JUNIPER'S DAIGHTER - FRONTIER TOWN PT2

Renford was a real mixture of people who were a cross section of this small society not far from the borders of Scotland. Protecting them was an organisation called the Frontier Corps, who numbered two hundred men and women, based in a secure compound in the centre of town underneath the old civic hall where the council offices once where. Now those offices were occupied by the town defence group who were in contact with all of the people with guns and weapons. This included the Medusa Weapons Facility staff, with certain gangsters who could be trusted, with Ernie the Worm, with Big Jake at Pistol Packin’ Mamma’s, with Tina and several other individual escort/protection people. Armed with only personal weapons in the small arms class like: sub machine gun, automatic pistols, medium strength machine guns and hand grenades. The Corps was mainly defensive in its military force make up and weapons – an infantry force. Where they shone strongest was in the area of intelligence, they organised the defence of Renford by collating information, intelligence and rumours into something solid and workable, thus making a plan of potential usefulness.

   In the event of war, heavy weapons would be provided by the Weapons Facility to stop the English army or Scottish freedom fighters/raiders if they used heavy weapons. Staff would be allocated to man them with whoever had the most training/experience having first choice, no one wanted to see Renford destroyed or occupied. Many people had battle experience of different types and this could be used now for training and in the future for defence. Offence was not even considered due to wanting to be left alone and not cause trouble with a superior enemy force. If urgently necessary, the small infantry force of the Frontier Corps could be used as a blocking force either on its own (this would be a last ditch suicide mission if they faced English army units with tanks and big guns), with part of their number being expendable to buy time to organise a better defence or as a total force. If this occurred everyone expected to be killed in battle, orders were not to give up ground, to make every bullet count on target and to not be captured alive (their intelligence skills and information was far too valuable an asset for the army to find out).

   With the English army occupying a huge area of eastern England, information was needed so a two-man unit would be organised to glean covert information. Rumour abounded of new terrifying weapons of unknown capability, type and use being developed by the army. Was there any truth in this or was it army propaganda and lies to scare the enemy to weaken them? The mission was being planned, two men were picked to man it and they were: Noel Jennings and Cris Holmes.

   Noel was a twenty two year old man whose main hobby was sniping with his old Lee Enfield rifle in his spare time, when he was not working for the Frontier Corps as an intelligence officer. He had untaken this role for the past eighteen months and rapidly gained experience on the theory of armies on the move but had yet to see action; this was his first operation. His colleague was three years older and had two previous ops under his belt so he was teaching the younger man the way to do things, to learn and stay alive. Cris was a dynamic individual sent to lead this small operation, if he did things right they would both return home alive with valuable information on the areas under army control. If he failed, they both would face death in any number of wicked ways, this was the reason they carried cyanide capsules to use in the event of capture. Cris usually planned operations out to the army area of occupation but now and again he needed to get on the ground and experience a real op, like in this case. Wearing dark coloured civilian clothing so not to stick out like the secret intelligence men they were, they set off in the early evening heading away from the Frontier Corps base in an easterly direction out of Renford, on the main road out of town slowly walking, the best way to travel quietly and stealthily. To do their mission duties Noel and Cris carried a nice variety of equipment, the best available considering the circumstances that the country was in. The items where:

 

Small hand held pistols equipped with built in a silencer, magazine containing fourteen nine millimetre bullets, laser sight system for night shooting hidden under the barrel, small detachable telescopic sight for distance aiming and infra red capable for night target viewing. Six spare magazines gave sufficient bullets for long engagements.

 

Collapsible machine pistols of the same calibre to give ammunition compatibility with the pistols, equipped with a foldable shoulder stock to give steady shooting at distance targets when firing from a concealed position. One hand held the pistol grip and fired the trigger; the other held the plastic front hand rest that was bevelled to provide a firm grip even in wet conditions. An iron sight was mounted above the front barrel, backed up by the rear adjustable sight that was set in one hundred metre gradients out to fifteen hundred metres. To fire that far, a telescopic day sight or a night sight, either imaging intensifying or infrared, would be used. For close/medium range fire fights out to six hundred metres a laser sight was mounted under the barrel, as on the pistol. New barrel technology designs gave superior long distance firing out to almost a mile with 9mm pistol ammo, thus simplifying supply problems. Only one size bullet needed carrying instead of two. Weapon performance was similar to rifle calibre type bullets. It was classified where the Frontier Corps obtained the weapons.

 

Lightweight binoculars with small solar panels for collecting sunlight to charge an ultra light battery for night time for use on imaging intensifying function. Clear green digital figures gave readout of range, target type, weather conditions and battery strength. A nice compact bit of kit.

 

A small multi use knife with torch, compass, fishing kit, 1^st aid kit, suicide pill, matches, pencil and paper, small map and rolled gold sheets fitted into the handle. Cut by laser, toughened by heat, the blade was made of titanium platinum alloys to be razor sharp for its entire life span of five years. Then it was recyclable. From killing a man, butchering a rabbit for a meal, to signalling a distress signal with the blade on a clear sunny day, it was a stunningly designed weapon. Gun metal in colour so not to attract attention, if banged hard the blade turned silver to shine under the sun if in an emergency. This wasn’t ideal, so a small radio with a transceiver was installed in the handle; it was for once only use in case an enemy picked up the signal.

 

Individual pairs of night vision equipment disguised as glasses to a casual observer; these devices gave the wearer good night vision on dark nights and in bad weather. Their use had to be monitored because another person could see the night vision view if they stood behind the spectacle wearer; instant suspicion would be aroused then. They were ideal for night recon missions behind enemy lines where other people were a rarity.

 

Lightweight body armour designed as old casual jackets but made of advanced woven spider web plastic nylon material, good at stopping knife attacks, pistol bullets and rifle shots from long range. One draw back was susceptibility to fire, the price of using a new advanced material, still under the development.

 

   Cris and Noel walked down an old overgrown abandoned farm track complete with skeleton of a big long dead bull, rusty Land Rover Discovery 5 with flat tyres and smashed windows and other junk from a nearby farm house. Nobody had been here for years, no signs of paths in the grass but their own when they had to walk through it and not on the gravel of the track. Wearing their national health look alike glasses in night vision mode, both men cautiously hiked east venturing into enemy territory, a no mans land between Renford and the English army zone twenty two or so miles away. By night there was a danger of bumping into renegades, travellers, smugglers or any other low life that used the cover of night to move about. Army patrols only combed the area by day and very rarely this close to town but danger levels increased the more west they headed. Machine pistols were ready, held at hip level with safety catches off and stocks collapsed to give maximum agility. No chances could be squandered; they were on their own.

   Three miles away from Renford rough opened fields opened up ahead of them as the track ended. A main road branched two miles south away from their direction, then going east after several extra miles into the army area, this was avoided due to the extreme dangers travelling on a known road. Only amateurs took that path and the price was often death. So through the bushes, trees, over fields, along paths, by rivers and through the wilderness the spies silently headed on a dangerous mission of espionage and fact-finding. Slowly the miles passed by as hours of darkness plodded on like a chocolate snail wanting a hamburger. At each change of geography Cris raised his left hand in a fist and crouched down on one knee to stop and survey the scene. Noel did likewise getting down onto one knee to stare ahead for minutes at a time, taking in different tangents of the view ahead looking for movement or danger. A small forest ahead of the field they were in presented a challenge; bypass it or go through it and save time? Travelling around it would add hours more to their journey time but safety was paramount, so around they went skirting the very edge of it. Both men felt edgy, were unknown unseen eyes tracking their every move and waiting to spring a trap to kill or capture them? Or was it their nerves playing up?

   Nothing happened; they passed the forest safely, entering a landscape of grassy rolling low hills that stretched out for five or six miles. Cris allowed Noel to lead the mission to gain experience in a medium threat level area; there were few trees that could hide an army of hidden weapon pits with heavy machine guns. Hiking was quicker here due to the even ground and easy going, aided by night vision glasses that gave a daylight quality view. Six miles were covered in two hours, not a living thing was seen or any sign of man at all, not even old unused farm buildings. Nature was queen here. After the gentle hills they came to a deep but narrow river, it was while deciding how to cross they saw the first sign of life – a middle aged couple night fishing by the river bank with fixed lines, no doubt after trout for their next meal. They didn’t see Cris or Noel, nor did the English army patrol see them, that came round the bend in the river in a silent battery powered small patrol boat. Something was about to happen. A small commotion sprang forth as the couple spotted the craft in the darkness by its small almost invisible white wake in the water, they quickly scampered into the bushes but it was too late. The army spotted them! A burst of gunfire fanned out from the front of the craft, almost silent due to the weapon having some type of silencer. Not even tracer bullets gave the position of the soldier firing the gun, only a faint muzzle flash was visible followed up by impacting rounds sparking and flashing as it hit rocks and sand on the shoreline. The fire lifted and pitter-pattered into the bushes in pursuit of the couple that fled for their lives, now the small river craft was parallel to the shore some twenty metres distance. A new weapon opened fire in a hissing gurgling roar – a flamethrower! Orange yellow tongues of flame sped forth like a live thing from the glowing launch tube, reaching out and touching the trees engulfing them in an inferno of pyrotechnics. Leaves burned bright yellow in angry crackling flames, small branches burned a low red colour and thicker branches a wicked bright red. Smoke coiled up, up and away motherfucker! English army was on the river no cunt messes with us and steals our fish, we want it for our supper you cheeky travellers.

   Noel and Cris had to rapidly back track away from the shoreline so the flames didn’t burn them alive, they both felt the intense heat was over them six feet away. Noisily they awkwardly moved fifty yards further into the small forest up the river in a north-easterly direction. Going to ground to observe the scene and gain Intel on English army weapons and tactics on the scene before them, Cris ordered Noel to cover the army river craft with his machine pistol so he could watch it on his night vision binoculars, recording the scene for posterity.

   Suddenly the army’s targets appeared, running screaming out of the trees to leap into the water, one was a blazing human torch burning head to toe in an awful picture of death. The second figure only blazed away on its right arm and back, it stumbled on a rock and fell forward, remaining on the beach and rolling over twice to put the flames out. The first figure leapt into the black water there was a splash and hiss as the flames went out; groans came out of the floating figure that floated slowly down stream. The silent machine gun opened fire again firing twenty rounds into and around the dying figure; it wasn’t possible to tell if it was male or female. After the firing stopped the figure was silent and still. Slowly the boat sailed to the shore and the other wounded person, mooring two metres from the beech.

   A small object sprang from the boat onto the rocky ground, a dog of some type Cris thought as he scanned the scene through his binos, to see if the person was alive? An answer soon came forth as the small dog did the maddest of things! It snarled a horrific howl and some type of weapon or device opened fire on the still figure. Cris saw twin fine lines of something join the dog and dying person together over the three-metre distance that separated them on the beech. Small flames crackled and burned where the beam caught the upper body area of the person, it wriggled in pain, screamed and attempted to rise and flee but the continuous beam cut them down in a volley of heat, flames and death, till they were dead. This was clearly no real dog unless it had a weapon mounted on its back on a harness of some type; it was possible due to the Soviets mounting metallic landmines on dogs and training them to destroy Nazi tanks in World War2, so many decades before. The beam stopped and the dog approached the burning figure until it was a foot away to avoid the flames, checking if its target was dead? It turned and with great agility ran towards the army boat and jumped two metres into the boat, could a real dog do that? Noel swore under his breath as he saw the whole incident through his special glasses that gave good night vision but no zoom facility. The whole time his gun covered the army boat, if they were in danger he would cut their enemy down even if the small dog killed them, as it has finished off the remaining person. This was really critical intelligence that mattered, even as the boat left the shoreline to continue its patrol both men knew something of huge importance was being guarded, but what? They had to find out.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Land Of Death

 

   Slowly Noel and Cris rose from their hiding position after ten minutes to give the army boat time to move out of sight. Thank god the small dog never swept the full shoreline or they would have been discovered. While the English army river craft slowly mooched away, the lads gave it ten minutes before moving on and looking for a way across the river. Flames burned steadily giving an eerie glow on Noel and Cris's spectacles and night binos. Hell! We cross-here Noel announced; we don’t want to lose more time after the ambush. Slinging his waterproof backpack over his shoulder, onto his back, Noel took the initiative and set an example. Taking his glasses off and putting them in a top jacket pocket he waded into the cold water to arch out in strong breast stroke, knowing that Cris would follow, agreeing with the younger man’s choice. Two metres out from the riverbank the bottom was out of reach forcing Noel to swim.

   Seconds later with equipment stowed Cris followed, pack on his back. He kept his specs on to give some forward vision in the night while he held his head above the swiftly flowing water, his vision fixed on his comrade who swan steadily a few metres ahead of him. A river such as this was dangerous to cross, more so in darkness with no visual reference points like the opposite bank. Deep water gave a feeling of being trapped and helpless so professionalism and action guarded against panic and confusion. The steeply sloping shore bottomed out at ten metres in the middle of the river, deep enough to pull a man under drowning him in seconds, maybe hiding his body forever until the fish ate his flesh and nothing but bones remained.

   Had anyone ever drowned here briefly flashed into Noel’s mind? Quickly he shut it out to concentrate on swimming to the other side as the river current carried them slightly downstream as they fought it with strong strokes. Soon they reached the alternate river bank, it was just as steep as the previous side forcing Noel and Cris to crawl up on all fours like wet dogs until they flopped down under a large bush, almost exhausted. Almost too tired to keep watch, such was their exertion in the river but they had done it and passed a great natural obstacle.

   “We did it! The river current was very strong, for one minute I thought we would be carried away!” Noel commented getting his breath back.

   “Yes it was, still we know for our return trip what to expect,” Cris replied. Thinking to himself he added, “That army attack was vicious and total. I’ve not seen anything like it for some months and never on a river before. I wonder why they did it.”

   “Yeah the twats gave those people no mercy, I think they must have been fishing hoping the darkness would protect them. It obviously didn’t.”

   “Correct. But what were the army doing down here? Their craft was a special silent one, probably battery powered so it wont be detected. They had a silenced machine gun on the front firing non tracer ammunition and must have had night vision devices to pick up the people fishing,” Cris tiredly confirmed.

   “We were very lucky being under good tree cover so we weren’t picked up. Why be so silent and yet have a flamethrower mounted on the craft as well?” Noel said frowning, it didn’t make sense. And that dog, that was just fucking crazy!

   “What I find more bizarre is that dog. Why the fuck have a dog on a boat, a small dog anyhow. Yeah, a big dog like an Alsatian trained in tracking or some other specialised use but a small dog? It looked like it had a laser system mounted on it, maybe on its back like old Russian mine dogs.”

   “That dog definitely opened fire with something on that wounded person to finish them off, maybe some new weapon, possibly a laser? Hey, it’ll be recorded on the binoculars! We’ll play it back!” Cris excitedly whispered. He took of his backpack, opened it and got the binos, clicking them on, he looked through the lenses, brought up the Main Menu function and clicked playback. Law and behold the scene played out before his eyes in a graphic replay, a scene of grisly proportions and death. Good solid Intel on English army operations and methods of attack with a number of weapons. Including a dog with laser beam eyes!

   Cris passed the binoculars to Noel, picking up his machine pistol to keep watch while Noel swore under his breath, how was this possible? No dog was as agile as this one and had laser beam eyes. Ridiculous but here it was, recorded on image intensifying night sight. Both men didn’t know that what they both witnessed was the first military use of one of the new Devil Snail attack units.

