and my sanity.

“It was a promise I had to keep” I said. “And this is good news, that people are flocking to join us. I’d like to return there this afternoon. And these bikers are the best couriers we have. They know all the country roads and ride day or night. I should send you three or four to keep on hand and the same to Steele.

“But let’s talk numbers. If Jack’s reports are accurate, and I trust they are, the Russians seriously miscalculated. When you join with Steele, can the both of you match their numbers and attack from behind. They’ll be cut off from re-enforcements, supplies, and their fleet. We’ll have the element of surprise and terrain. Their only advantage is in the air. Everything tells me they’re low on bombs and we can stick to wooded regions in an assault. What do you think?”

“If that is the size of the invading army than we can more than match it. I can send out a force of six thousand battle-hardened men to join with Steele, and they can be there in vehicles tomorrow. We bested the Russians here, though they pummelled us with bombs the first two days. They suffered at least as many casualties as we did when they turned tail.”

“Then we can win” I said excitedly. “That’s what they think, your forces are the only ones north of them. I’m sure they’ll be sending out detachments in every direction as they move, for food and info. Their main body will be even less. Our militia can take care of these squads, and we have Johnson to the south. They’re making a gutsy move with this inland invasion, hoping to beat Johnson and control the south but we can sandwich them in the middle and annihilate them. The beauty is, they can’t reinforce or re-supply themselves while we can. What they came here with is all they’ve got. Did you here of any second flotilla on its way from Europe to back them up?”

“No, and we monitored their shortwave closely. They expected their first wave to succeed. They must still be scratching their heads back in Moscow about the failure in Montreal and the changed plans. It would take weeks for any resupply mission to arrive here. They might not even have the ships. I think this was their one shot. Eight weeks ago, before we had any hint of this invasion, our entire forces in uniform numbered less than five thousand, including mine on the West Coast. They probably had spies here and thought we’d be a pushover. No fool moves his entire army across an ocean into a total unknown.”

“Not since Alexander” I said.

Sheila spoke up: “I’m not a tactician or a general, but if they are nearly out of bombs, I think we can win this war. That was their one advantage. And you might be right, because they rained them on us for three days hoping for one quick victory.

“There is one other thing we’ve been working on, Luke. With your permission, sir, I’d like to tell him.”

Wilde nodded.

“We’re not entirely powerless in the skies. When they first arrived they pretty much paraded their air force over us before the assault began. We saw that it far outmatched us, so when the battle began we only sent a few old fighter jets against them, to their deaths I’m sad to say. That’s all they think we had. But we kept a small group of bombers in reserve, hidden. We knew they’d all be shot down like the others if deployed.

“You’re right that all their aerial surveillance in this area has ceased. Now might be our time to strike their fleet with one good bombing raid. The planes are old but the bombs are deadly to ships. I’ve been reading up on them and working with some aircraft mechanics. We’ve made a few adjustments in the release mechanisms to accommodate this payload. We have the pilots. We should be able to sink twenty ships if the skies are clear.”

“They will be when a battle is raging inland. This is great news. With half their fleet gone, they’ll sail away and never come back. The remnants of their army will be stuck here. All we have to do is coordinate, then clean up the mess.”

General Wilde stood up. “You two are pretty flush on victory. And it heartens me to see it. What I need most is good intelligence and constant contact with Steele and he’ll need the same with Johnson, and like you said, coordination is key. Could you send some of your ‘Pony Express’ south and make that link solid. It would be far more decisive for the war than any hits on stray units.”

“I fully agree. I’ll leave now to make it happen. If you could give me papers outlining this plan, I’ll make sure both generals get them, deliver them personally. Or better yet, leave out any details that the enemy could intercept and use. I’ll tell them the details face to face. A signed command that you’ll all be moving in conjunction should give me the authority to fill in the rest.

“You’re exactly right. I’ll detail half my men to this ‘Pony Express’ so you can communicate with each other every hour, keep up on each development and move in tandem. Do you know that Napoleon lost the battle of Waterloo because he couldn’t get word to Admiral Ney, with a force of twenty thousand just four hours away, to reinforce him?”

“I’m sorry I don’t get to do the reading you do. But go and set up these couriers right away. I’ll expect to see the first messages by this evening and I can be on the move. Let’s spring this trap.”

He wrote two notes and wished me ‘Godspeed.’ Sheila followed me into the hall to say goodbye.

“I want you to know” she said, “I’ll be spending every night at the house with the children, just as I promised.”

“Did I sound OK in there” I asked. “I know it got off to a rocky start with Miranda. I didn’t use too many historical references, did I?”

