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A Christmas Eve Surprise Just Flew Over At
Hypersonic Speed...Instead Of Santa's Sleigh

By Yoichi Shimatsu
Exclusive to Rense

On this eve of Christmas, a dark angel of death has flown overhead, above the clouds that obscured the stars. Its passage over the Southeastern states proves that humanity is stepping closer with every passing night toward the hypersonic missile strike against one of the world's major cities, either intended or likelier by accident. Take your pick of which metropolis will be the first vaporized in a cloud of nuclear dust: Washington D.C., Moscow, Beijing, Tokyo, London or Rome. The threat is real for it nearly just happened one night on the cusp of this Christmas holiday.

On the coming moment of truth about the boundless human capacity for suicide, it will be too late for the grey eminences in our universities and at the UN to moralize about the urgent need for an international treaty to prohibit unstoppable nuclear-armed rockets flying 5-times faster than the speed of sound, leaving trails of radioactive dust across thousands of miles, for by then the final war will be upon us all.

Along the trajectory of mass destruction, a global nuclear exchange has so far been averted only because the three governments that have test-fired hypersonic missiles have limited the toll to their own citizens. These "minor mishaps" have so far been merely:

- five Russian rocket scientists blown to bloody bits in the Arctic region, while radioactive contamination poisoned thousands of villages across southern Russia with the release of ruthenium isotopes from an earlier defective ultra-speed missle test;

- two weeks of hot isotope fallout from a passing hypersonic missile across 1,500 kilometers of China's Pacific coast cities and towns posed a threat to the health and lives of hundreds of millions of residents, before exploding in a cloud of lethal dust on the border with North Korean and then triggering an earth-shaking blast that caused the Supreme Leader in Pyongyang to question his alliance with Beijing;

- and a U.S. Navy launched hypersonic test missile that triggered the recent north Los Angeles earthquake with a slightly off-target blast at the the China Lake Naval Weapons test-site, rocking the San Andreas Fault, the source of the Big One that could level Hollywood and Disneyland.

No Shelter for the Weary

After escaping this hypersonic-sourced radioactive fog gripping Euro-Asia and the Pacific Basin, and that after doing field research in Fukushima, I assumed, wrongly, that Florida is a safe haven from the mad scientists of Los Alamos, Mianyang and no-name underground labs in Siberia. Now the rude shock of predawn proves that I should have gone to Maine instead or, better, Labrador.

In the wee hours just two days before Christmas, the dark surface of the lakes that dot Florida were "holiday decorated" with perfectly still and unruffled squares and curlicues of still water, like mirrors on the surface, surrounded by rippling waves and raindrops. There again, I am the only witness who could appreciate the curious geometry of heavy water, tritium and deuterium, released from a nuclear event. The furious storm was all the stranger, mid-winter being the dry season for this southern state.

How in the groggy darkness at 4 a.m., did I know something was amiss? After being awakened by the flash of lightning strikes and booming thunder, the back of my hands became suddenly itchy from that all-too familiar Fukushima feeling during my years of field research inside that radioactive exclusion zone. Sighing "not again, not now", I jammed the batteries into my dosimeter and quickly found the outside reading indicated 4 times the radioactivity level as compared with ultra-low reading of indoors (the air from the previous day). Under a dripping porch roof, the radioactivity was nearly double the safety limit for human health. Floridians are totally unprepared for this exposure out of nowhere.

Yep, they're at it again, I concluded, while sipping from a cup of cold coffee left out overnight before getting on bicycle to poke around for forensic evidence. At the nearby lakes, despite the driving rain, the smooth squares of flat water displayed the geometric perfection of tritium, as I saw in 2013 in the rectangular sheer white clouds off the capes south of the TEPCO nuclear plant.

If I were to be another Stonewall Jackson, I'd mount a cavalry stallion at the head of an artillery corps, instead of riding a rickety third-hand bike, to stop the Yankee assault against this here neck of the woods. Unfortunately, the only form of resistance available, being a tourist hunting for ghosts, was to try to figure "Where in the hell did this wave of radioactivity originate?"

Chemtrails over Sweet Home Alabama

When considering the less-than thousand mile range of a hypersonic test, the short answer is: The test-firing of that culprit missile was probably done in the Gulf of Mexico, likely offshore near that old Redstone rocket facility in Alabama, by Mussel Shoals, and fired into the mid-Atlantic waters somewhere east of the Gulf Stream where it closes in on the Carolinas, my rough calculation being on a latitude north of Georgia. There was massive chemtrail spraying over the Florida Panhandle and Gulf Coast region, indicating an official effort to condense cloud cover to block sightings of the passing rocket, which might trigger curiosity over possible fallout and a public outcry.

That guesstimate might make a few high-ranking military planners and NASA rocket scientists choke over the pinpoint accuracy of being caught red-handed; and I sure hope to rattle them after my losing the most vital hour of sleep. The alternative suspect is the Tesla rocket-launch site, in a case of plausible deniability for DARPA, on the Texas coast. That would be a stretch, but then again that con-man Elon's desperate for another injection from the government's covert bailout fund.

Now, folks, it's just a matter of time before a rocket shortfalls onto Miami Beach or St. Petersburg, Russia, or backfires on to Shanghai, toasting millions of nabobs and know-nothings, and that's when I will gloat like Scrooge: "I told you so, you dumb clucks!"

Anti-Hyper Treaty Needed

Meanwhile, on this countdown to the apocalypse, the Three Wisemen of our time, Trump, Putin and Xi, had better get on their camels to sign an International Hypersonic Test-Ban Treaty before the Supreme Leader and those nice god-fearing folks behind the Embassy hostage crisis develop a crude version of this wobbly lunatic suicide technology. That said and off my chest, God bless ye merry gentlemen and ladies, and let nothing you dismay, even though Santa Claus's reindeer are afraid to come this way.

From my favorite Christmas carol, about the Magi arriving at the manger with gifts for the newborn infant, 'We Three Kings of Orient Are', here are some darkening thoughts at a time that otherwise should be a joyful…

"Myrrh is mine, its bitter perfume; Breathes a life of gathering gloom;
Sorrowing, sighing, bleeding, dying; Sealed in a stone-cold tomb.
Oh, star of wonder, star of night; Star with royal beauty bright;
Westward leading, still proceeding; Guide us to thy perfect light."