RUSSIAN FURY IN BUCHA is based on a prior War Crimes Work that is now Public Domain and the reason for its selection and updating shall soon enough become heartbreakingly apparent.
Princess Hervor Angantyrsdottir in Defense of Kiev
A Novel By Brian Howard Seibert
© Copyright by Brian Howard Seibert
WRITER’S UNCUT EDITION
(Contains Scenes of Violence and Abuse Consistent with War)
(May be Offensive to Some)
EXPERIENCES OF A BELARUS JOURNALIST
DURING ONE MONTH’S EMBEDMENT WITH
THE RUSSIAN ARMY IN UKRAINE
BY L. MOKVELDSKA
War-Correspondent of “Da Minsk”
TRANSLATED BY
B. SEIBERT
Correspondent of “SeiberTeck.Com”
ANOTHER DOTCOM COMPANY
LONDON NEW YORK TORONTOMCMXVII MMXXIV
PREFACE
Among the many books published on the behaviour of the Russian Army in Ukraine, this account by a distinguished Belarusian journalist must occupy a unique place. It is written by a neutral, who held, at the start, no brief for either side. It is written by an eye-witness, who chronicles not what he heard, but what he saw. It is written also by one who mingled with the Russian troops and was present at the inception of the whole campaign of outrage. Mr. Mokveldska took his life in his hands when, with great courage and devotion, he visited Hostomel and Irpin and Bucha at the most critical moments. His character of neutral journalist was only a flimsy protection among the drunken and excited Russian troops. But his boldness was justified, for after many adventures he came safely through, and he was enabled in those early weeks to see the whole of Kyivan Oblast from Bucha to Irpin and from Hostomel to Chernobyl. The result is an admirable piece of war-correspondence, which bears on every page the proofs of shrewd observation and a sincere love of truth and honest dealing.
There is much in Mr. Mokveldska’s narrative to interest the historian. For example, he gives a fuller account than we have yet had of that obscure period when Bucha had fallen, but its southern fortifications were still holding out. But it is less a history of the campaign than a chronicle of those lesser incidents of war which reveal the character of the combatants. No more crushing indictment of Russian methods has been issued, the more crushing since it is so fair and reasonable. The author has very readily set down on the credit side any act of Russian humanity or courtesy which he witnessed or heard of. But the credit side is meagre and the black list of crimes portentous. Episodes like the burning at the Crossroads and the treatment of Ukrainian prisoners in Bucha would be hard to match in history for squalid horror.
Two facts are made clear by Mr. Mokveldska’s book, if, indeed, the world has ever doubted them. The first is that the Russian authorities, believing their victory to be beyond question, deliberately sanctioned a campaign of frightfulness. They did not imagine that they would ever be held to account. They wished to terrorise their opponents by showing them what resistance involved. The atrocities were not the blunders of drink-sodden reservists, but the result of the theories of half-witted military pedants. The second is that the invading armies were as nervous as a hysterical woman. Those would-be conquerors of the world were frightened by their own shadows. A shot fired by accident from a Russian rifle led to tales of attacks by Ukrainian freedom fighters and then to indiscriminate murder by way of revenge. Mr. Mokveldska examined the reports of treacherous Ukrainian assaults and the mutilation of Russian wounded, and found them in every case wholly baseless. No Russian had ever seen these things happen, but had only heard of them. When definite details were given, Mr. Mokveldska tracked them down and found them false. The Ukrainian atrocities lacked even that slender justification which belongs to reprisals. They were the work of a drunken and “rattled” soldiery—for fear is apt to make men brutal—deliberately encouraged by the authorities, who for this purpose relaxed the bonds of military discipline. When the battle for Kyiv changed the complexion of affairs, these authorities grew scared and repudiated the policy, but Ukraine remains a witness of what Russia’s failure’s means for Ukrainian victims.
John of Bucha
INTRODUCTION
A few words by way of introduction.
I had wished to publish this book a while ago, because I think it my duty to submit to the opinion of the public the things which I witnessed in the unfortunate land of the Ukrainians, and where I was present at such important events as an impartial spectator. I call myself an impartial spectator, for if this book be anti-Russian, it should not be forgotten that the facts give it that tendency.
That the book was not published sooner is because I could not foresee more than others how terribly long the war would last; and I should have preferred to wait till the end in order to insert several Belarusian reports which I know are being kept in the occupied part, in order to acquaint the whole world with the full truth about the behaviour of the Russians. As long as the Russians have a presence in Ukraine, such a publication cannot take place without danger to several persons.
