Ultima Thule by Jimmy Boom Semtex

Ultima Thule by Jimmy Boom Semtex

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ISBN: 978-1-326-14210-0

Focke-Wulf Fw 44 Stieglitz
She was a very pretty biplane. Nothing more nothing less. With the usual biplane looks. Double wings, two open cockpits, fixed wheels. A tail dragger of course. You're wrong in thinking she's American. Don't think she's innocent. She's a real bitch, a Nazi! And she looked as smart as any evil SS officer in his uniform. Kurt Tank designed her well. She was easy to fly, ideal for new pilots. Today she would be called a weapon system. Giving future bomber, reconnaissance and fighter pilots their first taste of powered flight. This pretty little biplane was responsible for something. The start of Luftwaffe pilot's careers. On the road to killing tens of thousands of people, not all enemies. All this in a pretty little biplane with a quirky name - Stieglitz. Most remarkable of all, some still fly to this day. Looping, rolling, turning and diving. A German Tigermoth equivalent. Her place in history is guaranteed.

link to FREE poetry ebook download edited by jimmy boom semtex

http://www.lulu.com/shop/jimmy-boom-semtex/the-poetry-prose-and-quotes-of-jms-and-other-writers/ebook/product-21488393.html

Gpig Dance

I’m the beer drinking blue guinea pig who likes to dance.

See me dance around and round while I drink my beer.

Nananana I’m the blue guinea pig who likes beer.

I drink it when I can in a pub called The Rabbit Hole.

I love a dance and am a party animal.

I’m the blue beer drinking guinea pig.

Nananana I go to the pub to drink and dance.

No other animal is like me.

I’m so unique and a party animal.

Drinking strong dirty beer in the boozer.

Round and around I dance with Shirley the shrew.

She’s a real goer and goes with me.

She loves a rumpy pump with me.

I’m the beer drinking blue guinea pig,

Don’t you know?

Nananana I’m the blue guinea pig and I drink beer.

Lots of dirty beer in my blue hairy belly.