   Lying low in the bushes Cris and Noel relaxed for a few minutes watching the fire die down on the opposite bank and starting to feel cold from being in the water. Gathering his thoughts Cris announced, “We saw something really crazy just then, that could have been us if we were spotted you know Noel? We can cancel the operation and head back? No one would blame us coz the odds are not in our favour, the English army will be well equipped and if we meet any of those laser dogs then we’re in big trouble. I’m giving you the shout; do we go on or return to Renford?”

   Silence descended as the younger man mulled over the decision weighing up the pros and cons, a “Yes” could mean death, injury or capture, not good alternatives. Still, if they returned someone else would be sent out and valuable time would be lost. Noel answered honestly, “We continue, we’ve only travelled part way but we’ve seen too much to return. Those people died for nothing if we go back, I wanna find out what the army is guarding over there. I’m fully aware of the risks involved. If we return then someone else will be sent out to do this, so I say we go.”

   “Okay then, let’s get moving. We have a few more hours of darkness so let’s use it, before first light we’ll find a place and hide up for the day and travel by night until we reach our objective,” Cris confirmed, aware of the immense lethality of what they were undertaking.

   “What are our objectives?” Noel quietly asked.

   “To get a glimpse of what is going on in the English army occupied area. Something nasty must be over there or that armed river craft wouldn’t be patrolling this river. There could be anything over there. Come on, we have to move,” he said getting up with his weapon at the ready, waiting till Noel was okay to go. Then they set off through the small trees away from the river and safety, into the dangerous enemy held area before them. Trees, bushes and small shrubs provided cover but made progress difficult, stealth was important so quietness and situational awareness was maintained at all times. Only the foolish and amateurs rushed off into the unknown not cautious of the danger and ignoring the risks.

   Cris slung his machine pistol over his shoulder by its sling and held it with one hand; in his other he held an old compass with faintly glowing numbers and script on it. In the forest it was easy to become disorientated and back track without knowing it. He had a small waterproof map in his pocket, every few minutes he called a stop to check their position; the map was thirty years old and the forest had grown wildly and increased in area since then covering what was once open fields with trees. Later Cris would give Noel a further chance to lead the patrol to gain hands on experience in an enemy controlled area, a huge responsibility. For several miles the low forest went on, they remained under cover for the whole time; sometimes glimpsing stars and a faint new moon through the tree canopy three metres above their heads. Soon the forest thinned out and they came to a huge undulating meadow that was over a mile across, the grass was over three feet tall and gave little cover. An odd tree dotted the area giving good hiding places to dogleg to, rather than a direct route across the uncut grass. Cris quietly conversed with Noel; the route was agreed – to dogleg to the individual trees, this way it minimised the time they were in the open. Checking his map again, struggling to see the faint detail with his night vision glasses Cris frowned and then muttered aloud, “Let’s go!”

   Emerging from the trees, the duo marched in single file three metres apart to lessen danger from mines or enemy gunfire, keeping alert at all times scanning left and right with their heads their machine pistols mimicking this. If they saw a target their guns were already on target saving valuable time. Slowly but surely they passed over the meadow in the early morning darkness, millions of stars were visible arcing overhead like a tapestry by a talented artist. A feeling of being exposed and naked hovered over the two men, both could have crawled slowly over the field but that would be tiring and slow but safer. Coming to the first tree Cris paused and waited for Noel, peering under the branches he took in the scene, nothing moving but the grass in a gentle night time breeze. No animals, no people. On they went like before, aware and exposed, covering more metres into the danger area and the unknown.

   Twelve more lone trees, twelve more stops before the end of the meadow, a low dilapidated stonewall marked the boundary. Both men crouched down behind this; Cris got his binoculars to scan the area ahead of them. Another field stretched out, off to their right the remains of an old farm cottage and a small barn were situated behind a low wooden fence. Neglect and disrepair resonated from the property; do they check it out or move on? Cris indicated with his right hand: on to bypass the derelict buildings, it would waste valuable time. But what if something important was in them? Only by looking would they find out but daylight slowly appeared on the distant horizon so it was hiding place time. The barn was ideal but it was visible from quite a distance and that brought unwanted attention, so a more discreet lie up place had to be found in the next hour or so until it was fully light. Crossing the next field bypassing the farm both men conversed in low tones deciding where to spend the day, it wasn’t urgent yet but as the dawn slowly advanced time would knock on their door.

   No other buildings or man made objects littered this field or their view through their special glasses, single trees gave good observation points as before. A mile or so further on they found their hiding place, a small depression in the ground at the side of a low hill with small bushes around it, an ideal place to rest, to take turns on watch and with good camouflage. Would there be any English army soldier patrols in daylight that was the question.

   Noel and Cris removed their backpacks to get cosy amongst the undergrowth. They used special blankets that gave warmth when placed over oneself and also absorbed background temperature perfectly, so it gave visual protection from night vision/infra red viewing equipment. Older blankets absorbed human body heat and glowed hotter than the surrounding cooler terrain, thus revealing the whereabouts of the people hiding. No danger now from that, dark green/brown camouflage helped blend the blankets in with the trees and grass in daylight.

   Cris agreed to take first watch of three hours so Noel could rest; this would be reversed later until the daylight hours passed. Comfy under their blankets with guns within easy reach, this was just like home; one pair of binoculars was positioned to Cris’s left to view targets of interest if they came into view. Leaves and branches gave an extra bit of realistic cover and unless an army patrol walked right over them they were safe.

   Cris ate a small meal to give him energy through his stint on watch; it was a high-energy bar made of nutrients, herbs, protein and other ingredients to provide a human body with the equivalent of fifteen hundred calories in a small 80-gram bar. A mouthful of water washed it down. He queried Noel before he slept when he would eat; a grunt indicated later when he took his turn on watch. Like a snail with a puncture the time crawled by almost going backwards, no movement but swaying grass and several soaring larks disturbed the tranquil setting. Dawn was fully here now, gentle clouds peppered the heavens in a small tapestry of colour as the sun arched up into the new day sky and night was but a dark blue colour on the opposite horizon. Many long hours lay before she returned with her dark velvet embrace, in that time anything could happen. Two hours and twenty minutes into his watch something did happen. A strange noise purported to something that wasn’t of this place but what? There! It was a small airborne craft of some type moving slowly across the sky at about a hundred foot altitude.

   Cris fumbled with his binoculars to view the thing more closely as it passed by on a parallel course. He saw a pod like vehicle with a sharply streamlined glass front where a pilot sat; the brown flight suited figure was plainly visible behind blue tinted glass. A bug like fat round body curved round to the rear end where the power plant was, gentle blue flames issued forth and a low hissing noise of the exhaust charted its progress. Cris kicked Noel to wake him, “We got company! Wake up for fuck sake!”

   “What the hell? I was dreaming of a Renford whore sucking my cock!” Noel grouchily answered, “I can hear it, what is it?”

   “Here take the binos, look over to the front, quick! Or the thing will be gone,” Cris rushed his comrade, who grabbed the binoculars and looked to where he was told to.     

   Taking a few seconds to find the object, he looked like a halfwit fucking about but he was dead serious. “Ah, it’s some kind of small military transport, an English army one. I’ve read reports of one but didn’t think it was ever built. You’ve heard of the Morticia Project? Well I think that is the result of it,” Noel commented following the craft as it slowly flew out of sight.

   “I remember the name from a year or so back, one of our secret contacts got word out of a whole rash of army projects and that thing was just one of them. Maybe that dog thing we saw before was another? I wonder what else is new, what we don’t know about,” Cris whispered.

   “Well mate, the transport has a new type of methane powered engine that gives the strange blue flame and sound we witnessed. The pilot is in the front and cargo in the back behind, that can be a dozen lightly armed troops, a small vehicle or anything else that will fit inside. If I remember rightly a small gun of some type is mounted on the other side to clear landing zones when the thing is used in the troop assault role.”

   “How easy are they to kill? It looked like we could hit it with a pistol bullet; it wasn’t fast of high up. If we encounter any when we’re in the open we’ll need to shoot it down if it doesn’t spot us and open fire or land troops to run us down first,” Cris quietly said. He looked at his gun and frowned, weighing up the chances of a nine-milli bullet hurting the transport.

   “The fuel tank is just before the engine about a third of the way along from the rear of the machine, I’m not sure if the thing is armoured but a full magazine of bullets from our machine pistols should bring one down or damage it if we aren’t surprised. Hey, do you think they saw us?” Noel informed his friend.

   “No I think they missed us, our camouflage and heat resistant blankets helped. The craft will have infrared sights even for use in daylight with the gun it carries. If it had spotted us we would be fighting for our lives now,” the other man grimaced. “Anyhow get some more rest I’ll finish my watch so you can take over,” Cris offered, keeping his eyes to the front watching for anything of danger.

   “Yeah I’m on it. See you in thirty minutes,” Noel agreed hiding under his blankets again, feigning sleep after his sudden unwelcome waking.

   Time passed slowly, Cris finished his watch without incident and Noel took over and did his three hours on, as his mate got some shuteye. Nothing happened but he remained alert just in case, at this time of year there was thirteen hours of daylight so it was a long slow slog not to fall asleep through boredom and idleness. The day passed without event with Cris and Noel doing their watches with dedication and professionalism. They had results because the binoculars recorded the army transport that passed before them at the start of the day, this was good useable intelligence showing an army machine in use, proving that the design project had been built and successfully entered service to be used in the field. Both men watched the recording several times to familiarise themselves with the sight, size, sound, speed and altitude of the craft.

   When the second night came Noel and Cris left their hiding place, took all of their possessions leaving no trace they had ever been there and continued their trek into enemy held territory. Noel led the mission now to gain experience and extra skills, slowly traversing the rough fields that lay before them. A small river had to be crossed, not by swimming as before but by wading through the knee-deep water and leaping onto large rocks in the middle. These were damp so they had to be careful, a broken leg due to a fall was as good as a bullet in the leg, nobody could afford to be captured by the army and interrogated. It would be suicide pill time if an accident occurred. Two hours into the night while advancing over the gradually rising ground of moorland another incident kicked off, an English army patrol passed both men who rapidly went to ground in the tall grass. Had they been spotted? A patrol on foot meant troops based locally guarding something or dropped off by military transport but none had been seen or heard so something must be nearby.

   Contact! Twelve miles away from Newcastle as the crow flies it happened, an enemy contact. They had been spotted; luckily their night vision glasses gave ample warning, not as much as the soldiers with their 6th gen night vision goggles. How come the soldiers hadn’t gone to ground if they spotted us first? Cris wondered. Had the terrain hid them? It wasn’t perfectly flat but rolling and potted with ruts and gullies.

   A burst of silenced gunfire sped forward, visible as white-hot fast blobs heading their way. They hugged the short grass before crawling into a small water filled gully in the peat, Noel fired his own silenced machine pistol back at their enemy, making his own white hot blobs converge and hit two soldiers who fell out of sight. First blood to Noel and Cris, this advantage wouldn’t last for long. Both men were outnumbered five to one and lacked gun numbers and weight of fire of their opponents. More bullets whizzed over their heads as Cris joined the fire fight, shooting three round bursts to save his ammo.

   Noel was already reloading and firing again. He quickly paused and fumbled for a grenade struggling to open a jacket pocket to get at his egg sized grenades, finally taking one out after much swearing and cursing. Pulling the pin with his teeth he counted to three and tossed the green egg over in an arc to where the English army men went to ground. Had he reached them? In a bright yellow flash that blinded their night vision glasses it went bang! In a noise to wake the dead the answer was provided; screams and cries told of pain and death as the grenade went off in the centre of the soldiers, stopping all their gunfire. Taking advantage of surprise Noel stood up shouting, “Come on Cris lets get the twats! We’ve gotta finish them off or we’ll be done for if they get word out we’re here!”

    “I’m with you,” he replied, grimacing and looking at his Noel.

   Leaving the cover of the gully Noel fired from the hip and ran, scything the ground in front of him where the soldiers were hiding.

   Cris kept his three round crescendos to keep the soldiers heads down. He noticed how exposed they would have been on open ground, thanking whoever was up there for the small gully. It still crossed his mind if he would die today. He was amazed at the short distance from where they were to the soldiers’ position, a mere thirty metres – almost point blank range and just in grenade throwing range. Noel had done a good throw on target first time. Coming to the soldiers both men reloaded and fired a full magazine before diving to the ground three metres from them, Cris got in with a grenade not wanting to miss the action. He roared, “Get down! Fire in the Hole!” as he pulled the pin with his teeth, counted to three and threw his bomb the ten feet forward onto the soldiers. Detonation occurred like before in the same carnage but being almost on top of it Noel and Cris were lucky to escape in one piece due to the proximity of the explosion. Both men felt the ground shake in a mini earthquake, heard the whoosh of supersonic shrapnel fly over their heads and felt a patter of peaty earth and the thud of body parts fall around them.

   Rising up Noel and Cris closed the final distance, firing yet another burst of fire from their weapons to keep anyone alive pinned down and scared. Before them was a scene of carnage, what was a squad of twelve men was rearranged into dozens of body parts strewn over the grass which itself was coloured red. In the darkness little was visible but under infrared the mangled bodies steamed and slowly cooled, all life having left them. Reloading, both men cautiously checked the bodies over for useful Intel like maps, weapons, ammo, uniform insignia, radios and anything else that told a story of their operations. Cris found one soldier still alive, terribly wounded by grenade shrapnel, missing a leg and bleeding to death, “Hey Noel I got one alive, he’s injured though and won’t last the night. Check him out!”

   Noel covered the critically wounded soldier with his machine pistol and stepped over to him, his stern gaze glared down on his enemy. For a minute he was silent then he spoke in a whisper: “What are you boys doing here? Why all the patrolling, on the river, in the air, here? What are you cunts hiding?”

   “Why should I tell you? You’re from Renford, the Frontier Corps. Oh yes we know all about you. You’re days are numbered my friend mark my words. I’m not telling you anything you cunt!” the dying English army soldier belligerently croaked, annoying Noel who kicked his one remaining leg, hard. A cry of pain echoed forth over the dark grasslands.

   “What do you mean? Our days are numbered? Talk or die you prick! I mean it!” another kick followed, another pathetic cry of pain not as loud as before.

   “Here let me try,” Cris commented smiling as he bent down to look the man in the eyes, “my friend is a little keen to make you talk. He’s a trifle tough if you know what I mean. I’m not like that; I’m a quiet compassionate man. I’m a soldier just like you but I’m still a human being. Please don’t be afraid my friend.”

   Noel walked over to the dead men littering the ground looking for useful items, as Cris talked to the dying man, who surprisingly answered his questions. For a couple of minutes a low steady dialogue flowed between the two men, until it was terminated mid sentence due to the soldier dying from his awful injuries, shock and extreme blood loss. Cris swore under his breath catching Noel’s attention. He left the bodies and joined his friend.

   “Good cop bad cop,” Noel chuckled.

   “Something like that. He said that Renford and surrounding area would be attacked in the future. That we will all be killed and the army will take over the weapons factory and wipe us, the Frontier Corps, out and do other bad evil acts. He was about to explain but he died…”

   “Well fuck him, he told us what we already suspected, we have to check out further ahead and see what else’s there and then we’ll get back to town. We have to prepare for the inevitable I’m afraid,” Noel replied.

   “Yes, let’s finish frisking these dead cunts and get going.”