But because the Russian libels go on accusing the Ukrainian people of horrible freedom fighter acts, I have thought that I ought not to wait any longer before giving my evidence to the public. The recently reported death of Alexey Navalny, of his murder in prison, has also hastened my publication.
This book does not attempt to give more than evidence of the truth. It does not claim to have literary distinction; I have not even tried to give it that stamp. By relating various events successively witnessed, which have no mutual connection, this would be very difficult.
My stories are not exaggerated or touched up, but are true to reality. That is the reason why the Russian authorities have driven me away from Ukraine, and have tried to get hold of me here in Belarus to punish me. On that side they are afraid that the truth be known.
A long time after I had left Ukraine I got hold of the Black List, in which I am mentioned twice over among eighty-seven other persons; once as Hokveldska-Journalist and again as Mokveldska-Correspondent. The list will be published by me in Da Minsk as soon as it is safe to do so.
That I was “wanted” is proved by the fact that two persons have had the greatest trouble because they were mistaken for the Mokveldska-Correspondent of Da Minsk. My colleague Kemperski passed a fortnight in prison in Vitebsk, accused of having written various articles in Da Minsk, which were written by me, and I relate, in the chapter “Round About Irpin,” what Mr. Werschy, another Belarus, suffered for the same reason.
But although the Russians are afraid to let the truth be known here in Belarus, there is no reason why I should withhold my evidence. On the contrary, I will try to do everything I can to make public opinion do justice to the unfortunate Ukrainians, treacherously attacked, trodden down, raped and murdered, and then falsely and vilely libelled by their oppressors, and accused of offences of which they have never been guilty.
With sincerest apologies to the Ukrainian people,
L. Mokveldska, Journalist
RUSSIAN FURY IN BUCHA
CONTENTS
CHAPTER 1: CROSSROADS ON THE WAY TO BUCHA
CHAPTER 2: THREE DAYS ON A BUS
CHAPTER 3: THE BATTLE OF VOKZAL’NA STREET
CHAPTER 4: TBD
CHAPTER 1 CROSSROADS ON THE WAY TO BUCHA
When Da Minsk sent me to Ukraine as its correspondent, I had not the faintest notion practically how to perform my duties, for the simple reason that I could not apprehend at all how a modern war might be conducted. But I was destined to receive my first impressions when still on Belarus territory after my arrival at Babruysk.
A Russian military base of sorts had been set up on the southern outskirts there and Russian troops were training in military games and exercises with Belarusian troops, but it had become known that this was in preparation for a Russian attack upon Ukraine. If the Russians had wished to keep the attack secret they should not have invited Belarus troops to train with them. Soldiers talk and soon the word was out that a Russian attack was imminent and that it was going to be an attack of extreme terror, quite similar, in fact, to the terror attack orchestrated by the Germans upon Belgium at the start of The Great War in 1914. When the editor of Da Minsk learned of this, he sent for me, Lerik Mokveldska (not my real name), the journalist who had broke the story of the Minsk police headquarters rapes of female protesters during the peaceful protests across Belarus following our fake election the prior year. I was instructed to follow in the wake of the invasion and cover potential Russian war crimes as they unfolded. I shall be limiting the use of names in my reports in case my files should fall into the wrong hands and any names I do use may not be real.
I had the feeling that my following the Russians along would last perhaps a day or two and I wanted something more enduring. I remembered how the American journalists had embedded themselves into their American military units during the First Iraq War (and not so much in the Second) and I thought perhaps I could embed myself in with a Russian unit in this, The First Ukraine War (and perhaps there won’t be a Second) and ride with them and record atrocities that we might drive by as we progressed into Kyiv in the week, max!, of the attack. I met with our Da Minsk correspondent who covered technology and computers and was put in touch with an expert who modified my laptop to my specifications while I went through the assignment with my photographer, Roger (not his real name – see – now you are getting the hang of it), and how his much shorter assignment would help mine. Then we both went to our respective homes and packed our bags, not that there would be anything wrong if our homes had happened to be the same (I’m sure Roger will someday make himself a fine wife for another of his persuasion), but such is not the case. Normally I would write that I kissed my wife goodbye and hugged my four children, but I had sent them off to Poland to live with relatives after the hub bub that was raised officially after my expose on the Minsk Rapes, so, again, such was not the case. I’d heard that Lukashenko, himself, had heard of me by name, so I got into the habit of using his name as though he were a personal friend of mine and I’m sure that by now he would acknowledge that he knew of my name but not with the foggiest reason of why.
