Praise for books by Nobel Peace Prize finalist R. J. Rummel "26th in a Random House poll on the best nonfiction book of the 20th Century" Random House (Modern Library) “. the most important . in the history of international relations.” John Norton Moore Professor of Law and Director, Center for National Security Law, former Chairman of the Board of Directors of the U. S. Institute of Peace “. among the most exciting . in years.” Jim Powell “. most comprehensive . I have ever encountered . illuminating . .” Storm Russell “One more home run . .” Bruce Russett, Professor of International Relations “. has profoundly affected my political and social views.” Lurner B Williams “. truly brilliant . ought to be mandatory reading.” Robert F. Turner, Professor of Law, former President of U.S. Institute of Peace ". highly recommend . ." Cutting Edge “We all walk a little taller by climbing on the shoulders of Rummel’s work.” Irving Louis Horowitz, Professor Of Sociology. ". everyone in leadership should read and understand . ." DivinePrinciple.com “. .exciting . pushes aside all the theories, propaganda, and wishful thinking . .” www.alphane.com “. world's foremost authority on the phenomenon of ‘democide.’” American Opinion Publishing “. excellent . .” Brian Carnell “. bound to be become a standard work . .” James Lee Ray, Professor of Political Science “. major intellectual accomplishment . .will be cited far into the next century” Jack Vincent, Professor of Political Science.” “. most important . required reading . .” thewizardofuz (Amazon.com) “. valuable perspective . .” R.W. Rasband “ . offers a desperately needed perspective . .” Andrew Johnstone “. eloquent . very important . .” Doug Vaughn “. should be required reading . .shocking and sobering . .” Sugi Sorensen NEVER AGAIN Book 4 Red Terror NEVER AGAIN R.J. RUMMEL Llumina Press Copyright © 2004 Rudy Rummel All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from both the copyright owner and the publisher. Requests for permission to make copies of any part of this work should be mailed to Permissions Department, Llumina Press, PO Box 772246, Coral Springs, FL 33077- 2246 ISBN: 1-59526-209-1 Printed in the United States of America by Llumina Press Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Rummel, R. J. (Rudolph J.), 1932- Red terror : never again / R.J. Rummel. p. cm. ISBN 1-59526-209-1 (alk. paper) -- ISBN 1-59526-208-3 (pbk. : alk. paper) 1. Genocide--Fiction. I. Title. PS3568.U447R43 2004 813'.6--dc22 2004017435 Relevant books by R.J. Rummel Understanding Conflict and War (five volumes) Lethal Politics: Soviet Genocide and Mass Murder since 1917 China’s Bloody Century: Genocide and Mass Murder since 1900 Democide: Nazi Genocide and Mass Murder Death By Government Power Kills: Democracy as a Method of Nonviolence Saving Lives, Enriching Life: Freedom as a Right and a Moral Good (online book) Never Again Series (Alternative History) War and Democide Never Again Nuclear Holocaust Never Again Reset Never Again Red Terror Never Again Genocide Never Again (forthcoming) Ending War, Democide, & Famine: The Solution That Is Democratic Freedom (forthcoming nonfiction supplement to the Never Again Series) “Tell me, what do you think of Marxism?” “It’s evil!” “Evil? When so many noted Western intellectuals believe in it; when it is so widely and favorably taught in American classrooms? “Yes, what else do you call an ideology whose followers have mur- dered 110,000,000 people, over three times more than have died in combat in all the domestic and foreign wars of the 20th Century, and starved to death tens of millions more? It is a death machine.” “Then why so many believers?” “Ignorance, self-righteousness, an absolutist mind set, but mainly the lust for power.” Acknowledgements Again, I owe many thanks to the thorough evaluation, many helpful suggestions, and careful editing of Marg Gilks. I continue to be indebted to the many visitors to my website at www.hawaii.edu/powerkills/ who commented on or questioned the material there. They often had an im- pact on this series. And foremost, always, is my wife Grace. She made this series and this novel possible. Without her, I could not have written it. Another kiss, sweetheart. To be sure, this is a book of fiction. Although some characters may in name and position bear a striking resemblance to historical figures, they are fictional. Nonetheless, I must say again that whatever errors of fictional facts exist are mine, and wholly mine. Chapter 1 October 25, 1903 Novaya Uda village, near Irkutsk, Siberia e knew the rats would start eating at his face soon. The dark- ness