“I’ll answer that when you get back” she said. Then she kissed me and I hurried off.

Back in camp, after a four-hour ride down a deserted highway 91, I found Greg and asked for Miranda. She had already set off in a pick-up with a younger biker in search of more motorcycles, which he knew where to find up north, near Berlin. Greg told me it was safe. All Russian activity was to the south, and there was plenty of that, riders coming in every hour.

We sent ten of them to general Wilde with the latest news, to be messengers for the next few days. Then I sent Greg with my dispatch to Steele.

“Take all the crew you want, and wait until dark if it’s dangerous, if you see Russians in the streets. But he has to get this tonight, as soon as possible. Things are developing fast.”

He left with a dozen riders. Jack pulled into camp an hour later.

He told us there was Russian activity everywhere to the south, detachments in Humvees riding through mostly deserted towns and cities, stopping and searching through a few buildings then moving on, as if they were in a hurry. He said he didn’t engage any. His men were scattered everywhere keeping an eye on things. The main force, ‘the big Kahuna’ as he termed it, was rolling into Springfield and it was miles long, with spotter planes circling everywhere. A few of his men were wounded before they could ride into cover. He looked dismayed.

“How are we gonna deal with a force like that? They’re cruising through like they own the place.”

“Perfect” I said. “They’re falling into the trap. Wilde and Steele and Johnson are going to do all the heavy lifting. We’re the auxiliary force.”

As I explained our new mission and how important it was, his face lit up.

“Can you get ten of your best riders to Johnson tonight, to convey this dispatch? It’s critical. All our generals need tight coordination as they make their moves. Wilde is coming down from Montreal right now with his whole army. This war could be over in one big battle tomorrow if things work out. Then we do the mopping up and share the spoils.”

Captain Jack stood up in the tent in a fever of excitement.

“I’ll take these through myself. I have men who know every back road in Connecticut and it will be dark soon. But our best bet is that we split up. Can you make copies of this? One of us will get through for sure, I guarantee it.”

I started making the copies right away.

“Round up your men, at least twenty. Go in pairs when you split up. You’ll be behind enemy lines and sending men back with  more dispatches as Johnson moves north. You have to keep us in the loop. Johnson might be squeezed if the Russians he’s facing across the water decide to pursue. But I don’t think they will. They underestimate our numbers. They don’t know about Steele. I’ll stay here till morning and move to Manchester with our whole group, handling any Russian strays along the way and taking new orders from there.”

Our camp was spread out along the lake. The forest was so deep we were safe from any aerial bombardment. We lit a few flares and the word spread for a gathering. Jack hand-picked his crew and we told everyone to prepare. Then I sat by a central campfire with some of his lieutenants, watching the riders roll in after their day’s work, hearing their reports, wondering, or rather worrying, about Miranda, who didn’t return until late.

I greeted the two as they drove in. They’d recovered three motorcycles, one which this new companion swore was a perfect fit for her. He was a young man in his early twenties with a trim blond beard, named Ron. He looked too young to have been a marauder in the first years of the pandemic. He must have been admitted to this club recently. He asked my permission to try the bike out with her. They spent the next hours testing it in the moonlight along the pebbly lakeshore, with her in front and him holding her hands on the throttle and brakes, his foot on hers teaching her the gears. His arms were much too tight around her sides. I couldn’t watch but finally whistled them both in around midnight, sending her to a tent next to Jack’s, where two other biker women slept.

The next morning I awoke at dawn. The whole camp was in a stir, everyone packing and preparing to leave, except Ron and Miranda, back again practicing on the bike, along the strand.

Now she had a black helmet and leather jacket. I don’t know where she found her attire so quickly,. But she did. She even had leather boots.

I waived them over and told Ron, as the best option I could think of, to ride with her all day. I couldn’t order her to stay in a camp when everyone else was leaving. But I found the group Ron was with, a rough-looking bunch some thirty strong, and told them to head west to check the city of Barre for any enemy. I thought this the safest mission at hand, the Russians extremely unlikely to have probed that far north. But I said it was critical we know the state of the hospital, as there’d be many casualties in the coming hours and we’d need every facility we could find. Miranda knew it well. I told them to check the building and report back when done. We’d be in Manchester. They set off, as I thought, completely out of harm’s way.

When we reached the highway we met up the first elements of Wilde’s army. His main force was not far behind. In another hour we were at the northern outskirts of the city, where our forces had set up a barricade.

“You’ll have to wait here” one of Tom’s lieutenants said, recognizing me. “This shouldn’t take long. A detachment of Russians blew in late yesterday, with trucks, tanks and Humvees. We laid low, as per orders, while they split up and started scouring the buildings for supplies, thinking that the city was deserted. They set up a base where our old one was and spread out after dark.