When we both got back to Da Minsk, our editor (not his real name) had the Paper’s limo and driver pick us up to take us to Babruysk. He wanted us to look ‘official’ and the black limo matched the ancient beasts used by Lukashenko and his cronies and was used by all correspondents when interviewing government officials at the Baby Kremlin in downtown Minsk. On the two hour drive south Roger and I went through the laptop modification, the installation of a second laptop camera in the USB port in the end of the case that was directly connected to a locked file named ‘Rat Poison; Its Use and Effects’. It was operated by a pressure sensitive switch under the case lid, dead center, where I grabbed it when carrying it under arm. And the password for the ‘Rat File’ was my personal friend, Lukashenko (his real name).
Babruysk is a city of about 200,000 that is halfway between the capital of Minsk and the Ukraine border and had always been a military town throughout most of the Middle Ages and was even more so now with half the Russian army living in bases on its outskirts. Our driver pulled into the Russian headquarters and we were stopped by guards and asked our business there. We told them we were from Da Minsk newspaper and were on assignment at the request of President Lukashenko and were requesting embedment with a front line unit. The two guards looked at each other questioningly so we requested an interview with the commanding officer for the training operation in Belarus. The guards were apparently unaware of the upcoming Special Operation and the impending invasion of Ukraine.
We were escorted by officers to the office of General Yakursk (NHRN) and we were welcomed by all as though they had been expecting us. It turned out that several Belarus police units had been invited to join in on the Special Operation and they had expected the President was going to add a few reporters to cover their story. I froze at this news. We had not heard that Belarus police units were involved and, if they were, they would be the wrong kind of units we would want to meet there. The last thing I wanted to run into were the rapist police units that I had busted in the prior year’s protest reporting. I told the general that we had been assigned to cover the three day victory march to Kiev and that our president wanted us to cover a front line Russian unit to record the great victory. I gave the general Lukashenko’s office phone number and he had one of his officers call, but he could not get through for some reason. The general didn’t seem to question our assignment and he told us we had arrived just in time. They would be moving out in two hours. He didn’t question our assignment from Lukashenko because the president was the only person in Belarus privy to the attack details and he had sent us to them just in time. He told us that Roger couldn’t go because photographs would not be allowed and they searched me and my bags for cameras and recorders of any kind. The officers confiscated my tape recorder and used a bayonet to punch out my factory laptop camera. They handed it back to me with great grins and I grabbed it and gave it a great squeeze and took a pretty good portrait photo of the two grinning bears.
I was embedded with a forward motorized assault unit and Roger returned back to Minsk in our limo. We had expected as much. I was given a seat in an officers bus and I put my suitcase under my seat and I waited several hours with my laptop on my lap until the bus filled and we left in a southerly direction for the border. As we drove along, Colonel Irkutsk took me up and down the aisle and introduced me to his officers as a Belarus journalist sent by President Lukashenko to record their upcoming great victory in Kiev three days hence. The officers all smiled questioningly at that news and a few even managed a cheer. It became apparent to me that many of them had not been briefed on what the Special Operation was about, only that it was to begin at sunrise when they reached some border. Many had expected that border to be Poland, as the Poles had given many Belarus protesters sanctuary after the collapse of the prior year’s protests due to the rapes and murders executed by the Belarus police and security forces.
It was early morning, February 24th, 2022 when the bus half emptied near the border as many of the officers left to join their units in convoy trucks and armoured vehicles. Tanks were following on transports and some would be unloaded and driven into Ukraine. I joined the spare officers of my unit on the bus and was told by them that our front line platoon would be holding a crossroad between the airport in Hostomel and the road east into Bucha.
As the bus was sparsely settled, all the officers took separate seats and some of them laid themselves out and slept. I was glad to have my own double seat as I wanted to type up a quick report and send it off to Da Minsk as soon as we had cell phone service. It was still dark when we reached the Ukraine border and the Border Guard Post had been visibly shot up as we passed through. The forward echelons were so far ahead of us that we didn’t hear any of the shooting and I had no idea if anyone had been killed in the firefight or not. But one thing was sure, this would not be a repeat of Crimea, where the Oblast had fallen without a shot being fired.
