Juniper’s Daughter: Frontier Town by Nick Armbrister

ISBN -978-1-4716-5982-9

Thanks and Acknowledgments

A big thanks to Diane, the pagan gothic witch who inspired the title of chaper1 of this book. A big thanks to my pagan Goddess of Mother Nature for letting me have the skills to do my books and see it through, this book is for you! And thanks to my friends and family for their support, you know who you are. Thanks to my enemies and to the girls who broke my heart and ruined my life, your actions made me angry, this anger flows onto these pages. Out of my darkness comes something even darker but a positive.

Forward

This novel is set at a date shortly after my previous novel Juniper’s Daughter, how long you ask? Not a year and not a ten thousand, I’ll leave it up to the reader to date when. Some events link it directly to the 1^st book namely the witch Juniper’s Daughter and several chapter titles are linked to the earlier work with a link to the past, Juniper’s Daughter. Many new characters, story lines, information and other new events are featured in this book; who knows I may even do a book3 Juniper’s Daughter, a 2^nd follow up. I’m beginning to like her character and I do relate to her in the real world and not just on paper, as a work of fiction.

I really love the dark background of a world torn apart by war, conflict and suffering, how the people try to survive either living or dying. How clear-cut in perfect black and white! What else in life is like that? After my disappointing years of 2008-?, I will put a lot of my own personal darkness in these pages so you can experience it through the characters. My own events like the break up of my family, being laid off my dangerous job and having to move away from my home in the south of England, up to my old home in the north of England, helped shaped my views and attitudes. I have put my own darkness and despair into my new book, created a positive out of a negative.

Juniper’s Daughter – Frontier Town is set in a town on the edge where life means nothing and death is a constant companion in day to day life, in the night and in the dark recesses of the traumatised human mind. Maybe the dead were the lucky ones; maybe the ones who prayed for a final nuclear holocaust weren’t so crazy after all…

Nuclear Bombs Not Very Nice (The Power Of The Witch)

Blackness covered the land as a freezing night descended like the gloved hand of a strangler choking her victim. Baron landscapes arced out in every direction for what seemed like forever, something shimmered under the snow-laden clouds while snow slowly fell carrying radioactive isotopes. Invisible death fell again on this wasteland in an endless cycle of evil, darkness receding one degree to grey as the poison snow took hold in a Devil’s grip. Radiation clouds full of charged particles became visible under freak metrological conditions, where the edge of the snowstorm indicated the beginning of the cold front radiation in the air glowed, shimmered. A haunting pulsating blue light of ether brought to life by nuclear explosions, of what was carried out before, the cargo of hundreds of nuclear weapons.

Material destruction was physical, destroying hundreds of towns and cities. Glowing charged particles were mystical in appearance, spiritual in their meaning – to view them from a distance was to be mesmerised by their beauty. You had a chance to flee and save your wretched life, to be amongst them was to witness pure lethal beauty before you died a hideous death from radiation poisoning. Slowly the lights from the charged particles faded out as the cold front advanced driven by a cold northerly wind, grey contaminated snow covering everything in a hideous of death. Underneath the snow lay the remains of what was once a town, Oldham had been its name, now forgotten and lost like so many others destroyed in one war or another that had engulfed the United Kingdom. This was after Wales and Scotland had gained their much cherished and fought after independence from England in a bitter civil war, for a few short years they were free until a nuclear war with France destroyed almost everything.

One hundred and thirty five thousand buildings of various sizes from bedsits on old council estates to heavy concrete structures like the old art gallery were obliterated near the centre of the nuclear explosion that wiped out Oldham. Further out in circular rings the damage went from severe to minor, this last bit was a distance of eight miles encompassing the whole town. When the twenty-kiloton suitcase bomb exploded almost in the centre of town nothing remained, over two thousand people were killed and many more injured. With no medical help most of them perished unless they were walking wounded, for those trapped under buildings or with broken limbs it was a slow agonising death from injuries and radiation. This weapon was a small device in a suitcase, man portable in a metal box, similar in size to the crude weapons that destroyed Hiroshima and Nagasaki. Tactical weapons designed to stop armies of tanks and men or attack targets like an airbase or other important smallish target; yes they worked on towns too. For bigger towns and cities a bigger device was desired in the tens or hundreds of kilotons range, even a one megaton device would be perfect but like a sledgehammer cracking a nut. Big bombs were hydrogen bombs using a small nuclear device to explode them after bring the main device up to critical mass, a nuclear trigger. Cities like Leeds and London had been hit by similar weapons; the single one-megaton missile aimed at Leeds had wiped everything out and killed or wounded over one million people. The entire population was annihilated.

In France not a single town or city remained standing, in revenge for firing several hundred nuclear missiles at England, Wales and Scotland. The tri manned Trident nuclear missile carrying submarines launched almost every weapon at the French. Many French towns and cities were hit by up to three or more weapons, Paris were hit by seven 475 kiloton nuclear warheads. Not even London was hit so badly, it received just a single bomb like Leeds. Due to the size the city the outskirts survived but huge areas were radioactive with fallout. The only people alive in France were country people, not living in the built up areas and radiation covered most of the rural areas so many people left alive were slowly dying from the contamination. It wasn’t a functioning country, it was a destroyed country twice as badly hit as the landmass of Great Britain, a nuclear nightmare that killed and had polluted the oceans and land of many other countries bordering GB and France.

France had used submarine launched medium range missiles from her four nuclear missiles submarines, only two firing due to the others being sunk by the Royal Navy. French Air Force Mirage 2000N and Rafale nuclear strike fighters carrying Aerospatiale nuclear tipped cruise missiles had hit some cities; Leeds and London were perfect examples of a big bomb on a medium/large size city. The submarine launched missiles each carried six 150-kiloton nuclear warheads with a total of sixteen missiles fired from two French nuclear missile subs giving a total of 192 separate warheads. Each the same size of 150-kilotons. Combined with the big one megaton bombs on the Aerospatiale cruise missiles from the fighters, this was a huge amount of nuclear fire power delivered against cities, towns, harbours, oil refineries, military barracks, bases, ports/harbours, air bases, aircraft factories and dozens more targets in England, Scotland and Wales. The newly independent countries weren’t spared due to alleged sympathies with England. Not a single French sub launched nuclear missile was intercepted and shot down; indeed no defences were in place to shoot down any incoming missile. Out of 32 missiles launched from the two submarines that survived to launch, two failed, one whose solid fuel rocket engine failed to ignite before it fell back into the ocean and the other didn’t achieve the right trajectory, heading off the Atlantic where it splashed down with its warheads still inside the missile. In total 180 French submarines launched warheads hit England, Scotland and Wales; not a single warhead failed due to the superb reliability of the design. Both missiles submarines were hunted down and sunk by the remaining ships of the Royal Navy after firing their weapons. In turn some of the RN ships were sunk by aircraft and missiles from the two French aircraft carriers; these being engaged by the two carriers of the Royal Navy in a bitter no holds air to sea battle. All four aircraft carriers were sunk along with three quarters of the supporting destroyers and submarines; nothing survived this mini Armageddon in the North Sea, Channel, Atlantic and Mediterranean by the powerful navies of England and France. Of the French air launched cruise missiles several were shot down by RAF Typhoon fighters after launch, not an easy job considering the missiles was a small fast stealthy target that flew at low altitude. Many French Mirage and Rafale nuclear strike fighters were shot down before launch, picked up by RAF AWACS radar planes as they took off from their bases and headed low to try and hide under the radar. Fifteen one-megaton Aerospatiale cruise missiles hit towns, cities and other targets killing millions of people, one was targeted at Oldham and the aeroplane factory there but the strike fighter carrying the missile was shot down before it could launch, saving the town. No French airbases or aircraft carriers remained for any surviving Mirage 2000N or Rafale to return to, the crews flew until they ran out of fuel and crashed, ejected or landed in other countries to have their fighter planes impounded and pilots interned.

The Royal Navy, England’s senior service, defended England and also Wales and Scotland. With superior submarines and better missiles and more aggressive tactics, each submarine launched its Trident D5 nuclear missiles at France hitting towns, cities, airbases, factories and everything else that made France a 21^st Century nation. A total of 64 missiles were launched at targets in France, one missiles failed to ignite its seconds stage and it fell back into the ocean along with its eight warheads, the remaining missiles each carried eight four hundred and seventy five kiloton nuclear warheads – a total of 504. Every one of these detonated at a French target totally wiping France off the map, seven bombs in revenge hit Paris for the single hit on London. After the war? People left alive suffered slow deaths from radiation or blast injuries; just a few small towns remained in France with shell-shocked inhabitants.

In the landmass of Great Britain roughly half of the large towns and cities had been hit and destroyed with casualties of up to one hundred percent, London suffered greatly and much of the outskirts were untouched but suffered bad fallout. Three quarters of military bases were hit, the civil war hit the British Army badly with units in Wales and Scotland belonging to the new nations, so the already depleted English army was down to just twenty thousand men, a few heavy vehicles and helicopters and the few RN missiles and warheads that weren’t on the lost subs now passing to the army, after the nuclear exchange. The Royal Air Force was wiped out losing every single airbase; the dozen fighter planes that survived the air battles intact either force landed on open roads and motorways or flew to Germany or Spain. There they remained with the crews being interned like the French planes that survived this hideous little war. The English army took over the few small naval vessels that survived from the old Royal Navy, a major base was set up on the Isle of Man which was free of contamination and damage and was safe, being in the middle of the Irish Sea. Here the small number of coastal patrol and gunboat type craft managed to patrol the waters and the sea relatively easily, small clashes/skirmishes with similar craft from Ireland (the North was absorbed by the South after the nuclear war with France and England), Wales and Scotland occurred from time to time. So did gun battles with heavily armed war veterans and freedom fighters smuggling guns, booze and other illegal things from Ireland and the Continent into England. It was a real law of the gun world of barbarity and death, the only power remaining was the small English army, local Police Forces fell into disrepair after the nuclear violence. If you had your own gun you were your own police force and army all in one.

After the civil war, the nuclear exchange with France and general low level fighting between armed people and the English army, a series of operations was launched by the army to crush the many heavily armed groups. Anyone with weapons and the skill, determination and willingness to use them was a major threat to the army’s slender power base. After an attack against it, the English army acted using its heavy firepower to wipe out groups of war veterans and freedom fighters and individuals who were all armed and dangerous. The English army operation was very successful until it met with fierce resistance when it attacked Oldham; the first attack with heavy weapons was defeated. A second attack was a draw with both sides suffering heavy losses; by using superior skill, tactics and weapons the army took the town, killing, capturing or driving away the freedom fighters that stood up to defend the town. In other towns there was generally much less resistance. Oldham was indirectly destroyed by the army in an operation to capture a hidden stash of weapons and because of booby traps; this was destroyed from a distance by heavy fire. Unknown to the army a tactical nuclear weapon was hidden amongst the other weapons. This detonated when hit by normal high explosive shells destroying the town centre, surrounding flats and houses and everything else to a radius of several of miles. Thousands of people died and were injured by this explosion (much smaller than even the smallest French bombs that hit the country in the previous war).

After this it was the beginning of the end of the English Army in that part of the country, an attack on their base that sent troops and vehicles to attack Oldham and other towns was a success. The army base was destroyed along with many heavy weapons and hundreds of soldiers; the army now had no influence in the north of England. The nearest other bases was in the Isle of Man where the remaining helicopters and nuclear warheads were based and one in the east of the country. With large helicopters the army flew missions from these to try to hunt down the remaining freedom fighters and war vets who had gone to ground. A few were killed when caught by surprise or by heavily armed heli-borne troops; one chopper was shot down on one of these operations. The Isle of Man base was attacked by an unknown craft allegedly flown by the freedom fighters; a silver flying disc equipped with stealth technology, superior performance and advanced beam weapons. The base was wiped out, every single helicopter was turned to ash, weapons storage bunkers were incinerated, barracks set on fire, army controlled naval vessels sunk burnt to a crisp, hundreds of soldiers killed or injured and the nuclear missiles simply disappeared. The army lost another base, its power was taken away as a fighting force able to threaten, kill, invade or take over the whole country. This would have happened had their operations been successful killing the armed groups. With the army’s nuclear weapons any major target would have been destroyed so a miracle had stopped that. No one knew who flew the flying disc, where it came from or where it went. Only rumours of a witch with unparalleled powers of magic, healing and war fighting ability; many people claimed to have seen her, been healed by her and to have seen her fight the Devil and win. Was it her who destroyed the island base? Her name was Juniper’s Daughter and she thought that nuclear bombs weren’t very nice. Nor the radiation poisoning and dangerous climatic changes they brought. Juniper’s Daughter was back…

Juniper’s Daughter walked over the gently shifting desert sands feeling the fine grains move between her toes and bare feet. A nice walk in the sun, she took her time on this leisurely stroll under the fierce midday high Saharan sun. A temperature of a hundred and forty two degrees along with humidity of over ninety percent would have killed a normal person, de-hydrated their body and shrivelled their flesh. Not this little lady, she was Juniper’s Daughter, a person who was able to stand most extremes of this natural world, for she was also a part of Mother Nature. She liked being in the extreme areas enjoying the climatic conditions that were so extreme; in her head her agile mind covered many issues at the same time. One caused her some trouble, the event she didn’t stop some years ago because her mortal enemy the Devil got one up on her: a nuclear war that killed nearly a hundred million people in less than a day. The nuclear exchange between England (and Wales and Scotland) and France caused by something so trivial and stupid – a fishing dispute in the North Sea. With fishing quotas per nation at their lowest limit ever, boats returned to port with half a catch or even empty. Desperate measures followed with rival crews cutting the nets of their foreign competitors, boarding the boats and smashing the sonar equipment used to locate fish, assaulting the crew members and the occasional death. Naval warships were deployed to escort the fishing vessels and patrol the seas; both nations sent guided missiles frigate type ships. It was only time before they came into contact and under tense and circumstances not fully understood shots were exchanged, first warning and then direct fire. Naval vessels were damaged and sunk, French missiles fired from a naval vessel attacked an English homeport and this was chased down and sunk. A French port was hit by English missile fire; an escalation came in the form of a French tactical warhead fired by submarine on a naval shipyard at Portsmouth. Revenge was swift, multiple submarine launched nuclear missiles were fired by the Royal Navy missile submarines at every known French military harbour, ship repair facility, dockyard with military vessels at anchor, aircraft production factories, military air bases, troop barracks and other targets. Most civilian targets like towns and cities were spared at first from the English first strike, only after the French retaliated by launching their own nuclear missiles at English military targets, towns and cities, did they get hit in a horrible escalation of hideous proportions killing millions of English civilians, decimating the areas hit and wiping out most military bases. It would have been much worse had the Royal Navy not managed to sink two of the four French nuclear submarines carrying half of France’s sea borne nuclear arsenal. French naval aircraft from that country’s two aircraft carriers engaged targets in Scotland while flying at the limit of their range. Not all the Rafale naval nuclear strike fighters got through the Royal Navy F-35 Lightning 2 fighters or the defending Royal Air Force Typhoon fighters, which flew from bases in the North of England. Due to Scotland’s independence they had to fly an extra 400+ miles to engage the French fighters, having lost their old bases in Scotland. Nuclear tipped cruise missiles hit these vacant bases and all of the major Scottish towns and cities, no mercy even on a country independent from England.

The English response was swift, more missiles were launched at French air bases not yet hit, at every French town and city over ten thousand people, the naval vessels of the Royal Navy hunted down every single French aircraft carrier, frigate, destroyer and nuclear submarine sinking every single major vessel. The losses it took to do this were only slightly less than the French had sustained, in total four carriers and eight nuclear missile subs along with seven patrol submarines from both nations were on the bottom. French air force jets that survived the nuclear bombardment of their bases, avoided the English fighters to launch their weapons had no bases to fly back to. It was almost a suicide mission.

At what cost and stupidity the witch angrily thought, the Devil had won this round with nearly a hundred million dead and four countries in ruins. Neighbouring countries suffered blast damage and fallout, with large areas evacuated of people until it became safe to return home, if that was ever possible. The witch did her best to stop the domino effect of other countries launching their own missiles to settle their grudges. In this the witch was successful but it was close with Russia nearly launching at America over a dispute in the Crimea. This was an ongoing problem that Juniper’s daughter finally brought to an end using her flying saucer to do her duty, to keep the peace.

Back to reality, the witch looked up at the sun while it slowly arced over the heavens, as it had done for millions of years in an unending cycle of night and day, of light and dark. Yes she had done well but she had to always be on her guard, she never knew when the next problem would arise either by humankind’s own doing or the Devil upsetting the balance. She was good at what she did but she didn’t get it right every time, her failure with the nuclear exchange was her biggest loss, she swore that would never happen again. Not on her watch. She thanked her Mother, Great Goddess Juniper for giving her only daughter Juniper another chance to steer the humans away from the temptation of evil and darkness. In the very early days her Mother had done the same job as her daughter but then it was so much easier, nuclear weapons didn’t exist and today, the next generation of weapons just coming on line were even more hideous and evil – nuclear powered laser beam weapons.

She had to do something about that before millions more innocents died; the weapons designers, builders and politicians needed dealing with. How? Direct action would be too obvious; mind control leading to cancellation of the weapon programs and deployment plans was the only way. People had to realise the lethality of these devises without seeing them in action first. Turning, she walked slowly back over the undulating sand dunes, back to her silver coloured disc that shimmered in the high summer heat. Closing her eyes Juniper’s Daughter sent the command; a small opening appeared in the disc’s side allowing her to athletically climb aboard. Seconds later the opening closed and the disc slowly climbed upward, shooting off at great speed and Juniper’s Daughter’s new job – the eradication of a new class of deadly beam weapons.

Cobalt Blue weapons lab, former Soviet Union. Doctor Gregori Ivan Ivan Ivanovich was pulling his trousers up after getting a blowjob from his Mexican whore, he frowned when he saw his own spunk stain on his trousers. Fuck, this was pants! He wiped it off with the cuff of his stained white lab coat. His sale of hand held laser weapons to the Mexican drug dealers was fine and dandy, they would slowly kill off American financed gangs in Mexico City and elsewhere and bring more Russo Block influence to the region. In time he would move up to the export of laser rifles, then laser cannons to go on the back of pick up trucks, onto coastal ships and bigger and bigger till America was surrounded. Finally into space…

In return for this he got a Mexican whore every month to satisfy his desires on, like Anna Maria who had just sucked his four-inch hardly useable Kazakh cock dry. He would fuck her later but now he had a weapons test to complete on the MK12 plasma laser rifle. The target was the previous bitch that he didn’t want anymore because he had used her and abused her and knew every whole on her sweet 17-year-old body. She couldn’t be sent back as it was a one-way service for the girls, in return for laser arms. Smiling and saying that he would be back for more afterwards, Ivan left the small room that served as his quarters, securely locking the door so no one could pry into his business and so the girl wouldn’t escape. He walked to the lab and checked up on progress – all was well; the weapon was mounted securely on a test bench bore-sighted on the target. This was the previous girl he had discarded; she was tied to a wooden chair that was firmly mounted to the floor by special plastic attachments, all of this would burn when his by laser fire.