“Your men started filing in and we began picking them off, easy work with their flashlights blazing. We got word to the general, right beneath their camp and he took out the main group soon after, in a surprise attack, capturing their vehicles. But a few made it to the rooftops of the taller buildings and we’re still moping them up with snipers. I should get word any minute that it’s safe for you to go in.”

“Did any slip away, back to the main army?”

“I don’t think so, sir. And some of your bikers are positioned to the south to handle any strays.”

The last thing he told me was that Tom was already with the general, who was preparing to depart with his whole army. I was there and talking to them both in the courtyard within the hour, watching long columns of military vehicles pull out from their underground lairs into the adjoining streets, then swiftly reorganize, tanks to the front and trucks and supplies to the rear.

It was a monumental traffic jam from where I watched but with a magnificent sweep of his arm he sent the tank brigades forward, due south, his soldiers following. They could improve their formations once out of town, in the wide-open highway and fields. What heartened us most was that there were no enemy planes to be seen in the skies. General Wilde’s forces would soon be pouring in. It was a fine summer day to watch the launch of this campaign and a swift end to the war.

The two generals were now hours apart. This was to be their headquarters, where all information poured in and out. They had no time to move it further inland, closer to where the two armies would clash, where the defining battle would play out, this day or the next.

It was already decided that Wilde would directly command our forces on the field. He had the experience of Montreal. Steele would coordinate as commander in chief. Some phone lines were still working, some restored the last few days, and this was always the hub, the ‘Grand Central’ of them all.

I bid him ‘good luck’ and walked off. It wasn’t my place or my expertise to mingle in their tactical plans. I took Tom to an empty office and told him the whole story of Myra and the farms. He’d already heard that she and their children were safe but had none of the details. I’d sent a courier off the day before with that brief news.

He hadn’t heard that Nancy and Joe and his wife were dead, or little Helen, and turned pale as I told the horrifying story. I made it quick, mentioned the rest were safe in Montreal with Jim’s parents, awaiting our return. We had to get back to our men waiting in the hall, awaiting orders for the day.

I turned to leave as he grabbed me by the shoulder.

“And Miranda?” he asked. “Your man told me she joined our forces. It’s hard to believe.”

“Yes” I replied, almost embarrassed. “She’s changed, grown up a bit and wants to ride and fight. I made her a promise when I found her and had to keep it. I sent her with one of my packs to Barre this morning, to secure the hospital. It’s so far north she should be safe enough there.”

Now Tom turned absolutely white.

“To Barre?” his voice quivered. “There’s a flying column of Russians headed that way right now, up the ninety-one from Springfield. I’m sure that’s where they’re headed. They know about the hospital and it’s the only big asset in that direction. They splintered off full brigades and sent them in every direction at dawn. They’re not in tanks but fast armored vehicles. We have eyes on their every move.”

“How many?” I asked. Now I was turning white and holding him by the arm.

“Help me on this” I said as we rushed out. “Organize all your spare men and I’ll do the same. Maybe we can cut them off in Lebanon.”

“Too late for that” he replied. “There might be five hundred in that group. They want to take all this new territory and delay any forces trickling down from the north while their army confronts Johnson’s.”

“Send what you can and tell the generals where I’ve gone. I know they have far more important business and so do you. I’ll see you in a day or two, when this is over.”

A few of my riders were standing in the hall. I turned to them and said: “grab every man you can. We’re heading north, to the battle you always wanted. Time for some scalps.”

This did the trick. One ran with me and in a few minutes we were setting off with fifty riders and a matching amount of Tom’s troops in jeeps up the highway west. The other men went off to rally more of our forces. These were sitting and waiting in small groups all around town. But they conveyed my urgency and the need for speed and were right behind us in a half-hour, though I thought I was pushing my motorcycle faster than ever. We arrived on the outskirts of Barre and heard heavy gunfire coming from the center.

We had to approach closer to know what was going on but from here I let the leader of our pack take command. We entered from the eastern edge along side streets and soon found ourselves spectators to a raging battle, involving more than the hospital.

There were people on the rooftop returning fire to other rooftops across the street. It must have been Miranda’s gang, on the mission I sent them to, my mistake. But there were more fighters on other buildings firing at each other and a plane circling overhead which dropped a single bomb on one just after we arrived. It was flying so low we fired an RPG back at it and it flew away with one wing clipped, the smoke trailing as it disappeared in the distance.