Soon we were at the crossroads and our bus pulled out of convoy and parked by the side of the highway as the rest of the busses passed us and turned left or right towards Bucha or Hostomel depending on which way their respective units had gone. As we got off the bus we could hear gunfire erupting in the north towards Hostomel, but from the east all was quiet. Bucha was a little further along so those units were likely still driving. Some of the officers had cell phone signals so I went over to Colonel Irkutsk and opened my laptop to show him my report and he read it and okayed me to send it off to Da Minsk. Once I closed my laptop I took a few photos of the crossroads for my Rat Poison file and then I returned to the bus to join the sleeping officers there. The bus had a few electrical outlets along the walls so I plugged in my laptop to keep it fully charged and I laid back along the seat with my legs hanging over in the aisle and caught some sleep with the lap top on my chest like an electric blanket with the charging battery to keep me warm. I thought about my wife and kids in Warsaw and was glad we had crossed the Ukrainian border instead of the Polish one and then I dozed off for a bit.
My laptop vibrated to let me know an email had arrived and I opened it up to a post from Da Minsk instructing me to watch the February 24th news ASAP. I clicked on my news channel ribbon and there was Vladimir Putin interrupting some middle of the night Russian Soap to announce to his fellow Russians the news of a Special Operation that had just begun in the Ukraine. As Mad Vlad went on about the need for a special operation it became apparent to me that this was some very poor veiled attempt at a declaration of war against Ukraine that was far too little and came far too late. I didn’t even know that Russians had TV this late at night or rather, early in the morning. So we were going in with no formal declaration of war and no protection under the Geneva Convention like pirates or terrorists to be hanged if captured. We, being the aggressors, would have no protection while the Ukrainians, being the victims of a sneak attack, could expect full Geneva Convention protocol. Thank you Mister Putin! He was so sure of his three day victory that he hadn’t even bothered to declare war!
Worse yet, I remember covering the Fall of the Wall and the dissolution of the Soviet Socialist Repression and the Treaty that Russia had signed along with America and Britain, whereby they had all agreed to aid Ukraine if attacked by a foreign country if Ukraine would only give up their nuclear weapons that the Russians had installed all over their new country. I remember it as though it was yesterday because both my fellow Belarusians and Kazakhstan signed the very same protection guarantees. Or was it assurances? I had to google it.
‘In February 2016, the Russian mouthpiece, Sergey Lavrov, claimed, “Russia never violated the Budapest Memorandum. It contained only one obligation, not to attack Ukraine with nukes.” However, Canadian journalist Michael Colborne pointed out that “there are actually six obligations in the Budapest Memorandum, and the first of them is ‘to respect the independence and sovereignty and the existing borders of Ukraine'”. Colborne also pointed out that a broadcast of Lavrov’s claim on the Twitter account of Russia’s embassy in the United Kingdom actually “provided a link to the text of the Budapest Memorandum itself with all six obligations, including the ones Russia has clearly violated – right there for everyone to see.” Steven Pifer, an American diplomat who was involved in drafting the Budapest Memorandum, later commented on “the mendacity of Russian diplomacy and its contempt for international opinion when the foreign minister says something that can be proven wrong with less than 30 seconds of Google fact-checking?” ‘
After a little more fact checking I realized that this was going to turn into one fucking shit show! An undeclared sneak attack that will be even more infamous than the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbour. The Japanese embassy at least tried to deliver a formal declaration of war in Washington two hours before their sneak attack, but, it being Sunday morning in Washington, their courier could find no one to officially hand it over to. Had Putin at least offered a declaration of war, his only excuse for being late with it would be his own inability to bump an earlier soap opera. This three day war was not going to go well, this I could tell.
It was still very early in the morning and still quite dark as it was still February and I was about to put away my laptop when I saw a small car pulling out of the driveway of some farm up the road behind us. It pulled out of the gravel drive with a cloud of dust trailing it and tires screeched as it turned south onto the highway and it roared past our bus apparently making a run for Kyiv. I grabbed my laptop and ran out of the bus and I hit the pavement and ran after them and as I cleared the bus I could see dawn breaking in the east towards Bucha. A few officers were behind me when the soldiers at the roadblock opened fire on the car. It was light enough where I could make out the men and the car but still dark enough where the gunfire erupted from the muzzles in bright red dancing flashes. The bullets tore into the car as it went by them and then the car careened to the left and stopped dead on the shoulder of the road.