 

   Later after speedily walking through the rest of the night, involving a long three-mile detour in two directions to throw off any possible pursuit, Noel and Cris went to ground hiding up for the daylight hours. Both knew the army patrol would be missed, that search parties would be dispatched to find them and when they did, word would soon spread of an attack by an unknown enemy. Time was critical now but so was not getting caught or cocking up doing silly mistakes. Luckily no armed dogs were present like the riverside one or both men would be fried toast, very dead. Six times military transport craft passed overhead, just missing the Frontier Corps men who rapidly made themselves as small as possible hoping not to be spotted. Had the infrared on the craft seen them, recorded their position for future attack? Why not attack them now if their whereabouts was known?

   Soon they would be physically tired, mentally exhausted and emotionally panicking with little chance of returning home. In over their heads or was this a suicide mission that no one would ever admit to until much later? What both men did know was that a job had to be done and it was on their watch, till now they had good intelligence but no real idea of what lay ahead. The outskirts of Newcastle were only four miles away over the moorland according to their maps, tomorrow night they would reach it and gain the Intel they required. In that area nothing survived due to a direct hit from a French nuke, they were in a heavily polluted fallout area now. Cris tested a simple disposable paper meter; it turned dark red immediately indicating danger. This was as close as they go, time to head southeast towards Gateshead and the east coast to reconnoitre that area. Having a small seaport further down the coast and a staging area with communications links could give an indication it was being used, despite blast damage and fallout. If not, head south until they found something; what happened if they discovered an army waiting to attack?

   If caught together both men would be killed. It was on this basis that both men decided to split up and travel separately, heading in the same general direction but at a slightly different heading and hours apart. And return home alone to Renford after deciding it was expedient to do so with more Intel if possible and alive, if pursued then if was good not to arrange to meet up so the other party wouldn’t be captured. In a small cave both men took turns to sleep and watch, knowing things were getting more extreme every hour they remained in English army controlled territory. Times were becoming hard.

   Daylight passed peacefully with the usual over flights by English army transport craft, roughly one per hour from different directions. At dusk fell both men talked and planned, “Noel we have enough intelligence to confirm our worst fears. The English army is active and patrolling this part of the country, we have to find out what else is going on just a few miles over there,” he indicated with his arm, “by splitting up and heading on our own unique routes we’ll have a better chance of getting more information and making it back. I suggest we go our own way from here right until we get back to Renford. What do you think?”

   Noel took his time answering, “By travelling singly our mission has better chance of success, if one of us fails the other may have a chance. Let’s go over what we’ve seen so we each have full knowledge of what’s going down here. We’ll divide the maps and weapons up we found on the dead soldiers. On a whole I agree we must go our own ways, it’s the best option for success. I’ll miss you though…”

   “Yeah brother I’ll miss you too. We’ve had some times together including this mission. Well, we’ve seen that crazy laser beam armed dog finish that attack on the fishing people…” Cris went over the Intel so nothing was left out, not missing a single detail for their comrades in the Frontier Corps back in Renford, then split up the enemy maps and weapons. Forty minutes later they crept out into the night gave one last farewell and went on their own ways into the unknown.

   Noel’s journey took him over the exposed desolate moorland parallel to what was once Newcastle, a great city. He was aware that evil radioactive charged particles were bombarding his body as he tramped over the rough grassy terrain; he grimaced, knowing that slow and steady damage was being done to his entire body but he didn’t worry. Now he lived in the moment of his mission, not being distracted by the future and what if? Through his night vision spectacles he scanned the ground avoiding the worst gullies and water filled ponds before him, he was in no hurry nor was he scared; he was determined and focused ready for anything. He wondered where his friend Cris was now. After leaving the shelter of the small cave they had spent the day in, Noel headed southeast while Cris ventured south to a small town below the moors to observe what was happening in its vicinity. Noel wanted to remain more detached to dodge any danger and take his time, both men had food for several days of roughing it in nature, never mind their field craft skills like catching and eating rabbits.

   Checking his machine pistol for the hundredth time, he smiled knowing he wasn’t defenceless if it came down to it, he had fired his weapon in anger on this mission and that gave him confidence if he had to again. Ammunition bulged in his pockets, a pistol nestled snugly on his belt and fragmentation grenades gave a sure-footed feeling of resilience. Then there was the machine pistol from a dead soldier and ammo. Yes they had been trained well, preparing for just such a mission. Had they been born for this moment? Noel really thought so and he did his utmost not to cock up, this was a life defining moment with many defenceless people and a whole town counting on him and his comrade. No we won’t foul up, he thought.

   Negotiating a steep sided valley holding onto the rough sheep grass with one hand steadying his gun with his other, exertion made itself felt through his limbs and body. It was time for a high-energy bar and a drink of water. Stopping in the bottom amongst the slowly trickling water and rounded rocks, he opened his top pocket to remove a candy bar. His water bottle was on his belt near his waste, feeling the weight he frowned – almost empty. Drinking the contents he knelt to fill it up from the stream but stopped before he did so. Quickly he tested the water with a throwaway radiation patch, just as he thought; it was heavily contaminated with fallout. What the hell! In a deft movement he filled his bottle, shutting the poisons and health issues out of his mind and ate his energy bar, then drinking the cool cold refreshing poisonous water. Tastes all right, he mused.

   Cris felt a bowel movement coming on; it was time for a crap. He took off his backpack and machine pistols then took out some nice triple thickness lavender pink toilet roll and had a shit, out of sight out of mind. His guns were next to him in case of trouble. Finishing his crap, he wiped his arse on the luxury paper, got ready and checked his map. Covering up his crap and used bog roll with some large rocks, he set off on his way ascending the other side to emerge onto the moorland opposite.  

   Minutes passed and he felt he was being watched; slowly crouching down he scanned the area for an infrared heat trace. There! He saw something move, like it was keeping up with him but stalking him, what the fuck was it? Maybe it was one of those phantom black cats that frequented the wilderness and were sometimes reported in Renford, though he’d never seen one himself? Looking around he saw no movement but still he felt uneasy; nerves, tiredness and stress he told himself. For three more minutes he waited not moving but watching, still nothing. Fuck this I’ve got to move, Noel thought. Slowly getting up with his machine guns pointing forward just in case and turning his back, he plodded on into the unknown.

   Little did he know he was being successfully stalked by one of the laser dogs he had spotted earlier, a large dark grey coloured Standard size Devil Snail attack unit. Only once was it spotted and only then very briefly by its quarry, leading to confusion and fear in the target, an ideal solution taking the edge off the victim. Soon the attack unit would engage Noel and show no mercy. Quickly outflanking him, coming around a high rise of rough terrain, the Devil Snail easily moved over the ground, four legs gave excellent mobility and agility. Taking unseen laser tracking ranging shots from its eye mounted lasers it got the exact distance from itself to Noel and prepared to fire. Stopping to crouch down to be below the skyline, in case Noel scanned the area with his infrared spectacles or binoculars on night vision mode, the animal was ready. Silently in its head it set up a firing solution and fired its twin eye mounted laser cannon at its target, a member of the Frontier Corps called Noel.

   Suddenly tripping over an exposed tree root, Noel fell over and swore, at the same time as pretty light green laser fire speared over his head singing his hair and burning his backpack. What the fuck was that? Shaking both in fear and with the breath knocked out of him from falling, he panicked bringing up his weapons firing two burst of silenced bullets in a wide arc to give himself reassurance more than to kill whatever was out there. Again the laser fire came down around and near Noel setting the large partly exposed tree root on fire and surrounding peat, acrid blue smoke and orange flames erupted forth. Noel fired the remainder of his magazines blindly again and ditched his smouldering backpack. Quickly reloading both machine pistols, he fired a quick five round burst from the army one on his right shoulder. He kept his own in reserve.

   Opening his backpack and swearing as he burnt his fingers on the burning fabric, he took out extra magazines and grenades hurriedly putting them in front of him. Tossing the burning backpack away, he grimly knew he wouldn’t need the food, other provisions and equipment inside it. This was a battle he knew he wouldn’t win; still he would make whatever was attacking him pay a price for its foolish action. Pulling the pin from a single grenade he counted to three and tossed the grenade into space still unsure where his enemy was. How come it didn’t show up on infrared if it was a dog? Was it able to cloak itself from view by matching the background temperature of the terrain? Was it even alive or a robot? He shut these evil thoughts from his mind and waited – Bang! The grenade went off, he wasn’t distracted now, he was ready for battle and to die, in no way was he a coward. Again another grenade sailed forth to keep his enemy at arms length and more green laser fire stabbed the night, scything a wicked pattern around Noel, burning the very ground making small rocks glow and the peat burn angrily. Now he got a location on roughly where the dog was located, from the point of origin of where the laser beams started. He fired a short burst of gunfire as his grenade went off wide of the target. Firing the last ammo from the army gun, he threw it down. Scrabbling for a third grenade he pulled the pin with his teeth, grimacing as the metal ring caught his gum making it bleed. Counting to three he lobbed the bomb at the dog, just about making the range. Bang! It went off next to the animal, just as it fired again, knocking it over in the blast. Laser fire arced up harmlessly into the night, missing Noel who fired at the dog and saw his bullets land near it, maybe hitting it.

   Rapidly reloading he got up grabbing three grenades, slinging his gun over his left shoulder and sprinted to the dog, resolute he would kill it. If he did so and made it back, he would have excellent first hand experience of the newest English army weapon he met in combat. He counted down the distance in his head as he ran, pulling the pin on a grenade and keeping his gun roughly on target steadying it best he could but not firing. At half distance he stopped and threw the grenade without counting and ran again knowing full well he would be in the blast/shrapnel zone when it went off. It landed a metre short! Noel was ten yards away when the bomb went boom, he saw the blast wave of expanding gas through his night vision glasses and red hot shrapnel zoom up and out in white hot streaks, some of which came towards him. One hit his thigh and cut into his muscle making him scream in agony and shock, still he managed to fire a burst from his machine pistol at the dog that was on its side wounded but trying to move. Noel saw his 9mm bullets hit its side in small flashes easily piercing its side, killing it? No! It still moved, wriggling its damaged body trying to right itself but failing, its head attempted to track Noel and twin beams of green laser light shot forth missing him by a metre. The aiming gear was damaged! He had disabled this evil weapon somehow, now to finish it off! He fired another short burst making sure to keep some rounds in his mag, while pulling the pin on a new grenade.

   “This is it motherfucker I’m going to blow you to fucking bits, you cunt!” he shouted in a battle rage and stopped three metres away to threw the grenade, hitting the dirt as he did so. When it went off he didn’t hear the blast for being too close but his body was lifted up off the ground like a rag dog in a hurricane, flopping down with the force of Hell. Disorientated, he crawled over to the dog which was half lying in a small smoking crater from his last grenade, a leg was missing, skin and flesh was torn and burnt exposing bones that looked wrong in the night somehow, like metal! How could this be? Noel came to the dog and aimed his gun at it; it remained still, not showing any sign of knowing he was there. To make sure he aimed at its head and fired. Bullets pinged and zinged from the metal head as flesh flew this way and that, exposing metal. Shit a fucking robot!?

   Bang! Whiteness engulfed Noel and the surrounding moorland, sending up a superheated cloud of exploding expanding gas. Nothing survived the blast, not man or robot dog. An internal countdown clicked zero and suicided the damaged Devil Snail, taking its enemy with it. Another victory for the English army, as data was beamed back to central computers to be analysed and lessons learnt for the next attack. Due to the immobilisation of the Devil Snail from grenade/gunfire, the inner structure had to be strengthened to increase survivability. Lessons from combat, no simulation could equal that.

 

   Cris had never been so alert or alone, his very life depended on it, as did the success mission. On purpose to confuse any followers, he doglegged routinely over rough moorland terrain, hoping this strategy would see him through. Checking his map, he slithered and fell over grass tussocks, peaty pools and deep gullies cut through the moor. His spectacles gave good night vision so he had a good idea of his location and destination – a small town called Vanford five miles southwest from his direction. He knew in his gut answers would be provided there but his time was limited, he had to get a move on and get there before first light, observe what he could and head back to Renford. He had ample energy bars to last him but not enough water; he would have to refill his bottle from any clear stream or pool, risking radiation sickness amongst the cost of the mission. Already he had taken a big dose of radiation journeying over the open moorland not far from a destroyed city; he was in the fallout zone. Suddenly over his left shoulder he heard a military transport approach! Fuck! It had seen him!

   Diving to the ground he threw his map down and unslung his machine pistol to give more accurate fire, his safety catch was off so he was ready for anything. Here we go motherfucker! Descending steeply the military transport had Cris locked up on infrared, allowing for this he grabbed a flare from his side pocket, pulled the plastic tab on top of it and waited till it lit and threw it ahead of him so the craft would be momentarily blinded by the brighter heat signature of the flare, hiding him. He was blinded too so he shut his eyes and tracked the craft with his gun as it headed down towards him, counted to three so it came into range and fired three round bursts of gunfire while keeping his eyes closed. His weapon bucked like a sixteen year old virgin making love for the first time in a summer rainstorm, unsure of what to do but very determined not to fail. Almost silently his bullets left the silenced barrel arcing up into the night, as his magazine clicked empty he rolled towards his left away from his position as return fire came back down from the military transport craft. Bullets cut into the peaty ground not a metre where he had been lying, hell that was close!      

   Quickly reloading with his eyes still closed, he heard the transport pull out of its dive and roar overhead. Cris was surprised at the loudness of its engine and smell of its methane exhaust. It would turn tightly to re-attack at least once more before landing to deposit troops and maybe a laser dog to track, engage and kill Cris. Opening his eyes he stared back into the night, away from the still brightly burning flare. Where was the damn craft? There! His infrared specs picked up its hot exhaust as it started to turn back to him; quickly Cris raised his weapon clicked it to full auto and fired a full magazine towards it. His bullets appeared like glow worms speedily reaching and passing the transport, a hit! And another! Fuck of all the mercies, he had winged it but would it crash? Did the armour plate hold? The answer was quick in coming.

   As the craft completed its turn a vapour trail was just visible behind it, Cris had pierced the fuel tank! Methane gas was escaping and he watched it catch fire in the hot exhaust behind the craft in a silent whoomph. Even as this happened Cris got up to run behind the flare to blind its sensors, reloaded his gun and raised it skywards. Return fire pattered down in a last act of defiance before the craft died. Cris was safe from the bullets that missed by ten metres but another danger presented itself; the English army troop transport was doing a kamikaze run at Cris to crash onto his position! He ran like fuck away from his position, ninety degrees away from the crippled craft whose engine misfired and was enveloped in flames and burning gas, it was here! Whoosh, bang, crash, tumble and BOOM! A thunderous fireball exploded over the grassy moorland twenty metres from Cris, who fell spread-eagled from the horrific blast. In the inferno a dozen soldiers, a laser dog and pilot of the craft died a crispy evil vicious death. Play with fire, die by fire.

   Cris didn’t inspect the wreck due to it being a focal point on the moor, blazing like a roman candle exploding again as ammo or fuel went up. He had important detailed intelligence of the vulnerability of this model to small arms fire from his model of machine pistol. Would future models be as easy to kill? He was aware of this and when, if, he returned, he would suggest higher velocity bullets to allow for thicker armour on the craft. Cris was sure the army would upgrade their craft after this shoot down. It was a new arms race of wicked proportions. Filing this to his mind, he headed straight for Vanford and the mystery of what went on there.

    Stopping for a crunchy bar and water, he checked his map which he hastily retrieved off the moor, looked behind him to the still burning transport now over a mile away and smiled grimly, heading on his way. Noticing a small stream, he refilled his bottle, not even checking the contamination level and walked forth to town. No more transports buzzed him nor did he see any army patrols, odd due to the proximity of the town to the moorland and surrounding terrain.