He looked through the one way mirror made of two inch gold plated glass out onto the indoor test range. He saw the girl sat on a chair with her eyes closed, dozing. No doubt thinking of Mexico and freedom, her Hail Mary’s wouldn’t save now. The countdown clock slowly ticked by, Ivan checked the computer display showing the status of the laser rifle aimed at the girl and all was in the green. He inspected the weapon in the other room separated by a reinforced concrete wall and six-inch blast doors, no problems there. He walked down range to the girl and stood in front of her, looking at her – there was no mark on her for he didn’t believe in beating women. He saved that for his soldiers who sometimes fucked up on a task. Silently as he had come he softly walked back to the lab leaving the sleepy girl, glanced up at the clock while the secure door shut and put on his blackened safety goggles. Seconds ticked down: 10, 9, ….3, 2, 1. The weapon was connected to a small nuclear reactor the size of a small can of baked beans, this was the nuclear power supply for this new class of weapon giving many more laser bursts than a normal battery pack. Fire! Green light coloured the room a beautiful luminous green as the gun fired a two second concentrated burst of laser energy, a pencil thin beam was visible even under the strong spot lamps. Then the light faded, the reactor powered down, the door locks automatically unlocked and it was time to check the girl. Opening the door Ivan and two other lab technicians walked out of the test room and onto the range to the girl, only there was no girl there just a pile of blackened ash eighteen inches high – the remains of the girl, the chair and the plastic chair restraints. The technicians carried equipment and they went to work taking radiation samples, still photos on an advanced multi spectrum camera and readings on other secret advanced tools. She hadn’t even screamed but she must have opened her eyes a millisecond before she died in the hideous evil green light.

Did she suffer? He doubted it. Ivan would review the film footage from the camera bank later after lunch, he would slow the million per second frame camera down and watch the girl in her last seconds on earth, seconds that he was responsible for. As he was about to turn and head back to the lab and then canteen to eat, leaving the techs to finish their job and clear up the mess something happened. Ivan glanced to the wall for some reason and then looked away, then back again. A whooshing sound filled the firing range and the wall disintegrated in front of him in a super display of pyrotechnics. Had the nuclear reactor failed? It was his last question before he died, as he watched a silver suited figure stroll through the still molten concrete and metal, a lithe female figure dressed as an astronaut.

It was Juniper’s Daughter carrying a hand held laser weapon of extremely advanced design, making Ivan’s designed nuclear powered laser weapon look like a child’s spud gun. The witch shot him and turned the laser fire from an alien designed weapon onto the two techs and then onto the lab wiping everything out. She said a silent prayer and invocation for the lost Mex whore, she couldn’t be brought back. The witch tried to use mind control on the Russo criminals who built these laser weapons but it was too late, the Devil had claimed them so she had to act directly. Later she returned to her flying saucer that she had left hovering above the weapons complex and climbed to two thousand feet altitude. She beamed down red ruby laser fire from the disc, evaporating and vaporising the whole weapons site and everyone who was left alive. This type of weapon being built here couldn’t be brought into service; it would make killing all too easy, never mind the classes of weapon due to come on line later, much more powerful and deadly. With her attack being visible from beyond the complex’s grounds, word would get round that someone had taken the place out and don’t build such weapons. Would connections be made to the trashing of the English army’s last major base many years previously on the Isle of Man? She certainly hoped so…

Amongst the bomb damaged ruins of what was once England people suffered grievous deaths in the radiation that blanketed the wrecked towns, cities, other targets and huge areas unaffected by the blast. Some towns were untouched by the nuclear warheads, either the French deemed the town unimportant, didn’t have enough weapons or the missile failed or the plane was shot down. Most of the main cities were hit but Manchester was spared yet Salford was decimated by a small 150-kiloton bomb with heavy loss of life. When Salford died people in Manchester knew they would be next but when no weapon hit them they tried to understand why, in their shocked state after seeing their neighbouring city destroyed. Warheads from the same missile flattened Liverpool and Birkenhead. War was organised chaos and sometimes mercy spared a city and her population due to pure circumstance. Things would never be the same again, the law of the gun ruled the remaining streets, like English army patrols, single gunmen, war veterans or freedom fighters from the past campaigns. This way of life added more deaths, injuries and suffering to the already shell shocked landmass, only supernatural actions would stop it and defeat the number one enemy – the Devil. It was his fault that all the people died and damage was done, forcing confused, frightened, angry men to push the red button and fire the missiles to kill, kill, kill!

People still talked about the sightings of strange lights in the sky. Of an astronaut that flew a strange silver flying disc, of ghosts and spectres, of Juniper’s Daughter. After this rash of sightings it suddenly stopped, no one knew why but in peoples’ dark hearts some of the darkness had receded – the witch had been partially successful in her campaign against the Devil. The longest war in history, light versus darkness. How Juniper’s Daughter wished it would end but she was a total realist who was battle hardened, knowing that combat with her enemy and the resistance he put up was essential in the path of all things.

It wasn’t always stopping armies or weapon designers that brought Juniper’s Daughter into conflict with people; often it was determined dangerous individuals who were capable of carrying out actions that jeopardised many people. One example was in the country of Serbia where a computer hacker called Ludolf Arkane set about gaining extra funds to buy arms and ammunition to help in his organised crime actions. A highly skilled computer hacker capable of overcoming Class A computer security systems, Ludolf was both intelligent and determined. He preferred to work alone rather than in a group when it came to computer actions, only when it was frontline crime like ambushing Serbian Police carrying the newest computer equipment, was he involved in a group or other secretive paramilitary operations.

With the skills he had from years of illegal hacking, he got into the top European and American banking systems and withdrew the lowest level of currency possible from every persons account. Then it wouldn’t be noticeable, like taking thousands was from a few accounts, this way he amassed a fortune for himself and his armed gang. He bought illegal weapons from bent contacts within the Serbian military, government and state owned arms factories. In time he planned not to confront the army for power or to overcome the government and become leader but to target foreign individuals, companies, power structures of any kind and any other target that needed to be taken out, for a price. The first operation was carried out over the border in Albania, a closed private country that eyed Serbia with suspicion and hostility due to religious, ethnic and border dispute issues. Ludolf and a group of six heavily armed men trekked three days over the high mountains avoiding the passes and tracks to illegally enter Albania, carrying everything they needed. Moving slowly with stealth they blended into the rough scenery and rugged landscape, not even calling their home base on mobile, radio or sat phone. Emission free, invisible, not existing. At their target they laid up for two days watching their target’s movements to tally this up with previous intelligence. They missed nothing, they were the best the black world provided, they had the cash to buy the best weapons and the best men and not even the Serbian military could match them, or dare to try.

By a small coastal town ringed by high mountains cut off from the outside world lived the target; the only access was by the hazardous Adriatic Highway, by sea or by air. Only brave or foolish people came over the mountains. Dushabe Constanza was a man of notoriety in Albania and the Balkans, he was their target who had to be killed, the money of his bank accounts taken and his crime operation neutralised and if possible taken over by the Serbian group led by Ludolf. Moving silently and quickly the group surrounded Dushabe’s villa in the dusk of the dying day, taking out a small laptop computer Ludolf hacked into the villa’s security systems to neutralise it. Putting the CCTV cameras onto a loop so they couldn’t be seen, turning the remote controlled guns off but in a way that wasn’t picked up by control and other things. Inside the building the killing began, first the security staff that were meant to protect Dushabe from this type of op, in this they failed not even returning fire cut down by silenced pistols. The cleaners, maid and family members were next until the group finally confronted their target – Dushabe. He pulled a gun on the group and fired three rounds, hitting two men in the head, killing one and wounding the other; the remainder quickly overpowered the big Albanian and started to torture him, old skool. With pliers on his balls, metal nails down his fingernails and other evil tricks to make a man talk. It was only a matter of time until the tough Albanian talked revealing bank account numbers, the location of a medium amount of cash, where his weapons cache was (this would be blown up with time delay bombs), what his new and long term business contracts were and any other useful info. Then they killed him by shooting him three times in the head, setting fire to his body along those of his dead staff and colleagues and the villa. A random spread of time delay bombs would make the clean up of the place difficult by the authorities or Dushabe’s remaining men.

Quietly leaving the corpse and burning villa the four able men and one-wounded Serbian paramilitary men entered the nearby town of Miaman. With plenty of ammo and explosive it was time to have some fun at the expense of the local Albanians, walking down the main street by the seafront the group split up and headed off to do trouble. Gunfire soon echoed down night time streets as the gun men fired into sleep houses or the odd night bar that was still open, casualties due to gunfire weren’t so heavy. It was the explosive that caused most mayhem, haphazardly placed time bombs dropped into long grass near bus stops, by an electricity sub station, tossed into the shallow harbour under the bow of a ship, placed under a parked up lorry full of pallets of cooking oil. One terrorist primed his bomb for instant detonation and chucked it with all his strength onto a petrol station forecourt, it detonated five yards from the pumps in a huge blast severing fuel hoses and making a crater that blew in the top of the fuel storage tank. A massive blaze engulfed the station and a wave of burning fuel ran down the gently sloping road setting cars, houses and shops on fire.

Only now did the Albanian police and army react to this attack, they wouldn’t miss the death of Dushabe or his men but the destruction of the small coastal town was something else. Confused by the violence of the attack, by the flames and by the high level of training of the attackers made many problems for the authorities; they suffered many dead and injured hunting down the Serbian gunmen. Ludolf made it back over the border alone unscathed, the wounded man was killed in a gun fight with cops rather than surrender, the remaining men were killed one by one over the next two days when the authorities became more organised. The Albanian government fell, chaos reigned, rogue army units shelled Serbian villages bordering Albania and a dozen angry soldier conscripts crossed over the border after shooting their officer dead and took revenge by burning, raping and killing in a Serbian town but not on a scale as had happened in Albania. In return, Serbian air force jets bombed Albanian targets with little accuracy and open war started with centuries of hate boiling to the surface. Albanian helicopter gunships shot up Serbian troops massing by the border planning to invade Albania.

Ludolf planned his next operation as the chaos reigned and his country became the Balkan superpower again – an attack on Croatia, similar to the one he had just hit Albania with. If successful this would lead to more Balkan instability, the German lead European Union would have to deploy peacekeepers along with NATO led military, separating and maybe even fighting in the Albanian-Serbian war. Ludolf would become very rich and very powerful out of all of this; he would lead crime gangs throughout the whole Balkan area and control a criminal empire even more powerful than the mafia in Sicily, Italy and the US. One thing stood in Ludolf’s way – Juniper’s Daughter.

Juniper’s Daughter flew her flying disc low over the choppy waves of the Adriatic, climbed steeply over the coastal mountains and over the battleground that was now Albania to head into Serbia. She gave them a light show to pause the fighting as she flew over and then made her ship even more visible while she slowed and challenged the Serbian Mig 43 jets in aerial warfare. She shot down three in quick succession killing the pilots, reducing the Serbian air force strength by a fifth. These new Mig jets cost a fortune and Serbia was a poor country. Coming over Ludolf’s heavily fortified villa the witch cloaked her craft making it invisible, she hovered a metre over the roof and entered the gangster’s house. He didn’t see her as he sat at his computer and hacked into an American military computer system to illicit more illegal funds and cause confusion in his enemy. Silently watching him the witch became visible, she spoke startling the evil man, “Ludolf. Stop what you are doing. It is wrong!”

“Motherfucker! How the fuck did you get in here?” he screamed with wide eyes. He reached for a gun and fired two shot at the witch; she ducked and gracefully rolled across the floor to stand in front of him. With a well-aimed kick she knocked the gun from Ludolf’s hands. Menace and revenge flickered in his hate filled Serbian eyes; he rose and stood in a combat stance, his upper body muscles rippled and his arms moved ready to strike. He shot a curving punch to Juniper’s Daughter, she moved her head to one side and it missed, as did the quick follow up, a right jab at her side. Ludolf swore and snap kicked, catching the witch on her thigh in a powerful kick. She almost fell backwards but before he brought his foot back down she caught it in both her hands and lifted with all her strength. The Serb went flying over onto his back nearly breaking his neck, totally stunning him and he became aware he was losing this fight. Where the fuck was his security detail? How had this blond haired bitch gotten past them? They were the best!

She walked up to the stunned man and kicked him in the ribs before he could get up, she felt two ribs give, actually heard the snap when the bone broke. Again she kicked him, more gently this time to show him she was the boss. “What you did was wrong! Your attack and the death it caused. You have to learn your lesson and never do it again, do you understand?” she told him in Serbian.

“Okay, you win. I’ll stop. Yes I did wrong, I thought it was the right thing to do,” Ludolf painfully lied through gritted teeth.

“I know you took out your Albanian opposite number but your attack on an innocent town has caused a war. You have sided with the Devil, either on purpose or innocently. What you have done can’t be allowed to continue!” Juniper’s Daughter commented angrily. She never took her eyes off the crippled man.

“Look, I promise you I am sorry! I will never do it again! Kill me if you want, your problem is solved then!” he remonstrated.

“Don’t give me ideas Ludolf! I may take you up on the offer!”

“That’s your choice. I’m no threat to you now, I’m unarmed, you bust my ribs and I’m on my back. You nearly broke my neck! How the fuck can you fight like that?” the man lied, hoping he was convincing.

“Much practise with people like you over many lifetimes! You’re a piece of cake. For some reason I don’t believe you! For that I’ll have to kill you so you can’t do anymore evil form which the Devil benefits,” Juniper’s Daughter told him.

It was then Ludolf knew no mere mortal woman confronted him, her fighting experience and knowledge was impossible for a girl of no more than twenty-five. This was crazy! He had to kill her, right now. As quickly as was possible he flicked his right arm and a hidden three inch blade shot forth hitting the witch in the chest, it stuck in up to the handle.

Pure anger filled her entire being as she tried to direct it in a focused wave of energy at Ludolf but it wasn’t totally possible, her body was rapidly dying and she was losing this battle. The energy fizzed and popped from out of her being, giving the Serb cancerous cells and a withered right arm. She was being pulled someplace else that wasn’t of this world. She would finish this little war another time…

Juniper soothed her daughter gently stroking her hair, “Child you can’t win every battle and it just isn’t possible. You did your best, we both know that.”

“I know Mother but I was so close, Ludolf acted for the Devil, that I’m sure. My death by Ludolf’s hands is another victory for evil against us!” Juniper’s Daughter cried.

“I know my dear, I know if we won every time there would be no evil, no Devil and in the end no job for us. This is what we have to do; long ago when I was earth bound it was my job, now it’s your turn. Soon you will return and the fight will continue, you can stop the Albanian/Serbian war and bring peace and positivity to the region, the world,” Juniper quietly said.

“I know Mother, I was doing so well. This endless struggle does tire me out. Was that why I failed this time? Was it?” the crying witch desperately asked.

“No my dear Daughter, you are even better at this than I ever was. It’s just sometimes we fail, we can’t win every time. It’s the way it is, the law of light and darkness proclaims it to be this way. We can’t change that; all we can do is to fight for the light and for goodness my dear. Rest now, shh, rest, all will be okay…”

Juniper’s Daughter closed her eyes and dreamed of peace and of happiness, not of a world in trouble so very far away that tugged at the edge of her mind, trying to pull her back. For now she slept and let Nature run her course, developing a new body for the witch, moulding her talents from her previous self into the infinite knowledge that was her energy, life force and magic. Without it she was nothing but an empty shell with no soul, her life force was powerful and never-ending, how many times had she been born, died and reborn? In this cycle of life that was the witch Juniper’s Daughter who was humankind’s only defence against themselves and the Devil. What would happen if she decided to join the other camp, turn herself over to the Devil and work with him dooming the world to total darkness forever more? Could she do that to defeat the Devil once and for all? Would that ever be necessary or would he draw the witch in and control her like a puppet on a string caught in a spider’s web of pure evil? If that happened would her Mother Juniper have to be earthbound again to fight her own daughter and the Devil? Who would watch over the upper realms? There was no one else…

Down on the wicked place that was the earth, fighting went on in selective areas flaring up like a brush fire under the summer sun, dying down for a period and then re-igniting twice as ferocious. From north to south and east to west something was always happening to bring misery to individuals or countries or whole races of people. This seemed to increase when the witch was absent almost like the Devil was taking advantage of some free time to cause mayhem and mischief to blanket the land in darkness and evil. For certain individuals especially children the evil one had a special way to do this – night terrors; spread selectively amongst weak, impressionable, easily targeted kids. He spread evil wicked dreams that caused sheer terror, laden with darkness, evil images and foreboding, throwing negativity onto these young innocents who were now in the grasp of the Devil. With enough night terror dreams a good number would turn out to be evil in their thoughts, actions and their souls. As they grew up more selective targeting by the evil one would make dark warriors for his cause, to spread darkness over the land eventually killing and doing wanton destruction. In war situations this was ideal because anything went, as the individuals thought they were acting on their own beliefs, when in reality Satan placed it their years before. In peaceful societies this brought low-level problems that were often unnoticed.

Through human history the Devil had won darkly with some spectacular victories even though he often lost the war – Hitler and Stalin were two of his most successful dealers of death, killing over 70 million people. Hell was full of many souls making the Devil smile like a wicked Cheshire cat, what was called Heaven had more souls in it by comparison, mainly innocent victims of war and cruelty. Juniper’s Daughter had the skills to be evil but her intent wasn’t there, she acted for the good of humanity, nature and the world in this constant battle to stop the evil. Her latest battle ended in failure. Soon she would be ready for the next round, where would she be fighting next? And with who?

In a cold place death camps were being established again, soon people would be shipped here to be used as slave labour till they were worked to death in mines and factories and other traumatic environments. An army still existed, it moved to control areas contaminated by radiation where no living thing survived in an area of nuclear devastated cities and towns, fallout zones covering huge area of wasteland including abandoned towns polluted by fallout. Living there was a death sentence. These places were taken over for reasons of pure evil, the Devil wasn’t done just yet and this place was called Siberia but it wasn’t in Russia…

Siberia

One third of England was under the English army control comprising an area of over twenty thousand square miles including the areas of the northeast, central England and parts of the southeast. Within this sprawl were many towns and cities under army control, including Alnwick in the far north on the east coast of England with two hundred troops garrisoned there to ward off attack by Scottish troops/war veterans, English freedom fighters/war veterans or anyone else foolish enough to cause trouble.

Moving down the country, all of Newcastle upon Tyne, Gateshead and Sunderland area was under army control but the city of Newcastle was destroyed by a French one-megaton weapon (with Gateshead damaged by blast and now highly radioactive). Army troops occupied Durham, Stockton-on-Tees, Darlington, Whitby, Scarborough, Huddersfield, Barnsley, Lincoln, Kettering, Spalding, Skegness, Northampton, Milton Keynes, Great Yarmouth, Ipswich, Harlow, Brentwood, Clacton-on-Sea and over three dozen lesser towns and villages. Within this occupied area lay nuclear destroyed towns and cities: Middlesborough, York, Leeds, Immingham, Doncaster, Nottingham, Leicester, Peterborough, Luton, Huntingdon, Norwich, Bedford, Hertford, Cambridge, Felixstowe, Colchester, Chelmsford, Basildon, Tilbury and areas including the outer edge of London including the M-25 motorway. Many other area were polluted by deadly radiation including a three dozen small towns empty of people because the risk of living there was too great – radiation deaths drove the surviving populace elsewhere. Examples of these towns and cities were: Durham, Bridlington, Selby, Spalding, Grantham, Wakefield, Wisbech, Swaffham, Downham Market, Bishop’s Stortford, Newmarket and many more, all empty of people but with surviving buildings intact. Some of these would gain worldwide notoriety when what went on there was exposed to the world, something hideous and evil beyond human reasoning.