Nananana I’m in the pub drinking dirty beer…

final flight

FINAL FLIGHT


Harriers hit us at dawn. Did their job pretty well. Bombed our runway, cratering the tarmac in a dozen places, killing six groundcrew, two aircrew and two officers. Our fuel truck went-up, too, as did three planes. We can use the grass to fly; we’ll miss our groundcrew, but we can service our own jets. Sacha and his WSO never got to the shelter. A sad loss, we’ll fight back even harder. Officers, screw them. Fuelling by hand from 50-gallon drums and hand pump is hard, but what we train for. Our planes can’t be replaced. Scorched and blasted to bits, like our lost men. Gone. Time to fly, to hit back against NATO. Yes, we’ll really screw them over. Everyone to the briefing tent, including my Annie. She’s my co-pilot, navigator, Weapon System Operator, and sensor operator. She’s good, that’s why I chose her to be with me in battle. She is second-to-none – and I’m in love with her, completely. If our officers knew of our affair, I’d be grounded – she would be transferred at the least. But, this is war – World War III, to be exact.
We receive a full briefing considering our field conditions. Our officers are jerks, but good at their job. Everyone listened, wanting to miss nothing. We all knew some would die. 
To our warplanes! Take the netting off – annoying as it always snags on the eight-blade prop. Open the cockpit canopy. Annie climbs into her front cockpit to do the pre-flight check and bring the systems up. I do the walkround checking to see if anything isn’t as it should be. I get to the weapons and remove the arming pins. Our loadout is two Brightstar IF air-to-air missiles on each outer wing pylon, two Saffron anti-tank missiles inboard, two Medusa anti-radar missiles on the inner wing pylons and, to enhance our range, three drop-tanks: two inboard of the Medusas and a centreline one behind the semi-recessed twin 23mm cannon pack. This Annie armed when I was in the cockpit. Nothing amiss, I climbed aboard and did my own pre-flight, checked with Annie that everything was green, then closed the canopy.
Signalling to the groundcrew to remove the power lead, I initiated start-up procedure: six steps to get our eight-blade prop spinning. Hear the APU whine and turn the turboprop over. Noise building, even in my earphones. All okay on the MFD showing engine parameters. Move the single throttle from idle to minimum to max power. Feel our bird come alive. See Annie busy with her screens. Check to see if she is okay, that our plane is; switch to encrypted channel and quick clearance to go. Yes! We roll out of our earth revetment to the grass take-off strip. Why didn’t the Harriers sow denial weapons? We’d have lost more jets. Full power, away we go, bumping over the grass past burnt-out planes, to the sky. We are airborne! Climb out at shallow angle to stay below NATO radar (we don’t believe it, radar has moved on) and give us maximum surprise.
Our fuel burn is higher but we are so near the front... I scan my three MFD screens, see we’re being picked up by NATO radar, so I drop us lower – our radar-absorbing paint and carbon fibre helps, but death is death. My tension increases.
I see Annie before me, her head moving from display to display, to her HOD, to look outside and back again. I feel the urge to tell her what she means to me, that the songs are true. I don’t. I order a new course to our target. We all fly alone. Good or bad tactics? Historians will discuss this later, if anyone survives this. 
Suddenly, our RWR comes alive – NATO fighter! I turn into the threat that my display shows is to my port. I order Annie to turn our ECH jammer to manual then to auto. Should’ve done it before! Could be our death! I switch my HOD to dogfight mode and do a series of turns to check our tail. Clear. There! Sun glinting on a canopy, a flare of flame as a missile is launched. Heat-seeker this close; dropping chaff to break his lock, flares to blind his missile. Come on, Annie, jam his radar, be my eyes. G-force crushes me, my turn takes us to a wing above the ground. Be careful! Climb, full combat power. Turn, roll, face him. His Sidewinder misses as my turn is too tight and the missile cannot follow us. BANG! As it detonates twenty metres away, shockwave from 25 pounds of iron filled with explosives shakes my plane. A Devil slap, white-hot shrapnel cuts into the right wing, two neat holes in the carbon fibre skin. I glance at the holes, at my MFD showing minor damage only, nothing bad, and at the holes again, then at the enemy. I recognise him as an F-20 Tigershark as she shoots past. NATO’s best fighter means trouble.
Annie turns our radar to air-to-air, gives me control of it and our two Brightstar missiles and wishes me luck as I turn and follow him. Almost out of sight, he arcs around in a high g-turn to re-attack. My Topaz radar acquires him, I lock him up with my HOTAS controls and I grunt as a green box appears on my HOD. His coffin, should he enter it. My helmet sights back it up, gives overkill when my enemy is outside my HOD. I bring our nose up, roll wings level and speed towards him. Several hundred feet up and climbing, visible to AWACS and everyone else scanning heavenwards. Growl in my ear. Lock-on! P-20 in my helmet sights, just above my HOD. Press the tit, port Brightstar ignites on a tail of fire, spears away so fast. I half roll, turn and dive away for the deck. I punch out half-a-dozen flares and chaff, ignoring the centre MFD and HOD repeater saying that Annie is dispensing the same damn countermeasures. Close in, our jammers struggle due to his high power agile radar. The RWR gives bearings on two search radar. SANs. More dangerous than any F-20 – hidden death from below. Cutting it fine, I dive us below tree level, roll into a valley and safety. Our RWR goes black. Glancing around and above, I see a brief explosion over a hill. Did we get him or did he evade our missiles, like we did his – just? Ground warning horn blaring – ten feet limit! I pull-up around fallen boulders, turn around valley sides, follow a winding path. In my element, I lift my wing as the horn goes off again. Annie shouts her curses at me, the war...