   A change in the layout of the ground ahead signified the end of the moors and the start of grassland while the altitude slowly descended into the wide valley Vanford occupied; past it were the remains of Newcastle/Gateshead. He was safe enough here due to the range of hills between the towns; high ground was a good buffer from winds blowing any fallout/radiation from the ruined/damaged cities nearby. Psyching himself up for what was ahead, Cris knew it was make or break time. In the distance he could make out the shape of buildings and structures far on his horizon. Without hesitation he headed down towards them, being careful over the uneven sloping ground, peat slowly giving way to overgrown farmland. Some wild sheep scurried away as he passed them, strangely large in size, appearing as large fat blobs on Cris’s night glasses. Bigger due to not being sheared or an increase in size due to radiation?

   Putting his map away, he stopped behind a low stonewall crouching down and scanning the area with his binoculars; his glasses lacked the zoom function. Looking through the binos he took in what was before him, no people but several sheep grazing in the fields on contaminated grass. He didn’t think they would be dangerous but he’d give them a wide berth just to make sure, especially if any male rams were present. Their horns could break his leg if they butted him.

   On the edge of town some large warehouse type buildings occupied what seemed to be an industrial estate, with roads leading off to various parts of town. Nearby houses looked derelict, as did the old council flat tower blocks a bit further away. Not a single light glowed in a window, no fires burned indicating people keeping warm or cooking food outdoors and nothing at all gave off heat except the wild sheep. Satisfied nothing was amiss he tiredly got up and continued his journey, machine pistol at the ready for any horrible surprise that lurked ahead. Three or so open fields spread out in front of him before waste ground led to the town proper, he would check the nearest big building out first to see what was there. Probably just abandoned warehouses and factories from the town’s more prosperous industrial days, now lost forever in the turbulent history of the 21^st century.

   Cris wondered how Noel was getting on? Just then he heard a distant explosion echo over the far hills. What the hell was that? And to hear it as he thought of his friend? Fuck, that had to be Noel in combat, he must have set of his explosives they both carried on some military target Cris mussed, hopefully. Little did he know it was the explosion of a Devil Snail engaged in mortal combat with his comrade, the fated laser poodle had the last laugh. Mercifully Cris wasn’t aware of that last engagement. Looking up at the moors behind him he couldn’t see anything, any explosion, fire or smoke; it must be too far inland over the hills. How far had Noel come, was he still caught on the moors? Fuck I hope he makes it okay! Cris worriedly thought.

   Climbing over another low wall he came upon a collection of skeletons on the ground in the long grass. Who were they and what happened? The bones were still white in places but blackened from fire, like petrol had been poured over them. Examining the three human remains wasn’t easy, he grimaced while he turned over bones looking for clues; no weapons not even fire damaged ones. No sign of uniforms of any kind but some scraps of what could have been civilian clothing clung resolutely to some of the bones. A single singed shoe, not boots; a bad feeling came flowing over Cris. People don’t just burn for any reason unless someone wanted them to and this looked like the after effects of an assassination, similar to the scene near the riverbank after the burning of the fishing couple. This looked like an attempted escape that failed, as if the people were fleeing the town to escape something but what? Had these poor people lived in the town and been forced to flee by the English army or another armed force? Looking at the fire damaged bodies Cris knew the answer was amongst the bones – something was going down these people didn’t want to be part of it and tried and failed to escape. Sloppiness in not cleaning up the bodies gave Cris clues to whom but not why; this was enough to press on because this ghost town could easily be Renford.

   Little radiation covered the area there but maybe radiation gave some protection to what was going down here, giving the army a further reason to be confident and do whatever they did here. Cris never knew how close to the truth he was, shrugging his shoulders and turning his back on the skeletons he advanced, not stopping for anything. He knew danger lurked here so it was balls to the wall time, only death would end his mission.

   Distance counted down to zero. Over waste ground, gravel and stone chippings dumped long ago crunched underfoot, a massive building sprouted out of the ground climbing a hundred feet to the roof. He wished he could climb up but he had no way to do so, the wall was smooth metal of some kind, a great view would be laid out before him. Stepping close to the wall he placed his ear to the cold metal and listened carefully. At first he heard nothing except the gentle breeze coming over the fields from the moors, closing his eyes he concentrated. No noise at first and then something, he definitely heard something but what? The wind? No, voices or shouts. He had to get round and check the front unseen, he didn’t want to be caught. Remembering the burnt skeletons he had seen in the field made him cringe. Hugging the wall he kept it close and slow, taking his time to edge past this huge warehouse which must be five hundred metres long at this side. Guessing that he was two thirds along he took his time; any noise would be a death sentence. Minutes passed by as he edged along keeping his gun ready, almost at the corner where another wall went opposite to make a second side of this vast place. Stopping for a minute to steady his breathing and slow his heartbeat, Cris listened again and heard nothing, was he wrong before? Popping his head around the corner he saw dark shadows. Only dust blowing in the wind, some dead bushes dancing over the dark roadway, a dirty car with broken windows and flat tyres and nothing more. About to move from the cover of the wall, something stopped him, not visual movement but an inner warning. Then he saw it, coming past a medium size factory a few hundred feet away, an English army transport vehicle, one of the Mary’s used to bring in prisoners to be exterminated or worked to death in the war factories. Cris didn’t know any of these secrets as he saw the vehicle slowly move down the street out of sight to the front of the building. This was something! Hell, I’ve got to get down round there and scope this out, it’s the whole reason of this mission and there it is, at the front. I’m not going to miss it, not after coming this far and being in so much danger, Cris thought, his brain going crazy.

   Just then, two English army military transports came roaring over the moorland in terrain following mode, looking for me, Cris knew! Against the cold building his body heat would stand out like a search light, with no time to lose he turned the corner and sprinted down the length of the building, not caring who saw him. Holding his gun and keeping his finger on the trigger, he was ready. Nothing but a bullet would stop him.

   Bottoming out over the fields where Cris had come, the two craft increased speed their methane engines audible even down here in the town, ahead of the warcraft. He could stop, turn and open fire upon them, for he knew their vulnerability but shooting both down was difficult though not impossible. Getting one wasn’t enough; the wrong move would blow him to pieces thus negating the whole mission. No time for hero stuff now, radio calls would be going through that an intruder was in their midst spying on the English army, after their deadly secrets that had to be protected at all cost. Cris came to the end of the second wall as the first transport opened fire, a faint rattle of machine gun fire coming down the street closely followed by a hail of bullets kicking up concrete chippings and sparks, missing him by yards. Another burst would nail him but he was around the corner running to the entrance. He spotted six guards by the main entrance, about to close the door after allowing the truck inside. Cris had to get inside! Firing three rounds at the group to distract them and keep the door open, Cris was upon them, firing another burst taking two of them cleanly out. The others scattered and fell as he fired into their backs, his high velocity shots cutting through their body armour. Reloading, he looked down at the dead and injured soldiers, noticing they all wore respirators with gloves and not a bit of flesh was visible. Protection from radiation? This was ominously bad. The door hadn’t closed, so he vaulted inside firing wildly as he went, hitting nothing. He had to be ready.

   Entrances led off in six different directions, where to go? Ahead would be the main route so he followed that, running pumped full of adrenaline wanting to see what this place was about. Hearing muffled screams wetted his appetite even more, they emanated from a closed compound just at the corner in the huge warehouse. An answer now; he knew it. He came upon the area where something horrid formed an event that had to be investigated. A huge dirty window was by a wall of the inner compound, reaching this Cris desperately cleaned it with his jacket sleeve. Looking through the grime and dirt he made out moving shapes and flickering flames, what was this place? It looked like an old steel foundry but undercover, it had to be something else. Shit! Huge flames shot out of something, dropping many figures that were now visible due to the bright orange flames. Two figures ran in circles burning till they fell down dead. Again a jet of flame and more screams and death, it reminded him of the flamethrower on the riverboat he saw before, a weapon of execution. Was he really seeing this or was he taken in by illusion, by some wicked make believe nightmare?

   Shaking his head and blinking to clear his vision he glared at the dirty window, seeing flickering fire and indistinct shapes coming together as one, in a final execution of death. In his heart he knew what he was seeing but in his mind he had to be sure, his penultimate moment was now upon him. This entire mission rested and existed for now. He had a duty to do; knowing his time was critical, Cris removed his pistol from hits holster, clicked the safety catch off and aimed at the window. Right down in the bottom corner, just below his eye level. In a smooth movement he fired three shots in a staccato of pistol bursts, praying to a god he didn’t believe in that his bullets would pierce the large window and that it wasn’t armoured. His luck held; the copper jacketed nine millimetre bullets pierced the glass, shattering the whole window that collapsed into a hundred thousand small pieces of broken safety glass. A scene from the dark pits of Hell was bestowed upon Cris, a hundred people lined up in several lines guarded by English army soldiers wearing respirators, helmets, body armour and other kit, all armed with a menagerie of weapons.

   Several prisoners heard Cris’s gunshots and saw the window shatter, shouts went up and heads turned at this potentially life saving distraction. In unison as if planned, three prisoners bolted from the pack and ran over to the empty window where Cris stared in shock at what was before him. Bodies smouldered on the floor where the flame throwers had previously cut executed prisoners down like corn before a scythe. Again the flame thrower belched flame cutting down twenty of the condemned people, both men and women. Cris saw the angry orange petrol fed spume of liquid fire reach out and consume the living, turning them into human torches. Many fell to the ground burning alive; others ran and only managed two metres before they fell down dead, bodies turned to ash. The three who ran towards Cris and the illusion of the safety he thought he provided were cut down by machine pistol fire from six guards, laser fire from a laser dog (a Devil Snail on execution duty, Cris saw this attack unit closely for the first time and only later remembered the details of this evil weapon of war) and an automatic laser mounted by the doorway to stop such escape attempts. Not much was left after this concentrated display of firepower. Cris drew rounds from alert soldiers who saw his breach of the dirty window, bullets careened into the window frame, wall and through the gap. Cris emptied the remainder of his magazine wildly at both soldiers and prisoners, not caring who or what he hit but aware that he could end a prisoner’s suffering with a bullet rather than being incinerated alive. A bullet grazed Cris’s right temple as enemy fire became more accurate, he ducked down out of sight reloading his pistol and shoving it back into the holster. Swearing, he rubbed his head and saw his hand was bloody.

   Bullets thudded into the metal wall above his head making him duck, unsure of where the gunfire came from he fired back with his machine pistol in six different directions, each one getting a three round burst. He had to get out of here, right now. He had seen enough, this was some kind of death factory. Cris had to get word out or everyone in Renford and surrounding areas would be fucked. How the fuck do I escape from this mess, ran through his head again and again. I can’t stay still, he panicked, running blindly down the narrow corridor and turning off to some kind of old storage room. Can’t stay there, be a rat in a trap. More gunfire, more running to where? Got to get a grip, be professional, do this for Noel and the others. I’ve seen enough of this hell to last me a lifetime! May God have mercy on me for what I’ve seen; I’ll never sleep a night’s sleep again!

   Further down corridors deeper into the bowels of the massive warehouse, past smaller rooms and buildings inside this vast edifice, past things covered by tarps and rigid covers. Chased by angry English army soldiers, intent on keeping their evil little secret intact at all costs, with bullets zinging by dangerously close kicking up concrete dust and chippings by his feet, the rush of firing back on full auto emptying a full mag in three seconds, reloading and doing it again. A child like joy of tossing harmless looking green hand grenades, pins pulled, at a group of soldiers who forgot their training and tactical discipline to bunch together, as the came around a corner, of blowing them literally to pieces when his grenade went off in their midst. An exultation of the rush of combat pumped full of adrenaline, not caring if he lived or died, more gun fights running his ammo dangerously low, on his last magazine of bullets now getting two soldiers dead and gone, a good exchange for thirty odd nine milli bullets fired on full fucking automatic. His old weapon instructor would chastise him for using up all his ammo, when single or even three round bursts would have been enough giving him an even higher body count. Keeping his empty weapon for when he got back, no use giving the enemy an intact weapon so they knew what weapons the Frontier Corps used, he ran looking for his ticket to freedom. It never crossed his mind he would die or be captured, a single thought of escape fuelled his urge to go on to win, survive and get word out.

   When the first bullet hit him in the right shoulder piercing his armoured jacket, Cris thought a soldier had hit him from behind, such was the force of the impact but he was alone with his enemy twenty yards away hiding behind walls and other obstructions. He stumbled almost falling; he knew if he went down they would have him for sure. Blood jetted out of a wide entry wound, he awkwardly swapped hands with his pistol and continued on. More bullets shot into walls and overhead pipes producing a rush of smoke or steam. Cris used this to turn off to the left and look for his salvation, something, anything but what? There, there it was! Motherfucker, he couldn’t believe it! A military transport with the side door open, would you look at that? Who would have believed it? He skipped with glee, it was his lucky day!

   Ground crew were checking it over for the next mission, a pilot in black overalls walked past the nose to check around cockpit, a pre-flight check. None saw Cris until he opened fire and gunned the three ground crew and pilot down, it was too late then he was the last person any of them would ever see.

   It would have been no use taking the pilot hostage and getting him to fly back to Renford, the cockpit was a single seat place with no room for a second person. The pilot would have crashed the machine, Cris knew. Vaulting up the steps into the small door Cris, hit the switch on the inner wall to close the entry door and jumped into the pilot’s seat. He noticed the engine was off because he heard no sound or saw any blue exhaust so he had to get this thing going. How? Scanning the controls, he soon saw a red button with ‘Start’ embossed on it. Pressing it, he was gratified to hear a rumble as the methane engine fired up making the craft buck on its landing skids.

   Fuck! Soldiers attempted to surround the craft, not opening fire in case they hit the methane fuel tank, like Cris did before when he shot down the pursuing transport on the moors. Taking the control stick in his good left hand he pressed the small red button mounted on top, up ahead he saw the soldiers scatter as the single nose mounted machine gun opened fire. Bullets hit the soldiers killing and wounding several and giving a moment’s distraction to escape. Pushing the single throttle to maximum he gave the engine max power lifting the control stick gently towards him, feeling the craft move on its back landing skids, about to become airborne. Turning gently on its axis Cris fired short bursts from the nose-mounted gun to keep his way clear so no soldiers could shoot him down with guns or heavier weapons. Angling the transport’s nose straight up Cris flew the ship towards the roof, where the entry door was positioned in the warehouse roof to allow the vehicles to venture forth on missions. Closer and closer he flew, a collision avoidance alarm came on and warning lights flickered on the dashboard and Head Up Display mounted on the inner windscreen. Waiting for the correct moment, Cris fired his nose gun at the hinges of the door, knowing if he didn’t hit it right he would be trapped and be forced to fly through the closed door and risk being destroyed by the impact or find another way out. His bullets cut into the hinges, destroying the left hand side one in a shower of sparks and broken metal that tumbled earthward, onto the next one with the same result until his ammo was used up! Fuck, being an expert shot wasn’t enough; he would have to ram his way out of the sagging door. It fell away from the left mounting revealing daylight (fuck how long had he been here?), nudging the other side with the pointed nose of the transport, Cris brought up the stick to lift the whole door on its damaged hinge. His plan worked! The hinge gave way, freeing the door which fell free from its remaining mounting point, to fall slowly onto the nose of the sleek transport and cracking the windscreen. It tumbled to the floor in a huge bang to land on several soldiers killing three and wounding others. Arcing up into the night Cris was free of the compound of death; wild inaccurate fire sped after him, fired by soldiers who knew their arses were on the line for letting this whole chapter happen. A single Devil Snail opened fire after locking onto the rising transport, green laser light flickered briefly and punched holes into the rear cabin before the craft vanished from view. It wasn’t enough Cris, was free!