Some infrastructure survived like motorways away from the towns and cities, secondary roads including A-roads and most country roads. Railway systems were hit much worse due to their location near built up areas, major freight hubs like marshalling yards, huge storage warehouses and arms factories. Canal networks were untouched apart from ones in town and city centres. Abandoned, crashed and burnt out vehicles from cars to wagons blocked roads up and down the country including the occupied areas. Routes had been cleared by the English army to gain access to uncontaminated towns, contaminated towns but not to destroyed towns and cities; here there was no point.

Transport on the roads was by very few remaining diesel powered vehicles like Main Battle Tanks, gas powered Armoured Personnel Carriers, supply vehicles, howitzers and other military vehicles. Larger transport vehicles used these routes too; these had a sinister purpose in the evil plans from the army patiently planned. Around the garrison towns English army patrolled on foot in units no smaller than four men, always armed with pistols, machine guns, rifles, grenades and grenade launchers. A ring of steel protected the empty radioactive towns, troops in protective suits and vehicles shot anyone on sight to protect their secret.

Renford was a mere twenty miles away from the edge of the occupied area, people there were of criminal intent always armed and very dangerous, for now the English army had no intentions to move west, yet. When they did it would be using massive firepower to overcome the armed gangsters, criminals, freedom fighters, war vets and Frontier Corps. Even with safeguards in place to defend Renford, it couldn’t guarantee its future safety but that was not of importance now.

On the ground evil plans rolled onwards, luckily the army had enough military equipment left over to do this because many vehicles were lost in past battles and attacks. Troops and vehicles were protected by nuclear protection systems so deadly radiation wouldn’t poison them fatally, in this nuclear desert. To provide armed protection for the troops a robot system was invented to cover them, the base and areas of operations. This was the Devil Snail weapon system based upon the poodle dog, there three sizes of mobile robot relating to the actual animal – Toy, Miniature and Standard. English army weapon scientist looked at ways of making an offensive/defensive weapon system that was self contained, had long life, deadly weapons, total obedience to the army and an agile fast attack platform with good lethality. With a metal/carbon fibre internal skeleton based upon a real poodle dog but much stronger than bone, an outer covering of plastic skin like material that was resistant to water, oil, medium levels of heat including fire and flexible enough to withstand small size knife thrusts and covered by fur of varying colours. Not just normal animal colours but other options like camouflage schemes were available for operations in, say, a jungle area. Internal power was provided by a long life battery cell that had a life of three months until it ran down flat and needed to be replaced, if the Devil Snail attack unit survived in combat operations that long. Armament was a pair of laser cannons available in three different sizes to match the animal size; these were mounted in the eye positions of the unit, in place of real eyes. The rapidly swivelling head gave superb vision around almost one hundred and eighty degrees when standing without moving the body, the head was able to elevate up and down and also the weapons could be slewed in the sockets by several degrees if the head was incapacitated from moving. Laser beam colour was either invisible to the human eye (in the non-visible light spectrum) to green, red and purple. Different crystals gave the colours depending on the operation, a visible laser beam gave the enemy a first hand view it was being attacked thus increasing the fear factor on the open battlefield, in defence or on an assassination mission an invisible beam would be used. The large Standard was perfect for supporting running soldiers on an open battlefield due to its running speed, superior cross country performance when compared to the smaller sizes and bigger more powerful dual laser cannons. This larger model was unsuited to covert assassination missions when the small Toy size unit had the advantage in small size visual signature, stealth, agility and discretion with non-visible laser weapons in the infrared/ultraviolet spectrum.

Due to the extremely limited number of English army soldiers (less than eight thousand) many hundreds of these Devil Snail units had been produced and deployed with regular army units and on their own as recon/attack/defence units. Thousands more were planned from hidden underground automated factories over the next few years. With their superb Artificial Intelligence based on a computer chip running in the 4^th order powering a multi redundant water based computer (much like a brain but constructed differently), these units were very effective in many areas. Only a highly intelligent person who knew what to look for could tell the difference, by which time they would be dead if they were a target or in the way. Scent glands fooled real poodles so the game wouldn’t be up; military personnel used secret identification phrases that were changed regularly to identify themselves to the Devil Snail units.

Recent testing and selective military operations had been a resounding success, the enemy and general population had no idea that a mechanical breed of poodle was a man made weapon made to kill and incapacitate without mercy or pause. New facilities soon to be under construction would be guarded by these attack units.

A trial was needed for the Devil Snail attack unit so the English army came up with a cunning plan, three soldiers discarded their regular uniforms and dressed themselves as members of the local criminal fraternity, taking the identity of a medium threat level gang The Traitors (a splinter group named thus after falling out with the main group The Wannabe Hardmen). Due to the ongoing feud between the groups the soldiers discretely made their way the twenty two miles from their occupied area over no-man’s land to Renford. Here they infiltrated The Traitors and carried out their plan successfully before anyone noticed what they were up to. At gunpoint they kidnapping a male member of the group along with his girlfriend, knocking them out, tying them up and blind folding them, stealing a sixty-year-old antique van converted to run on stolen liquid gas to make their escape back to English army lines. The leader, a heavily disguised Captain communicated with headquarters on a successful mission, gave the security password to allow safe passage and was ordered to proceed to the range. Upon arrival the soldier driving the old van drove it on to the target range where the test could be completed with the Devil Snail unit being given as real a trial as possible.

Parking up the van on a huge flat grassy area many miles across the Captain ordered the driver and the other soldier who was the security detail out of the vehicle, not before the captives were released. The Captain tossed the disoriented male hostage the vehicle keys, smiled malevolently and said, “Welcome to the English army area of operations, you are free to go. Good luck!”

“What the fuck are you on about man?” the gang member angrily retorted.

“As I said, you are free to go. You’ll find I’m a man of my word, that I promise,” the captain quietly replied.

“Jason, come on, let’s go. I wanna go back to the town,” commented Alison, the gang member’s girlfriend. Her wild yet innocent eyes flickered with fear.

“Right, we’re going. Hey soldier boy… fuck you!” Jason shouted at the army Captain, giving him the finger. Turning back to his woman he said, “We’re outa here, fuck these pricks wanting to look like us bringing us here!”

In the van Jason turned the key, the engine misfired, cursing he did it again and it fired, backfiring loudly. He engaged first gear and drove slowly away over the grass. The Captain joined his other two men who stood silently watching the vehicle move out of site, he spoke into his small radio ordering the trial to proceed.

The two gang members’ time was limited, two miles away three Devil Snail units were released from the back of an armoured lorry with huge slab sides. With a loud clunk the back door opened and three different sized attack units were visible. An officer walked up to the open doorway and spoke sharp commands to the attack units, as if by magic they came to life, powering up to stand and slowly walk out of the truck onto the ground. One unit was very small, this was the toy size Devil Snail unit standing only ten inches tall at the shoulders, it was light brown in colour with purple eyes that missed nothing. The second unit was a little larger being fifteen inches high at the shoulder and jet black in colour with equally dark eyes, this was the miniature version. Finally the largest Devil Snail unit was a huge standard standing a massive thirty-three inches tall at the shoulders, being green in colour to match the grass of the training area. Light green eyes hinted at evil menace. Standing next to each other on the grass the poodle dog look alikes were ready, a nod from the officer and they sped into action. Six soldiers held various cameras and recording equipment to record the event for posterity.

Setting off on a high speed run the Devil Snail attack units accelerated to top speed in seconds, legs carrying them to past thirty miles an hour. The large standard unit rapidly drew away due to its larger legs leaving the middle size dog behind; lastly the toy attack unit had no chance keeping up. It barked angrily and growled knowing that this was a race it wouldn’t win.

Meanwhile the gangsters in their battered van bounced and bumped over the grass at twenty miles an hour, old suspension protesting at each jolt. Looking out of her cracked door mirror Alison noticed movement; she squinted her eyes and looked again. Her vision was none too good due to the unavailability of glasses but yes there was something there, she turned to her boyfriend and got his attention.

He looked over his shoulder for he had no mirrors; they had broken off long ago. Seeing the rapidly advancing standard size Devil Snail attack unit he swore and accelerated as fast as the van would go, touching forty miles an hour on the undulating grass. A bad feeling filled his guts, something was very wrong here. Why the fuck was a dog chasing them? Then everything turned bright green in wicked illumination when the dog opened fire with its eye mounted laser cannon, brightness like the sun filled the van causing Jason to lose control. The van swerved drunkenly, nearly tipping over as it bounced over the grass and the back right tyre burst when laser light burned through the old perished rubber. Black smoking bits off rubber fell onto the grass as the vehicle turned to the right, control being lost. Dirty white paint turned brown then black as it heated up in the laser light, side windows smashed and fell out in sharp cracks startling Alison who covered her eyes with her hands. Another tyre popped, stopping the rapidly slowing van dead. Suddenly the laser light stopped as suddenly as it came. Jason opened the driver’s door swearing while his vision slowly came back, he swore again and burned his palm on the hot metal, watching as a blister formed before his eyes.

He shouted: “Alison come on, get out! Get out!”

“Help me, Jason help me! I can’t see, my eyes, oh Jason my eyes!” she screamed hysterically.

He ran over to her and opened her door, holding his beloved woman slowly helping her out of the vehicle. Just then another burst of pretty green laser fire hit the van; green shimmered all around making the air hazy due to the heat and intensity of the beam. The gas tank exploded in a roar of escaping superheated propane gas, flames shooting through the vehicle blowing out the remaining windows and singing their hair and clothing. They barely made it throwing themselves onto the grass. Three yards away the van burned like an inferno turning into a glowing torch, the heat was enormous forcing Alison and Jason to crawl further away as another explosion blew the bonnet off the van and popped the remaining tyres in angry hisses.

Jason alertly looked around trying to see what had fired at them, half expecting to see the soldiers chasing them in a vehicle armed with a laser gun. Through his aching eyes he saw only the flat horizon and then he remembered the dog he had glimpsed. No, surely it couldn’t have been that, it wasn’t possible! How could a dog fire on them? Then he saw it standing behind a small rise in the ground a hundred or so yards away, the animal’s head and shoulders poking up above the rise it was using for cover. The answer of who had fired was provided soon enough when the Devil Snail fired a third time at the burning vehicle. Jason marvelled at how the twin straight beams of laser energy instantly converged onto the wrecked van making the fire more intense, he knew they would soon die. Word needed to be gotten out to Renford of this new evil English army weapon but that was impossible. He moved closer to Alison and looked into her eyes, he was about to say I love you when another burst of laser fire hit him in the back. It was red in colour and was fired from the middle size miniature Devil Snail attack unit, this had stealthily outflanked them to come up behind as the larger unit had shot up the van. Red illuminated the scene and Jason burned alive, his leather bike jacket becoming a burning flaming death trap making him scream and squirm in agony. The beam stopped as he flamed and rolled away from Alison to try to put the flames out but they were too fierce, setting the grass on fire next to them. Another red beam of fire set his skin on fire in an angry hissing cauldron of steam, scalding running body fat, boiling blood, blackened bone and exploding internal organs. For five seconds Jason suffered pure agony unlike no one had ever felt before and then he mercifully died, becoming the first human being to be killed by laser fire from a Devil Snail attack unit.

Alison looked on at her burning boyfriend and the blazing van; she got up and ran as fast as she could. The miniature unit fired and missed, having been momentarily taken by surprise. The grass blazed away where Alison had been lying. She ran and ran, shouting for Jason and her mother to safe her while tears stung her eyes. She looked crazily around her and stopped dead in her tracks – for there before her was the smallest of the units, a toy Devil Snail attack unit. It yapped with glee wagging its tail in happiness not ten yards from Alison. She ran towards it aiming a kick at its face with her size six combat boots. She was three yards away when the unit fired but she couldn’t see the beam, it wasn’t in the visible light spectrum, unlike the other two weapons mounted on the other units. This dog was an assassination animal using an infrared beam of invisible laser light but just as equally deadly, being a lower powered beam made no difference. Alison was dead before she hit the ground, her face burnt away to a blackened mass of ugliness.

Back in the command vehicle the technicians monitored the test results, officers continued to film the burning scene and retreating victorious attack units, the lead officer in charge nodded at a job well done. His only complaint was the girl had taken the unit taking her out by surprise; the movement sensor had to be re-calibrated for extra sensitivity. Yes the test was a success, most definitely so. As the three different sized Devil Snail attack units returned to the armoured truck, he thanked them and stroked each individually. Test data would be studied, any improvements made and beers would be distributed to all of his men for a successful mission and test. Further modes were to be tested in future tests; one was the “Lock On and Die” mode where the Devil Snail unit would charge down a target and then go critical with its long life battery so it exploded and destroyed its target and itself. This was only to be used when the laser cannons failed for some reason, if the Devil Snail was about to be captured, if it was damaged and still able to move or if it was an expendable unit on a suicide mission. A more sublime utility mission was another role when an item of importance needed recovering, only on item could be brought back carried in the unit’s mouth.

In the main underground laboratory that was part of the production complex where these creatures were manufactured, a small toy size Devil Snail had been subjected to further testing but due to the new nature of the technology this testing was going through many teething problems. There wasn’t a chewy stick left in the building. Two three-metre long nylon tethers kept in place the toy size Devil Snail unit to the shiny polished concrete floor. Looking in from behind an armoured bullet proof window technicians and officers monitored the experimental attack unit, computer screens glowed and flickered with data, a dozen cameras recorded the test. The unit hovered one metre off the floor, stationery in space with nothing but the tethers hanging loosely to the floor. Turning on its own axis the Devil Snail fired at a target on the wall, nothing more than a paper bull’s-eye roundel ten metres away glued on the granite wall. A narrow pretty blue pair of laser beams emanated from the poodle’s eyes straight on target burning small holes where the bull’s-eye was, slowly turning in ovals to obliterate the rest of the paper target. Black burning tracks showed where the beam traversed over the paper before it flamed into oblivion. Target destroyed, the Devil Snail turned to the right ninety degrees and fired at another paper target, only this was smaller to simulate more distance. Again the blue laser cannons fired from the animal’s eyes setting the target on fire, the unit was about turn around one hundred and eighty degrees to face the other direction when the main gravity drive failed and the animal clattered to the floor. A technical problem of some type caused the gravity drive to fail and animal to fall unpowered to the ground, not even the powerful four legs stopped the animal from falling onto its side, power was totally gone. The test was only partially successful; technicians warily left the secure room to examine the Devil Snail after cutting the power and closing the unit down. There was a danger of explosion due to the laser weapons, power source and gravity drive but the problem had to be solved. More technicians and units were available if anything bad happened. When the problem was fixed this type of Devil Snail would take up a specialised role out in the field assassinating targets that the land-based unit had trouble reaching, explaining the gravity drive and the ability to fly at low altitudes. In time the larger units would have the option of this new technology when it was perfected, if the mission profile needed a flying poodle dog.

Another project based on the Devil Snail was the Double Devil Snail; this was like a push-me-pull-me in Doctor Doolittle that was based on a Llama animal but with a head on either side. Devil Snail design teams looked into mounting two heads on one attack unit to give double firepower and lethality. If each head was given independent control of movement, ability to locate targets and to fire at will, with its own artificial intelligent brain and other systems that the normal unit had, then only half the number would be needed to guard secret installations. The back legs would have to be redesigned so they faced forwards as the normal legs did, in effect it was like two Devil Snails cut in half and joined together. Back legs were able to support extra weight due to their larger size; the new front legs were made stronger to handle the increase in animal mass and weight. Due to the extra power needed to power the laser cannons, the second brain, targeting systems and other equipment a bigger more powerful battery pack was needed if the three-month life was to be maintained. The Double Devil Snail was just at the design stage and only one unit had been built; it was being tested in the lab on a test bench. Many problems had to be overcome before a prototype was built and even longer until full production examples were deployed into combat operations. This weapon would be a real war winner for extra special missions, a flying version was in the works for the future but the normal flying Devil Snail still had problems to be solved first. English army enemies would be even more under gunned in future battles.

In an old radioactive town in the east of England something was going on, old derelict buildings were being converted to house people. This scene went on in a large classified number of empty towns and cities under army control, the high rad count didn’t matter due to the protective equipment the army used. Onlookers were deterred by the invisible charged particles sending death out that ate away at bone, internal organs, skin and blood – at human beings. Depending on how high the fallout levels were death would take a varying amount of time, enough for the army to get what they wanted from the poor people who would fill these once empty contaminated buildings. What now were camps for the enemies of the state.

Where had this idea come from? History was an excellent teacher and the English army an excellent student; they wanted to kill as many people as possible that opposed them. Many ideas had been thought through from poison gas attacks launched by helium filled balloons, to dirty bombs fired from unbuilt long-range artillery guns that spread even more radiation and fallout killing people, biological weapons using newly developed natural diseases to end life and a ground assault to physically take more territory and summarily execute every enemy found which amounted to most of the remaining population. Each idea was rejected for a variety of reasons, it came down to two equally good schemes; the first was the use of thousands of Devil Snail units to hunt down every single person and to kill those that were a nuisance, a threat, not useful or who were infirm. Able workers would be employed under close supervision in the munitions factories and underground mines. This idea okay for part of the plan but on its own was too cumbersome and would take too long, so number two idea was selected; the building of death camps in the army controlled areas in contaminated towns to work the captured people to death making weapons of was until they died on the job and also to exterminate the weaker individuals. Buildings like sports centres, hospitals, factories, warehouses, large blocks of flats and rows of terraced houses were selected to house these condemned workers who would be worked to death as human slaves with no pay, terrible living conditions and a starvation diet or even no food at all, just contaminated water. Radiation and over work would soon kill thousands. Extermination would take care of the rest.

In the unnamed town, soldiers in lightweight full body suits that included strong boots, Kevlar body armour and a respirator methodically surveyed several sites that would house the first prisoners in this area. Roads were cleared of debris like old abandoned cars, burnt out trucks and other detritus so new transport could soon swiftly flow. Work teams awaited the order to convert the selected buildings into basic sleeping quarters to house hundreds of workers in cramped conditions on pre-fab wooden beds with single paper woven blankets and a similar paper filled pillow. This was no protection from the coming freezing temperatures that gripped the land for over six months of the year; environmental changes due to the bombs.

Gun emplacements were put at strategic locations; a ratio of one manned position equipped with machine guns, to ten unmanned ones armed with short range tactical laser weapons, flame throwers, grenade launchers, shot guns firing a variety of ammunition, steel nets launched by trip wires and many other evil toys all under sensor or remote control. Mortars were refused because they were indirect fire weapons able to fire over obstacles; grenade launchers took over this role by firing over obstacles in arcing fire. Mines were used sparingly due to military weapon technology making them very much redundant, even the most advanced landmines were fixed to just one location. To back these fixed positions up, mobile patrols of Devil Snails gave a watertight defence, nothing would leave or enter with out permission and death would result if anyone tried. These weapons were line of sight, with varying ranges from close range of a hundred metres out to a couple of kilometres, discretion was the keyword. Secrecy was paramount so no unwanted attention was brought down onto the projects in the affected towns; soon the camps would start processing prisoners on a variety of projects using cheap unskilled labour which was in plentiful supply.

To move the prisoners road and rail links would be used wherever this benefited transporting the prisoners, if a town had working easily repaired rail links these would be used rather than the roads which would be a back up.