almost hid them, but he could see their black bodies H circling, their eyes reflecting what little light there was. They were sniffing the air, ready to brave the human smell mixed with that of the pork fat smeared on his face. He hung from a rafter by a rope tied to his feet, his hands tied behind him, and his head hovering an inch from the straw-covered dirt floor of the stable. He could only wait in a shivering cold sweat, his heart thudding violently, his stomach knotted in anticipation of what would soon come: a rat would move in, the rest of the rats would follow, the excruciating pain would start, and he would take too long to die. Again and again, he had swung his body and shook his head to scare the rats away. But he had been doing that for hours, and now he was so exhausted that he could only squirm and nod his head. The rats moved closer. He tried to scream, but the greasy rag tied into his mouth by a rope looped around his head turned it into a muffled screech. Nobody would hear him. Nobody would pass by the stable. Not at this time of night. Everything had gone so well. He had been exiled here by the Ok- hrana, the feared Czarist secret police, but only to mislead his fellow revolutionaries. He was an Okhrana agent provocateur, but he also se- cretly worked for the revolutionary overthrow of the Czar, was a member of a criminal gang involved in armed robberies, and conspired to murder associates. His principles were simple: what profited him was right. He heard the rats shuffling closer over the straw. Frantically, his mind tried to deny what his ears and bulging eyes told him. This could not be. When he had arrived at Novaya Uda under guard, a telegram from the Kutais Okhrana had soon arrived at Irkutsk, supporting him: I.V. Dzhugashvili plans to leave. Do not stop him. Ren- der assistance. A telegram bearing a description of him had soon followed: Iosif Vissarionov Dzhugashvili. Age: 23. Appearance: ordi- nary. Height: 5 feet, 4 inches. Build: medium. Hair: dark brown. Beard 2 Rudy Rummel and mustache: brown. Nose: straight and long. Forehead: straight and low. Face: long, swarthy, and pockmarked. Second and third toes on left foot fused together. Nickname: Riaboy. A rat the size of a cat, its eyes like reflective marbles, sniffed at his nose. He jerked his head toward it and it backed off. Fear triggered his bladder to empty again; he felt his urine soaking into the crotch and waist of his long underwear. Yesterday the local Okhrana had given him a document identifying him as an Okhrana agent so that he could return to Batum, the Black Sea port near Turkey from which he had been exiled. Last night, as he’d been returning from celebrating with the Okhrana Captain Ivan Rykov, a man stopped him on the road. and said, “A local social de- mocrat wants to have a secret talk with you before you leave.” The man was dressed as a peasant, looked weathered and wrinkled like a peasant, and spoke Russian with a terrible accent, like a foreigner who had been exiled here some time ago. He led Riaboy here, but there was no one waiting. Hooy na ya—no fucking way. Riaboy’s thoughts raced, incoherent, as panic encroached from the fringes of his mind. I could have killed him with one hand. Pizdoon—fucking liar. How could the zasranee do this to me? How could the svolock— He’d fought. But the man was too strong. “Why? What did I do?” Riaboy had yelled. The stranger’s green eyes regarded him. “Chto poseesh’, to i pozhniosh’. Chto poseesh’,” he’d grunted. “As you sow, so shall you reap.” Then he moved off to watch from at a distance. The big rat was back, along with a companion. Riaboy could barely move his head. Terror gripped him. He felt slippery wetness in the crack of his ass—he’d crapped in his under- wear. His mind finally collapsed into hysteria, and frothy saliva blew out of his nose. Only one thought remained: WHY? Why? Why? wh . The man who in later years would have been known as Joseph Sta- lin gurgled and moaned. His whole body seemed to jitter in anticipation. The large rat hesitated, then bit at his cheek. The stab of hot pain tore through him, convulsing his muscles, triggering a stran- gled howl. The other rats moved in; another stab of pain was followed by another, and another, for the rest of his life. Chapter 2 January 25, 2002 Silicon Valley headquarters, Survivors’ Benevolent Society John Banks ohn’s upper right arm still pained him, but so did his hip and left leg, although only with an aching throb. He massaged the arm J while listening to another revision of the plan for his and Joy’s intervention sometime in the early years of the twentieth century.