Recklessly, I scream at her, my Annie who’d die if I push instead of pull the stick. Who I’d never let anyone else have – like my plane. I killed the damn horn, pushed my control stick and we headed lower. Five feet above level ground, she screams in terror, startling me. I pull-up over a boulder as big as a tank. Glancing at my mirror, I see dust kicked up by my prop-wash. I let our nose rise, kick full right rudder and snap-roll in the valley. Scream my love for Annie, who turns to look at me in terror, some loose black hair twirling with the g-force. She sees my wicked grin and returns it, briefly. I level off as the valley dies out. Annie curses me, says she loves me for always, that I’m the best pilot. I smile. This is as close to marriage as we could get.
Hell! Armoured column! Tanks passing under us. No radar. I line-up to fire my 23mm cannon, see shells strike a tank without harm. Another. Too much top-armour. Troop carrier. Quick correction – got him! Light armour smashed by my explosive and armour piercing shells. I smile at the thought of NATO troops being blown to bits, burned alive and killed. Annie brings up ground scan on the radar, tells me what I can already see: thirty-plus vehicles on one narrow road; now SAM or antiaircraft defence as the RWR was blank. I fire at another APC. Ordered Annie to lock-up a tank with a Saffron on our next pass. At full throttle, I open the air-breaks, turn on a wing and shoot back down the line. Annie smoothly talks herself through her act, launches. I felt the kick back as our port anti-tank missile left the rail. Down it went to kill a Challenger tank in one go. Soon, our other Saffron did the same, another tank and crew dead. What a run! Better than any training exercise, any day! Around again with guns blazing, searching-out troop carriers that stop to try and save their men. I get one kill, another damaged before my ammo runs out. Annie calls up the squadron and army tank-killing choppers to come to the party. We head-back to base.
Mission almost over, quick exhilaration of battle leaves me tired. Annie snaps me out of my reverie as we change course. My IFF gives off friendly signals as Annie tells me Major Topol, our CO, has congratulated us on the tank find. He is inbound to attack, coordinating with two other of our planes. Two others had used all their ammo on pre-set targets, they RTB. We had already lost one jet with crew missing. Annie made it clear that it was so nearly us, I stopped her. I am a better pilot than what-was-his-name? The new guy from Kirov. Newbies die first. Still, my two years on Sukhoi Su-25s in Afghanistan had taught me well. I was hit by small arms fire nine times, lost an engine to a Stinger and struggled back in a dying jet. There weren’t many 25s then, I was honoured by my CO but that meant little when I saw my comrades die every week. Then I learnt to hate officers, transferred out of the war to the new Aeroprogress training centre on the new Sukhoi T.134 attack fighter. My combat experience was needed due to their new design being ready to be shipped to the war. We spent two years deciding what worked, what didn’t. A guerrilla war was nothing for what we planned for: the full takeover of Western Europe by force. I was shocked when I learnt the truth, but I had expected it. NATO had sabre-rattled against our front line re-equipment. Our new T.134 was just such a weapon, along with attack choppers like our Mil 28 and Kamov 52, our MiG 29 and Sukhoi 27 multirole fighters, our Tupelov 22M3 and Tupelov 160 nuclear bombers. Not to mention the nuclear missiles for if – and when – NATO responded. We had new tanks, APCs and all the other equipment we would need. As the T.134 was a two-seater, I was crewed with Annie to show her what tactical fighting was all about. Falling in-love wasn’t part of the plan, our secret and ours alone. Now we needed one another like never before. It was total war.
Suddenly, our RWR came alive with three ground radars searching for us. Immediately one locked-on to us, warning tone changing from a mesmerising sound like a bird to an evil report that I turned down. A second had got intermittent lock. We, me and Annie, talked, planned. Climbing so we popped-up permanently on their scopes, we turned our jammer to manual. Annie gently found their frequency, told the computer to follow any shifts and jammed them every three seconds, on a low power setting. We didn’t have long before a Roland SAN came after us. Now! Annie ordered. She launched our port Medusa in hunter-killer mode, down the NATO radar beam. He would be hit, even if silent. He emitted and died, data linked to us before impact confirmed a hard-kill. Annie launched our last offensive weapon at another site; this was further and launched two Roland SANs on our tail. I got us in the weeds, Annie dumped countermeasures and jammed them. Rolling and turning over flat fields at 500 knots was fast but not Mach 3 like a Roland. I checked my fuel on my MFD; time to drop our wing tanks. Jolt as they fell free, our centre one will follow when empty. Speed 550 now, no indication of a hard-kill. Both Rolands go whizzing off our track, ballistic. We got past them! Just one IR missile left, better take no chances. Got our map up on my centre NFD, check with Annie for best course. Fuel is okay but combat must be avoided.
On our encrypted radio something comes through. NATO just went tactical with nukes! Annie swears. This is it – they did it, pushed the button. More orders, Annie patches them to me. In code. I go white. All planes RTB to re-fuel and re-arm with tactical nuclear weapons. No words said, just a code sequence unique to each surviving plane. Target data discs would be given when we landed, our bombs loaded with engine running. Hot refuelling. Annie already gave me the two best ways back. I take the fastest. NATO troops fire small arms at us, red tracer arcs past us, missing. Jinking around trees and low hills we come to base. I send our codeword and slow to land. A fast blur distracts me. No! Annie!
Whiteness.