A new type of armoured lorry with solid rubber tyres on sprung suspensions would move the prisoners to the camps, a hundred at a time in heavy steel container like structures driven by a soldier and backed up by a single soldier manning the roof mounted enclosed weapon/observation turret. These trucks were christened Virgin Mary’s by the English army on account of the merciless/merciful role that the vehicles would play in the mass murder of hundreds of thousands of people in what was once England. They were shortened to Mary’s; religion was the barrel of a gun here in late 21^st Century England. Armed vehicles to swiftly hunt down escaped prisoners not taken care of by the defences were developed, examples were a single seat armoured cars equipped with either a machine gun, grenade launcher or laser weapon, mobile wheel driven drone vehicles using a similar artificial technology to the Devil Snail units to hunt and to kill with similar weapons, simple helicopters to hunt down prisoners or deter/defeat an armed attack carrying nothing more hi-tech than an infra-red site and a laser or machine gun and many more mobile systems including ones for use on the railways and even on canals. The system would be put in place within a month and implemented and then Operation Jericho would begin.

Sometime later… English army operations continued as normal with alert guards and troops posted at regular intervals along the occupied area, backed up by Devil Snail attack units. Troops moved into the occupied towns unaffected by nuclear blast or fallout and rounded up civilians, troublemakers, any gangsters who could be caught and many other people. The camps were ready. People were ferried along the transportation routes in Mary armoured transporters, by rail and even down a canal that remained intact. On the first day ten thousand people were taken, mostly by force, to their deaths; how fast they died depended on if they cooperated in the war factories that had been set up, if they struggled or fought back and on who they were, for example if they had attacked the army before, then they were shot. Old people, the infirm and demented were also killed and set on fire with flamethrower teams whose job it was to burn the bodies. Not even the bones remained afterwards.

In this large town in eastern England three hundred people were brought in from surrounding villages and towns to be put to work in the single war factory that had been set up in an old hospital, this made machine gun bullets. Light weight engineering equipment was brought in along with brass for the shell casings, copper and steel for the bullet jackets and lead for the bullet core, then finally chemical raw materials to make the cordite charge to fire the bullet and for the tracer rounds. A hundred people would work in this single factory producing a hundred and sixty thousand bullets a day, with extra brutality this figure should improve to more than double that on each twelve hour shift without a break.

A total of eighty people were shot due to being old, infirm and ill in some way or troublemakers. Fifty people worked in the limestone quarry mining and quarrying this carboniferous rock in order to build a new military base and fortified fort to guard the approaches to the town. Seventy people were a reserve to add to the factory and quarry workers when they started to die over the next few days and weeks. When they were all dead and burned more people would be brought in and so the cycle of brutality would continue until everyone was dead.

The first escape attempt occurred on the third day, a group of middle aged men with fear in their eyes, already exhausted by twelve hour shifts in the war factory, made a run for it. Six of them split into three groups of two and headed in different directions at the end of their work shift. On roll call the guards noticed them missing and sounded the alarm, soldiers rallied to the area wearing protective suits and carrying evil looking machine guns. Six Devil Snail attack units fanned out to search for the escaping prisoners, when caught an example had to be made to deter further attempts to escape. This didn’t take long.

Two were found in an abandoned house trying to lie low until the fuss had gone down, they were brought back hand cuffed and badly beaten up. Fifty minutes later a single man was brought back with laser wounds to his legs, a Devil Snail had open fire on him after tracking his movements for two miles by infra red. Four soldiers had to be called in to secure the crippled man and transport him on a jeep type vehicle back to the command area near the factory, where the others were securely held. This man’s accomplice had been blown up by land mines in only one of two mined areas near the town, shredding his body into a hundred pieces. The mines were turned off and the bits of body were collected and brought back in; of the six that got away four had been accounted for.

The last group made it four miles from the town by following the underground drains; in doing so they picked up huge doses of radiation from the contaminated water that ran into the drains. Feeling unwell after an eight hour journey through the subterranean tunnels they surfaced at a dilapidated road on the outskirts of town, lifting the heavy dirty metal man-hole cover they cautiously peered out into the coming dawn. Nothing was visible, at least to them. On English army TV monitors the men glowed bright white on infra red and remote cannons fired large shells containing man-catching nets from three miles away. The bangs were clearly audible from long distance, both men started to run into the cover of some evergreen trees but it was too late! Incoming net carrying shells flew in zeroing in on their position, popping open to fling metal wire nets onto the captives. They screamed and cursed, struggling to free themselves as the nets became tighter cutting into their flesh, thus subduing them. An army patrol picked them up twenty minutes later.

Back at the command centre the captured men were paraded in front of the others, an example would be made. Body parts of one were placed on the dirty ground, to say: “Look at me! I escaped and look what happened to me. Now I’m dead!”

The four who could stand were paraded along the yard, hands cuffed behind them. Each one had wounds of some type from being beaten up or to the cuts from the metal nets, these wounds were untended. An officer came up with a small laser pistol, he screamed, “Now hear this. I will not tolerate any escape attempts. As you can see, this first attempt failed. I guarantee there won’t be any others!”

Raising the weapon he aimed it at one man and fired; the purple beam hit the man in the chest making him scream and try to run. The officer aimed at his left leg and fired again, the man collapsed to the floor crying in agony as again the officer fired three more times. A smell of burnt flash wafted through the air as the prisoner hovered close to death; horrible cauterised laser wounds scarred his body. With a single three-second beam to his head he was executed, his head collapsed into a burning boiling brew of brains, blood, bone and hair – an awful sight that made two of the remaining prisoners vomit. The man who had been shot in the legs was sat on the floor, unable to stand. He said, “You fuckin’ cunt! That man was my friend!”

In a move swifter than a hawk the officer turned and glared at the wounded man through his respirator, he swore and shot the wounded man ten times at varying places on his body. He squirmed, cried and screamed before he died having outlived seven of the ten laser shots.

“You see, you don’t escape or that happens. Do I make myself clear?” the English army officer shouted. He was deadly serious, his actions proved this. What to do with the remaining prisoners, he thought? Yes! The ones with radiation sickness would be allowed back to work, their dose of radiation was more than fatal; they would be dead in three days. Their food would be stopped too, saving this valuable resource. He shot the remaining able bodied prisoner in a single ten second burst of purple laser energy and ordered his troops to dismiss the other workers, take the hand cuffs off the two poisoned prisoners and to clean up the dead bodies. A job well done, this would deter escape attempts for the foreseeable future. Now he could retire to his secure air-conditioned radiation proof quarters, have a shower and drink some English army vodka and celebrate his own evilness.

Life went in the radioactive town the following day with workers doing their twelve-hour shifts in the bullet factory and the quarry, these workers weren’t provided with any protective equipment of any type. Not for the radiation which was slowly killing them or to keep them safe while they did their jobs; in the quarry, injuries became common place and over the next few days several men died due to being crushed by half ton blocks of freshly quarried limestone. Numbers would be slowly depleted and then some more would be brought in to replace them and so on, until the threat was dealt with and the army had total control of the occupied areas. Given time and the right tactics they would one day occupy the whole of England, then Wales and Scotland if resistance there were successfully defeated. All of that was in the future, other occupied towns had to be forcibly evacuated of their inhabitants so they could be taken to the towns of death. A military state was in the process of forming under the rule of the gun and punishment of death, either through work or by use of arms; people in these prison camp style towns in the radiation zones called them Siberia. Brutality was a keyword in maintaining order and secrecy of what was taking place, the final solution of the population in English army occupied eastern portion of England. If only more troops were available the killing would take place much faster.

Safe towns that were sparsely garrisoned by troops were weapon storage sites with small barracks, bases and transportation hubs out to the radiation towns. High technology automated factories were set up underground where possible to make advanced vehicles. These ranged from the Mary prisoner transportation trucks to small-automated wheeled vehicles armed with light weapons to patrol the longer stretches of open road. The main Devil Snail factory was deep underground in a secret area, not even a ground burst nuclear bomb would defeat it. Everything was being planned and carried out with maximum efficiency by the army; only the flame thrower teams had trouble keeping up with the number of bodies that built up from captured escaping prisoners, from those worked to death, those killed by radiation or shot to death for fun by the bored officers. A new way had to be found to dispose of the bodies, the actual means of burning them by flamethrowers was fine but the number of soldiers required to do this task was quite large. An automated weapon system had to be developed to carry enough jellied petrol to do this, aimed by an accurate tracking sensor and flame flamer thrower unit. As the weeks went on, trials were carried out using the largest Devil Snail attack unit mounted with armoured tanks carrying a total of fifty litres of the highly flammable fuel and a flamethrower fitted on the left side of its head on a flexible but stout mounting. Also tested was an automated vehicle with larger tanks holding five hundred litres and a larger longer ranged weapon, to be a rapid response unit able to travel large distances at high speed to then burn any bodies that were there.

Static flamethrower units controlled by computers were developed and built at the largest towns and cities in the radiation zones where war factories were situated; these would burn hundreds of bodies a day leaving nothing but ash. The war factories were in effect death camps of forced labour but as time advanced, the number of people rose dramatically when compared to the number of people needed to do war work. Another solution was found; prisoners that were spare were used as live targets on the military target ranges to test a variety of weapons. Enough healthy reserve prisoners were held back to replenish any depleted numbers, every single prisoner came from towns in the occupied area. The English army debated whether to first kill all the prisoners in the occupied area and then move into the unoccupied areas to continue the annihilation or if to launch further attacks to seize territory and prisoners for the factories. This issue was being debated at the highest levels in strictest secrecy; for now only the English army controlled areas where affected.

And a few specialised buildings were set up as murder camps, to kill prisoners by flamethrowers, a highly effective and lethal way to do this. In the work camps in the many derelict towns were work complexes set up to kill prisoners by hard labour and radiation poisoning, other buildings were used to house separate prisoners. Conditions were equally as bad with an even lower level of food when compared to the work prisoners who had a long lingering death. In the murder camps a system of flamethrowers were set up to burn prisoners alive who were deemed a nuisance, those unsuitable to be on the prisoner work list, who had attacked the English army before and those who were old or infirm (and there were many of these, many had been killed already but not enough).

In the town where the bullet factory and limestone factory was situated was one such murder camp. Prisoners were brought down the dual carriageway in Mary armoured trucks; these entered the double main gates that were covered by machine guns and Devil Snails. After checking the vehicles for explosive devices and for spies trying to infiltrate the camp to gain secrets of what happened here, the trucks advanced into the processing area that was under cover in an old warehouse. Driving through the massive fifty-foot main doorway, the lorry turned left into the old dispatch area of the warehouse and stopped. A dozen armed guards covered the unloading operation with loaded machine pistols; two Devil Snail units also gave a solid gold guarantee of no escapes. The back doors of the truck were opened and a hundred bewildered prisoners were led out at gunpoint into the processing area where they were processed by English army clerks. Any valuables were taken like rings or watches; gold fillings were extracted by forceps, questioning took place to gain any useful intelligence on gang members, weapon caches, illegal factories (like moonshine distilleries) and any other vital information needed by the army. Prisoners were searched for any weapons like knives or guns, ordered to strip from their clothes that were burned in an incinerator and then led to the barracks that was at the far end of the huge four-acre warehouse. Here they spent their time waiting to die, naked without their clothes or new clothes issued by the army, in cramped quarters in a breezeblock structure built inside the main building. They were given a single meal of watery soup from a large meal container mounted on a battery-powered trolley guarded by two soldiers and a single Devil Snail. Within one day every single prisoner would be dead, killed in the open yard behind the warehouse by flamethrowers mounted on fixed mountings. A high steel roof covered this area with vents to allow the smoke out; a triple layer of barbed wire backed up by two layers of razor wire stopped anyone escaping and finally, a brick wall surrounded this giving additional protection from prying eyes.

The hours ticked down and the prisoners were taken to the murder area, naked and fearful to die, under constant guard by soldiers in protective body suits with bug-eyed respirators. A walk in the park to them, no radiation touched them unlike the naked prisoners. A ten-minute walk across the huge warehouse complex, under cover every step to the yard. Ordered to line up in rows of ten against the concrete building allowed a head count was taken to make sure no one had escaped. None had. Orders were issued to make them stand in the middle of the large undercover yard facing the fixed flamethrower units that had swivelling heads. These tracked the group menacingly, the guards stood safely back out of the firing arc with their guns on the prisoners; no one ran or they would be gunned down instantly. A loud speaker came to life, “All soldiers leave the yard. Flame thrower firing teams to your remote firing positions.”

The soldiers backed off to the doorway of the building as firing personnel in different colour protective suits entered a small secure room where the firing equipment was located. Over the speaker a loud countdown began: “10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1, Fire!”

Nothing happened at first, scared prisoners stood in the cold air looking at one another in fear and then at the flamethrower units. Suddenly it happened! A huge blast of flame shot out of one flamethrower in a huge roaring noise, it sprayed liquid fire straight ahead at the middle of the group. They disappeared in an inferno of fire, black shapes under the orange fire squirming and breaking ranks, running this way and that with arms flailing and screams which echoed through the yard. The flamethrower unit wiggled left and right like wiggling Devil fingers, scything down those untouched by the initial blast of napalm. Again figures flared and died in a horrific horror scene as a hundred human beings were burned to death in less than thirty seconds; black acrid smoke coiled and reefed up, hanging under the metal overhead canopy that covered the yard searching for a way out. Extractor fans kicked in and allowed it to dissipate. Burning bodies were left to burn themselves to ash; it was easier for the clean up vehicle and crews to sweep up. No bones would remain such was the ferocity of the fire. This was the first such flame thrower execution, it was a success even though only one flamethrower unit was used, the next test would use two and compare the burn times until the task was done. This was a wickedly evil way to get rid of undesirables and prisoners; no one would live to tell what had just happened. Hopefully up to three thousand people could be murdered at each site in a single twenty four hour period, with over three dozen such facilities scattered up and down the English army occupied zones this was a terribly efficient way of killing. Not included in those figures was work deaths in the factories and quarries and those killed attempting to escape. Adolf Hitler would be proud of the way that the English army was murdering people in a way the Nazi’s never came close to. Who would be able to stop this evil in Siberia?

Gangsta Boyz

These lads were something special in their own right, a group of real hard crims who didn’t give a fuck who they fucked over, stole from, set up, beat up, put contracts on, sold bad drugs to, put a gun to or shot dead for the pure fun of it. They had done most things and if they hadn’t done it you could bet your left testicle they’d be doing it soon. They lived in the town of Renford near the border with Scotland; they wanted to get contacts from over the border to import weapons in exchange for exporting drugs and other evil things. This was a new sideline from the regular protection rackets, dealing low-level drugs like weed, Ketamine and Charlie to those left alive who would be classed as druggies. That never stopped because of the many wars and disturbances that had happened over the last few decades, no way. Every man and his sister took something or other to take the edge of the bitter reality that was now real life; criminals took every chance to take advantage of that. They were the best there was, an unhealthy compliment to the real deal, fuck with these and the old cliché would tear you to bits after they had.

They were: Gant, Andrew, Gerald and Joyce, four boys in their early to mid 20s, each with a speciality and all multi skilled so they could change roles when they had to, helping the others out. Gant and Andrew had done bird in the hellhole that was the English army prison garrison at Kendal over the years. Gant was inside when Andrew escaped by silently climbing the fifty-foot wall of white greased concrete, even today he kept it secret how he had done it. No ladder, rope or other climbing apparatus was used; this guy was like fucking Spiderman and climbed like a monkey. After escaping he went to his contacts and returned with a hundred year old Conqueror tank and blew the front gate in with three 125mm high explosive shells, then slowly advanced through the wreckage at 5mph. Return fire from the English army’s small arms and light grenade launchers bounced off the tank like ping pong balls. Onwards the criminal gangster boys drove busting fuckin’ ass and getting their lads’ outa the slammer!

Andrew drove the tank while his other criminal buddies Gerald manned the main gun, with Josh on the hull machine gun, a dangerous team that needed a 4^th man to load the big heavy shells into the massive main gun in the turret. Soon he would be here when they busted Gant from the inside of this overfilled jail run by the English army who still maintained a small grip on isolated parts of England. Bitter fighting had killed most of the soldiers, destroyed their bases and wrecked their equipment, they were a mere shadow of their former selves but still dangerous in their local areas.

Into the main yard the tank drove slowly squashing the bodies of English army soldiers who were thick enough to get in the behemoths’ way; pulped flesh greased the tracks briefly aiding fuel economy to the heavy-duty diesel engine. Blood ran into the gutters making the Devil smile from upon high, more souls for his purgatory spreading his dark influence onto the land. From the barred glassless windows a cheer went up as the jailbirds inside heard the explosions and gunfire and revving tank engine, their boring existence had been broken by an event. Prison guards ran onto the yard firing machine carbines and machine pistols from the hip on full fucking auto, empty shell cases rattled onto the concrete and slugs whined from the ten-inch armour of the heavy Conqueror tank.

Andrew stopped the tank facing one group allowing Joyce to cut them down with 7.62mm gunfire in short well aimed bursts that bowled them over like nine pins. The other group of guards fired directly from behind the tank as their colleagues were cut down. Gerald slowly turned the heavy turret 180 degrees. He aimed at the group of ten men with the co-axial machine gun and fired one long burst of a hundred rounds cutting them down silencing their puny fire permanently. Andrew slowly drove to the doorway leading into the prison proper, as the turret rotated to face forward – one single high explosive shell made short work of the two inch toughened steel door. The smoke and debris cleared, Joyce and Andrew dismounted their positions and left the tank taking large .45 calibre pistols with them and plenty of ammo clips. Gerald stayed in the turret on the guns controlling the area so the army wouldn’t interfere with the operation. Together with pistols in hand and eyes darting through the thinning smoke and broken door they entered, running like deranged madmen. Three English army guards tried to stop them, one tried to physically bar their way and the other two attempted to raise machine pistols – Andrew and Joyce shot all of them in the face using full clips of ammo, reloading and advancing.

A long corridor lead ahead into the maze of passageways and cells, they knew the way to where Gant was from a geo locator he had implanted in his left molar tooth. It was decided to cause major chaos and release the rest of the inmates, if possible. For this both carried small magnetic detonators to blow the locks of the cells. Coming up to the first cells they put the plan into practise – Andrew placed a single mag det on each door lock with a 30 second delay to allow time to get clear. Cells were on either side of the corridor so Andrew zigzagged up the corridor with Joyce covering him. When the end of the corridor came up and branched off to the right and left they went left, swapping roles as the dets went off in short sharp cracks smashing the locks. Slowly each door was pushed open and cautious heads peered out; all they saw were smoke and the flash of popping dets blowing the doors, both assailants were out of sight.

A single guard came out of an unmarked wooden door with a revolver, he shot the full seven bullets at the duo but upper body armour saved their lives, only Andrew was hit in the upper right arm. He immediately returned fire killing the officer with two shots to the head, his brains and shattered skull fragments sprayed over the wall and the floor before he collapsed dead. Small explosions from the detonators added to the confusion, “Fuck that guy winged me! My arm is numb, I can’t feel it.”

“You’ll be okay. Let’s finish this job. We’ll patch you up at the tank,” Joyce commented.

“Yea we gotta get the man out, it’s why we are here,” Andrew groaned.

“Let’s go, cover me as I finish putting dets onto the cells,” his fellow crim said.

Now prisoners congregated in the corridor, Joyce saw this and ordered: “Get outside now! While you have chance. Go, now!” Firing a single round into the ceiling galvanised them into action and twenty jailbirds ran away down the corridor and to freedom.

Going to the next passageway and up to the next level, deeper into the complex increased the risk, surprise would be wearing off and the guards would counter attack, they had to be fast. Andrew covered Joyce as they went on like before, Joyce placing the dets, this lot of cells was done then up a stairway guarded by two guards. Andrew shot them both using a full mag, he had trouble reloading due to his wound. Joyce offered him his gun and he took it, passing the empty weapon to his friend who speedily reloaded it. Small cracks echoed up the stairs as they slowly climbed up, weapons pointing in their line of sight, a single guard could cut them down here.

