There are three main components to the Bonhomme de Neige
model of military leader. They all spring from the overarching
principle of his life, tactics, and strategy: that he will
not act on personal desires or go through even with the most
important plans if others, especially those he loves, will
not join him. This makes him a wildly unpredictable opponent
and a weakling at heart (weaklings discussed in chapter
6). Third, he's a Snowman.
--Deathfox, The New Art of War. New York: Kopf,
OK, no vacation. Nobody wanted to go (though Shu Tri would
have loved it once she got there, the little island rat).
Anya picked a fight about what I was feeding my kid (as if
she gave an ass-is that the human idiom?) as an excuse to
These sad, lazy doldrums infuriate! My life was on overdrive
until her departure, and it was good for me. I think I'll
go back to the most arid motherland tonight and start preparations
to take over the world. My daughter will accompany me, as
will, with any luck, the Dog with Human Hands. Though that
depends on how warm his fur can get and/or how willing he
is to wear doggie sweaters. (I hope he's very willing,
don't you?) I wish my kind urinated. I would march into the
freezer and piss all over Deathfox for making me murder my
kindred Snowbeings (Epithode 4, True Believerth! -Ed.).
He deserves death, but that's simply not feasible with our
Actually, I've been thinking about inviting him along. His
skill with strategy and logistics, as well as his detective's
eye for treachery and brutality once he is certain of betrayal-that's
to say, once he is awake-would come in most handy. His megalomania,
obviously, might also sway him to get in on the ground floor
of a full-frontal assault on humanity. He mostly prefers playing
silly and confusing mind games, then killing the foolish participants
as if he were fate itself, redressing hubris, but I think
that perhaps after six months frozen solid, I would
accept a change of pace. In exchange for my flea-bitten life.
But he's still got four months in there. Ah, screw it. Real
men like Deathfox deserve to be thawed just enough to act
as the ball in a rousing (and arousing) game of field-hockey.
You see what losing Anya has done to me? I talk about sordid
things as a way of delaying them. I have to stop this nonsense,
thaw D-Fizzy, beat him in front of my daughter so that she
never wants to pick up or see another field-hockey stick,
and recruit the evil bastard as my personal bodyguard and
advisor for the coming conflagration between our species,
reader. Therefore, behold. My to-do list.
Thaw him, beat him, greet him. Determine criteria for success:
Humanity destroyed. No, take too long. Throne of Snowmpire
(thus to be called in honor of what's-his-name), running planet-wide
human slave ring, Dog and Fox as capos. Create species of
second class citizens on earth from which only my daughter
will be exempt. Good. Like it. Plan? Get farmer's almanac
for cycles of the moon. Destroy it with ice beam. Practice
ice beam. Train all snowpeople. Set template for training
latest reports on Snowmonster activity. Access U.S. military
research and development, as well as current hardware specs.
Steal gadgets. Hit Siberia in the Foxfire. Contingencies?
What do I need if any part fails? Plane crash: my cushioned
and girl-enveloping body; my bare, murderous hands to avenge
the Dog. Hacking: In case of failure, infiltrate military
complex with shape-shifting ability, or send trained underling
to do same. Take every precaution: setbacks delay task considerably.
Go to bathroom.
Back. Phase II. Arrive in Siberia. Displace current snow-leader
of ragtag remaining forces. Should be easy by reputation.
Can't afford to kill even him. Or her. Gawd. Become benevolent
ruler. Promote the self-motivated. Begin training in hardware.
6 AM hardware. 7 Breakfast. 7:15 indoctrination & motivational
speakers. 8:00 hardware training. 1 PM hand-to-hand and short-range
weapons training. 9 PM dinner. 9:15 lights out. Shu Tri will
not follow this example, and will practice shooting ice beams
out of her mouth with me at 9:30, go back to sleep, then eat
throughout daylight hours. Ah yes, 6 PM leadership and strategy
seminar for officers. Food served if Eskimos have not been
hunted to extinction. Discipline? If the dissident's heart
is in the right place, perhaps a speech and exoneration. If
not, assign latrine duty. We'll need more of these workers
than we can create with punishment anyway, especially with
What about money? Damn. I'm late considering that. Where
am I going to get money for all this? Perhaps I can pay them
with insufficient food, and bribe them into informing with
supplementary morsels, as the appetite-trained ancient Greeks
did their slaves. Yes, that sounds suitably old-world . .
. at least when I'm . . . well. You know. Under my current
I'll tell you what else. Not one of you will be saved from
my fiery armadas. Certainly not by your "mothers" (look,
I know you mammals value that term a great deal, but think
of what it really means! Yuck. Get the picture? You
can expect more from me on that). Nor by your armies, for
I will have poached your best soldiers with all of my money.
Money that I will steal . . . from Deathfox. My plan is excellent.
Where do you think you're going? You need to hear this.
Haha! Did I hurt your ears? Oh, quit being such a little
American bitch. I was just joking. Hey! Don't you walk away
from me. Why not? Because I HATE YOU.