As we watched, a large part of our pack tore to the north, circled, parked their bikes and tried to enter the hospital from that angle. There were frequent shots fired at street level but the buildings behind the hospital seemed to be ours. A squadron of Tom’s men pulled up in jeeps as all this unfolded. I went with them to follow the rest of our bikers, to join the others trying to retake the hospital, leaving a few behind to direct the steady stream of incoming re-enforcements. They all knew the mission and what was at stake, my heart.

We were a block from the hospital when fired upon. I had my Uzi and the men with me semi-automatics. The fighting was intense, from one street pole and doorway to the next. But we did make progress as re-enforcement’s kept pouring in behind us.

It seemed like an eternity of time with thoughts racing through my head as fast as the gunfire all around. But we reached the back entrance of the hospital and the doors opened up, the few bikers defending the street level pulling us in to help out in their desperate battle upstairs.

But our inundation turned the tide. I made it to the roof door and saw Miranda at the edge, lying behind the two-foot parapet on her elbows, firing away. She was flanked by four pot-bellied, bearded bikers, looking tiny between them, all of them blood-splattered but obviously whole. When I called her name they turned and ran back to me, a dozen others covering them. They were all grinning.

We descended the staircase out of breath, holding hands, tears streaming from my eyes. In the lobby we just hugged. Before I could begin with any lengthy apologies on the tip of my tongue one long-haired rider relieved me of any speech.

“She did just fine, Luke. She can ride with us anytime. It was twenty of us against a hundred of them, just the kind of odds I like. And we held out for two hours until you showed up. By the way, her boyfriend Ron was hit in the arm. He’s with the medics. We came down because the Ruskies are high-tailing it out of here. We won. You’re hospital’s safe. So’s your daughter. She’s a good shooter. Did you know that? She winged more than I could count.”

I clasped the man’s rough hand looking up at him in wordless thanks. He must have been a foot taller than me. Our soldiers were rushing everywhere, especially to the streets a few blocks away where a killing spree was going on, the Russians running for their vehicles. But our latest arrivals had blocked their path and a crossfire and bloody ambuscade was taking place, sounding loud and close from the ground floor, where every plate-glass window had been smashed.

Even as we talked more of our soldiers were pouring into this atrium. Some I recognized as Tom’s men but there were others I’d never met. One lieutenant joined us while most ran through the building to the final fighting. The rider who spoke before continued:

“This man saved our necks. We drove into a deserted town and were checking out the hospital wandering around without a care, when we heard vehicles pulling up outside. This man had just arrived from up north with his squadron, just in time too, as we heard the Russian convoy pull up.

“We took to the roof, while his men scattered to all the nearest buildings to hold the block. We were outnumbered at first but had the best positions and covered the sidewalks red with their blood. Then they took a few rooftops and some of their snipers managed to nail a few of us, just as we returned fire. But most of the fighting took place on ground level, from doorways and walls, and this man’s men kept them from rushing up the stairs and killing us.”

I shook this lieutenant’s, deeply thankful. He told me how lucky it was that general Wilde had sent them in the pre-dawn hours on this route, due south, in case the Russians had sent detachments this far west. Another company was headed to Albany. But Burlington was deserted, so they turned here, to meet up with the much larger force rolling down highway five, straight towards Springfield. He also told me there were two tank battalions and five hundred more troops not far behind us. Their orders were to engage any Russian units and keep going until they rejoined the main force. He expected the two armies would clash late today or tomorrow, and that he had to be on his way. Most of his men were already re-grouping their lines and vehicles. This was nothing but a brief mop-up operation, clearing the way for the larger invasion. But to me it was a lifesaver.

He knew who I was though he had no idea that he’d meet me, or any of my bikers on this route. He shook my hand and said it was a pleasure to be of service, then gave me a quick salute, spun a half-turn and briskly walked off towards a group of waiting sergeants, all business.

I gave Miranda the widest smile, and then the bikers around her, saying “how lucky can we be?”

The biker, to my surprise, said, “that’s why we work for you. Don’t you know we’ve all been calling you ‘Lucky Luke’ for weeks now. We wouldn’t take orders from anyone who wasn’t one of us, war or no war, except you. None of these uniforms can move us one inch. But we’ll ride straight into Satan’s asshole if you snap your fingers, because we know everything you do or say comes out golden for us, just like this morning. Where are we headed next, boss?”

My heart had finally stopped pounding, just like my head, assimilating all these events. Ten minutes earlier I was madly running towards gunfire with images of Miranda, bloodied and bullet-ridden on the ground, and my foolish decision, with a life of remorse and guilt, my endless future.

Miranda saw this confusion in my look and said: “Let me check on Ron before we go. They sent him into a room on the first floor with a few other wounded. I’ll be right back. I want to leave with you.”