Coming to the top they came under fire from two guards thirty yards down the corridor, Joyce reached into his pocket and withdrew a single egg sized hand grenade. He pulled the pin with his teeth and threw it down the corridor where it bounced and clattered landing near the guards, who emptied their entire magazines on full auto before their fate was sealed. Bullets ricocheted from the walls and floor harmlessly before the grenade went off in a huge bang! Screams were cut short and acrid smoke wafted along the ceiling, both gunmen ran down the corridor ignoring the cells – speed was off the essence and they were out of dets but one. This was for Gant’s cell, eyes looked from behind locked doors through small grilled vents but both avoided eye contact. Coming up to the cell where their mate was Andrew got their remaining det ready and placed it on the lock then both ran along the corridor and crouched down waiting for the thing to go off. Crack! And the cell lock was blown. Running to the cell with guns at the ready Joyce and Andrew swung the partially ajar door open and entered.

“Hey guys, what took you?” Gant casually asked, grinning like a cat.

“Good to see you too mate!” Andrew shouted, not in malice.

“How has the hotel treated you then Gant?” Joyce asked passing Gant a pistol and two mags of bullets.

Gant sat up off the bed and made for the door, glancing at Andrew to say, “I see you’ve been hit. Does it hurt?”

“Yea I stopped a slug. What the fuck do you think? No actually it doesn’t…” he retorted.

“C’mon you pair of fairies get a move on; we gotta get back to the tank!” Joyce complained.

“Fuckin’ hell! You busted me out in a tank? Well I’ll buy you a beer when we get back to town, fuck yea!” Gant laughed.

Into the corridor they ran guns at the ready back to the tank, groups of prisoners not yet outside joined them as if safety in numbers was the way to do it. The trio shouted for everyone to get the fuck out when guards chased them down, pistol fire and grenades soon stopped them buying the group time to get outside. There they joined the battle they could hear for full scale chaos ensured, released prisoners had broken into one of the small arms stores and were attacking the remaining guards in revenge for beatings, harsh treatment and for being fed crap food. Their Conqueror tank fired short bursts from the co-axial machine gun in the turret at guards hiding behind a small prison van. This slowly burned forcing the sheltering guards into the open. Here the prisoners with guns had their vengeance cutting the men down where they stood who even in imminent death fought back, several crims fell down dead or injured. Climbing under the huge tank the small group opened the under hull entry hatch after some difficulty. Andrew really struggled under in the cramped space due to his injured arm. This caused him a lot of pain and discomfort. Joyce entered first so he could hall Andrew up into the vehicle so Gant could push their wounded pal up and then enter himself. The hatch was then shut and locked so no one could follow them.

“Hey Gant, how the fuck are you?” Gerald shouted as he machine-gunned two soldiers who fired back with machine pistols.

“Yea man I’m good. The hotel was good; I ended up running the place. I’ll tell you about it sometime,” Gant chortled.

“I can’t drive due to my arm. Joyce you’ll have to do it, I’ll take over your gun,” Andrew painfully said, as they got ready to leave.

Joyce got behind the driving position. He said, “Andrew let Gant man the hull machine gun, he never shot a guard with his pistol, he can loose a few rounds off now. You need to rest, when we get clear we’ll patch you up. Think you can wait?”

“Yea do that, Gant can use the gun, I’ll be okay. I’ve been hurt worse than this before,” Andrew replied when he settled down behind the driver’s seat.

“I don’t mind manning the pop gun guys!” Gant agreed. Manning the position, he looked through the sight and fired short busts of fire at running soldiers.

In a roar Joyce started up the monstrous 850 horsepower diesel engine and engaged gear with the stiff clutch, he pulled both driving handles towards him and slowly reversed the tank. Stopping parallel to the main gate he turned on one track and slowly drove down the main entry road, soldiers ran away for their lives as the heavy dark green tank increased speed. Bullets whizzed and whined from the outer hull in a futile gesture to stop their escape, of course it failed.

In the tank Gerald put some heavy metal music onto the tank’s tape player, a 70-year-old thing that still worked. The music was closer to 50 year old but still sounded well, he maxed the volume when they left the prison complex. Screams and shouts of joy filled the tank, they had done it! Stopping some miles from the prison Gant patched up Andrew’s arm with a field dressing, giving him some morphine for the pain and discomfort. Settling back Andrew relaxed best he could. Starting back on their journey they headed back to Renford and hit thirty mph, the tanks full speed and to a party that would last for a week…

In the bar called The Slug the party began in earnest, recently made beer stocked the bar lined up in rows of 20 with strengths ranging from 5 to 15 percent, there was nothing on draft but barrels provided wicked flat brews of equal potency. Draft beer hadn’t been in use for over 30 years. All this beer and ale was brewed locally in the centre/outskirts of Renford in breweries that were guarded by freedom fighters, war vets and criminals. The group who just bust Gant out of jail owned a medium size brewery and controlled who worked there, where the ale was sent and several other shady semi legal ventures in the beer trade. Due to the amount of firepower in and around Renford the English army stayed away, as did the Scottish paramilitaries, Scottish army and other rogues who had any sense. Those who were brave enough to cross the border at night or in bad weather were in for a shock due to prepared defences and staunch fighters who took no shit. Some low level trade occurred now and again with the Scots when something was urgently needed that wasn’t available locally but things would never be on the scale of before the wars. Too much death and paranoia blanketed the land, people had long memories, a father’s death became his son’s revenge when he was able to plan an op and carry a gun.

Four beers were already on the bar when the group got there, they parked the tank on rough ground in the centre of town at the demolished site of the old council offices. Gant, Andrew, Gerald and Joyce all sauntered into the bar; people respected them because they were someone, could produce the goods and handle themselves. They took the beers and headed for a table saying no words; they supplied the ale and ran the pub or rather other people did it for them so they could plan other projects to bring in currency. Currency wasn’t money or cash in the real sense, rather a substitute that was often called cash but was, for example, a crate of beer traded for a pair of antique and good combat boots. This was a regular thing, a prosperous trading economy continued to grow in the Renford area, a slave couldn’t be bought but peoples’ services could be exchanged for good for a certain amount of time.

The table they sat was in the middle of the pub, everyone who came into the bar saw the boys, knew who they were and what they stood for. Gant was the leader of the group; he was 20 years old and built like a tank with a huge upper body area that included the physique of a boxer. A skill he practised on old copper water tanks or on people who he didn’t like. He was infamous for giving his opponents the first punch and taking it like a man, not one man had knocked him down yet though many had tried. With a buzz cut of dark brown hair that he clipped with snippers every 3^rd day to keep his thuggish look, evil brown eyes that focused on his target like laser beams and the reflexes of a hawk, Gant was the no1 kick ass guy in Renford.

Andrew was skinny by comparison to his friend, he had the quick devious criminal mind to think up schemes and plans to carry out and Gant was the brawn to back him up in a tight situation. Mousy brown hair, grey eyes that showed no emotion and a funny walk made Andrew someone to be noticed.

Gerald was from Wales unlike the other two, he had been taken prisoner after ambushing an English army truck convoy several years ago and while in the clink he met Gant. Realising they could trust one another when inside both became good friends; Gerald had good weapons training and was key to many of the group’s plans. His brown eyes and red hair were noticeable and he had many contracts on him especially by the army. Gant backed him up and Joyce gave intelligence on known plots like who wanted any of them dead, who had taken contracts on them and more before these could be carried out. How he did this he kept secret but he was good at it and right time and again. If he was cornered he relied on a wicked 12inch blade with a serrated edge. He was almost as big as Gant but not as quick with his hands and less skilled in fighting, his mind was his best asset for he was the oldest of the group at 25 with grey hair and green eyes making him stand out. Like the other three had had done bird, been inside at the army jail and in two other less secure jails ran by traitorous war vets who had turned and cast their lot in with the army.

Andrew had been in a jail ran by the West Indian Brigade when he had gone down to Norwich to assassinate one of them who sold him bad drugs, he drove a hot stolen English army vehicle down from Renford on his own, blagged it through road blocks and hell knew what. He confronted the Brig member saying the Purple Green amphetamine was cut with glucose, the Brig denied this but a bullet in the left knee brought him round. Andrew would have left it at that but the Brig started a fight! After being tapped in the head so he was silenced in true gangster style, Andrew robbed the corpse and was driving back when 20 Brigs captured him. He killed fifteen of them, two with his bare hands before they overwhelmed him, taking him to the Brigade jail where people who were a threat to the Brig cause were locked up indefinitely. Andrew was inside for two months where he played the humble white honkey, he observed the Brig methods of operations, listened to their plans and a dozen other interesting things that could be used against them when his mates got him out.

Gant sprung him after getting captured after a dodgy operation went wrong; he killed nine Brig members with his bare hands and fifty-two with their own guns. He freed his friend and every single other inmate, many of those came back north to settle in Renford and to participate in criminal activities. In the time since then, fifty percent had been killed but it was better than being eight to a cell under the guard of black men high on drugs armed with big knives and guns. That group now ceased to exist.

Gerald had been in the main English army jail for stealing jewels used in laser weapons from an English army lab, he wanted to sell the high value gems for high-class weapons, drugs, vehicles and clothing that would be used in future criminal activities. His plan went ahead successfully infiltrating the English army to get his hands on the jewels, only after someone recognised him though he had black dyed hair and green contact lenses. Caught again, he spendt his 2^nd time inside.

Andrew stole an old Conqueror tank and busted Gerald out of jail much like the recent operation freeing Gant; Joyce enjoyed these types of ops due to the payback on the military. Joyce had enjoyed 6 months of their hospitality when he was a teenager for various low level crimes but not on the murderous level that Gant was know for. His last spell inside was for killing a soldier with just one hand, he was due for execution on the day of his escape.

Beers were now empty, four more miraculously appeared from out of nowhere, in unison the group lifted them and drained half of the contents in one go of the 15% strong brew. More were ready for when these were gone.

“You did well springing me outa jail today lads. I was due for termination tomorrow. Thanks guys!” Gant said with conviction in his voice.

“It was the least we could do. You did the same for me when the Brigs got me. Anytime man,” Gerald commented.

“To us and continued criminality!” Joyce shouted raising his bottle. The rest followed suit.

“To the death of the English army and our rival gangs!” Andrew announced. On and on the drinking went empty bottles filled the table and more full ones were brought. Later a pair of snipping clippers was used to clip Gant’s crew cut back to its normal length of almost balled, he couldn’t be allowed to look like a hippy from his time inside! Andrew, Joyce and Gerald each drunkenly cut a bit of his hair, doing a good job considering the amount of ale that was being consumed. Further bottles came to grace the crims bellies like the ones before.

Other rogues and toughs filled the bar as word spread that Gant was sprung from the English army jail, in ones and twos they came over and shook first his hand and then those of his colleagues. The command structure of the underworld was back in place, whispered words confirmed the other men’s allegiance and loyalty to Gant and his boys, only one word of disrespect was spoken – this ended the joyous celebration of the release. A man called Zargg from Finland walked into the bar and headed straight for the table in the middle of the room; he opened his jacket and withdrew a large Magnum 44 pistol with a nine inch barrel. He screamed in rage as he aimed the gun at Gant, simultaneously a dozen pistols and a four or more rifles and machine guns were aimed at the ragged looking man. Safety catches clicked off as time moved in slow motion.

Gant threw his half empty beer bottle at the tall Finn and sprung from his chair, upending it. With a speed of a leopard and the tact of a fox Gant saw his bottle glance from the other man’s arm momentarily startling him. Vargg fired a single shot that sped over Gant and hit above the bar, shattering a speckled mirror advertising John Smiths beer. Gant was on Vargg immediately slamming a straight left followed up by a double right into the gunman’s head, sending him staggering back four paces, more punches followed reducing his face to a bloody mess; a snap filled the bar as his nose broke. A snap kick into Vargg’s stomach doubled the attacker up; raising his left knee Gant held onto Vargg’s dirty hair and slammed his head down fracturing his cheek bone. Six more punches followed as the Finn stood still holding his gun, he tried to swing it round onto Gant but Gant was right on top of him, in front of him almost in an embrace. He looked into slightly lesser evil eyes and smiled; speaking in Finnish he whispered words of death to the other man, an understanding passed between the two and Gant thrust a small three inch blade knife into Vargg’s stomach and whipped it across, up and down. Vargg staggered back dropping the Magnum as he brought up his hands to cover the fatal wound. Gant stepped back and waited for Vargg’s counterattack. A Finnish right hook missed, a side kick caught Gant on the right thigh sending him back a step but spilling half of Vargg’s intestines onto the floor from his sliced open stomach. Blood, guts, food and shit splashed onto the floor. Several tough men were physically sick at this horrendous sight. Vargg slowly collapsed to the floor, Gant circled him never taking his eyes off the dying man and picking up the Magnum he aimed it at Varrg. Gant kicked the Finn in the head and shouted: “Don’t ever do this again you fucking cunt, I’m the fuckin’ daddy round here! You got that?”

“Fuck you, you stinking dog!” Vargg said in broken English.

“Say sorry you mother fucker! Or I’ll kill you right now, got it?”

“Okay, okay! I’m sorry, I’m ever so sorry…” Vargg stammered in hideous pain.

“Hey lads do you hear that? He apologised, I kicked his arse, I won!” the victor shouted eyes wide with joy and bloodlust.

“Kill him! End his bloody life!” a fellow thug from near the bar shouted.

“Do it now, go on Gant. Blow him away!”

“I wanna see you wipe him out!”

“Use his own gun on him, fuck him up!” the shouts went on and on, ending with: Bang! Bang! Bang! Three shots to the head blew it from the Finns shoulders leaving a bloody stump jetting blood onto the sawdust filled floor. Gant bellowed in happiness turning red jumping up and down on the spot, “Yea! Yeah! I’m the daddy, I’m the daddy! I killed the twat, I won! Fuckin’ A man!”

Gant returned to the table picking up a new bottle of beer and drank the contents in one. He threw the empty bottle at the steaming corpse and picked up a new bottle taking half of it back. He shouted to the scantily clad barmaid behind the bar, “Hey Tracy catch! Put Varrg’s gun on the wall in place of the broken mirror, it deserves pride of place in our pub.”

She caught the gun and replied, “Will do boss! Good kill! I’ll bring some more beer over for you and the boys.”

“Good lass Trace!” Gant thanked her.

“No problem. You want the mess cleaning up?”

“Yea please lass.”

“Right then. Hey I want two volunteers to clean this shit up. And I mean now!” Tracy bellowed. Ten men leapt to the chore falling over one another to gain favour with the bargirl, she picked two men at random to move the body and clean up the detritus of battle.

The bar calmed down after the assassin was thwarted, Gant told his mates why the Finn had tried to kill him. It was a row over his sister who Gant relieved of her virginity and impregnated with his sperm, soiling the girl with foreign blood bringing disgrace to her family and kin. This was when Gant was abroad on an intelligence mission stealing plans on new powderless machine pistols that fired ten thousand rounds a minute. This part of the mission was successful. The Finn tracked him back but failed in his plot to kill Gant, giving Gant more power, respect and credibility amongst the thugs in his bar, a good thing in anyone’s eyes. Had Gant expected trouble or did he think his actions would go unpublished due to who he was and what he stood for? One further enemy was eliminated anyhow. Now more plans could be made on illegal plans, protection rackets, drug sales and a dozen other illegal acts.

Blood started oozing out of Andrew’s wound dripping onto the floor; he looked down and swore slowly moving his damaged arm. The morphine had worn off causing some discomfort, not even twelve bottles of 15% beer dulled the pain and it was time for the operation.

Gant spoke, “Andrew it’s time for the op, we need to get that twats bullet out of your arm. Hey Tracy come and help us, get Tanya to take over serving the beer!”

“Okay boss, I’ll go and get Tanya from the back. I’ll bring over what we need for Andrew,” Tracy said as she served a drunken skinhead a bottle of beer. She disappeared into the back room, five minutes later she returned with Tanya who took over the bar. Walking over to the table Tracy placed a large tray gently down with sealed packages on it containing knives, scalpels, wipes, swabs, antiseptic, anaesthetic and other things. She took two rubber gloves from the tray opening the packet and putting them on, “Okay lads bend over! Cavity search time!” Drunken laughter echoed across the bar.

“I need Andrew sat by the large table over there,” she indicated to her left to a massive oak table, “so I can have a look and take the bullet out and repair the wound.”

“Okay Tracy, no problem,” Gant replied. To Andrew he said, “Okay mate doctors and nurses time. I need you over by the table over there to get that shot from out of your arm.”

“I’ll go there now. I want it fixing, it hurts like fuck now!” Andrew painfully replied slowly getting up to move, Tracy held his good arm guiding him to a nice comfy leather armchair by the large table.

She sat her patient down and returned for the tray. Tracy slowly cut away the bloody bandage to look at the wound, removing the bandage so she could see it more clearly – a single bullet wound at the front of his upper right arm, nice and round but heavily clotted with dried blood. New blood ran past this. There was no entry wound so the bullet was still in there; she had to remove it checking the bone while she did so. Gently she injected two morphine syringes to kill the pain and lessen the discomfort to Andrew, waiting for five minutes for it to take hold, during this time talking to him to reassure him that everything was okay. He had to be calm for this, the alcohol in his system actually helped calm him and relax his body but she had to be quick. Removing a scalpel from a sealed packet she cut away the skin around the hole to look into Andrew’s arm peering into the bullet path, at torn muscle and burnt flesh from the heat of the round. She peered for a few minutes gauging the wound and then she located the 9mm bullet lodged by the bone, luckily it hadn’t broken or shattered the bone thus making her job easier. First she sterilised the wound with strong antiseptic solution. The got a pair of sterilised small forceps and reached into the wound, holding them with one hand while holding gauze with the other to stop the slow but steady blood loss. Slowly she grasped the bullet and very gently removed it from the injury, ever so slowly until it was free. With a plonk she dropped it into a kidney shaped metal tray, holding gauze over the wound to announce: “Hey lads! I got the bullet I got it! Andrew will be okay and the bone isn’t damaged. I have to stitch up the wound now.”

“Well done girl, you did well,” Gerald drunkenly rejoiced. The other lads smiled and murmured amongst themselves, this was still a dodgy time, anything could go wrong still.

Tracy worked methodically stitching up torn muscle, tissue and skin and a delicate vein that took twenty minutes and wouldn’t stop bleeding, causing her some private concern. Finally she did it, placing the last bloody bit of gauze into a disposable bag. She wiped the wound clean with antiseptic sterilising it to lessen the chances of infection, followed by dressing the wound in a light bandage and a sling to keep it immobile. She finished just in time because Andrew needed to take a piss, in this she assisted as he was still drunk and only had one working hand. She took pride in her own work and at the size of his cock; she remembered how many times she had enjoyed it. There were no secrets here in The Slug bar; everyone was family helping and supporting one another.

Returning to the bar from the urinals Tracy slowly led Andrew over to his three friends. “He needs to rest now. I’d advise not travelling back to his place in his state. He can use the spare room out back. The wound will be sore and he needs to rest till his strength returns and his wound heals, plus you all need to look after him. No more mad exploits for a bit,” Tracy said.

“Okay we agree with that,” Gant replied. With that the night wound down, the gangster boys went on their own ways and the bar closed. Another good day of business at The Slug, Renford’s premier hoodlums bar.