Fashion Sharks by Jimmy Boom Semtex

Fashion Sharks by Jimmy Boom Semtex

Copyright Jimmy Boom Semtex 2014 all rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-291-88457-9

In the park
It was a nice sunny day in Hiroshima. People were enjoying the warm June sun on this Saturday afternoon in Wisteria Park. Amongst them was one young lady who was frowning; her thoughts weren't on the sun. More important things beckoned like the latest in ladies fashion. One particular dress was causing her some consternation. The thin shoulder straps just didn't look right. It was where they attached to the top of the dress. But on paper they looked good. The lady, age 23 and called Jelma, frowned again.
"This isn't looking good. Well, it does on paper but it won't for real, no. No not at all. That was confirmed on the test dress," Jelma muttered to herself.
Everything about the dress looks great, it's just those damned shoulder straps. I like them, the way they look. Yet they didn't work on the test piece I made. So annoying. I'll have to redesign them, if not the whole damn dress. Damn it. I don't want to do that. The dress looks good. Just the straps. Jelma's mind was fraught with tension. She was stressed. Not good. Pausing from her pad, she put down her art pencil down and took a gulp of her drink. That's nice. I sure do love this sweet grapefruit drink. Pocari Sweat. Silly name though. Silly like the problem with these damned shoulder straps!
Pausing for a few minutes, Jelma took time out. She stretched and knew she looked good in her cut down grey jeans and pink top. Style was always with her. Minutes slowly passed and her thoughts reformed themselves and she watched people in the park. Some read magazines, others played football, many flew kites of intricate design. More simply strolled in the ornate gardens. Many were couples spending time together. Jelma drank the last of her grapefruit drink, crumpled the can and put it in her bag to dispose of later.

Fire Extinguisher Man extract

Halfway through a six mile run, Fire Extinguisher Man was pushing himself hard. He was running round the small lake that was near his home, bordered by forest and a wetland area. A strange woman was crossing his path; he spotted her from a distance and stopped when nearby. The clothing she wore was simple yet effective. A simple brown woven dress tied at the waist with twine, backed up with ex army boots and an old cap, were her attire. Her figure was visible when the breeze caught the dress material. 

Our

Our world is an amazing place with a stunning beauty of nature and precious life all over the globe. Both human and animal. Take your pick where you live, on a river boat taking it easy or in the mountains amongst the clouds.

Where would I live? An island in the middle of nowhere with a nice wife and our family.

Eating fresh fish and living by the beach, happy. So much to see and do, make sure you enjoy your one life. Don't do evil acts, spare the world bad karma and wicked deeds. Make music not missiles. It's important to have fun and treat others as you do yourself.

Time in nature will help you be one with yourself and our world, as we spin around the sun. A miracle of evolution with us in the middle.

JIMMY BOOK SEMTEX erotica author/alternative poet facefuk link

https://www.facebook.com/jimmyboomsemtex666

Natalie. BA Ravaged

Natalie. BA Ravaged

The last time I saw my parents was the day we rowed. I told them my wish to join the Colonial Marines, to become a Starship Trooper and above all, a Citizen. Dad went into orbit and mum ballistic. Their plans for me, their only daughter, were ruined. No trip to Mars or going to uni at the outer planets.

Off I went. I joined up and got my wish. I was in! Basic training was murder but I passed. I put in for Starship training. Pilots were needed. My parents called and were really nice. I told them I was accepted and they congratulated me. We said meet soon. Then the signal cut out. A transmission glitch?

It was later we heard. The bugs took out BA with a rock. We were at war! As soon as my training was done, I was being deployed on a war faring starship. I was nineteen years old. My parents were both dead. As were a million others in Buenos Aires. Earth was at war with the bugs.

Juniper’s Daughter Picks a Man 

On a cold rainy early winter night Juniper’s Daughter landed her flying disc on the car park of Aldi and went for a beer. She was dressed in casual attire so as not to stand out, she wanted a man and did it the old skool way. Juniper’s Daughter sauntered in the bar held the door open with one hand and let all of the men in the venue get a good look at her, in turn she took in each of them.

Most were crap but one caught her eye. She slowly looked his way and made eye contact and entered the pub, walking over to him. Two dozen sets of male eyes and several female tracked her as she went to the bar and stood next to the man. The witch shook her hair and ruffled it with her hand.

Turning she glanced at the man and announced in her Danish accent, “Hi there, you gonna buy me a drink then?”