As she walked up a white marble staircase I watched in awe, her calm and graceful figure, her hand caressing the balustrade, a woman with a rifle slung over her shoulder, straight from a firefight to a deed of kindness.

The men around me needed an answer, a good one. “Let’s collect our group and head south with the column. We don’t want to miss this war for a few street scuffles. Everyone fill your packs and be back here in ten minutes. We’ll re-supply now and eat on the road.”

That’s just what they wanted to hear. I turned to the final glimpse of Miranda’s head, now past the top of the stairs. I ran up and took hold of her hand. We found Ron with his shirt stripped off and bandaged around the shoulder, lying in a row of mostly empty beds, propped up by pillows and smiling. There was a medic attending the more seriously wounded. Some of these patients might need limbs amputated but he told me he’d wait for the professional doctors and nurses on their way, as a full staff was assigned to man this hospital for the big battle to come.

“Trial run” I said with grim humor. He rushed away. “When do they get here, the staff?” I yelled after him. “Today” was his curt reply.”

I realized that talk was only something in the way to this medic and that I was too. For someone hemorrhaging blood, every second counted. I wondered what scenes of gore and agony he witnessed in Montreal, knowing he was going to revisit the same screams and horrors in this very hall, working shifts of sixty or eighty hours till he dropped, covered in the blood of so many shrieking, mutilated young men. That had to be war’s ugliest chapter, the aftermath.

The thought gave me shivers. I walked to Ron’s bedside where Miranda was reaching in her satchel and depositing all her food and anything he might need, her comb and toothbrush, at his bedside. Now she seemed like a child again in her simple offerings and smiles. I followed suit and emptied my pockets of their few possessions, a pack of cigarettes, a lighter, a Swiss army knife. Miranda gave him a long kiss and I told him how glad she was for him, for living through the battle with only a shoulder wound.

We said goodbye on this happy note. He grinned and waved with his other arm as we left, thanking us for the gifts, and finally yelling to Miranda that she had to come back soon as he was in love with her. She didn’t look back or reply but had the hint of a smile on her lips as we walked away.

I wondered at that Mona Lisa smile. Perhaps she was basking in the sunshine of her first conquest. But then, it could have been a thousand other thoughts. I’d never know. It was her private affair, her secret life rolling in her head and no one’s business to enquire, not even Ron’s. It was the enigma of inscrutable womanhood, hinted at in the slightest gestures of her movements, a twitch of the lips, hidden as deep as if she was wearing a burka, suggesting something but revealing nothing.

I don’t think there’s any facial expression so puzzling as a half-smile. And on a woman’s face it’s ten times the mystery, as far as motives go. There could be so many. It’s like a word that she started to utter and then cut short. So already we have three questions; why she started to speak, why she cut it off, and what it was she almost said. But we don’t ask, knowing some deep well of emotion froze the tongue, with a strange embarrassment on her side and a bewilderment on the other.

But it’s lovely to catch a glimpse of the complicated inner workings of the mind, a half-formed thought budding and then squashed, like a desert flower. It’s as captivating as looking into a kaleidoscope and seeing the brightly-colored, ever-changing symmetries, knowing it’s the trick of mirrors, and never knowing the shapes of the pieces of glass that rattle within. They’re not much to look at when one breaks the tube, little misshapen lumps, pebbles, not bright, but glazed and cloudy in their colors, hardly worth keeping. It’s the sunlight and mirrors that do the magic.

Yet this matched Miranda’s mind, full of picked-up pebbles along the way, but also full of mirrors, reflections, casting myriads more, forming complex arrays lit up by the beams of consciousness into endless webs of prismatic patterns. I told her as we walked away how happy I was to see her safe and sound, and perhaps in love. Her eyes sparkled at me again with the brightness of a kaleidoscope. She only said that she was glad to be alive. As we mounted my motorcycle and drove off, she clasped my waist, her head buried between my shoulder blades, where she felt safe again, protected even from the wind like a babe.

We rode alongside an endless row of jeeps at an easy pace, not stopping, not talking to anyone or each other, as if basking on a sunny Sunday drive. This was the calm before the storm.


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B.A. in Latin and Greek from U.C. Berkley. Writer, Blogger and retired Electrician.

Robert O'Reilly
Robert O'Reilly

I am educated in the Western Classical Tradition, B.A. from U.C. Berkeley in Latin and Greek, English major, one year at U. of Toronto, studied under Alain Renoir and Northrop Frye, read most classics full time for many years after university in French, English, Latin and Greek to the modern day. I am interested in the near future of technology, what changes it imposes upon our heritage and character as humans. Short stories and Essays are my medium.

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