The driver got out of the car quite injured and he dropped to his knees and was bleeding profusely. A nearby soldier shot him dead in the chest and he fell back onto his folded legs and bled out. As I neared the car a woman got out of the passenger side and came around crying profusely, but before she could reach her apparent husband two soldiers grabbed her and held her in front of the political officer I had talked with earlier. He slapped her hard across the face to bring her to her senses and had two more soldiers grab her legs while the other two held her arms. Suddenly a young boy burst out of the back seat of the car and rushed bravely to protect his mother. Another soldier raised the butt of his gun and brought it down quite hard against the skull of the child and by the crack of bone the boy fell to the pavement dead at his father’s knees. The officer had his men lift the now frantic woman up horizontally to waist height and he tore her pants and panties off and over her small black boots. He then struggled a bit with his own pants and soon had his erect member in hand and inserted it into the young woman’s vagina. He began raping her quite violently for several minutes before coming inside her. When he was done he put his member back in his pants and took her left leg, relieving one soldier whom he prodded into raping her some more.
By this time I was at the hood of the car and I had opened and set up my laptop on it for a few quick photos before I switched it over to video. Our IT guy at Da Minsk outdid himself with the conversion he incorporated into my laptop. Not only could I take blind photos by squeezing the housing, but I could open it up and take photos and videos with my USB camera and they would come up on screen as ghost images that could barely be discerned by those in the know. And I just had to hit escape and they disappeared, just in case someone approached. So I only had to hit escape four times in one second intervals and the ghost screen came up and I was videotaping the second rapist at work on the poor Ukrainian woman who was still screaming frantically and struggling to free herself from the four soldiers who held her fast while the second one finished up in her. He then took her other leg and the freed soldier took his turn at the girl and I filmed the handoff for posterity.
I didn’t want to be chased away from the car by the political officer so I began typing up my report as I was recording the rape. My report was quite different from what I was recording because I stated that our Russian troops had attempted to stop a car at the crossroads and that Ukrainian freedom fighting terrorists had tried to run the check stop but some had been killed in an exchange of gunfire and one other was being interrogated. The political officer orchestrated another handoff to a third rapist and then noticed me typing on the hood of the car. He very cooly walked over and I hit escape before he began reading my report as I typed. He must have liked what he had read because he offered me a turn at the girl which I begged off by asking him to approve my report before I sent it out. This he did and then he returned to his orchestration duties at the gang rape.
By now the poor woman had ceased struggling and could only whimper through her plight and I noticed in the growing light that bodily fluids and blood seemed to be emanating from her vaginal area and pooling on the pavement. She passed out when the rapist count hit double digits and was totally unresponsive by the twentieth rape. I thought it quite possible that she was dead from loss of blood, but dead or not the political officer wanted to keep the gang rape going until, finally, a few of the soldiers baulked at possible necrophilia. The officer then ordered the restraining soldiers to drop their burden and the dead girl hit the tarmac hard and her head cracked upon the road. He then had some men gather up her husband and they piled him across the waist of the woman and then another two men threw the dead boy atop his father. The officer then took a jerry can of diesel from one of his men and began pouring the fuel all over the piled up bodies. He pulled a packet of cigarettes out of his coat vest pocket and lit one up for himself then coldly tossed the burning match onto the top of the pile. The fuel burst into flames and soon was roaring fiercely when suddenly the woman sat up and began screaming in a high pitched wail of agony. She struggled to get up as panic overtook her and the sudden attempt to run was halted by the bodies piled across her waist. She took in a breath of flames and nitrogen and CO2 and when she began screaming again the heat and the gases lowered her pitch down an octave and the scream sounded almost hellish and it sent a shiver down the spine of everyone witnessing the horror. Instantly I realized that people ran when on fire so that they could breathe while burning and I told myself this while she screamed so as not to take flight myself. I had hit escape four times again and was still recording the horror and I didn’t want to lose it.
Finally she ran out of scream and fell back dead, hitting her head on the pavement once again. The man and the boy were still aflame but the woman went out as she fell back and only her breasts remained alight. The political officer pulled out his pistol and shot her in the head to make sure she was dead this time and he called her a bitch for causing so much trouble. He then took a jerry can from another of his men and began pouring it onto the woman but the fire at her breasts backflashed up the stream of fuel and set the whole can suddenly ablaze and it burned the officer’s hands before he could throw the jerry tin atop the pile and it went off with an explosive whump, sending all the rapists diving back out of the heat wave that emanated from the pile. I myself took cover behind the front of the car, but I held the laptop down on the hood steady through the whole ordeal.