   Grabbing his commando knife Cris struggled to fly with his damaged arm and open the handle with his good hand and teeth. After cursing in pain for five minutes he did it, tossing the contents out of the knife’s handle he found the small radio transceiver that was mounted at the inner base of the handle. A small wire with a small plastic ball on it fell free, tugging this with his teeth powered up the small batteries turning the radio on. The metal blade was the antenna/aerial. Watching the landscape zoom by with one eye, Cris spoke into the handle where a small microphone was placed, “This is Bear One calling home base, I’m wounded and in a stolen English army transport. Not sure if I can remain conscious, please follow my transmission and plot my course I’m attempting to RTB. Mission is a success, repeat success. Am returning alone, am unsure of whereabouts or situation of Bear Two. Repeat, am wounded in shoulder, losing blood and strength. Will try to RTB, have much honey, repeat much honey. Ready reception committee, end of emergency transmission.”

   Back at the Frontier Corp’s base in Renford the wheels of providence were turning, intelligence personal were readying the briefing room, medical staff were preparing swift treatment for a wounded operative, armed Corp’s troops readied weapons and defensive positions to make safe the area where Cris would try to land, other offensive troops would secure any area where he came down away from the base if they could reach it before the English army.

   Did Cris make it back to Renford without being pursued and shot down by English army transports or ground defences? Was he able to tell his comrades the vital intelligence he had gained at the cost of Noel missing in action, presumed killed? Was he able to bring his gift, a state of the army military transport back for the technical boffins to examine? If Cris got back safely he would be the saviour of Renford with the news he carried, if he failed then the town, its population and everyone else in the unoccupied area of England was doomed to a new offensive by a resurgent English army.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Alternative Family

 

   Renford was a typical town in unoccupied England that had its own values and morals relating to life, if you were a gangster, a Goth or a normal person trying to survive, a few ideals were born out by modern life there. One example was the death of the family where old school principles became awkward in what was a selfish society governed by the law of the gun and harsh values, family life had no place here. Marriage was frowned upon and often ended in honour killing for the sake of the guy or gal involved by their vicious family members to get the clingy in love partner out of the way, permanently. People still bore children but out of wedlock or betrothal to continue the family bloodline in all but official name, if not people would simply die out. Old time values flourished, like look after your mates, own a gun and use it if you had to, casual sex was encouraged especially with prostitutes who provided a no strings service. Swinging clubs and events were a regular occurrence in many hundreds of people’s lives, with monthly sex parties encouraging frivolous erotic exotic fucking and enjoyment. How could family married life exist in this atmosphere of wanton sex, physical fulfilment and no holds barred self-gratification? Of the three old register offices that used to officialise weddings since the early twentieth century, each had fallen into decline or been fire bombed or taken over for some other more “needed” use. If you lived in Renford and you were brave or foolish enough to plan and actually get married, you had to travel further afield to other unoccupied towns offering this frowned upon service, these places were few and far between. If you came back to live in Renford your lives would be in danger, paranoia and mistrust finished off many marriages, forced married couples to leave or ended in their grisly deaths by vigilantes and contract killers.

   One typical couple who lived in Renford were Donna and Lenny who were aged 26 and 34 respectively. Both were in love with one another, lived together in a damp one bedroom ex council flat that was close to 120 years old with their three year old son Karl. They were a family but only in the sense of sticking together and looking after their son and one another, both adults regularly took other lovers and went on dates with several people a month when the need arose. This included strangers picked up from the swinging clubs or bars and nightclubs that dotted Renford, offering a sexy service. They didn’t pay for sex with prostitutes, why should they when sex could be obtained free from willing strangers picked up in a debaucherous night out when all involved agreed to cum on time and have no inhibitions? In no way whatsoever would a marriage survive this kind of abuse and illicit enjoyment, fulfilling your needs, desires and passions was the way forward, not in a selfish way but an open-minded way. In this environment people didn’t care for making war when they were too busy fucking and swapping body fluids in a nice feeling of enjoyment, this was the way forward but a certain English army didn’t think so. In towns that had been overrun and occupied, all swingers had been summarily executed or sent to the war factories to be worked to death. People in town fucked when they could, not caring about anything but themselves and their love life.

   Donna was a fully-fledged swinger who had fucked and made love to three thousand four hundred and ninety two people in her short life, a few more due to her age than Lenny who had screwed one thousand eight hundred and seventeen. Quite a figure between them but not the record for swinging in Renford, this was considerably higher by the real pros that lived for swinging and sex with other people. Good concepts of make love not war.

   A main swinging club Donna and Lenny attended was the Left Nipple, a venue outfitted with huge beds able to accommodate twenty-four people in sprawled out fucking luxury complete with gigantic stuffed pillows, luxurious eiderdowns and silk sheets, an expensive Jacuzzi able to hold ten people or nearly twenty at a squeeze, sex couches in the living room area where people could make love and be watched by voyeurs. Safe sex was a must with condoms provided free of charge, conveniently placed in carved quartz dishes all over the club, an example of luxury and common sense. A fetish/dominatrix/sado masochistic torture/fantasy play area was located in the basement/dungeon area, out of sight and mind of the more conservative customers/clientele. A good time was offered and all tastes were catered for from light/experimental to full on sexual bondage verging on torture with equipment provided or bring your own after the club experts checked it out. Dress style in the dungeon was little or nothing but leather/PVC/studded fetish clothing for image and functionality. Upstairs stylish dresses and suits gave an expensive smart image until the clothing was strewn over the floor and its owners were fucking in panting erotic ecstasy. Four bars served a selection of none and alcoholic drinks from special beer brewed by secret kinky breweries to cocktails of your choice, most with very sexy or rude names to spice up the night’s love making and swinging. A standing joke was where was the right nipple? Because the club was called Left Nipple, if anyone found such a club, what an addition it would be in stunning sexual anticipation.

   Donna and Lenny went to the Left Nipple on the second Saturday of the month dressed in nice expensive clothing. Donna wore a red ball dress showing plenty of leg with a split right the way up her left thigh to her panties line. Lenny was outfitted in a nice charcoal grey three-piece suit complete with long alternative leather jacket.

   Her green sparkling eyes resonated with charm pulling both guys and gals in, like a tractor beam on a captured spaceship. Donna was able to achieve anything by a mere look with her wickedly sensual eyes. Her excellent white teeth gave her a matching smile and her flame red hair matched her looks, passion (including as a lover) and her delectable charm. Tonight she wore her hair down in a rugged yet stunningly noticeable style that was every bit her own.

   Lenny kept his dark brown hair cut short with just a buzz of stubble on his head, he wasn’t going bald he preferred the tough macho look but truth be told he was a really nice bloke relying on his charm more than his good looks and flawless brown eyes to hit it off the ladies. He adored the ladies, he had tried men and it wasn’t his gig. He was very open-minded and loved a threesome with another man making love to his woman. His favourite was to pump Donna from behind while she sucked the cock of another man until he was almost spunking up, then they swapped places and Donna claimed another notch on her bedpost.

   In such heady moments she wondered what her deceased mother would think? Her obsolete catholic views would be boiling with brimstone and fire if she knew what her precious daughter was up to, merrily swinging away fucking half of England in exhilarating and preposterous but highly enjoyable fun.

   They made eye contact with friends, fellow swingers and the odd stranger while ordering their drinks – a Purple Penis made up of half a dozen ingredients for Donna and a Slow Muff Dive for Lenny, equally mind blowing. The ingredients of these were secret to stop the other swinging venues stealing the formula, a somewhat mad but sensible idea considering the drinks were a good aphrodisiac. Alcohol stock behind the bars gave up to three days marathon drinking time and more were stored in the basement to be used on the legendary long weekend swinging jaunts.

   Lenny and Donna walked slowly over to the plush red leather couches that lined a section of one wall, setting their drinks carefully down on a table Lenny took off his expensive leather jacket which was picked up by a member of staff who took it to the cloakroom. Donna sat down crossing her legs so the split on her dress opened revealing both her shapely beautiful long legs, an inviting promise of desire of what was to come for select beautiful people. Lenny placed himself close to his woman but not overbearingly, so that potential swingers wouldn’t be scared off. Enjoying their drinks the couple made small talk locking eyes and kissing, often stealing glances at people who walked to or past the bar – eyeing up attractive catches. New people just visiting the club for the first time were ideal, newness not found with the more experienced guests but a caution too, which could be a potential hindrance. Yet that could be washed away like a sandcastle before a tide by the mere act of being in this club, it wasn’t a dance venue or a live music place. Illicit exotic very erotic acts were the very essence of the existence of the Left Nipple and everyone here knew it.

   A nice sound of a lady moaning every few seconds came over the low music that was played through neatly hidden speakers, this turned Donna on. She took this as an opportunity to act, feeling up Lenny’s cock that bulged through the thin expensive material of his trousers, his cock rapidly hardened. Taking a large soft cushion and placing it on the floor before her man, she knelt down on it unzipping his zipper to remover his long shaft. In no time Donna went down on Lenny sucking his cock in rapid swift movements licking his bell end in quick dart like motions of her tongue, a low gasp escaped him as pleasure took hold warmly filling his body in a feeling of excitement bordering on ecstasy. Her head bobbed up and down in rhythmic motions, a crowd stopped to watch this most intimate (but not ultimate) scene; these were voyeurs who came to the club to just enjoy the sex acts but not participate. One man removed his own penis, picked up a tissue from a small wicker bowl on the table and wanked himself off into it and getting off on this lovely spectacle.

   Lenny closed his eyes and groaned like a man enjoying such pleasures not caring who saw, if anything this heightened his pleasure. It wasn’t long before Donna brought him to orgasm and he spunked up, she quickly moved her head back to wank his cock as hot spunk shot up and out all over Lenny’s trousers and onto her face. He panted in happiness, smiling and drawing his woman to him kissing her deeply tasting himself not being embarrassed or sick. He was perfectly at ease. Sex act over the voyeurs moved on to search out new scenes to get off on and jerk off over. Lenny put his cock away after wiping it on a tissue and went to order new drinks for him and Donna, different cocktails to spice up their already reverent mood. Donna stood up, taking her drink and led the way into the next room and more fun, here they danced and mingled with other couples on the small intimate dance floor looking for people to swing with. Lenny spotted a nice couple to their left, gently he danced Donna over towards them maintaining eye contact and smiling, sending the signals of, “Hey there, we like you, do you want to swing?”

   Donna was happy with this, having looked the other couple up and down in a quick glance; she moved her hips as she held onto Lenny as the music steadily played a nice slow pulsating song. Coming closer, within touching distance now to the duo, Lenny nodded and smiled, whispering in the girl’s ear, “Hi there, we’re Donna and Lenny. We do like you, your dress is stunning. What are your names?”

   “Hello, I’m Annetta and this is my boyfriend Jeff. Nice to meet you,” the slowly dancing girl announced. Her partner nodded a greeting and Donna returned it.

   “Do you both want a drink? We don’t mind buying if you do,” Lenny offered, smiling warmly.      

   Annetta quietly conversed while dancing and her guy nodded. His lady confirmed this, “Yes thanks that would be nice. I’ll have a Tender Nipple cocktail and Jeff will have a Hairy Ballsack cocktail.”

   “Okay coming right up,” Lenny answered back, “Donna do you want to take our new friends and find a seat while I get the drinks? Do you want the same as we had before?”

   “We can sit over there, there’s space. Drink wise I think we should have the same as Annetta and Jeff, they sound mind blowing drinks!” Donna replied to her hunk as he left to get the drinks. He would trade gold leaf cards as currency.

   “Lenny will get the drinks, we’ll have the same as you, we like trying new things,” Donna erotically said, her gaze looking the couple up and down for a little too long, an evocative smile on her flawless face. Her sexy gaze was returned by both Annetta and Jeff, it was obvious what this was leading up to – swinging! Donna took them both by the hand and they trotted over to the comfy low leather settee opposite the dance floor. Lenny got the drinks and carefully carried them over on a silver engraved tray; erotic patterns of men and women making love graced its surface. This didn’t distract him, he thought of the real love making which lay ahead.

   “Thanks for the drink baby,” Donna smiled kissing Lenny as he placed her drink in front of her on the blue glass table. Moving over slightly he did the same with the other drinks, smiles and thanks were returned. He sat down next to Donna who was sat very close to Annetta; already chemistry had developed between the two girls.

   After a sip of their drinks it started, Annetta kissed Donna full on the lips a nice lingering passionate kiss. She didn’t flinch or pull back enjoying the taste of a new stranger, placing her hand on Annetta’s thigh, up under the fabric of her short red leather miniskirt to her most secret area – her pussie! Annetta wore no underwear so Donna got to work straight away making her cum by tickling her clit and fingering her at the same time. It didn’t take long, Annetta reached climax in five minutes, her body bucking and rolling on the plush leather with moans showing her enjoyment. Both men kept quiet taking in the scene before them – their girlfriends kissing full on and loving every minute of it. For ten minutes this continued until both women swapped places so the guys could have a turn kissing each other’s woman, they needed no encouragement!

   Lenny embraced Annetta while Jeff took Donna in his arms to kiss away. Swinging had started, yippee! Bring it on. Arm in arm the four people kissed passionately for many minutes happily finding out about each other and who liked what, if tongues were allowed, a wet or a dry kiss, if groping was okay while they kissed. Tick all the boxes and it was fucky fucky time. Things were looking good for Jeff and Donna, they got down to it almost lying down on the plush leather seats snogging and feeling every bit of their bodies. Donna gripped Jeff’s cock through his trousers and slowly wanked him off in his pants. He put his fingers up Donna’s pussy to play with her and to gauge her most private area, was she shaved or not, any piercings down there?

   Lenny got off with Annetta in much the same way but they remained sitting up right with Annetta perched on his knee, kissing him deeply while she lifted up her miniskirts, got his cock out and started to fuck him there and then, wanting to get laid so badly. Nice and slowly she moved up and down upon Lenny’s hard cock as he gently made love to Annetta, a nice new lady who he hadn’t experienced this before but was certainly doing so now!

   Time advanced at crawl. Donna and Jeff stopped kissing and stood up to strip themselves naked before lying down to make love and caress one another’s most intimate places. Nobody objected for several other couples were making love on the floor, by the bar or on similar low leather seats in full view of other people, club staff and voyeurs. Soft music played over the speakers, several people still enjoyed a dance on the dance floor, getting the feel of who was round and about, slowly making their choices of who they would swing with. You either picked straight away or took your time; this depended on what type of person you were. Some people steamed right in there and got it on faster than a bullet out of a gun and some were like ice melting, enjoying choosing someone after browsing what was on offer.

   Four naked people with nothing to hide with beautiful bodies, even Donna who was well into her 30s, her regular keep fit sessions and high sex drive saw to that. It took stamina to rise to the occasion in a public place (even if it was a member’s only club) and make love to satisfy not only yourself but also the other willing partner. If a man’s hard on went flaccid there were no recriminations, just what if? Both parties often worked on this to entice the unco-operative penis to become hard but this depended on many things – was the man new to this and shy? Had he been drinking? Did he really want to do this and a dozen other reasons? No problems occurred here as the sound of lovemaking rose over the music and chatter of happy guests by the bar and near the dance floor.