The man looked at the young woman beside him noticing that she was toned up under her loose fitting casual clothes and replied, “Yea why not. What are you having?”

“Why young man I’ll have you! I mean I’ll have a beer!” Laughed the witch slightly blushing, this got the man exited and guaranteed his interest in her.

His gaze never left Juniper’s Daughter she looked into space at the spirit bottles upside down behind the bar. The man ordered the drinks in a flustered voice, losing his cool a little? She smiled gently at him and asked his name, he replied, “Jason.”

“I’m Anna but people call me The Witch due to my blond hair and looks coz I’m from Denmark. I don’t mind that actually.”

“Really? I’ve never been to Denmark but I like their beer they make, really good. Have you drunk it?”

“Oh yes my love, I’ve had it many times. Thanks for the beer.”

The couple were quiet for a minute drinking their drinks and thinking about the other, he liked the blond lady. She wasn’t like local gals and did she really want him or slip up?

She liked the young man from first glance and soon she would make love to him in her flying disc after their drinks. Moving closer to the man, Jason, Anna gently held his hand and slowly moved her face towards his and kissed him once on he lips.

He didn’t back away or resist, he met her kiss and parted the witch’s tongue with his kissing her deeply, she closed her eyes and ignored the envious looks from other people at the bar and tables in the pub. A few people whispered and pointed, this doesn’t normally happen and who was this foreign gutsy stranger?

After a long timeless kiss the witch let her hand brush Jason’s jeans feeling his bulge, they kissed again and finished their drinks. She whispered that she wanted him and held out her hand, he took it and followed her. Together they left the pub and walked over to the car park where he thought her car was parked. 

Fire Extinguisher Man extract

Fire Extinguisher Man paused while the waiter brought the starters over and new beers. "Maybe I'd like to see your art one day. We'll see. Yes, you're right, not everybody wants to be married or in a relationship. Today, women have the power. They can pick what they want, whether it be men or to hire a male escort. Even a decade ago, there was a stigma to the male escort scene. That has gone now. Time has moved on. My rates are low because I don't want to rip my clients off and to me, payment is the feeling of making a lady happy and smile. No, I'm not rich but I get by."

Tree Your Guy

This guy is cool and minted to fuck, almost skint mind you, coz he lives in a tent in the woods by a bypass so no one can bug him. Through six long months he’s been under the stars, included a wicked winter of minus fifteen in York. He aint proud and does agency work now and again, not eating enough nor living like a king. His own stubborn attitude is his downfall, not letting anyone help him, he can do it his way or not at all. His clothes are on his back and his light a candle, knows his own peace to live like this, no hostel for the homeless for this guy.

He has more than many, living rough in York or elsewhere, his own self worth and pride. You tell me if that’s bad? He works and does his thing, tries to look good and showers in the swimming baths. Him on TV on a thing about unemployment, a one hundred year old comparison; York has been there before. Single parents and struggling families, proud men on the dole wanting their jobs back, harks back to the call of “Scab!”  and the miners’ strike 25years ago. Many stories but I remember the guy living rough and think where will he be in six months?

Shoki: The Story of Sensei Pete Ratcliff By Nick Armbrister

Interview 23/05/2013.

Nick: What is the role of the Samurai in Karate?

Sensei Pete: It’s not karate Samurai?

Nick: Alright explain what Samurai is, for those who do not know.

Sensei Pete: I tell you what, you ask some questions you. Well, Samurai used to protect the Emperors of Japan.

Nick: So they’re like royal bodyguards?

Sensei Pete: They were originally a bodyguard, the Samurais. The word Samurai, all Samurai means is to serve.

Nick: Right. So they would serve…

Sensei Pete: The Emperors of Japan.

Nick: What are all the weapons of the Samurai?

Sensei Pete: I couldn’t tell you…

Nick: Well you mentioned the…

Sensei Pete: Katana, Wakizashi.

Nick: What’s a Wakizashi?

Sensei Pete: A Wakizashi is a short sword.

Nick: Right, like a stabbing sword for close combat?

Sensei Pete: You’ve got the Katana which is a full length Samurai sword and then you’ve got the Wakizashi which is a shorter sword for honour.

Nick: Is it just ceremonial or is it a combat weapon?

Sensei Pete: It’s both. It’s awarded as honour and it’s also a combat weapon.

Nick: Right. You mentioned the weapon’s trainer has twenty weapons, could you name five examples of that twenty weapons?