Other groups of boys formed groups in Renford for many reasons: safety in numbers, for support in the many crises that dogged the town from one day to the next, to working with rival gangs, fighting them or running a hundred and one illegal rackets. Protection was one of the biggest earners with individuals, businesses and other organisations paying to be “looked after,” what this resulted in was peace of mind. Those who didn’t pay were warned by smart well groomed men in suits, if that didn’t work a brick through the window led to the premises being fire bombed, machine gunned or blown up. Individual’s received a similar visit, if this failed then they were knee capped or had their legs broken by masked men who couldn’t be traced, like they never existed and the injured party had just slipped on the soap.

Gant ran the largest racket; he didn’t collect the payment, this was delegated to lesser characters than himself working their way up the gangster chain of command. The attacks on premises was carried out by keen young angry thugs as was the assaults on individuals, when it went wrong Gant or one of his boys had to discreetly sort it out. This often involved the actual attacker being taught a lesson to give him one more chance or simply him/her disappearing (it was an equal opportunities job).

Most of the people who lived in Renford were local or displaced citizens like Gerald who after getting out of jail stayed with Gant and co, if he went back to independent Wales he would be put to death brutally for aiding the English gangs as an example to anyone else who wanted to live the gangster life style hand in hand with the enemy. A feudal society spread all over the mainland of England, Scotland and Wales, a land like the middle ages with death, disease and lots of deadly radiation poisoning blanketing the land. Guns and ammunition were in plentiful supply as were vicious wicked people with a death wish and the will to use weapons. Several generations had fighting experience, whole families that survived thrived on decades of fighting, killing, violence and gangster style behaviour.

Of this, Gant’s family was an example; his mother was a weapons dealer with contacts ranging into the Irish Republic to Libya to the Continent (excluding France which was destroyed). She armed her son with the latest and deadliest weapons, explosives, knives and other evil tools, in turn Gant passed some to his group, sold others and kept some as a healthy reserve just in case big trouble kicked off. She was born into a working class family, in the decades following the civil war, nuclear war with France and the fall back to a medieval society, it toughened up Gant’s mother. Her husband was an idle drunkard who didn’t want to know about Gant, his mother Sheila told her son when he was five that daddy was dead, it was better than explaining the awful truth that surrounded the man she once thought she had loved. He had gone to fight a group of people in the Cornwall area of the country, which was the last his ex-wife had heard of him for twelve years until one day he returned. He tried to make it up to his forsaken family but it was all in vain, Gant had a nervous breakdown after seeing his father who was alive but hideously wounded from his Cornish battles. A psychotic episode followed in which Gant shot dead his own father in cold blood after years of lies that finally came out and at how upset and inconsolable his once strong willed mother once was. He grabbed a gun and emptied the entire magazine of sixteen rounds into his absent father’s face and then dragged the body into the front garden, poured cooking oil on it and set it alight. For nine hours he stayed there watching the body burn, as his mother wept indoors on the edge of an even bigger mental breakdown. Burying the blackened shrunken skeleton under a dead rose bush Gant returned inside with a face like thunder, he was a man now who vowed never to end up like his father – he would look after his mother no matter what. He didn’t even know the name of the man he had just murdered, he never wanted to know and he blocked this evil act out of his mind.

Illegal actions would be the forte of his life. He set up a network of boys early on in his teens to do dug dealing, street robberies and selling knives (Gant had sold knives to forty year old men when he was eight years old); also professional attacks for money, sabotaging the English army’s communications and many other shady jobs were done, in the strictest confidence.

Gant had a sister called Clair who was a prostitute for her main income, he found out about this when he walked in on her with a client in her small box room in the house, of all the places Gant angrily thought as he loaded his pistol and aimed it at the man who cowered in terror trying to hide behind Clair. Gant let the man run into the street with his jeans around his ankles before shooting him in each buttock cheek. Falling to the floor the man crawled into the gutter expecting execution that never came, without medical treatment the man would die from infection and gangrene before the week was out. Gant returned to his sister’s room to have a talk with her, either stop this wicked profession because you’re family or get out and never come back. Mum and I don’t want you doing this, you can leave home or work for me, what is it to be? He gave her five minutes to clean herself up and give him an answer; she would work for her brother doing illegal work especially when the skills of a woman were needed. Yes she would be part of her brother’s illegal business in ways that were yet to be determined. Clair could make new contacts especially with any woman led groups. These were few in number but key leaders in their field, one such group being The Sisters of Renford who controlled prostitution in the east of the city, backed up by all female pimps – Gant warned his sister not to join them as a pro or even a gun armed pimp, contact with them had to be established in case any trading deals came up, things like that and nothing more, an administration role.

He was working on putting a whole new set of schemes together including: ringers, stolen English army four wheel drive vehicles with a new identity so they would pass off as original to everybody even on the English army computers; a new range of chemical made holistic drugs that mirrored the effects of the Devil Snail plant, ten times stronger and easily addictable; in a lock up unit the illegal making of English army coins to use in the stores on various English army bases (these coins were only ever issues to English army soldiers for sole use in the base stores). Other lesser cash earners were Gant becoming a personal trainer for people who didn’t have fitness/hand to hand fighting skills, showing his customers how to do basic intelligence gathering work on specific things like information concerning their rivals and simple one off trades, for example a weapon that could be traded like a single pistol with ammo that could be used once.

A dozen other illegal ideas formulated in the depths of Gant’s brain, how many would see the light of day? He mused over the taking over of a complete English army base. A fortified one would be fun, if it had a prison that would provide him with willing manpower to give support against the army. Crims would love to get payback, when Gant took the base using English army vehicles that were ringers after infiltrating it and becoming a presence there for a couple of days, even buying crappy porno mags in the base shop with the fake coins, finally springing the prisoners and defeating the base from within. That plan was pure genius; one of Gant’s bigger ideas he could chose to do, he wasn’t definitely going to do it, it was back up in case his other schemes failed but it depended on the current status quo being maintained. What if the army chose to attack then? What would Gant do then?

Gothic Sunrise

Renford had an area of rough flats, houses, bars, clubs and shops where the alternative people lived and hung out in a town within a town, where they covered their own backs and had a bit of fun. Most of these people were Goths, metal heads, tattooed people, freaks, disabled people and other people on the edge of a society that was on the edge anyhow. A thriving subculture lived and breathed amongst the derelict buildings missing roofs, windows, doors and often gable end walls. Many basements and cellars gave excellent underground protection from the elements and from troublesome crims who passed through the area from time to time. Some Goths carried guns but not all, in stark comparison to the crims, drug dealers, druggies and other low lives whose very lives depended on firepower and offence/defence. Most people thought the Goths and associated folk were too weird to mess around with. Rumours circulated on Devil worship, black magic, ritual sacrifice, lesbian covens and a whole lot more sordid acts. Who knew if they were true? This in itself was a good defence against the uninvited. Only the people who took part knew the real truth, the rest was smoke and mirrors.

The main club in Renford where the alternative people went was called Gothic Night; other smaller clubs dotted the locality like Hell’s Gate, Sinister and Lucifer’s Place. Pubs and bars also occupied spaces on these dark streets, notorious places like Dead Central, Standing Stones and Zombie Palace. The Goths and heavy metal people bought their leather jackets, leather combat trousers, silver jewellery and other clothes from the underground market called Satan’s Armpit. This had over three dozen stalls and shops, people dealing in exotic things, sex for sale, massage parlours, two tattooists and much more besides, to cater for the desires of an alternative population in this part of town. These places never went out of business, cash wasn’t exchanged but items were still “sold” for things like unwanted jewellery, rare tour t-shirts (very rare and old), certain personal favours and for skills offered. A silver ring could be “bought” for a semi precious stone found in the mountains or a four pack of strong locally brewed beer bought for a CD from one of the underground (not underground as in the market, more like cult) bands that frequented the area. A thriving little community lived and breathed in the northern area of Renford giving the people some semblance of a normal life and the town a nice little subculture that was both feared and respected.

Some of the characters were: Denise, a middle aged a Goth who was full of tattoos showing all manner of shocking things. She had jet-black hair and a full figure that was accentuated in her tight black leather dress she always wore. What she did for a living was debatable. Then there was Jason who was in his thirties, a Goth guy who wore old gothic tour tops from when the original bands toured so long ago. His tops were worth a fortune but no one dared try and take them, Jason could handle himself with some little known eastern martial arts. He was a musician and a writer amongst other things. Craig ran a shop selling old coins and dog eared postcards from a basement in the dark part of town; he was a fifty something Goth who knew everyone and their business. He helped many a person who had a problem and had contacts up and down the country, even in the occupied areas. Sandra was a widow from cancer that stole her dear husband when he was just twenty-two years old. They had just been married a year and she always had his photo on her and her flat was a shrine to him and what could have been. She specialised in painting artwork on the back of leather jackets and other art genres. Sandra was very pretty but chose to remain a widow and never love again; sex was a different matter though. Another character was Rolo because he was the biggest Goth in Renford, weighing in at twenty-eight stone and standing seven foot two. He was shaped like a guinea pig standing on its back two legs; he had a prodigious appetite and ate anything including live rats. He worked as security for various clients in the alternative quarter of town and as a minder when bands were on tour in the area. These were just a selection of some of the people who inhabited the gothic part of Renford; different parts of town had other characters that were equally interesting.

Music wise there were several quality bands that played heavy dark music which gave off negative energy that the alternative people loved. Bands like Gothic Sunrise who had a lead singer called Katie Kat who wrote the song lyrics and sang live, never failing to entertain her audience. Now and again she picked a nice looking lady from the fans and had lesbian sex on stage as the band played an instrumental track. She also fucked nice looking teenagers when her desire turned that way, she was a real goer who looked the part in her gothic make up, alternative dresses, combat boots and lithe little body. When the Gothic Night venue had a battle of the Goth bands on, Katie Kat’s band always played and did well in the contest. Their main rivals were the Supersonic Snails, a guitar driven Goth metal band with a singer called Angie the Witch; she was a worthy rival to Katie Kat when it came to looks, singing and antics. The girls were friends but some very entertaining catfights had erupted over the years, wounded pride in one or two band competitions had created mini legends surrounding the two and their rival bands. A planned duet on stage had yet to go ahead, as had an even hotter live lesbian sex show with the two singers backed up by live music.

Many other lesser bands and singers dotted the area; some were down right crap while others were worth seeing for the rude song lyrics and handsome singers who didn’t just want a good time and to please their audience. Bootleg music discs sold very well being exchanged for beer, t-shirts, personnel favours like sex and other things. The bands themselves put out music discs at least once a year, illegally filmed live sex with the singers were the hottest thing next to fucking one of them. A small but thriving black market showed no signs of stopping.

The next Goth War was due to take place at Gothic Night the coming weekend; a buzz went round the gothic scene on who would be playing, on who would win and on what antics would occur over the long weekend. It was an event not to be missed.

Most of the two thousand Goths who lived in the alternative quarter would be there gracing the pubs and clubs, ending up at the Goth War at Gothic Night, for twelve or more hours the drinking and partying and music that would reverberate over the rooftops.

For Goths like Denise, Jason, Craig and Rolo the night started at dinnertime on the Friday as they drank in Dead Central, starting off with strong beer and cider. They all took the afternoon off to begin drinking. Denise would do her work as and when she was in the mood and saw a nice Goth boy or gal, she would either do it for free of for a symbolic gift on this special weekend. Sandra was finishing her art piece she had been commissioned to do; by later afternoon when it was done she would be in the pubs with the rest of them. She was starting to feel randy and wondered who she would fuck this time? Later all manner of weird cocktails would be drank by the hundreds of revellers on this long weekend of debauchery.

Rolo wore black leather trousers made in extra large fat bastard size, a huge tent like black silk shirt and an equally large black leather waistcoat. He was chilling on a blood red leather couch made for three people, his jelly bulk filled every bit of the plush leather; he drank a big gulp from his strong lager and spied Denise and waved to her. When she didn’t see him he shouted a greeting, “Hey Denise how are you? It’s me Rolo, come on over and join me.”

Through the crowded pub she searched out his voice, saw him sat on the couch and waved back then walked over through the other Goths.

“How are you Rolo? You look well,” she announced.

“Oh you know I’m okay. Took the afternoon off to start drinking for the Goth War, it should be fun!” Rolo replied.

“Yeah it’ll be a good blast. You know Rolo, it’s a year since the last one! How time flies.”

“Yes you’re right there. Hey, you wanna join me?” he offered, trying to make room on the long low three seat couch. A small gap appeared.

Denise looked at this and thought it over and answered, “Yeah I think I will!” She danced over to the couch and levered herself into the ever so small gap, laughing.

“You got enough room to squeeze in there my dear?” he chuckled as his friend edged her way in.

“Yeah loads of room don’t worry about me its fine,” she answered as her breath was squeezed out of her.

“I know I’m a fat bastard,” Rolo laughed, his eyes rolling in his head.

“I wouldn’t call you that; I’d just say you’re a bit larger than life.”

“You’re so modest my dear, thanks for joining me anyhow. I’ll get you a drink when I go to the bar. What’ll you have?”

She paused before telling him, “Yes I’ll have a Snakebite please Rolo. Make sure they use Gumption cider along with Zeus lager, it’s not as strong with the others and they make it taste shit.

“No problem my dear,” the big Goth replied as he scratched his right ear.

Denise drank her Snakebite looking forward to her next one courtesy of Rolo. They chatted for a few minutes making small talk on business, who could win the battle of the bands (Denise wanted Gothic Sunrise to win as she loved Katie Kat and her sexy body. Oh and the music too! Rolo wanted their arch rivals the Supersonic Snails led by the demure Angie the Witch to win) and other things. No one looked at the fat man and the hooker wedged in next to him on the couch; many other strange people graced the pub giving a feast for hungry eyes. Denise finished her drink and she nodded at Rolo to go and get her another, he agreed and he struggled to get up off the seat giving Denise a breathing space. She laughed at the thought of being squashed by Rolo; of all the places to sit she chose this one. Rolo paid for the drinks with two unfired 9mm bullets and returned to Denise with the drinks.

Across the alternative quarter Goths were still working in their jobs before rushing home to get ready for this heady event; not everyone was lucky enough to have the day off or to finish work early. A definite buzz was in the air, the main street was filling up with Goths milling around waiting for their friends and deciding where to drink first. Some of the outfits they wore were simply stunning, a real labour of love.

The band venue was getting ready, in Gothic Night the bands were preparing, unloading equipment, checking lyric sheets, tuning musical equipment; the first band was setting up their equipment due to being on first. This was Scarlet Onions, a small three piece from a village just west of Renford; they made one hell of a noise during rehearsal with their fast aggressive songs. They wouldn’t win any prizes, being a new inexperienced outfit but they had lots of youth and enthusiasm and loved what they were doing. Compared to the old hands who had years of experience they were minnows in a pond of really big fish; the main bands were more organised and took their time doing the work to get ready. Their energy would be apparent later in their music, for everyone here today this was the reason to be alive – gothic music in all its many forms and sounds.

Sandra finished her artwork that she had been commissioned to do; it was a piece in oils of a landscape under turbulent grey clouds measuring four by three feet. Six weeks of solid painstaking work and delicate detail, a real work of passion that she loved doing. She looked at the painting that was now complete taking in the wild scene it portrayed remembering so long ago when she had walked over that very spot with her husband on a stormy day. It was so long ago; she sighed and shut her eyes remembering. Why was it that her dead husband’s face was becoming more indistinct as time went on? She struggled to remember his face; opening her eyes she withdrew a small purple velvet wallet and hurriedly took out his photo. Sandra smiled as she looked at his happy features; his was a face of youthful invigoration at the beginning of life that was wickedly stolen by this evil disease. She hated cancer. Putting the photo away Sandra left her completed artwork and started to get ready, she didn’t know what to wear. This thought had played in the back of her mind since the morning, niggling away and annoying her. She went to her antique ornate oak wardrobe and opened it and looked at her stunning gothic outfits. Fuck it! She would wear her wedding dress that she had married her young precious husband in not two years ago; she gently ran her fingers through the delicate white fabric remembering. She smiled, she had been so happy and now? Now she was all alone, a widow at twenty-four years of age. So young and still grieving over her indescribable loss but she promised herself she wouldn’t cry, no not on this gothic music day. She would weep twice as much tomorrow, as she did every other day of her young wounded life, this thought made her speak aloud, “I miss you my love. My pain is so much. It’s so unfair how you were taken away from me, I know that you’re around me but my longing to be with you is immense. If I didn’t have your love in my heart and my art I’d kill myself right now. But you wouldn’t want that. I remember your last words to me before cancer stole you from me…”

The first band was due to come on stage in ten minutes; the club was filling up with people wanting to get a good seat. Jason and Craig got bought three drinks each and sat at a small round table, they quietly discussed business of trading coins and music. Jason wore an old All About Eve 1989 tour t-shirt that was in surprisingly good condition, he only wore it to gigs and on special occasions. It matched his black Levi jeans and custom made cowboy boots. Craig had a long black leather jacket on, black combat trousers; a black denim shirt and old German combat boots on, backed up with lots of silver and amber jewellery. They both looked up and saw Rolo and Denise walk into the bar, waving greetings that they returned and then continued their conversation.

Time ticked by, more people entered the club and bought drinks, those inside got more drunk on a variety of wicked cocktails made of dubious dark ingredients. With names like Mary’s Nipple, God’s Armpit, Satan’s Testicle and Up the Army, these drinks were both alcoholically strong and wickedly controversial but the Goths didn’t care, they loved it.

Sandra was in one of the pubs having a quick drink before she hurried to the club to join the other Goths and sprinkling of metal heads and tattooed people who made up the crowd. Later Sandra walked into the club wearing her wedding dress, she looked amazing and people stopped and stared at her stopping their conversations in mid sentence to gawp. She acted demurely strolling to the bar to order a Satan’s Testicle, catching peoples’ eyes and nodding in return.

Craig and Jason saw Sandra from a few yards away and made their way over, “Wow! Sandy looks a zillion dollars. I’d love to make love to her, what a picture she is,” Craig whispered to Jason. He nodded in reply.

“Nice to see you guys, how are you?” Sandra greeted them as the first band started playing. The noise increased rapidly making normal talking impossible.

Jason shouted, “Yeah, we’re okay. Nice to meet you Sandra, I must say you do look stunning. You’re the hottest in here!”

“Yes you are,” Craig backed his mate up nodding his head over the screeching music. He winked at Sandra, who winked back.

“Well thanks a lot guys, you know I do my best to look the part. Hey, what’s this first band called?” she replied, changing the subject not wanting the conversation to go downhill this early in the night.

“Erm… I think they’re from out of town. I’m not sure on the name,” Jason commented shaking his head.

“They’re called Purple Tomatoes or something silly. Why do you like them?” Craig shouted. Really he meant would you like to fuck the singer Sandra? But he didn’t dare say that aloud.

“They’re okay I suppose, full of youthful energy and talent. Yeah I do like them, especially the young singer!” Sandra mischievously told Craig. He went bright red, he knew that Sandra knew that he wanted to fuck her and she played on it.

“C’mon lets go to the front near the stage, I want a better view! I may even go back stage later to say how much I like their music…” she finished as she led the way to the front through the packed crowd. The lads just looked at one another and shook their heads, what was she like?

Denise and Rolo were still at the bar drinking cider, lager and cocktails, a real party slosh to get in the mood for the main bands later. They didn’t want to be sober! Glancing now and again at the first band Rolo gave Denise the thumbs down, he didn’t like them. She shrugged and continued drinking.