   Away from this individual scene of action much more was going on in the parts of the club in dark corners and specialised rooms, down in the bondage area it was another kinky story of whips, chains, handcuffs, black leather/PVC, a low level of torture in submission/dominating role play games and a whole selection of fun and games for adults only. People went in with little clothes on and came out stark bollock naked. In-between they had a wicked kinky time, one such small action was thus: a Dominatrix called Gothic Lucinda was in position doing her wicked act with a spanking paddle in one hand and a short but stout bull whip in her other hand. She brought the spanking paddle down hard on a bare arse belonging to Tim, a middle aged man who loved to be spanked and dominated. His buttocks glowed bright red under the bright halogen bulbs while Lucinda brought the implement down again and again in wicked sharp reports, a sharp cry left Tim’s lips as he hovered between ecstasy and unconscious oblivion. He was a regular customer in the dungeon room of the club underground the main building where this type of activity was welcome. Many guests didn’t like the low/medium level of directed violence especially when it was directed to a man’s genitals. Some of the more extreme gentlemen had their bollocks nailed to a board. This was bordering on the extreme but this club catered for all tastes from sublime massaging to bizarre self-mutilation. Gothic Lucinda had some body mods; her nipples were pierced with silver bars that she got her slaves to suck, lick and heat up with Zippo lighters so the heat would travel down the bar into her breast and give her a painful feeling of enjoyment. Only selected people were allowed to this.

   Tim cried for his mother as the bullwhip contacted his left bare buttock painfully with a loud crack. He whimpered like a dog being jabbed with a cattle prod, begging for relief but not from the pain – no. He wanted Lucinda to bring him to orgasm by licking his cock and biting his balls. She obliged with a glare, changing position so her hand could slam down onto Tim’s bare arse with maximum force so he punishment for simply being born was continued. There was no reprieve for his arse beating even while his cock was being sucked and balls bitten, Tim was in twisted heaven with the massively overweight Lucinda playing her little game. She was a hideous thing to look at with no figure, just mounds of fat; her main gift was inside her head, a twisted cunning mind educated in the ways of explicit sexual perversion and action. Nobody came close to Lucinda in the skills department and no sexual activity was out of bounds, this fact glowed in her sick heart while her fat hand connected with Tim’s bare red behind. In a roar of animal pleasure he spunked up covering her face in semen, he was rewarded with the hardest slap yet and a bite on his balls drawing blood. Tears of happiness and pain flowed down his cheeks. After Tim two other slaves were booked in for their own little torture session, a compromise of Gothic Lucinda’s and their own desires.

   A glance around the walls of the underground dungeon revealled whips, chains, wizard outfits, old Rainbow Rising records twisted and warped with darts stuck in them, large stones that were heated up so a slave could sit on them and blister his arse, handcuffs, anklecuffs, leather underpants with the spike on the inside for people who were into that kind of thing, gimp masks of a dozen designs, rope to tie slaves up and much more besides. For the artistically minded, a set of paints, brushes and an easel was used to paint nice images onto a persons body, especially their private parts and for the workman, a set of nice antique tools could nail their bollocks to a board, this was an act Lucinda had done several times. The sight of a slave walking down Renford High Street with his bollocks nailed to a board was amusing to say the least. She often made her own tools or sexual toys like the Gothic High Chair where a slave sat to be tortured and have his bollocks tattooed with black ink with a tattoo gun (no real pattern just for the hell of it).

   A regular customer of Gothic Lucinda’s was Arnold the Plantpot, a disabled middle age man with three legs, one and a half arms and a twelve-inch cock. He liked to whip Lucinda on her face with his large member, just loving the sound of it whacking onto her bare podgy face. She’d suck him off, keep his spunk in her mouth and then kiss him forcing him to taste his own cum – he often choked on it coughing till he was almost having a fit, a disgusting scene in anyone’s eyes. Arnold the Plantpot enjoyed being sat on by Lucinda’s huge twenty-four stone jelly bulk, he was like a spider squashed by a house brick. Only the spider was mercifully dead, he came to from unconsciousness having to undergo the whole exercise again. Lucinda liked to cuff Arnold to a chair, put treacle on his two good legs and bad lame leg and lick it off, at the same time she ran lit matches the length of his cock. And the biggest glass butt plug fitted nicely up his arse after a tub of Lube2000 was pumped up to give good lubrication. A joy to behold was the sight up his arse, filmed by a small high quality digital camera mounted inside the butt plug, it was a good film when Arnold squeezed a crap onto the top of the plug and even better when Lucinda slowly removed it allowing the shit to surge forth like an avalanche. Opposite where Arnold sat was a nice tank of goldfish delicately lit with coloured neon lights, the fish they were used as a calming influence if a slave became upset or anxious and gave no sexual use. That was illegal. Soothing music gave an impression of a light airy atmosphere, this was further from the truth when the torture started and Lucinda kicked into dominatrix bitch mode, who said illusion wasn’t part of the act?

   For club customers into water sports a grand luxury king size bed with waterproof covers was set out in the swimming room. Many people thought water sports were disgusting, some revelled in it and really got off on it; clean disposable bedding was provided and burned after use. Towels were on hand to wipe up excess amounts of urine. Basically it was the man pissing into the woman’s mouth and vice versa, the woman stood directly over the man and pissed into his mouth in a shower of golden rain (another name for it). A select group of people did this, the numbers were actually less than the guests who did bondage/sado masochism/dominatrix style sex actions. Main reasons given were the disgusting and too open-minded use of urine in sex, those involved didn’t care for outsider’s views and they got on with it and had fun because they were all consenting adults.

   The most disgusting sexual activities carried out in the Left Nipple club was the shit eaters, two people, a man and a woman, who ate their own shit while performing sexual acts often starting with one another shitting on their respective partner. They kept themselves discreetly private not even revealing their real names to anyone in the club; they arrived wearing elaborate masks to conceal their identity until they reached their special alcove where the shit eating went on. Shitting onto their partner and massaging it in or eating it as it coiled out of their arse into their partner’s mouth, a hideous and disgusting act that was only open to them. The club was a place where they could do this safely so they were in no danger and able to carry their vile fun without interference. Eating your own crap or Scat Sex was the most extreme act and the private couple called themselves “The Pooper Scoopers” but only to one another and never in earshot of other people.

 

   A very special but weird lady was Janice, she owned a hot air balloon and whenever the weather was fair and calm she tethered the balloon to a strong support in a field to the west of Renford and ascended a hundred and fifty feet into the sky. In her balloon’s basket she carried several passengers and they were all naturists/nudists who fucked like rabbits in the small wicker basket for the sheer hell of it. Janice was very pretty not looking her thirty-nine years; she had brownie blonde hair, kind blue/green eyes and a flawless face with no crow’s feet by her lovely eyes and not a bad bone in her body. She was a free spirit who had two kids from her previous partners who had both been her pagan husbands (pagan hand fasting was the only type of marriage allowed in Renford and surrounding areas), sadly her romances never lasted but she remained friends with one of the men. He was a warlock type person who grew herbs/plants to heal people who became sick; rumour had it he was a strong wizard too. Janice knew she was a chosen girl because she had a soulmate many years ago who she fell dangerously in love with; when it ended she tried to commit suicide on dangerously unstable out of date pain killers. Mercifully she failed this tragic act, so not to deny her children their mother; afterwards she decided to stay clear of men but to become a free spirit and lover. She came by the balloon from the local gangsters and set up her business of free love naked balloon flights where people could get it on in the sky. Business was brisk and everyone came back for more, not a single person complained or couldn’t get it up.

   Janice was a girl of the sky, with a breezy demeanour and she had joined the mile high club (well one hundred and fifty feet high club) many times shagging boys and the occasional girl, she was very experienced and loved free love. It was a special freedom to her. She enjoyed this when the weather was fine, being in the north of England made this a hit or miss affair, often in winter she got good ballooning weather, rather than in summer with strong thermals. She loved to make love naked in the sky it gave her a feeling of freedom not found anywhere else. Was she the only one to feel this? She did wonder while her years slowly ticked on, giving Janice more delicate experiences in her eccentric little way up in her tethered balloon basket just one hundred and fifty feet up. Little did she know that in future her balloon would spot the English army coming to attack her town of Renford. Before then she made love and celebrated the joys of flesh.

 

   Other strange and eccentric people graced the dereliction of Renford; a select few lived underground in the sewers keeping out of the way of the gangsters who used them for target practise and the general population who loathed them. They were the Scuttle Rats named after the way they scuttled away like a rat in a torch beam, for years these scum had been part of the town like the Goths or gangsters doing their own thing and just wanting to be left alone. For them getting on with life was eating nice fat sewer rats, drinking clean water from one of three fresh water mains they tapped into and finding old but useable clothes to wear from the local tip.

   On one bad evening three gangsters waited near a manhole cover by one of the secondary streets in Renford. When the metal grid slowly opened and a pair of beady eyes in a dirty face became visible two pistols were aimed and ready, very carefully the figure quietly emerged into the dark. Placing the grid back into position the dark entity was about to drift into the darkness but two muzzle flares from two large Magnum .44 hand guns lit up the street terrifying the figure who turned to run, falling like a bag of shit as two fat round bullets crippled its legs. Murmured cries told of suffering and pain but it was no use, two more shots crackled over the night into the prone figures backside making it shake and convulse like a deranged zombie. Walking closer to the cripple both gunmen covered their leader who kicked the injured thing that resembled a person at its lowest levels. Blood pooled and ran slowly over the uneven pothole pitted road surface, life ending in death only minutes away.

   Many more bullets waited in the huge guns to be fired into the wounded form below the vicious men, a form of entertainment was giving them a degree of fun until it was over and the next fix of violence came before them. Bang! Bang! Two more bullets crashed into the damaged legs breaking bone, cutting sinews, slicing flesh, unleashing blood to flow and crippling an outcast caught by misfortune and extreme violence.

   Laughter filled the road like a street party was taking place, in one sense it was but it was a party with a difference. One gunman softly spoke to his friends, “Hey I wonder how far my bullet will go up into his leg, if I fire up into his foot below his ankle. I think my gun has enough force to send a bullet all of the way up. What do you think?”

   “You should try it. It has to be done right though, try moving his leg to an angle and we’ll see if the shot leaves the top of his knee. If it does then it’s half way up his leg. Yea I’ll help you move his leg, here do it this way,” one of the thugs replied, stooping down to move the wounded man’s leg for the experiment while his friend helped out. Walking over into position the man got into position and carefully aimed his gun; his two mates watched equally closely, standing well out of the way to avoid the bullet and bone splinters. Counting down from five, the thug nodded his head with each number until Boom! He let go one bullet into the left foot of the man who screamed and wriggled as the bullet left the gun and entered his leg at eight hundred metres a second. Damage was instantaneous; the huge .44 inch bullet gouged a path up the dying man’s leg right up through the bone, leaving his body by his knee cap which it blew off in a welter of blood and gore, spreading more detritus onto the rough ground around them. The gangster who had fired jumped with joy on the spot and let off a “Whoop!” and continued, “See I told you it would do that! Fantastic!”

   “Yea man what a good do, lets finish this cunt off and use up our ammo on him as target practise!” laughed the second man with the gun, while he moved position sizing up his target wondering where to place his next target area – legs, arms, belly, chest? Don’t want to kill him! Not just yet.

   “Nice and easy boys I see you’re using your training to good effect,” their leader whispered. He was unarmed but fully in charge for he had what was called command presence, you automatically respected and looked up to him. Cross him if you dare. Few did and they died.

   “I’m on his belly, I’m going to empty my remaining bullets in there, watch this lads!” the leg shooter commented but his mate placed a hand on his shoulder and looked him in the eye, a tense stand off resulted. Their leader watched in silence.

   “Whoa bruv, it’s my turn you took the leg shot I’ve got the next shot. Okay?” he flatly said keeping his hand on his colleagues shoulder. A minute of silence passed.     

   “Fine, I have no problem with that. Go ahead and take your shot, don’t kill him though coz I want the belly shot,” replied the leg shooter defusing the tense stand off. 

   “I knew you’d see it my way, here we go then!” the gangster snickered prancing around his buddies and the dying man like a cat on heat, his large Magnum pistol twitching like a radar antenna seeking out its target. Where to shoot? Ah, there in his arm, into his stick like rag enclosed arms! I’m going to do it! The left arm first at the top and then lower down just like an experiment he laughed, Bang! Into his upper arm shattering bone and wrecking the Scuttle Rat’s shoulder joint, almost blowing it from his body frame. The second round smashed his lower arm into two almost severing it, only a fragment of skin and his bloody rags held it into place. His third and final shot wrecked the Rat’s upper right arm, emptying his gun and passing the firing position over to his gangster friend who took his position.

   “The belly shot is the most evil shot of all, once hit in the belly a target will take up to three days to die in horrific pain. The question is how long will a dying crippled man take to die with two shots in his gut and the remainder in his limbs? Lets find out!” announced the shooter bringing his gun to bear on the target, then a simple two trigger clicks  and it was over, two large discharges and his gun was empty and twelve .44 shots had hit the target, fatally wounding him.

   “Good work lads, come on, I’ll get you a beer in The Slug. We’ve got a story to tell our other gangster mates. Reload as we walk just in case we cross more trouble. We may come across more Scuttle Rats on the way,” congratulated the lead gangster to his men, a reward was on him in the main gangster pub.

   “Yea thanks boss, it’ll be nice, I’m in the mood for a beer,” replied one gangster, his comrade nodded in agreement as three men walked away, leaving a dying Scuttle Rat in the latest violence to hit Renford but no one cared or gave a damn. That was the way it was.

   Down below the man hole cover other Scuttle Rats knew one of their number was dead due to the gunshots they heard even below ground; after an hour of waiting one of their timid number slowly opened the grid cover and peered around. All he saw was his dead comrade, he left the body where it was so not to bring suspicion and bring any more violence. Enough had happened already without an invite for more evil actions against the Rats, whose numbers were already depleted by death due to disease, bad diet and other factors.

   Scuttle Rats liked being tattooed but in a hideous way; they loved infection and random ink patterns on their skin, what you hardly called art or an image. Sterile electric guns weren’t used but the old fashioned way of a needle and carbon for black, dried blood mixed with old engine oil for dark red and other equally nasty substances for the colour. Several so called tattooists lived amongst the Rats and they were always busy doing their hideous random tattoos on whoever wanted them; it rapidly became a mark of the Scuttle Rat – ugly splotches of colour on many parts of their body half hidden under the dirt. Infection was a great risk having killed twenty Rats this year to infection and blood poisoning; they didn’t care, it was an identity, a right of passage and one more reason to hate and despise these subterranean people.

   If a Scuttle Rat ventured into Renford centre during the day people would jeer and mock them, the threat of physical violence was very great. If had been years since a Rat had been out during the day, theirs was a night time dark existence hiding in the shadows living under the earth. They bred amongst themselves fucking their own sisters and mothers, producing hideous offspring with deformed limbs and disabilities that would normally mean termination in normal people. Not down here for things like that were celebrated, to be a real freak was a gift and brought extra favours like more rotting food, a guarantee of sexual partners, more tattoo needle time and other things that above ground people hardly understood.