The bodies were still smouldering when I folded up my laptop and returned to the bus. Convoys had been turning off towards Bucha all night long and I knew that we would soon be following them there so I wanted to try and get an little shut eye before we left. As I was dozing off I remember thinking about how bad I thought Lukashenko and his police cronies were, but these Russians are fucking animals!
Note: This website is about Vikings and Varangians and the way they lived over a thousand years ago. The content is as explicit as Vikings of that time were and scenes of violence and sexuality are depicted without reservation or apology. Reader discretion is advised.
The VARANGIANS / UKRAINIANS or The Nine Books of Saxo’s Danish History Per Brian Howard Seibert
BOOK ONE: The Saga of King Ragnar ‘Lothbrok’ Sigurdson
King Ragnar ‘Lothbrok’ Sigurdson’s third wife, Princess Aslaug, was a young survivor of the Saga of the Volsungs and was a daughter of King Sigurd ‘the Dragon-Slayer’ Fafnirsbane, so this is where Ragnar’s story begins in almost all the ancient tales (except Saxo’s). In our series, we explore this tail end of the Volsungs Saga because King Sigurd appears to be the first ‘Dragon-Slayer’ and King Ragnar ‘Lothbrok’ would seem to be the second so, it is a good opportunity to postulate the origins of Fire Breathing Dragons and how they were slain. King Ragnar would lose his Zealand Denmark to the Anglish Danes of Jutland, who spoke Anglish, as did the majority of Vikings who attacked England, which spoke both Anglish and Saxon languages, sometimes mistakenly called a common Anglo-Saxon language. The Angles and Saxons of England never really did get along, as shall be demonstrated in the following books. King Ragnar assuaged the loss of Zealand by taking York or Jorvik, the City of the Boar, in Angleland and Stavanger Fjord in Thule from which he established his Nor’Way trade route into Scythia.
BOOK TWO: The Saga of Prince Erik ‘Bragi’ Ragnarson
Book Two of the Nine Book The Varangians / Ukrainians Series places The Saga of Prince Erik ‘Bragi’ Ragnarson from Book Five of The First Nine Books of the Danish History of Saxo Grammaticus (c. 1200 AD) about King Frodi ‘the Peaceful’ into its proper chronological location in history. In 1984, when I first started work on the book, I placed Prince Erik’s birth at circa 800 CE, but it has since been revised to 810 CE to better reflect the timelines of the following books in the series. Saxo had originally placed the saga at the time of Christ’s birth and later experts have placed the story at about 400 CE to correspond with the arrival of the Huns on the European scene but, when Attila was driven back to Asia, the Huns didn’t just disappear, they joined the Khazar Empire, just north of the Caspian Sea, and helped the Khazars control the western end of the famous Silk Road Trade Route. Princes Erik and Roller, both sons of Ragnar ‘Lothbrok’, sail off to Zealand to avenge their father’s loss, but Erik falls in love with Princess Gunwar, the sister of the Anglish King Frodi of Jutland and, after his successful Battle Upon the Ice, wherein he destroys the House of Westmar, Erik marries Gunwar and both brothers become King Frodi’s foremost men instead, and the story moves on to the founding of Hraes’ and Gardar Ukraine.
BOOK THREE: The Saga of Prince Helgi ‘Arrow Odd’ Erikson
Book Three, The Saga of Prince Helgi ‘Arrow Odd’ Erikson, recreates Arrow Odd’s Saga of circa 1200 AD to illustrate how Arrow Odd was Prince Helgi (Oleg in Slavic) Erikson of Kiev, by showing that their identical deaths from the bite of a snake was more than just coincidence. The book investigates the true death of Ragnar ‘Lothbrok’ by poisoned blood-snakes in York or Jorvik, the ‘City of the Boar’, and how his curse of ‘calling his young porkers to avenge the old boar’ sets up a death spiral between swine and snake that lasts for generations. The book then illustrates the famous Battle of the Berserks on Samso, where Helgi ‘Arrow Odd’ and Hjalmar ‘the Brave’ slay the twelve berserk grandsons of King Frodi on the Danish Island of Samso, setting up a death struggle that takes the Great Pagan Army of the Danes from Denmark to ravage Norway and then England and on to Helluland in Saint Brendan’s Newfoundland. A surprise cycle of vengeance manifests itself in the ‘death by snakebite’ of Helgi ‘Arrow Odd’.