Sooner than anticipated the second band came on after a twenty-minute set by Scarlet Onions, the first act of the night. The second band was called Morticia and the Mad Medic, a two-piece from Carlisle with a singer called Morticia who both sang and played electric guitar backed up by Med (short for Medic) who was the drummer and backing vocalist. There was no bass player and not even a keyboardist, what an odd combination! They spent five minutes sorting their equipment out and then started playing, bang, bang, bang sounded the drums! Med had the bass up full and the sound washed over the packed club in a steady heady rhythm that got people nodding their heads, even the ones by the bar. For five minutes Med did his drum solo until all of a sudden Morticia started singing in a wailing banshee gothic haunting raise the hairs on the back of your neck sort of way. She was good! And had everyone’s attention.

This was the best act, so superior to the young enthusiasm of the first band; Morticia sang simple songs on lost love painting a bleak landscape of tears, poignancy mixed with sorrow and loss. Her voice slowly echoed over the audience who couldn’t fail to be affected by the gothic sallowness of Morticia and the Mad Medic. The only thing missing was a full band to give their music more power and structure; apparently they were a new band, so maybe the next step was at least one more person joining their ranks to increase the soundscape of their music. Song after song smoothly flowed from the large speaker stacks, the audience nodded their heads in rhythm soaking up the unique sound until suddenly their set of eight songs was finished. Morticia and Med came to the front of the stage and bowed and thanked the audience, Med threw his drumsticks into the crowd and left the stage after removing their musical instruments.

Between bands a DJ played gothic music and lasers played out over the always moving crowd, some danced singly or in groups and others walked around chatting with friends and strangers alike. Some friends hadn’t seen one another since the last music festival the previous year and were busy catching up on news, who had fucked who and talked about new bands, music and much more.

A third band came on stage to set up their equipment, a six piece from Renford made up of both guys and gals. With a drummer, two singers, a bass player, a guitarist and a keyboard player there were definitely enough of them, all dressed in black leather with not a hint of colour. When ready, one of the male singers tapped the microphone and introduced the band, “Hi my fellow Goths and metal heads we are Electric and we’re from Renford. Some of you may know us from last year; some of you will be new here. I’d like to welcome you all, enjoy our music!”

They stormed through their set that was made up of songs that were ten minutes long – they did just two! What a musical journey it was, fast aggressive heavy music the quickest human beings could play and then slow monotonous rhythms that lulled the audience to sleep. Followed up by loud aggressive music to wake them up, song lyrics of trolls, witches, wizards, mysterious deep lakes, twilight skies and moody moons. After their set they gave out a number of free music discs to spread their awe-inspiring music.

Fifteen other Goth/alternative bands played after Electric left the stage, a mixture of heady music that enthralled the crowd; there wasn’t a single crap band on all night. Then as midnight approached there was a half an hour break while the audience re-charged their batteries and ordered more alcohol, this time members of the earlier bands joined the crowd to watch the last two bands and to drink and be merry. Many groupies made drunken erotic passes at the band members; several disappeared for a quick fuck or oral sex. Some of this occurred in the darker corners of the Gothic Night club under a drunken audience who didn’t care what they saw; it was all part of the fun.

The main question was which of the main bands would be on stage first, Gothic Sunrise or the Supersonic Snails. This would be a close event, each band had super sexy singers with enormous talent who were bound to entertain, excellent musicians who knew their game, songs that rocked out with meaningful lyrics on dark subjects, reputations that size of a mountain and other mad qualities. It would be a battle to remember that was for certain. As the minutes ticked away music technicians came on stage to assemble the bands equipment but what band? The technicians belonged to the club so weren’t traceable to either act, a good club policy that kept the audience in the dark. Would they have it any other way? The unmarked instruments had been tuned earlier and just needed plugging in and playing.

With five minutes to go the gothic/alternative crowd bought more drinks from the bars, went to the toilet to do their business, finished quick sex acts with the earlier band members and found themselves good vantage points to witness the final bands on stage in this wicked gothic music festival. The last two bands would each play a full hour set taking the music well into the early hours.

Sandra was holding hands with the singer of the first band that had been on stage; she had well and truly pulled a man. She had already made love to him twice in a dark corner. Craig and Jason stood near the stage each holding two large cocktails of varying ingredients. Denise and Rolo leaned against the wall to the right of the stage very drunk but genuinely enjoying themselves. Everyone else counted down in his or her heads until the next band was on, time stood still mocking them.

Who would be on next? The DJ who had played his thumping music suddenly killed the sound; a classical music score came over the speakers and the lights went out plunging the club into total blackness. The crowd cheered and went wild, for three minutes they were kept waiting until a tall gothic woman stepped on stage wearing an outfit that glowed bright pink in the darkness, she approached the mike and announced, “Thank you for being here tonight, we are the Supersonic Snails and I’m Angie the Witch!”

Cheers, screams and exultations filled the club and the gothic crowd went crazy! They loved this; it was what they had come here for. Slowly the lights came back on as Angie started singing in an angelic voice that made the hair stand up on the back of everyone’s necks. For five minutes she serenaded the audience while the other band members waited at the side of the stage; after her solo song they emerged to a rapturous applause and shouts of adoration from the audience. Four male band members to make up one of the two hottest Goth bands in Renford, they took up their positions and got right on down to it launching into a rockish number that had the fans arms raised in the air with the strong musical rhythm. Angie the Witch sang about lost love stolen by death amongst a landscape of tears, people sang her own song back to her in total harmony with this stunning singer.

Her band was made up of Cecil on drums, he wore a cut down Sisters of Mercy t-shirt from decades ago and he had bought this from Jason, old blue jeans and scuffed boots. Jason noticed this and elbowed Craig in the ribs and drunkenly grinned to his mate, “That’ll do wonders for my business!”

On bass guitar was Ronnie, a full-length leather jacket made him look like an undertaker. Underneath he wore nothing but leather hot pants, boys and girls alike loved this and thought he looked a million dollars. Then there was Sunny wearing his studded motorbike jacket with the picture of a speeding snail painted on the back (this was Sandra’s handiwork, she was too busy making love to a random lad she had picked up to notice). Sunny had black leather combat trousers on and massive gothic boots with chrome toecaps that glittered in the light. Finally there was Snot the keyboard player, he had a plain white t-shirt on and black leather jeans backed up by combat boots.

Without a break they launched into their next song, one that sang about war in the sky and described old flying machines that didn’t exist anymore. Angie waved her hands like a devil and on the long notes of the song held out her hands and closed her eyes dreaming of what her song described. Nodding her head in rhythm to Ronnie’s thundering bass guitar she kept her eyes shut as the song thudded through a long instrumental bit until her chorus kicked in. She went crazy, dancing over the stage and Sunny let rip in a wicked guitar solo that had the audience dancing and moving around like fish out of water. On and on the music went.

The next song was a slow dark ballad subduing the mood in a thunderous slow beat of bass drum, whispered feminine vocals and plucked guitar, a sad journey of a man who was banished by his family and cast into the wilderness to fend for himself, to live amongst the wolves and fend for himself, never to return to his family or his stolen love. A ten-minute epic of poignant sorrowful gothic emotions expressed in the soundscape of music, it was perfect conjuring up dark imagery and oozing into the recesses of the minds of everyone present. To those who hadn’t seen the Supersonic Snails live before this song made a good impression, to the established fans it was already a favourite.

More powerful songs followed, both fast four-minute heavy rocking numbers and several slow ballads on failed romance and even suicide. Drink sales at the bar almost halted due to the people being fixated on the band, many Goths had previously bought two or even three drinks to last them through the long set of songs. Suddenly the band finished playing, ending on a slow number. The crowd screamed, “More! More! More!” again and again, chanting in louder and louder shouts until the band came back on stage. A fast loud song about rampant teenage sex was their reward with chainsaw guitars, screaming vocals and thudding bass. Like a kick in the balls it was soon over leaving a lasting impact, a stunning gig by one of the best gothic metal bands in the world. Who would match that?

After throwing his drum sticks into the audience the drummer joined the other band members giving free music CDs away by tossing a hundred into the crowd who went into a frenzy to get a free disc of music. The band had done five hundred free copies and every single one was given away as a free gift to the fans for showing such stunning support and enthusiasm. With one final wave Angie the Witch left the stage as band technicians joined the band dismantling the musical equipment ready for the next band – Gothic Sunrise led by the enigmatic singer Katie Kat.

The resident DJ played more gothic music and some old heavy metal to keep the crowd in a party mood; trade at the bar increased and people went to the toilets to relieve themselves in drunken queues. Some people had sex in the audience, on long leather settees and against the walls, they didn’t care, feelings of make love and party and fuck your inhibitions came over many people.

Denise was down on her knees in a dark corner of the club doing her trade, sucking the cock of a twenty two year old tattooed Goth guy. Her head bobbed up and down in quick movements, her tongue licked his bell end in rapid flicks bringing the young lad to orgasm quickly. She swallowed every bit of his spunk until he was dry, his low moans showed how much in ecstasy he was. She only charged him a single small quartz crystal he offered her; she was in a good mood on this special day.

Rolo had passed out on a big leather seat after drinking cider, lager and cocktails, would the next and final band wake him up?

Craig and Jason took it in turns to fuck a girl over a table as drunken people looked on; all three were naked and didn’t care. Jason fucked the girl from behind while she sucked Craig’s cock. Then they swapped over for their own self-gratification and the amusement of the people watching them. One lad got his cock out and wanked himself off as he enjoyed the small orgy.

Sandra was onto her fourth sexual partner of the night, a man who must have been old enough to be her father. She didn’t care as he made love to her so slowly and sensually by the side of the stage, her white wedding dress was bunched up around her shapely thighs. All of this went on while the second main band came on stage, it was Gothic Sunrise!

The lights dimmed and the crowd screamed in happiness again as the gothic sensation that was Gothic Sunrise led by Katie Kat exploded the night in stunning style. Katie Kat went straight to the mike and screamed, “Hey how the fuck are you? You know who we are so we don’t need introductions. And you’re our fellow Goths and alternative lovelies. We’re gonna give you a show you wont forget. Let’s do it!”

Flicking her black and red hair to one side Katie Kat whispered the first few words of their opening song as the other band members got ready, there was only three others: Nigel the drummer who was kitted out in black leather jeans, a shiny black PVC top and combat boots; Cris the lead guitarist who had an old East German army top on from hell knows where, faded Billie blue jeans cut down to show his tattooed legs and old brown “bodger” boots and the bass player called Noose after the hang man’s noose tattoo on his back and chest. He wore black jeans, old white trainers with no socks and no t-shirt so his namesake tattoos were on display to the audience. Getting on with the music they all started playing as Kate increased her vocal pitch and slowly built up a crescendo of sound. Her eyes were shut and she almost kissed the mike in an intimate performance; her song was about a lost kingdom of gothic folklore where giants, elves, wizards, warlocks and witches lived in a state of darkness and enduring battle. She dedicated this song to all of the witches and wizards in the audience. This song was number one in a series of three that started the gig, an up tempo number with good rhythm that had the audience singing along to. Without a break Gothic Sunrise did song two telling the tale of the oldest battle in history, the war between good and evil. In this song the Devil won the war and gained mastery of this mystical world, defeating his enemies. Everyone related to this.

Katie was a real picture dancing where she stood waving her arms about and now looking into space as the crowd danced before her, song three was a happy one. Goodness and white light defeating evil, banishing the Devil to the underworld for now, giving victory to the mortals and shape shifters after the wicked war of eternity.

“I knew you would like that series of songs, they’re on our Neverland album and we have some copies left. See us after the show! This next song is a new one from our forthcoming album, Out of the Ashes. Enjoy!” Katie enthused as she vigorously danced around in small circles. She looked fabulous in her black denim mini skirt and black bra top, her only clothes other than small red shoes on her feet. Many men and women looked lustily at her lovely smooth legs, following every move with their hungry eyes. Would anyone be lucky enough to fuck Katie after the show?

Craig and Jason finished fucking the girl and made their way to the front of the stage, naked! They left their clothing where they had thrown it when the fucked the girl, people laughed and pointed as the two drunken gothic guy edged to the front of the stage. Katie saw them and dedicated the next song “To the nice naked boys at the front!” they both loved this and grinned like cats.

Denise and Rolo were also near the front not wanting to miss the songs. Sandra was still in a clinch with some guy, after that she would watch the rest of the gig. More songs followed in a menagerie of fast and slow ones that entertained the crowd and gave them an experience never to be forgotten.

Minutes ticked down until the last song and Katie Kat thanked her audience for coming to see her band Gothic Sunrise at the Gothic Night club doing the Goth War music festival. What a mouthful that was! The crowd screamed and begged for more music, the band did three more songs and then that was it. Or so the audience thought.

Katie Katy and Angie the witch came on stage to perform a vocal harmony to show thanks to their audience for their total support, really there was no winning band everyone was equal here. Soft vocals wafted over the crowd soothing them. What came next was even better than the songs and live music – lesbian sex live on stage! Katie Kat unzipped her short black denim mini skirt and threw it into the crowd; this revealed the fact that she was wearing no underwear! She undid her black bra and it also went into the crowd who leaped this way and that to catch it. Angie the Witch sexily took off her pinkish dress and threw it as far as she was able into the crowd, her white thong knickers and bra went with it. Now she was naked, she walked up to Katie and slowly embraced her and placed a single kiss onto her cheek. Katie grinned to the audience and returned the kiss on Angie’s pouting red lips. Her hand moved down to Katie’s nice round breast to caress and tease the nipple until it was erect, then she slowly bent her head and kissed the firm nipple nibbling it with her teeth, running her tongue over the rough surface. And then the other one. Katie shut her eyes enjoying this erotic spectacle, the audience loved it and they cheered and screamed in enjoyment. Katie slowly moved her hands to Angie’s pussy feeling the wetness, as she wanted her. Together they lied down on the stage and began playing with each other, kissing, fingering, cajoling and enjoying each other’s beautiful sexy bodies in gothic splendour. Several members of the audience masturbated or had sex, being turned on by the scene that played out before them.

Katie and Angie were as one on the stage in front of a club full of hundreds of people, small sighs of desire emanated forth the sound of creation of something very special. Some of the audience filmed the scene with micro cameras for posterity, to show their friends that they were here. Proof to stop denial. Katie lifted her head up and dizzily focused on the crowd, after several seconds she saw Craig and Jason standing naked in the front row. With one finger she indicated, “Come to us. You won’t regret it!”

Both lads looked at one another and smiled, “We’re on the way ladies!” announced Craig, to which Jason replied, “Oh yeah!”

Climbing over the barrier between the crowd line and the stage was easier said than done, it was a smooth barrier four foot tall. Several other people gently helped the two guys climb over the top and up onto the stage, they didn’t want to damage their private parts before they had sex! Standing on the stage totally naked they both looked over at the huge crowd, it was an awe-inspiring site; everyone’s gaze was focused on the four naked adults two standing, two on the floor. Both men knew what it felt like to be in the public eye, what the ladies took for granted and were at ease with. They walked the few steps to Ang and Kate, rather shyly considering where they were and then got down to join the chicks. Craig ended up with Katie and Jason with Angie.

They got on with it, kissing both girls passionately like it was their last night on earth, not bothering about all of the horny people who were watching them. Craig put three fingers up Katie’s pussy and gave her a real hard fingering enjoying her warm wet juices.

Jason got down to it and fucked Angie with no foreplay, he put his seven inch hard cock up her shaved pussy and pumped away like there was no tomorrow, he groaned and moaned like an animal caught in a trap. Faster and faster he made love to Angie who closed her eyes and moved in rhythm to the deep solid thrusts that pounded her pussy. As Angie came Jason screamed, “Oh yes, oh yes…” over and over until he shot his spunk up her tight wet cunt. His orgasm made his toes curl giving him a bit of cramp but he ignored it and finished his role in this bizarre spectacle. After a one minute of sharing an orgasm Jason collapsed exhausted on the girl.

Not wanting to be left out of the action Craig lied down on the stage and motioned for Katie to mount him, she did so sliding effortlessly onto his nice ten inch cock. She rocked gently in delicate movements that brought huge enjoyment as her nice titties moved ever so slightly. Craig moved with her thrusting his cock up into her as she did the down thrust ever so gently. For half an hour they made love like this while next to them Angie and Jason embraced one another and dozed together in surreal happiness.

When Craig brought Katie to orgasm it was her biggest longest orgasm she ever had, shooting through her body making her feel so alive filling her very being with exotic erotic ecstasy. She increased her speed pounding up and down Craig’s huge purple shaft as he did his best to match her massive thrusts. She screamed long and hard he moaned one huge sound of lustful satisfaction, he came up the sexiest gothic lady he had ever set eyes on. After the act Katie bent her body to kiss Craig on the lips and she shyly smiled and said thanks. Not even last years Goth War had been this good, all the audience got then was a lesbian sex scene from the two ladies, this was so much better. Finally Goth War was over…

Law Of The Gun

Guns were sexy things; one legal shop in Renford sold the real deal, extra special ones custom made for the special person. Big Jake ran the gun shop called “Pistol Packin’ Mamma’s” and he was the sole owner who organised the sales, ordered bullets and ammunition, designed custom built weapons while working with his customers, was an expert in firearm use and an excellent shot. He studied eight hundred years of weapons and was a bad ass dude that you wouldn’t want to cross. Even the gangsters were wary of Big Jake, not starting trouble and choosing to trade with someone else rather than work on his rigid terms. He was the man of the moment when it came to all things with a barrel and a bullet. His son helped him in the workshop and if Big Jake were popped off by an unsatisfied customer (this was impossible because BJ was a perfectionist), then his son would take over the business and inherit the no1 legal gun shop in Renford.

One of BJ’s current projects was a nicely designed pistol for a secret client called “Fred” (an alias, he didn’t want his real identity revealing) who wanted a weapon that was unique to him, with certain design features. These made his little pistol seem like a real big howitzer cannon; if anyone crossed him he would turn them into a sieve, he was a real motherfucker! Fred’s pistol was superb; it was eighteen inches long with a barrel that was itself twelve inches long, made from platinum throughout to give added strength and excellent value. This was a weapon that would keep and increase its value over the coming years. Small intricate carvings were carved onto the metal showing Man’s Ruin: a tiny deck of playing cards complete with dice and a pair of hands; a naked woman with long hair with a pretty facial expression, nice erect nipples, crossed legs with lovely shapely thighs and a raised hand with a single finger beckoning the viewer to join her for erotic desires; a bottle of whiskey was next to the lady along with two drinking glasses representing alcoholism and the damage it offered, matched by its addictive qualities; a needle with crack pipe, joint and assorted pills came next, showing the danger of illegal drugs; an open packet of cigarettes complete with Zippo lighter balanced out by a pipe and cigars showed the final chapter of the stunning Man’s Ruin carvings that BJ spent hours labouring over in a real act of love. A heavy thirteen-millimetre bullet was fired down the barrel, enough to kill an elephant with a single shot to the head.

