Riga

Edited 

Riga

Riga was always in charge. Even when she wasn't. There was the time she was taken prisoner in Brazil. Or least she thought it was there and not Venezuela. There were many small settlements dotted there not on the maps. The bastards too after she got lost. This was the first time Riga got lost. Magnetic rocks threw her compass off. GPS was jammed. The maps were outdated. The ink on the sat scans had smudged.  And other things went wrong. Not good! They took her. She killed several first till her ammo was gone That felt sweet. Yes they raped her. Of course they would. Being female. She was used to sex so could deal with that. Sort of. A guy is a guy and a cock was a cock. What she struggled with was the threat to kill her family. And even her ex. They knew most of her details. How was that possible? Riga told them to fuck her some more. They did. She waited to act. She killed one while he was inside her. It was brutal. She enjoyed the sex and his death as he came. Coming with a collapsed larynx. It's an odd noise. None of the training or war history she'd studied mentioned this! She cleaned herself up, took his uniform and small arms and got the hell out of there. She left part of herself there. And took another soul with her. Rape me. You die...

Riga Landing Gear

 

Riga Landing Gear

Her flying saucer was parked under a cliff. The big overhang hid it from overhead view. Riga examined the three landing gear struts on her craft. Each was a single leg with a flat skid below. All were solid engineering. Not liable to break. Small squat solid functional. Just like her! They were made out of aerospace grade aluminium alloys. These were sourced on a far-off alien world. Alloy was alloy. Each with different properties. Ones on Earth were different. Each had different parameters. Including strength, resistance, melting point, breaking point and other important ones. Not all alloys could be used. Spaceship design took the best. Other than being metal there were extra properties. The metal had microscopic elements within its structure. These were alive. Not just in the landing gear. Within the entire hull of the vessel. Each craft was grown in a ship yard. Not produced by hand in a factory. It was all automated. Aliens oversaw the automated creation of the vessels. The biotic half alive/half machine ships. Riga’s flying saucer was just one, a flying saucer. Riga looked at the gear. It was familiar. The size, the components, the growing process, the way it was assembled, the everything about it. Why? It was she who had designed this. That was during her life time on the alien world in a different reality. Separate from this reality. She was fully aware in this reality. That shouldn’t have been possible. But it was. Riga here with her stationary vessel. Designed by her. How about that?

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January 2026 Mt Parawagan Trip

 

 https://nickarmbrister13.weebly.com/nick-armbristers-varied-writing-blog/january-2026-mt-parawagan-trip

 

I went quite early to hike Mt Parawagan. A peak of intense historical importance at Wawa/Montalban area. The road up is concrete or mud and easy in good sunny weather. It can take well over an hour. This depends on your pace. I know several people up there on the way to the heights. All are aware of the historical significance of that single peak and the surrounding ones. It was insane madness. Yet is was not made by Satan nor was it stopped by God. For Satan was weak that day and God was a bastard. The hand of Man acted with military weapons. Over a few weeks a dizzying battle took place. A catch-me-if-you-can kind of thing. You get caught then you fucking die. As Hiroshi died. How he died does not matter. What happened to his remains does. Along with 5,600 other Japanese combat troops and 106 Americans. It was war and those soldiers signed on the line and paid the price. Did they each have a penny for the ferry man? Where are their souls now? RIP the dead. Nippon and Yankees are equal in death. Enjoy Valahalla! The sadness that often overwhelms me up on Parawagan/Mataba etc is worse than any I ever felt before. Romance heartbreak/the death of a trusted friend/the death of parents, this is not comparable. For they are personal. This was simply beyond words, on a different level. Vangie gets it, Sayuri gets it. Most are not aware or simply do not care. Why? They have Miralco electric bills to pay (how can their price per fucking kilowatt be justified?). Others are more open to the important old events. It forever tied Philippines/Japan/America together. I had a nice meeting with six Filipinas and varied guys on the way to the peak. I was called from above to join them. Jeric's Store was above the road. We talked, chilled out, sang songs (Moscow Enter Sandman 1991 was mine), ate food. A shame of no hard core drinking. At this location where tens of thousands of Japanese/American/Filipinos died their souls needed a final lament. Yes we had fun, yes we made friends, yes my new friends learned of what happened here upon the heights of Mt Pacawagan (C for Charlie, this was the old name, not R for Romeo). Now the peak is viewing decks, holiday homes (the new white one is exceptionally beautiful) and camp sites. Maybe I will build a motorcycle factory up there?! Two separate people offered me to buy land there before. The land belongs to Mother Nature, God, and surely to the dead who were killed up there? Not to humans and a piece of paper. Each time I go there I pray for Hiroshi, for the war dead and for others. Including the small bad tempered one lol. Does it do any good? You tell me. Oh we had fun, I will climb more there. This peak has many untold stories. As do all the others. Each one a military battle site and graveyard of fucking killing. Death of the worst kind. I have the American and Japanese combat reports. Thanks Sayuri. It isn't nice. Like Mt Mataba where Japanese troops were blown up and sealed alive in tunnels. Go visit Mt Parawagan yourself. Enjoy tropical paradise. And remember the war dead. And be humble and pray for them. The Americans burned the dead Japanese soldiers with gasoline, the small was so bad. The bone fragments and teeth will still be there in the ash and soil. As will the unexploded ordnance. This still kills locals. War aint the fucking answer. Respect to my friend Sayuri for giving me all the Japanese war reports and telling me of your grandfather Hiroshi. He was a father already and died age 33 up there. You are his living legacy and have done him proud. Thank you for that. This makes my World War 2 war research worth it. It is for the soldiers. Not myself or any others alive now. It always was. Sayuri. You have an awareness no gal should ever have. Fuck the politicians. RIP the dead. Salute! Let's hike party and drink and more hehe \M/ 666 Rock n roll...
 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Riga checking