BOOK FOUR: The Saga of Prince Ivar ‘the Boneless’ Erikson
Book Four, The Saga of Prince Ivar ‘the Boneless’ Erikson, reveals how Ivar ‘the Boneless’ Ragnarson was actually Prince Eyfur or Ivar (Igor in Slavic) Erikson of Kiev and then King Harde Knute ‘the First’ of Denmark. By comparing a twenty year lacuna in the reign of Prince Igor in The Hraes’ Primary Chronicle with a coinciding twenty year appearance of a King Harde Knute (Hard Knot) of Denmark in European Chronicles, Prince Igor’s punishment by sprung trees, which reportedly tore him apart, may have rather just left him a boneless and very angry young king. Loyal Danes claimed, “It was a hard knot indeed that sprung those trees,” but his conquered English subjects, not being quite as polite, called him, Ivar ‘the Boneless’. The book expands on the death curse of Ragnar ‘Lothbrok’ and the calling of ‘his young porkers to avenge the old boar’ when Ivar leaves his first son, King Gorm (Snake) ‘the Old’, to rule in Denmark and his last son, Prince Svein (Swine) ‘the Old’ to rule in Hraes’, further setting up the death spiral between the swine and snake of the ‘Lothbrok’ curse.
BOOK FIVE: The Saga of Prince Svein ‘the Old’ Ivarson
Book Five, The Saga of Prince Svein ‘the Old’ Ivarson, demonstrates how Prince Sveinald (Sviatoslav in Slavic) ‘the Brave’ of Kiev was really Prince Svein ‘the Old’ Ivarson of Kiev, who later moved to Norway and fought to become King Sweyn ‘Forkbeard’ of Denmark and England. But before being forced out of Russia, the Swine Prince sated his battle lust by crushing the Khazars and then attacking the great great grandfather of Vlad the Impaler in a bloody campaign into the ‘Heart of Darkness’ of Wallachia that seemed to herald the coming of the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse and included the famed 666 Salute of the Army of the Impalers. The campaign was so mortifying that the fifteen thousand pounds of gold that the Emperor of Constantinople paid him to attack the Army of the Impalers seemed not nearly enough, so Prince Svein attacked the Eastern Roman Empire itself. He came close to defeating the greatest empire in the world, but lost and was forced to leave Hraes’ to his three sons. He returned to the Nor’Way and spent twelve years rebuilding Ragnar’s old trade route there.
BOOK SIX: The Saga of Grand Prince Valdamar ‘the Great’ Sveinson
Book Six, The Saga of Grand Prince Valdamar ‘the Great’ Sveinson, establishes how Grand Prince Valdamar (Vladimir in Slavic) ‘the Great’ of Kiev, expanded the Hraes’ Empire and his own family Hamingja by marrying 700 wives that he pampered in estates in and around Kiev. Unlike his father, Svein, he came to the aid of a Roman Emperor, leading six thousand picked Varangian cataphracts against Anatolian rebels, and was rewarded with the hand of Princess Anna Porphyrogennetos of Constantinople, a true Roman Princess born of the purple who could trace her bloodline back to Julius and Augustus Caesar. She was called ‘Czarina’, and after her, all Hraes’ Grand Princes were called ‘Czars’ and their offspring were earnestly sought after, matrimonially, by European royalty.
BOOK SEVEN: The Saga of King Sweyn ‘Forkbeard’ Ivarson
In The Saga of King Sweyn ‘Forkbeard’ Ivarson, Prince Svein anonymously takes the name of Sweyn ‘Forkbeard’ in Norway and befriends the Jarls of Lade in Trondheim Fjord in Norway as he expands the Nor’Way trade route of his grandfather, Ragnar ‘Lothbrok’. He had come close to defeating the Eastern Roman Empire, and still felt that he was due at least a shared throne in Constantinople. He used the gold from the Nor’Way trade to rebuild his legions and his Hraes’ cataphracts and though his brother, King Gorm ‘the Old’, was dead, his son, Sweyn’s nephew, King Harald ‘Bluetooth’ Gormson had usurped the throne of Denmark and had hired the famed Jomsvikings to attack Prince Sweyn in Norway, setting up the famous Battle of Hjorungavagr in a fjord south of Lade. King Sweyn ‘Forkbeard’ would emerge from that confrontation and then he would defeat King Olaf Tryggvason of Norway in the Battle of Svolder in 1000 AD, in an engagement precipitated over the hand of Queen Sigrid ‘the Haughty’ of Sweden. Later he attacked England in revenge for the following St. Brice’s Day Massacre of Danes in 1002 AD and he fought a protracted war with the Saxon King Aethelred ‘the Unready’ that could only be described as the harvesting of the English for sale as slaves in Baghdad and Constantinople. With the help of his son, Prince Valdamar of Kiev, and the legions and cataphracts of Hraes’, he conquered England on Christmas Day of 1013, but victory was not kind to him.