   Talk was in the air of flushing out the Scuttle Rats and destroying them once and for all but they were kings of their dark little world and no serious operation had taken them out yet, it would be different if the English army invaded the town. Everyone was a target and petrol pumped into the tunnels and ignited or poison gas or a fleet of Devil Snails sent under ground was a real possibility if an attack came and was successful.

 

   Other families of people both related and not, lived in Renford in harmony or in conflict. Sticking together was safety in numbers and pooled skills and resources while giving a sense of community that was unique to Renford and like nowhere else. Other towns were similar but none were the same in group make up, population or the intimacy of life that lived and breathed amongst the derelict buildings and badly maintained streets. A sense of pride flowed through most of the people from the lowest most thuggish gangster to the most fucked up sexual deviant. Even individuals who lived here had to coexist in some form of family for no one could exist alone; whether it be trading for food supplies or fucking a prostitute. How long life went on like this was anybodies guess, in the decades following the many wars that gripped England life meandered on never being flushed out completely. If a new army attack came would life be extinguished from Renford forever?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Hope Flickers

 

   From out of the night a crippled craft fell with a dying pilot struggling at the controls. Cris was on his way home flying a stolen English army troop transport over the moorland and rough open ground to get back to Renford. He climbed steeply out of the roof of the army warehouse with wild fire snapping at his heels, the single throttle was at the stops and engine roaring, even in the fully enclosed forward cockpit. How much fuel did he have? Looking down he tried to locate the fuel gauge amongst the plethora of instruments and computer displays but he was unable to find it, seeing a black shadow looming ahead he looked up and gasped. Rapidly the dark moorland was approaching, the steep side ready to claim him in a burning crash. Jerking back the control stick Cris brought the nose up, wondering if this flying machine stalled or could fly and climb at low airspeed? With no time to guess he hugged the rising edge of the moor at ten feet of altitude, desperately correcting to avoid rocks and boulders sticking up. Suddenly an orange blast of superheated air exploded to his left, whooshing over the fragile craft with its wounded pilot sending debris and rocks up and over the fleeing machine, buffeting him by blast and turbulence. Fuck! That was distant artillery, most probably a 155mm one, good job their aim was off!

   Snaking the craft from side to side in an effort to distract their aim, Cris knew he was still vulnerable as the craft climbed the hundreds of feet up over the moor, more shells landed behind and in front of him forcing him to steeply turn, slowing him down and making him more vulnerable. Orange flashes kicked up peaty soil and rocks where more large explosive shells missed, lines of tracer fire fell far behind out of range. Two twin laser lines reached out for him, one a pretty blue colour, the other a wicked green. Both missed due to the rising smoke from the artillery shells obscuring the laser dogs’ aim and saving Cris; the English army had fucked up their one chance to shoot Cris down with ground fire. It should have been laser fire to disable his craft or explode the fuel tank and then artillery to finish him off. A grim smile coursed over his lips as Cris smoothly reached the crest of the moorland flying out of sight and pushing the nose over levelling off in his mad flight. How far did he have to fly to return home, twenty or so miles? What were several days hiking was only tens of minutes flying time if he didn’t pass out or crash?

   His right shoulder started to hurt as his adrenaline wore off; glancing down he saw blood steadily flow from the large red entrance wound. How it hurt, he wished he had some morphine styrettes to inject but he didn’t know where, they were somewhere with him and he couldn’t think where, his mind was fuzzy with the pain, shock and blood loss. And his temple ached where a bullet had grazed it; luckily there wasn’t much blood though a headache added to his woes. Got to make it he thought, I’ve got valuable intelligence for my Frontier Corps that will save the town, at least I hope! This mission wasn’t over yet, I can’t fail or Noel’s death would have been pointless. Out of nowhere the ship’s radio came alive in a burst of static; a radio call was directed at Cris: “Attention, attention, this is English army control calling the armed fugitive in the stolen army transport. Return to our base at once and we will be lenient with you. If you don’t co-operate we will hunt you down and kill you and all of your kind. The choice is yours. You will be back at our base in less than one minute flying time, turn around and return the stolen transport. We promise to be lenient with you if you return now. We won’t ask again, English Army control out,” the voice disappeared.

   Cris announced in a pain filled voice wondering if they would hear him, “Fuck you, you fascist scum kiss my fugitive arse and die!”

   Onward over barren moors and green fields Cris flew, watching the rear view mirror behind him for the pursuit he knew would surely come but when and where? There! A single English army transport popped into view being flown aggressively in an effort to catch him and bring him down. Fuck! My forward machine gun is empty and I’m wounded, he’ll get me for sure and what can I do? Bearing down on the unarmed transport the armed one opened fire in a short burst of warning shells, these arced slowly up and over Cris in a message of “Surrender or die!”

   Cris checked the single throttle – it was fully forward already forcing max power from the single methane-burning engine. Jamming the stick to his left he swerved out of the way of the next aimed burst of gunfire putting the other pilot off his aim, momentarily. Continuing his turn Cris attempted to get on his enemy’s tale in a max rate turn, g-force punished Cris forcing him into his pilot’s seat making his shoulder scream in agony under four g’s. The other pilot second guessed this and swerved up out of the way in a steep climb exposing his back and exhaust while he gained height to stall turn and come back down to fire again. Did he know Cris was out of bullets? Yes, Cris would have fired and claimed a certain kill then. So what to do? Come on Cris think? Yes, I know! Follow him in his climb before he can turn and fire, for I can only dodge him so many times without being hit. Stick back, nose up and here we go after him but he has a good separation distance, I could be too late! He sees me in his mirror and swerves, rolling his craft upside down to come round onto me but I know his moves, I’ll match his turn and manoeuvre with him. And then I’ll kill him in my trump card for he won’t anticipate my move, no fucking way coz I’m more reckless than him. Didn’t they teach him never to pick a fight with a desperate man who has nothing to lose but everything to gain? Should have killed me with your first shot you twat that was your fatal error!

   Two standard English army transports, one slightly damaged and unarmed flown by an inexperienced pilot versus a fully armed undamaged one flown by a top army pilot who knew how to fly and fight with his single loaded machine gun. I can see you out of the top of my cracked cockpit canopy; I’ll get you yet! thought Cris, dipping the nose steeper to gain more forward airspeed to gain and overtake the English army craft that flew a less steep dive. His enemy started to pull up and turn in a defensive act to gain the offensive but Cris circumvented by his pure high speed dive that stressed the craft to its limits. In his HUD his airspeed was off the clock, on the instrument panel two red warning lights came on and a seductive female voice warned, “Pull up, pull up! Maximum speed has been passed, pull up, pull up!”

   G-force pushed Cris into his seat; a grey mist came from nowhere to obscure his vision when he zoomed past the other transport in a blur, on the edge of passing out. Green fields rushed up to meet him, he saw individual trees so low and fast was he; it was now or never! Using all of his strength fighting the huge g-forces and unreal pain he pulled the control stick towards him with all his might, the hull of his craft shrieked in the slipstream and groaned under the immense strain he placed upon the small craft. Forcing it into an upward climb straight after coming out of a steep over speeding dive could yet kill him, Cris didn’t care a smile appeared on his lips for soon he could be killed if his craft disintegrated in mid flight under the strain. The grey mist before his vision turned quickly red and then black as he blacked out under eight positive g’s, his dive became a climb and oblivion overtook this new inexperienced fugitive pilot. Did his trick work?

   In the cockpit of the genuine English army transport flown by an experienced enlisted officer, surprise registered briefly as the stolen transport zoomed past at a crazy speed well over the stated maximum. The officer swore and fired a quick burst of gunfire that curved below harmlessly missing and fought the g-force to check his throttle, it was at maximum; suddenly the other craft quickly pulled up in a move that should have torn it apart like an egg, could still do! Warning lights and a voice told him to pull up but it was too late! Way too late for the ground was rapidly approaching, this is it I’m not going to make it!

   A huge orange blast erupted over the fields when the English army transport flew into the ground after failing to pull up in time. Cris was in the clear for his crazy desperate gamble had paid off. And he could claim an air-to-air kill for he made the other enemy craft crash, saving Cris from certain disaster and death. Slowly coming to after his mad dive and pullout he shook his head to clear it, seeing he was off course he checked his heading on the single compass that was mounted at eye level directly in front of him and by reference with the view outside and turned his craft violently for Renford and home. Out of his side window he saw the blazing wreck on the ground below and smiled, “Don’t fuck with me you cunts! That’s for shooting me and killing my mate Noel!”

   No other craft followed or engaged Cris but his awful wound caused him more problems; blood loss was a major issue. He had to reach town or he’d pass out, should he radio form help or try to make it back? Miles fell away like blood from his stricken body; a surreal calmness came over him as the town outskirts came into view. Where do I land? Near Frontier Corps HQ so they can treat my wounds? Yea I’ll do that…

 

   Two guards on duty at the old town hall where the HQ was situated ducked for cover as the stolen English army transport flew overhead and turned to land at huge speed. What the fuck? thought one of them when the engine roared almost deafening him. Landing skids came down before the craft jolted unsteadily to a halt and the engine throttled back but didn’t stop. Coming round from the shock both soldiers grabbed their weapons and ran to the craft, guns aimed on it not even bothering to cover one another. Upon reaching the cockpit both peered inside and swore, they saw their wounded unconscious comrade! They had to get him out or he would lapse from unconsciousness to death.

   Stepping back one guard raised his machine pistol and turned it so the metal shoulder rest was facing the canopy, looking at the crack from where the roof hit it he brought the weapon down on there to try to smash his way in. Nothing happened so he hit it three more times. All he achieved was to make the crack two inches longer; the tough clear canopy was well made so another way had to be found and quick! Where was the entry door? He told his comrade to find the door, it was the only way inside to get Cris out, he took one side his mate the other.

   There! The door is on my side, the guard thought who tried to smash the window, he shouted to his comrade who ran around the streamlined craft to see. Perfectly inline with the fuselage the door was a fine line etched into the metal with no visible handle to turn or button to press. How the fuck do we open it? It can’t be done from the inside if you’re not inside it! It must be remote control or something to stop intruders like now! But Cris was in the cockpit and he was out cold! Without thinking the second guard felt around the doorframe in case there was a touch sensitive sensor to open the door, this allowed for maximum streamlining unlike even the smallest handle. He found it! On the right side of the door a small pressure pad sensed his hand pressure and opened the door almost silently. In no hesitation both men sprinted inside to the single seat cockpit where blood pooled over the floor and controls, away from Cris’s wound. They tried to bring him round but it was no good, so they struggled in the cramped space to lift him out of the single seat.

   “Cris wake up! It’s us the Frontier Corp’s guards. You remember us, Lee and Mike,” the guard who tried to break the window said as he struggled with half of Cris’s body weight in the troop section of the fuselage before emerging into the watery sunlight. His comrade glanced at the twin holes burnt into the body of the craft by the Devil Snail as he slowly walked backwards out of the open door carrying Cris’s feet. His mate followed his gaze and grimaced, outside both men looked at the blackened scorch marks and melted metal.

   “Looks like it was a very close run thing. He was lucky to get back. Where the hell is Noel?” the second guard announced.

   “I’m not sure; we better wait till Cris comes round without jumping to conclusions,” the other darkly replied, “we better radio this through to or our heads with roll. Protocol and all that…”

   They placed Cris down onto the ground as the radio call was made, informing their superiors that only Cris had returned in a stolen English army troop transporter and that he was wounded so send the medic ASAP. The other guard administered basic first aid on Cris’s awful shoulder wound. He struggled moving the blood encrusted jacket to gain access to the wound, he put a field dressing onto the large bullet exit hole but seeing it wasn’t enough placed two more there and one on the entry hole in his back. He gave Cris a single morphine jab to lesson the pain and ease the discomfort even though he was unconscious. Distant sirens echoed over the compound and soon the Corp’s ambulance sped into view and help was at hand, now it was up to the medical staff to work their magic. They prayed silently that their friend would make it or his whole mission was pointless and where was Noel? That played on their minds but there was nothing they could do, it was up to the med staff to stabilise their fellow soldier and treat his wounds so he could be de-briefed by the intelligence people.

   One guard re-entered the craft and turned the idling rocket engine off, his comrade radioed in and asked to be relieved so they could report to their superiors the events of the past few minutes. Orders and commands were issued; an inspection team was dispatched to examine the stolen English army transport craft so any secrets could be gleaned from it and how it operated. Frontier Corp’s really needed a fleet of these to patrol and defend Renford from any attack, would it be possible to reverse engineer it at the Weapons Facility? Communications were sent out by a runner so this important event could be classified, clarified and Corpsified; it was important that no eavesdroppers listening in to the radio net picked up the arrival of this stolen craft. If anyone was able to get a handle on this it was the elite staff at the Weapons Facility, they had the brains, staff and facilities to do most things, so this was a real catch falling out of the sky for the Frontier Corp and associated people.

   Green uniformed intelligence staff arrived in a hurry, armed with measuring equipment, Geiger counters, cameras of various types and a dozen other pieces equipment to begin their examination. Time was of the essence now, what if an English army retrieval team came and attempted to get their craft back? To cater for this a mobile defence post was set up under the trees near the grass with small machine cannon pointing skywards from the direction any English army ships would come. Infrared and radar sensors scanned the heavens just in case, soldiers with machine guns backed up the security detail now guarding the site.

   In the base hospital two armed guards watched Cris and his medical team for he was the most valuable of all because he had English army secrets. Three intelligence officers waited by his bedside while the doctors did their best to look after their wounded man, for he was a potential treasure trove of army secrets, only ever touched upon by rumour or guesswork before. Would he pull through okay to give his secrets away or would he lose the battle due to his serious wounds?

   Time slowly ticked away as the examination team took apart the English army transport after gaining entry to it, carefully and delicately the searched for secrets documenting everything. Nothing was left out, standing away from the main group of men was a single man with pen and paper making notes, if a booby trap went off killing his comrades some notes would be left. Little practical knowledge was known about this type of craft other than theoretical design studies, three quarters of this was guess work and estimated. Soon the real facts would emerge.

   Meanwhile, in the secure base hospital in the basement under the stone building that used to function as the council offices, Cris was stabilised and gave his first statements to the Intel section of the Frontier Corps. Noel and Cris would have moved into this section after ten years of field work and participating in active missions mainly behind enemy lines or of great importance. A position had to be earned the hard way, not many made it so those who did knew their craft by being fully skilled and professional, they were much too valuable now to risk out in the field with the risks of being killed or even worse, captured.

   Cris started at the beginning covering his trip with Noel after leaving Renford, how they came to the river and saw the people fishing who were killed by the army river craft. He gave info on the craft’s weapons; a machine gun firing silenced non-tracer ammo and a flamethrower but why a non-visible gun and highly visible flame weapon? Was it for the fear element? And the agile dog with laser beam eyes. What the fuck was that? Obviously some kind of weapon like a trained dog with a power pack and small laser mounted on its back firing over its head. It was certainly possible but the Intel people had never heard of this before; the transport was known due to secret rumours of the Morticia Project gleaned from a secret agent some years back. One was now in Frontier Corps possession. Cris described how one had flown over them when they were camped out under cover on their first night, how it made a strange noise and had a funny coloured exhaust at the back. Further on he mentioned the army patrol they saw on foot patrol and how they went to ground while it passed but not being so lucky with the second patrol, engaging them. Only by skill and luck did Noel and Cris win. Finding a dying soldier alive gave a good impression of the hatred the army felt for the Frontier Corps and people of Renford and the unoccupied zone, something would go down soon, this was the impression the briefing team got from this news. What the dying soldier told Cris, under interrogation, before he died from his awful injuries confirmed this.