Riga Checking

Your boyfriend wants to date my small friend. Just as I did for two years. Little Riga looked lovely. She was sat down in the aircraft hangar. Nearby was her fighter plane. Her eyes closely focused on the bullets. Hundreds of machine gun bullets. Shiny like jewelry. She counted each round and checked for damage. An imperfect bullet could jam her guns. She did the same with the cannon shells. All were food for her Messerschmitt 309s guns. She trusted her armourers but liked to be sure. She got them to teach her their trade. How to disassemble each weapon after removing it from the aircraft. How to clean it. How to check each bullet and shell. A yellow ribbon tied her black hair back. Her glasses were on the table. Riga squinted at each shot. Gold and copper coloured. Pretty killing things. She slotted each one into a nylon belt. This went from the full ammo box through the gun to the empty box. Riga was only wearing green army shorts. Her legs looked desirable. The belt and shiny bullets lay across both thighs. It was a surreal pretty and deeply erotic image. Her thighs tight against the thin green fabric. Some male pilots were checking their own weapons and rounds. They glanced over to the gal when she wasn't looking. This was why she faced them checking the shots. To raise their blood pressure! She did this discreetly. Knew what buttons to push. Why her shorts were one size to small. Why she wore them. Why she wore no bra. Why she was Riga. She was good. And allowed to do this. Moral and desire increased to the sky and got results. Shot down enemy planes. Little Riga checking her bullets. Only a combat pilot yet so much more. All things to all men especially those already taken. It the way she handled herself, looked at you or flirted with you. Even if she said she didn't. Nobody was like her. No other gal checked bullets this way. Just look at her smile...

Riga Vehicle

 

Riga Vehicle

It always came back to travelling. Riga going on a journey again. This time she was leaving her ex. Another ex in another city. One day she promised this would stop. When would that be Riga? She got onto the transporter. The engine ticked over. A noise she felt more in her chest than heard. It had a big engine. Four hundred horses give or take. She sat down. Through the window she saw the city. A Portuguese coastal city. Her time here was over. It hadn't been bad. They had given her a job in a bar and also a factory making tennis shoes. She'd met Julian there. Four months together. Nothing heavy. She ended it before it got heated and they fell in love. Deeply. She told him she had to go back to Bangladesh. This was true. Her mother requested to see her. Her sister was ill. There were other reasons too. Known only to Riga. Another job offer. Going back to her old trade. Or at least one of them. The transporter set off. Riga clutched her travel bag to her chest. It contained all her possessions from six months in Portugal. She has no case or big things. It was always this way. They drove down the ring road from the centre. To the airport and her flight. Multiple hours and she would change jets twice. A day of travel. She welcomed the movement and sights. To be home again. It had been a long couple of years. Riga liked to be abroad. When would she settle down? If ever. Her marriage had failed. There were two daughters from that. What of the future? Riga knew some of the answers. The others would be provided in time. For now, she enjoyed the trip. Riga the traveller.

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Riga Number Four

 

 

Riga Number Four

Riga held the baby. It was light brown coloured. Her number four. It was a boy unlike three girls. This large size small baby was fathered by Pedro. In this reality Riga and he were together. There were no issues. Pedro had left his legal wife. Moved to another country and changed his numbers and emails. His ex-wife had no way to find and harass him. He was a ghost to her. Pedro moved in with Riga. The other kids lived there. Their home was in a town near Dhaka. Riga’s mother lived there too. All were happy. Riga doted over the baby. She fed big/little Vega when needed. And sang to him. Pedro played guitar to this. The baby adored it. These early years passed quickly. They weren’t small forever. Pedro worked as a delivery driver distributing bottled water. Riga worked at home for a small call centre. There would be no more working abroad. She was home now with her family and new fiancée. There were different realities. In this one all were fine. Riga came to terms with her father dying. She went to his grave once a fortnight to light a candle. Dhaka was a modern city now. The political instability was over. People concentrated on living life and their own wellbeing. Vega was destined to have a good future. Riga and Pedro promised not to fight, to openly communicate and work any issues out. He promised to always be true to her. Pedro wished they had met twenty or more years ago. That was uncontrollable. They worked with what they had. That was themselves and their family. Make each day count for they passed quickly.

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