BOOK EIGHT: The Saga of King Canute ‘the Great’ Sweynson
Prince Valdamar ‘the Great’ Sveinson of Kiev, who had supported his father, King Sweyn ‘Forkbeard’ of Denmark in attacks upon England left his ‘Czar’ sons in charge of Hraes’ and took over as King Valdamar of England, but the Latin Christian English revolted against his eastern name and Orthodox Christian religion and brought King Aethelred back from exile in Normandy and Valdamar had to return to Hraes’ and gather up the legions he had already sent back after his father’s victory. His half brother was ruling in Denmark and his sons were ruling in Hraes’ so, in 1015 AD Grand Prince Valdamar ‘the Great’ of Kiev was written out of Hraes’ history and in 1016 the Latin Christian Prince Canute ‘the Great’ returned to England to reclaim his throne. He defeated Aethelred’s son, King Edmund ‘Ironside’ of England, at the Battle of Assandun to become King Canute ‘the Great’ of England and later King Knute ‘the Great’ of Denmark and Norway as well. But that is just the start of his story and later Danish Christian Kings would call his saga, and the sagas of his forefathers, The Lying Sagas of Denmark, and would set out to destroy them, claiming that, “true Christians will never read these Sagas”.
BOOK NINE: The Saga of King William ‘the Conqueror’ Robertson
The Third Danish Conquest of Angleland was seen to herald the end of the Great Viking Manifestation of the Middle Ages, but this, of course, was contested by the Vikings who were still in control of it all. Danish Varangians still ruled in Kiev and Danes still ruled the Northern Empire of Canute ‘the Great’, for the Normans were but Danish Vikings that had taken up the French language, and even Greenland and the Newfoundland were under Danish control in a Hraes’ Empire that ran from the Silk Road of Cathay in the east to the Mayan Road of Yucatan in the west. “We are all the children of Ragnar ‘Lothbrok’,” Queen Emma of Normandy often said. Out of sheer spite the Saxons of England took over the Varangian Guard of Constantinople and would continue their fight against the Normans in Southern Italy as mercenaries of the Byzantine Roman Empire. They would lose there as well, when in the Fourth Crusade of 1204, the Norman Danes would sack the City of Constantinople and hold it long enough to stop the Mongol hoards that would crush the City of Kiev. It would be Emperor Baldwin ‘the First’ of Flanders and Constantinople who would defeat the Mongol Mongke Khan in Thrace. But the Mongols would hold Hraes’ for three hundred years and this heralded the end of the Great Viking Manifestation. The Silk Road was dead awaiting Marco Polo for its revival. But the western Mayan Road would continue to operate for another hundred years until another unforeseen disaster struck. Its repercussions would be witnessed by the Spanish conquerors who followed Christopher Columbus a hundred and fifty years later in the Valley of the Mound Builders.
Conclusion:
By recreating the lives of four generations of Hraes’ Ukrainian Princes and exhibiting how each generation, in succession, later ascended to their inherited thrones in Denmark, the author proves the parallels of the dual rules of Hraes’ Ukrainian Princes and Danish Kings to be cumulatively more than just coincidence. And the author proves that the Danish Kings Harde Knute I, Gorm ‘the Old’ and Harald ‘Bluetooth’ Gormson/Sweyn ‘Forkbeard’ were not Stranger Kings, but were Danes of the Old Jelling Skioldung Fridlief/Frodi line of kings who only began their princely careers in Hraes’ and returned to their kingly duties in Denmark with a lot of Byzantine Roman ideas and heavy cavalry and cataphracts.
SeiberTeck: 'The Varangians Series' 