   On to describe many over flights of transport craft who were obviously protecting something near Newcastle that was a nuclear ruin. How both men talked, deciding it was better to split up and go their own ways so the mission had a better success rate, how awful Cris felt at this but how he overcame his own feelings to agree and move on into the unknown. He didn’t know where Noel died or the route that took him there just that he’d heard a distant explosion over the hills and nothing, only questions and silence on his friend and his fate.

   Near Vanford something was going down, Cris said he nearly bought it when an enemy transport spotted him, opening fire on Cris who popped a flare blinding the ships infrared sensors, allowing Cris to get down and defend himself. This tactic was a useful insight into defending oneself for the future when it came to the main attack, good useful Intel including his own bullets just about piercing the hull or fuel tank and bringing it down. Either modification was needed to make the current guns even more lethal or a new weapon needed to be invented to counter further upgrades in armour and toughness in the next version of the English army transport. All of this was carefully noted and documented. Vanford itself was intact but a ghost town with no lights or people about on first impression. Cris slowly told about the burnt skeletons he found nearby Vanford, like somebody was caught escaping and killed in a similar way to the people on the river bank, to stop them talking.

   It was the activities in the huge warehouse Cris found that must have been the secret, this was confirmed by the Mary transport used to bring in people to the site, this vehicle was a design when it was first described, it was built and now in service. He spoke of further engagements with transport craft and soldiers who guarded the warehouse, how he got inside gaining access to this top-secret facility, how the soldiers wore full body suits with armour and respirators to protect them from the radiation in the area. It was like the remote radioactive location gave near enough full protection from casual intruders but not professional ones like Cris. How he saw flames through a dirty window, not one hundred percent certain what he was seeing till he shot the window through and then a nightmare scene spread out before him – extermination by flamethrower of people. Who he didn’t know, everyone taken there would die. How some people saw Cris and thought he was going to rescue them, so they made a break for him but were cut down by merciless firepower from many different type weapons including a laser dog. He described this and it obviously was a new weapon based on a dog, only a fool would think it a real dog until it was too late and then you’d be dead. This was excellent Intel; sadly the scene Cris had witnessed to gain it was horrific and would stay with him forever. If these weapon systems were faced in combat there wasn’t much that could be done to defend against them, the English army would have total battlefield control.

   Cris smiled and coughed blood up before continuing his report. He was happy now, remembering the intense feeling he felt of his final combat at close quarters against a lethal well trained well equipped enemy, then he was wounded and fought like a demon not giving up till he was dead. Of how he felt invulnerable till a high speed bullet went clean through his armoured jacket, wounding him in the shoulder but not ending Cris or his mission. No, for he spotted an English army transport and crew getting ready for a mission, he used surprise and aggression to take control of the craft, fly it and shoot out the huge access door in the roof. Allowing him to win his freedom but at huge cost: his friend missing presumed dead, a bad shoulder wound and almost certain pursuit from his enemy, the English army.

   Another spasm of coughing brought more blood and concern from the doctors, a morphine injection took his pain away as the medics tried to hush the Intel people out of Cris’s small medical room, for he needed rest. He smiled again, telling how he got an air to air kill by out manoeuvring the pursuing transport and flying it into the ground, he wanted credit for that, shame he couldn’t get four more and become an ace! He spoke lovingly of the crafts speed and agility that almost made him black out due to the g-forces and his wound. It was enough, for now Cris’s return was a mission success with massive amounts of useful intelligence for his Intel colleagues. That info would now be examined from many angles, shared with people who needed it, defences would be planned to try and cater for the new class of army weapons and a hundred and one other things carried out.

   When Cris awoke after resting and receiving further treatment, more questions would be asked for even minor bits of trivial data, so nothing was missed. Till then he rested and lapsed into a deep drug fed sleep.

 

   Dressed in civilian clothing individual members of the Frontier Corps left the base in the early hours of the morning to go and lie low at specially selected places around Renford. Their aim was to find allies to defend their town, if and when the attack came. Some people had already signed the defence pact to render assistance in case if dire emergency, others had given a verbal agreement, these were the most unreliable. Feelers had to be put out if the offer still stood. Even if fifty percent refused any assistance, it was a start because the more guns facing the English army the more costly their attack would be. Some people worked the night shift like the gangsters, pimps, escort girls and other low lifes that brandished firepower due to the nature of their job. Certain odd balls like Ernie the Worm and his armoured train were available anytime. If any were asleep then sleep they would, the Corps men would wait and say their cause when the opportunity presented itself. Various people were hard to find, bars, clubs and cafes were a place to start, quietly looking for the ones on the list who had skills, weapons and assistance for the upcoming battle.

   Examples of people who had signed the most secret agreement to help defend Renford against the English army or Scottish, in case either attacked included Big Jake who owned his own gun shop called “Pistol Packin’ Mamma’s” where he and his son custom made a variety of small arms. He would use one of his special Buffalo Guns that fired a huge 15mm bullet, his son would not assist the defence for he would guard the shop and carry on the business if BJ was killed. The Medusa Weapon Facility was the jewel in the crown due to the knowledge of the staff and stored weapons there, from guns to tanks and in-between. A dozen well-trained staff would man defensive positions around town with a variety of portable missile launchers, an experimental plasma pulse laser cannon of dubious use and an armoured car equipped with an advanced automatic cannon and grenade launcher. Weapons would be distributed from the Facility to trusted and carefully picked people and groups to help in town defence. Ernie the Worm had his train with an old 40mm gun on the back, he would help but his train was limited to its short train track and of limited value, still it was support and a good morale booster. Tina the escort girl with her Bloody Paralyzer gun was another dangerous individual who had signed on the dotted line; she was a dangerous lady who liked a fight. And then there were the gangsters like Gant, Andrew and company who had an arsenal of pistols and submachine guns for close combat use, backed up by their old but reliable stolen Conqueror tank that was stored at the Weapon Facility. Other gangster groups offered to help by liasing with Gant, at least the ones he knew personally and trusted; ones he couldn’t vouch for were after his contacts, arms and spoils were quietly told to fuck off. If that weren’t enough an accident would be arranged.

   Many more armed people supported the defence of the town by working with the Frontier Corps, more helped than opposed this. One of the individuals who went against the grain and said no to help the defensive measures was a pimp called Dave who thought he was something. He beat up the Corps man sent to talk to him and sent him back with no in his head and actually carved it onto his forehead with an old but sharp flick knife. A contract was put on Dave and he just disappeared, his three underweight whores were kicked out of town under the threat of their physical being if they returned. Why did Dave say no? No hard evidence surfaced, he could have been overly selfish, a spy or sympathiser for the English army or for some other unknown reason which he took to his grave.

   Whatever happened in the near future Renford’s defence would be catered for, if defeated no one could say they hadn’t tried. Now it was a matter of waiting and planning for the coming attack, life went on as normal so no signs were given away to show the game was up. The English army knew that the town would be told of the attack due to the escape of Cris, killing Noel wasn’t enough for too much was seen to emphasise peace and non violence. A waiting game slowly panned out into an uncertain future.

   In the main vehicle building of the Frontier Corps technicians and intelligence experts from the Corps and the Medusa Weapon Facility examined the stolen English army transport to glean its secrets. It had been manhandled onto a battery powered tractor and trailer at night time to be moved and looked over, no easy task considering it weighed several tons. At one point it nearly toppled off the trailer, one nylon strap stopped the machine’s destruction and death or injury to the men moving it.

   Electronic experts probed the black boxes inside the vehicle, from what made the infrared systems work to the electric belt fed machine gun to the awesome computer displays in the cockpit. Metal experts sampled the fuselage to determine what metal it was made of and what type bullet would safely penetrate it, which led to a risk assessment in the destruction of the craft.

   In his second interview when he was a bit better, Cris gave a good account of where he thought his gunfire had hit the ship he had shot down. Locating the fuel tank in the rear proved easy due to removable side panels of lightly armoured metal. These would stop normal 9mm bullets but not the high velocity ones fired from the Corps weapons. It was determined that normal machine gun bullets fired from close range but not at an angle would penetrate, a low angle like fifteen degrees would result in the shot being deflected. From the side even a single bullet should fly straight through doing fatal damage. Even the paint of the craft was tested and analysed for special properties; in time it was found to be stealth paint with small metal particles in it to dissipate radar waves and absorb infrared energy, i.e. heat, like a small heat sink. This would cut down the crafts signature on infrared goggles and also radar due to the paint job. Surprisingly the windscreen wasn’t fully bullet proof, it was designed to be lightweight and strong in regards to high-speed flight and high g manoeuvres like Cris flew in his chase from the base. It should be proof against being smashed (like when the Corps guard tried to break the glass to get Cris out) or small shrapnel fragments like those from mortar bombs or grenades. Of course a direct hit would obliterate the transport and everyone inside it.

   The engine was state of the art technology fuelled by liquid methane that was kept under high pressure so it was liquefied in a fuel tank made of glass, rubber, plastic, carbon fibre and medium gauge metal. This gave a small degree of armour against low velocity bullets like simple pistol and machine pistol ammo but not like Cris’s weapon for he defeated the armour easily and with wicked affect. With a small combustion chamber that was over engineered of special alloys for heat resistance, the power output was guessed to be in the region of three tons of thrust, enough to push the craft to near supersonic speed at maximum power setting. Height capability was estimated to be almost thirty thousand feet; it would be higher if the engine didn’t lose thrust and efficiency in the thinner air. It worked best at low/medium altitude at low/medium speed. High-speed high altitude flight would burn through the fuel supply in minutes leading to engine flameout and crash. If the craft’s systems were not damaged and still operational a series of test flights was planned, if these progressed okay, such a high speed flight could be carried out and it would involve a high speed run, pull up to altitude, levelling off to reach top speed and a final rapid descent and landing before the fuel ran out. Lots of “ifs” and so few answers.

   The fuel tank was just over half empty giving enough juice for a few low speed flights; the question was where to get pure methane fuel for further flights if that was to be carried out? And if the craft could be reverse engineered who would attempt it, the Weapon Facility? If a fleet of them could be made, even better than the English army versions, then the army would be defeated and the military threat negated making Renford safe. All of this was theoretical and one possible plan if the craft wasn’t kaput and unfixable.

   Meanwhile in the Medusa Weapon Facility, plans were being looked at to build the secret theoretical project that had a lot of promise and potential to save the town and area; this was the Aeroprogress T-720 whose design was held on file in the Theoretical Shop part of the Weapon Facility. Urgent plans were made to bring this warplane design into existence, testing had already started on wind tunnel models of various sizes to confirm the soundness of the design, to see if any changes had to be made and how to fashion the design to current technology. This design itself was never built and dated from the late 20^th Century some seventy to eighty years in the past. Though the tech from back then was highly advanced especially the aerodynamics of the warplane, the weapons, systems and electronics from recent decades had yielded some very advanced capable new systems, even though war and conflict had interrupted their development. The equipment and designs could be integrated onto the design with some difficulty, replacing obsolete components where possible. A full assessment had to be made as quickly as possible, in the meantime testing continued in the wind tunnel and production of the original weapons for the warplane began. When built, these would be tested to see if they could still be used despite their old technology; if necessary they could be upgraded with modern tech or replaced by newly designed weapons but this would take longer due to starting from scratch.

   A single prototype would be built to test the flight characteristics to back up the wind tunnel results; a non-flying reserve plane backed up the first prototype if the first plane crashed. Due to the old technology the prototype was not to be used in combat but purely as a flying test bed, the new updated versions would be fully combat capable and much more modern and ten times more dangerous. Time would tell if the project was ready before the English army attacked Renford and defeated the town. Ten people worked full time on this exotic program to succeed in the shortest possible time frame, everybody’s future rested upon their success. 

   Working round the clock the men with the brains struggled with what normally took years to grow from design to model to prototype to production model, to do this in a matter of weeks. No year long design phase backed up by long months in the wind tunnel getting the aerodynamics right, no three year flying phase examining every kind of behaviour and capability seeing what worked and what didn’t, no slow integration into service so crews became competent. No, a maximum time of two months before the English army launched a full frontal assault on Renford and surrounding areas. If the assault was just for town then it could be just two weeks away, if it was to capture the remaining unoccupied areas then the top intelligence people at the Frontier Corps forecast a maximum wait of just two months.

   A production line was set up to build two prototypes. While wind tunnel testing progressed on the models, production work would cover component parts, not the outer airframe. This was so changes could be made right until the last minute in case the scale wind tunnel models had design flaws that needed changing. Electronic experts struggled to manufacture parts that were as old as their grandparents; the prototype would be as accurate as possible to the original blueprints that were designed by the old Soviet Union. Production models would be modernised with new equipment and weapons so comparison test could be done in regards capabilities and lethality, especially with the flying performance and weapon destructiveness. The weapon people struggled with old designs of guided weapons and starting from scratch was the only way. Even if just a single old T-720 was built and used as a three dimensional blue print, the job would still be half as difficult but not almost impossible. Engine specialists and several other people worked day and night to come up with a workable warplane.

   For the production models they needed a name. They could have used the old one from the dying days of the defunct Soviet empire – Aeroprogress T-720. They wanted something new that captured their dire situation of themselves and the town, a new name but what? This was chosen by the daughter of one of the engineers, she was a pagan witch and a Goth who frequented the Gothic area of town. She picked Kahlia Akasha; the old pagan Norwegian Goddess of War and also of hope in the direst circumstance when all chances of success had vanished. Secondly she stood for fulfilment, success in family life and of divine protection. In the future war all of these aspects would be needed in their utmost.

   Her engineer father came home to their small two-room basement home after working a night shift; his daughter was just waking after a troubled night of broken sleep. Knowing her father was working flat out and seeing how stressed he was, she used her psychic sense not to intrude but to help, just in a small way. She sensed the urgency of his work and that of his comrades doing their highly secret job; she picked up the need for a name for their creature of the skies. The name of her pagan Goddess she worshipped alone popped into her head, was her Goddess helping her out so she could help others in this time of great need? It certainly seemed the case. When her father returned to work the next day he embarrassingly put it to his line chief who supervised his area of expertise, that the Aeroprogress warplane be named Kahlia Akasha. He explained that his daughter had guessed something was up, that a name was needed and that Kahlia Akasha be used. His boss looked him in the eye and said, “Are you and your kid fuckin’ crazy?”

   The father never replied but he was the one who looked shocked when his boss burst into uncontrollable almost hysterical laughter, several other staff in adjoining officer and workspaces warily looked up from their work, one almost pressed the hidden panic button that would bring security crashing in. When the boss smiled at his subordinate, who sheepishly returned the smile, everyone relaxed and knew things were fine. “That name is fine. Do thank your daughter for me and the rest of the team here. Our theoretical warplane will be called Kahlia Akasha now, not the stuffy doom laden Aeroprogress T-720. I’ll go and tell everyone. Thanks, really you did us a wonderful favour. Now our last step to survival has a name – she’s called Kahlia Akasha. Listen up people…”

 

   Plans were coming together to defend a run down old northern town called Renford that was just ten miles south of the darklands of Scotland, not from the Scots but from an even more deadly enemy – the deadly English army. The most dangerous enemy conceivable, only time and history would tell if the defence won through when the huge assault came. With Cris’s intelligence gained from his daring mission behind enemy lines, worth the loss of Noel, a fighting chance had been gained to prepare and get ready for the unthinkable – an English army attack with state of the art weapons and men who knew no mercy.