Past the barrel was the body of the gun, again solid platinum that was machined out to give great strength and durability through its working life. A rear sight backed up the front single metal sight used to aim the weapon; the rear sight was adjustable for ranges of up to four hundred metres – not bad for a handgun. Fittings were provided for a laser sight under the barrel to project a green or red beam to accurately aim the weapon. At dusk this sight gave a range of well over four hundred yards to place a bullet in the kill zone, at such a distance a small telescopic sight was mounted onto the rear sight to give depth and focus. This had the ability to image intensify, so night shooting could be safely carried out. Other attachments could be fitted like a torch for simple night use, a small grenade launcher replacing the laser sight when it was not needed and a rifle type stock that slotted onto the rear of the pistol to provide steady aiming to shoot a bullet accurately at the guns maximum range of over four hundred yards. To increase ammunition capacity from the current fifteen round magazine that fitted snugly into the handle, a large fifty round box mag replaced the smaller one giving extended firing time. Any gunfight was rarely longer than fifty rounds in duration but it was an option that was available with the other equipment. Normally this wouldn’t be used due to the gun being a smaller weapon than if it had the extra kit on it. But the option was nice, it added to the rare prestigious elitist club of having your own unique personal weapon. The gun was built and just needed testing and then picking up by the owner who had commissioned the project.

At the other end of the scale, a rifle had been ordered to be produced by another private person, again under secrecy and hush-hush with no questions asked for a large fee of traded goods. The rifle was three times more powerful than the specially built handgun, which in itself was four times more lethal than a normal nine-millimetre pistol. No special carvings were on the barrel; this was pure chrome firing a fifteen-milli bullet made of solid tungsten that was armour piercing and had a range of up to two miles. This gun was called the Buffalo Gun because the owner wanted to go and shoot new genetic man made buffalos in New America when it was ready; rich customers paid up to a million credits a head to hunt and kill genetic buffalos. Man had exterminated the real natural buffalos over a hundred years ago; scientists had taken over the role of god and invented a new modified genetic buffalo for hunting and blood sports. This was more money for the fascist all-powerful New American government who wanted all of the credits they could get.

The Buffalo Gun was a real motherfucker; a banana shaped magazine slotted into the top and held twenty huge 15mm bullets that were the biggest to go into any modern rifle. A massive muzzle break made the recoil more manageable so the firer wouldn’t have a broken shoulder, now a teenager could fire this wicked weapon with ease. An option of an electronic palm reader was offered that ensured only the owner would be able to fire the rifle, he didn’t want anyone to steal his thunder. The price was secret but it was expensive, not paid in money but in other valuable commodities like gold, diamonds and jewellery to name just the obvious.

BJ was able to make a new weapon every two weeks when working on his own, his son helped with the minor jobs. He liked to keep his skills secret, teaching his son the most basic skills but he was a realist, he knew one day he would die and then his business would be left to his only son. So soon he would have to start training and educating his lad in the ways of the professional gunsmith, this was an art that had to be kept alive by passing on the knowledge in the secret art of weapon making from design to manufacture to providing spare parts. Being selfish was good because it kept one’s secrets close to ones chest, in the event of an accident the same secrets died a death, lost forever. BJ’s son would soon be more than just a helping hand.

Special security arrangements protected the shop and attached workshop so no one could steal the priceless guns, ammo or valuable tools. Armoured glass protected the shop front from the biggest artillery rounds, a heavy bullet proof door gave secure access and hidden landmines gave deadly effects that could be turned on and off by a remote switch. A multitude of security sensors covered every inch of the property providing water tight surveillance. Security was the number one priority and this was adhered to like older people still stuck to outdated and obsolete religion, it was something to believe in and to give a damn about. No one yet had gotten into the shop uninvited and BJ planned on keeping it that way. He had a special gun to defend the front of the shop, a laser cannon of his own design and though not perfect, it was adequate. Being a big weapon of advanced technology, he struggled to down size it. It was based on thirty-year-old military technology and he failed every time when he made the parts smaller, he wasn’t skilled enough on exotic guns like that. So he stuck to normal firearms of special commissioned design and in this he excelled, his order book was full for two years and growing every week. His large single experimental laser was good enough for shop defence fixed in one location. Its short but powerful bursts of laser energy would turn a person to smoking goo, when he test fired it once a fortnight he warned people not to come too close. He never stopped them from watching the tests, this got word out, “Don’t mess with BJ and try to rob his store or else!”

In his garden he had a firing range to test his newly built weapons on, he simulated long-range shots with smaller targets and this system hadn’t failed him yet. BJ was the proprietor of Renford’s most specialised shop dealing in death but in such a poetical way. No one else would ever have a pistol with Man’s Ruin carved on the barrel.

Another interesting place was the Medusa Weapon Facility at the other side of town; this was a factory/warehouse/facility with state of the art defences and specially trusted workers. A huge variety of weapons were stored here, maintained and repaired or manufactured including hand guns, missile launchers and their missiles, tanks and other armoured fighting vehicles dating back seventy plus years and other types of armaments. For a price a specific weapons could be hired, used in an operation and then returned and for part of the deposit, for example if you wanted to murder a person who was causing your family stress, a fee was paid and the weapon and ammo was provided. Depending on if the weapon was used and the number of bullets fired, this decided the level of deposit returned. In a town where money wasn’t used for transactions many different things replaced normal money, precious metals like gold, silver and platinum, precious/semi precious stones, old coins with a high archaeological value and various types of alcohol were established trading items in use at the facility. If you had nothing to trade but needed a weapon you were out of luck, then you had to approach the underworld gangsters for an illegal weapon. Mess them around and a heavy price was paid. The same gangsters often used the facility to borrow anything from a rocket launcher to a tank depending on what equipment/weapons they needed.

Most guns were obtainable by the underworld criminals but not all, so the Weapons Facility had a special relationship with the hardened criminals of the town and surrounding area. An agreement was secretly hammered out, that if the English army attacked Renford or the surrounding area and if the factory was in danger of being captured, the gangsters and criminals who had signed the secret agreement would help defend the facility and the town to prevent its capture. The small lightly equipped but well trained Frontier Corps organised town defence and would oversee defence operations using the facilities skills, staff, weapons and contacts in time of crisis. Failing its defence, powerful high explosive charges were positioned to totally destroy the Weapon Facility and the stored weapons within, it was hoped this would never happen. Time would tell.

Built over the preceding fifty years were a number of storage rooms, repair workshops, production areas, testing ranges and a dozen other important secret buildings situated above and below ground. More important weapons like missiles and rockets were stored in concrete silos underground, if a single warhead exploded this ensured that the others wouldn’t be set off in the blast. Heavy vehicles like tanks were stored in big concrete bunkers semi recessed in the ground; they could be used in case of emergency more quickly this way if an enemy was nearby attacking the complex. Till now there had been no direct threat to the complex or the town but further east the English army had occupied a lot of territory and little news of what went on in those areas got out. Some people thought a move against the complex by the army would follow the recent territory gains but nothing of the nature had yet occurred. Plans were in place for just such a move to defend the site and Renford. Those involved on the planning side knew the power of the army and the huge battle that would take place if an attack were carried out. If the English army overran the Weapon Facility it would be turned into a factory making even more weapons to use on innocent people. Armed gangsters and other criminals would be wiped out because of the threat they posed, they had weapons and training coupled with the will to fight and resist, that was a big threat the military couldn’t ignore.

Of the many defence plans considered, not even the most water tight planning would be enough to defeat the army intent on total victory, good use had to be made of illusion and disinformation. This denied the enemy an advantage and gave the defenders more than a fighting chance of survival; no one mentioned victory and the odds were too great. Most of the population of Renford chose to ignore any direct threat and get on with their lives, in the hope they would be left alone.

One very special place in the building was the Theoretical Shop. A group of special people with hundreds of designs for unbuilt weapons, ranging in size from highly advanced laser weapons (this was the next level of technology, it wasn’t feasible now until the components were miniaturised) to a stunning design of a nuclear strike fighter from the old Soviet Union, a jet fighter called Aeroprogress T-720. In time this design, the factory and associated people would be instrumental in the defence of this very facility, town and area. Would they succeed?

An eccentric person called Ernie the Worm was unique to Renford; he lived just out of town near the abandoned railway track in a dilapidated cottage once occupied by the Railway Master. Ernie liked, no loved, trains and everything to do with them, he was once a train spotter who at weekends participated in his favourite hobby, taking down the numbers of trains and their carriages. He was rumoured to have the number of every single train in Great Britain from before the wars, except the special military trains on enclosed bases. These were out of reach to everyone but the military. On a length of track next to his house Ernie the Worm kept an old steam locomotive that must have been a hundred years old. Coupled up to the back of it was an equally ancient anti aircraft cannon, a Bofors 40mm anti aircraft gun that was protected by a greased tarpaulin to keep the weather off it. It actually fired if Ernie could be bothered to test it, when he wasn’t dreaming of trains and stations from the bygone days, now lost forever in the aeons of time. A stash of ammo gave ten years worth of conservative firing if Ernie didn’t go mad; he stored this ammo under the cottage in the basement. If it exploded if would raise the roof in more way than one, taking the eccentric engine driver with it.

His father was a train driver, before he was killed in an accident that left a hundred and two dead and scores injured or maimed. The cause was never established but the stigma of this fatal accident that killed so many, including Ernie’s dad, was never to leave him. He was ostracised by the community for being part of “that” family, whose father caused the crash (this was never proven because he died in the accident and couldn’t give a witness statement).

Moving from town to town for twelve years, Ernie thought he would never get near a train again, that is until the chaos following the civil war, nuclear exchange and collapse of law and order, allowed him to do what he wanted. And he did, moving into the old cottage by the track near Renford station, to commandeer the train with its accompanying cannon. This would have been scrapped but the wars stopped all of that, now it belonged to Ernie, he called it a she and gave her a name – Betty – in memory of his dead mother. The death of her husband in the train crash drove her crazy and she topped herself with painkillers and vodka. Now her memory lived on in the train that belonged to Ernie, as did that of his dead father, each time the train was fired and used.

A five-mile length of track survived near Renford, on this Ernie drove Betty at a steady ten miles an hour, never breaking into a sweat and hitting forty which was the top speed if enough track was available. Betty was a stately lady who got the best care and attention. Ernie had stripped and reconditioned her boiler and steam system including installing a new funnel, painted her in vivid colours and held a small ceremony, putting Betty back into service after years of standing idle. The only person to use her was Ernie but he didn’t mind, this train was his baby and his dream, nothing would come between them.

Being armed with a 40mm gun on a flat bed carriage gave a feeling of security and safety, only a fool or a brave soldier would interfere in their business. A selection of targets mounted upon the nearby hill gave good target practise at a variety of distances from fifty yards out to five hundred and then finally, one mile. Capable of firing out to six miles, the cannon was rarely fired that far because Ernie had no way of aiming such long distances accurately. Firing the weapon was a three man job. One to load the weapon with ammunition, one to aim by using the optical range finder and one to fire by the delicate firing mechanism, not to mention two men to drive the train – a driver and a person to shovel coal into the hungry boiler. Ernie fired the gun when the train was stationery because he was the only member of Betty’s crew; he did every single job in a labour of patience and love.

Ernie used to have a friend who loved trains but he disappeared one day after trying to get the registration numbers of the English army’s secret trains on a military base. Rumours circulated that his friend was shot and killed as an example to others, keep out of secret areas! No one knew if this was true or not. His disappearance was a mystery and Ernie mourned his loss in secret, he didn’t pry because he didn’t want to be next. So he quietly mourned Fred’s loss and the several other anoraks that had liked trains and suddenly disappeared over the years. Had they moved away or been abducted by the English army? It did make Ernie the Worm wonder…

Renford was a large town with inhabitants who had character, interesting buildings and lots of history around the area. Stretching back seven hundred years to the Middle Ages when darkness, death and disease ravaged the land, the town had managed to exist through the years. Even in the earliest days, weapons had been produced here on a personal and industrial scale, from bows and arrows that stopped the French in the nineteenth Century, to long range rifles used in World War1, to guided smart bombs from the first Persian Gulf War. Today our intrepid characters kept that history of making weapons going; a commissioned pistol and a maintained tank that was good as new.

In secret factories under English army control, very advanced weapons were being made to be used on a modern battlefield. In their theatrical battle plans Renford was part of that stage show of war and death. A new range of modern army weapons, much more dangerous than anything ever produced or maintained in Renford, how would this technological gulf be crossed if and when war visited town? Would human spirit be enough or would it be more targets for the army gunners and artificially intelligent weapons systems? The Law of the Gun applied equally to both sides, from organised gangsters who controlled Renford’s streets, to the evil English army who occupied the eastern part of England.

To be a warrior meant different things to different people; one warrior in particular worshipped guns, her name was Tina. She was a thirty five year old half cast woman who was in peak physical shape and fitness in her emotions, her spirituality, physically and mentally. Though her journey had been fraught by darkness, despair and warfare, she recognised this as the lot of a warrior and accepted it, embraced it. It made her who she was, a fighter in the spirit and tradition of the ancient Amazon women warriors of pre-history, queens of the battlefield killing and controlling vast areas in a conflict with their male brethren. In time, they lost their war but by doing so gained undying respect, eternal mysticism and became enduring legends for following generations, to be celebrated in poetry, song and stories.

Tina was a real kick ass lady and one who gained automatic respect; she was a ninja black belt Tai Kwon Do lethal bizzle karate kid as fast as you can read this kind of kick your ass girl but in a nice way! She gained respect from her enemies for kicking their asses and coming out on top every single time, period. No one else was like this, except the dangerous gangsters, these she ignored unless their paths crossed and then it was a real barn dance of fists and feet. If that didn’t settle the matter it was firearm time, in this regards Tina was armed to the teeth and back down to her feet with more bullets and guns than a man could carry. Sometimes she carried ten different weapons from throwing stars to knuckle dusters to shot guns, she was very highly skilled with them all.

She bought her guns from Big Jake’s shop Pistol Packin’ Mamma’s. Her favourite was a gun called a Bloody Paralyzer, for the reason of the metal bullet it fired packed with a small battery/capacitor which delivered a fatal shock to the victim, much like the old stun guns but over a range of up to three hundred yards. It a carbon fibre body that was based on stealth materials, so it wouldn’t be picked up on metal detectors when Tina escorted important people to the few areas that still functioned, like major weapon factories, professional vehicle manufacturers that designed and made battery powered vehicles, dog handling facilities that sold top grade guard dogs and a score of other places. Female escort was one of the lucrative jobs that she offered as a service; personal service came extra on a varied scale. Tina didn’t mind doing this, it was a good earner on top of her other jobs, she was a real business woman who knew how to plan, carry out and keep goods contacts so they would come back time and again. Until now she hadn’t needed to use her Bloody Paralyzer in a tricky situation, she practised twice a week to keep proficient and never missed a target. Would she be able to do the same on a real person whom was out to hurt or rob her? It wasn’t long till she found out.

While escorting a male gangster who wanted someone not connected to his private circle for a night out, an incident happened half way through the evening. It was all going to plan until the gangster made an unsolicited move on Tina before discussing prices and services, this broke her business code and offended her, she had to set an example or her reputation would be affected. The gangster was called Tim, he was 23 years old and on his way up, he was reasonably attractive, of average intelligence, had some good tattoo designs on his arms, could fight in a defensive situation (but not offensive), had good training in firearms and he thought he was the man. To the lads under his level, he was the man but not to Tina. He was just another customer who had a reputation that he wanted to build on and he thought she was it, so he made a move – the wrong choice!

Tim went to kiss Tina on the lips; he pulled her head towards him when they were sat on the plush leather seats in an expensive bar in a hidden village south of Renford. She allowed her head to be drawn towards the middle level criminal and for his lips to touch hers in a short kiss. Then his tongue parted those same lips and met her tongue in a probing action that set alarm bells ringing in Tina’s head, she bit Tim’s tongue making him shout and rapidly pull back.

“You bitch, you fuckin’ whore!” he screamed as he stood up and glared at the girl.

“Sit down and finish your drink please,” she said in a measured voice, not wanting to escalate the situation.

Tim thought this over and then he aimed a punch at the girl, deciding to kick off and get his own back on her. His punch brushed her hair as she ducked just in time and got ready for his next attack, a rough kick aimed at her stomach; this connected winding Tina.

She groaned, “Enough is enough!”

“Yeah? I don’t think so; I’ve not even started with you yet!”

“You had the chance to stop but you didn’t. Now you are for it.”

In a split second Tina flipped her nice arse up off the seat and sprang through space with her right leg connecting with Tim’s left thigh; this unbalanced him and his next punch sailed into space at no target missing. Another kick followed the first; hitting his knee and sending him onto his backside in a cloud of swear word and curses. Tina stood over him with her hands on her hips, “What did I tell you? You don’t mess with me, not now nor ever, do you understand?”

“Fuck you bitch! I’m not paying you now after that. Fuck you!” shouted the crim.

“I would not hold payment back if I was you, I could take it out of your body. The choice is yours and yours alone.”

He thought it over and silence descended until he broke it. “Yeah I’ll pay it, no problem. I’m sorry for any trouble I’ve caused.”

“I knew you’d see it my way, here take my hand I’ll help you up,” Tina quietly said as she reached out to help Tim up, never taking her eyes off him. Many curious eyes watched from other tables and the bar but no one interfered in this bizarre but common scene. Tim slowly got up and brushed himself down.

“I think we should end this evening now and go our separate ways,” Tina announced, still watching her opponent and keeping her distance.

“Yeah I agree. I’m out of here. I’ll pay you outside away from prying eyes.”

“Okay that will do nicely, after you,” Tina agreed, giving the impression that she wasn’t fazed. Now she was ready for anything. She wouldn’t give her back to Tim, so he could shoot her from behind, no fucking way. He slowly walked out of the bar onto the car park to Tina’s battery powered vehicle; his hand was in his pocket reaching for his wallet to take out payment. Stopping he turned around to face the woman, she stood with her hands on her waist ready to be paid for her time spent with this low life before her.

In his hand he held something, “I have some gold sheets for you, I think two should be adequate in payment for time taken.”

“Okay, show me then. I’ll check it so it’s not fake. I don’t want any shit coloured plastic!” Tina venomously replied.

“Oh I wouldn’t do that to you Tina my dear. Here…” slowly he turned his hand over, in it was…

“Oh no you don’t you cunt!” Tina cursed as she saw the small Berretta 9mm pistol in the gangster’s hand, not his wallet. She was ready for this; from her sleeve she flicked her special surprise – her Bloody Paralyzer. She aimed it at Tim and fired just before he did. Her single round hit him dead centre in his chest, punching a hole through his white silk shirt to lodge in his chest and knocking him off his feet badly winding him. His bullet roared over Tina’s head when she involuntarily ducked, ready to fire again. She didn’t need to. The electric charge surged through Tim’s body from the capacitor in the hollow low velocity bullet. Seventy five thousand volts zoomed through him making his body jerk, twitch and body pop, do a head spin as white froth ejaculated from his mouth and an old skool hip hop tune pounded from hidden speakers with the bass turned up full. Run DMC anyone? Body popping motherfucker! Five minutes of jerking nerve ending nervous twitching controlled the crim, removing his anger like it was never there.

Stepping over to the comatose form when the charge was spent, Tina watched him for a minute to check that he was out of the fight, on seeing he was no threat she reached down and frisked Tim. Finding his wallet, she carefully removed it and took her payment: two gold sheets for time taken, no more. She could have robbed him, taken his wallet and gun but she didn’t. Tina knew Tim had learnt his lesson and never be a threat again. Word of this incident would be all over town by now thus enhancing her deadly but real reputation. Smiling Tina got into her battery-powered car and slowly drove away from the scene leaving an unconscious Tim on the ground. She floored it on the open road reaching the vehicles top speed of thirty miles an hour…

my 1st blog on here

Monday, 2 December 2013

Juniper’s Daughter: Frontier Town by Nick Armbrister 1