Sensei Pete: You want me to name five?

Nick: Just five.

Sensei Pete: Nunchaku.

Nick: Yeah.

Sensei Pete: Which people know as Nunchakers but the real name is Nunchaku, Katana which is a Samurai sword, Shurikens which is a throwing star. People know them as ninja stars. Machete. That’s five isn’t it?

Nick: Right. How long have Samurai existed?

Sensei Pete: For thousands and thousands of years.

Sensei Derek: Centuries. Centuries.

Sensei Pete: Their own people killed the Samurai off, I don’t know…
Sensei Derek: Is it about the 10^th Century?
Sensei Pete: Goes back further than that.
Sensei Pete: Does it go back further than that?
Nick: Why did they kill them off?

Sensei Pete: Well, basically, I don’t know…modern day Japan. You’ve heard of the Shogun? Well the Shogun you know, used to rule Japan. The Samurai was like bodyguards to them, basically they wanted to modernise Japan like as Westerners.

FIGHTER PILOT

FIGHTER PILOT

My mum once told me that my dad was a fighter pilot

Flying over Vietnam and Laos

Dropping bombs and killing.

He got five Migs

Before the missiles got him.

Yeah, my dad flew a Thunderchief.

He flew two hundred missions

Over that hell of a country

Until the missiles blew him away.

I never saw my dad

But he died a hero for Uncle Sam and his cronies.

That was long ago

In the summer of ’68

Over a foreign land faraway.

So I tell people my dad died a hero

Over that stinking hell of Vietnam.

Yeah, my dad flew a Thunderchief.

He flew two hundred missions

Over that hell of a country

Until the missiles blew him away.

jimmy boom semtex is at it again lol... Fire Extinguisher Man 2

They met in a hotel. They hugged. Fire Extinguisher Man felt Nalma's warmth. She wanted him. This fact turned him on; his weapon started to grow. He kissed her. Her mouth was exquisite. Standing together, embracing one another, they were one. Tongues clashed. He ran his hands up and down her back, all over her body, feeling her perfect figure. To her small well formed breasts. They were beautiful with hard nipples. Down her firm belly to her pussy. Nalma groaned and leant into him. He rubbed it hard, arousing her more. Never stopping kissing. Kiss, kiss kiss.

WOW! TATTOO MY BUTT - MORE MAD POEMS AND VERSE BY NICK By Nick Armbrister

Dandom Randomness

What else will I see out of my story?

I’ve seen a guy blown away.

Where’s my guinea pig?

In the boarded up pub in the fog.

Your film is so yesterday,

full of sex and violence.

One foot man no boot.

It’s dark when the flash bulbs go out.

Fuck brutality embrace toe kissing.

I’ve no time for four false Gods.

You gotta be real.

We worship one another.

You photograph roundabouts,

I snap lampposts.

Mailbox in desert.

No, there are eight.

Blonds are from tomorrow.

For the price of the wind.

You’re so paranoid.

Have you thought it’s the company you keep?

Point course correction to where?

Ninjas in the dustbin lorries.

JUNIPER’S DAUGHTER – FRONTIER TOWN A novel by Nick Armbrister

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.

Word of?

What planet are you from?

Do you return home to see your loved ones?

I'm sure you miss them.

I'd miss my wife if I was eight light years away from my beloved.

Let alone missing my beer drinking brother.

If I remember, it was his round.

That was a decade ago, before I was posted to Desert World Two with its cold cobalt snow and methane sky.

Heartbreakingly beautiful like you my dear wife.

I wish you were here holding my hand and feeling love,

a love so powerful and pure that your tears would freeze,

in awe of the remote view and my love for you.

In time, when we rendezvous by the third moon,

I'll give you a guided tour of DW2.

Then we can make love in an asteroid belt as your lilac coloured starship glides serenely by on autopilot.

Time with you my dear wife as we fly slowly back home,

no rush for light speed travel.

My research completed here, I'll crash a beer with my pal, his round.

My next space mission will be a joint one.

I'll only go if my wife can go along. I love her so.

QUIRK

QUIRK

Join my merry band of travellers on their journey through English towns and cities.                                       

We see all there is to see, from inner city deprivation where undernourished people do all manner of things to rich fat cat mansions in exclusive beach resorts where anything goes.                                

What’s my favourite location? By the sea in a holiday resort with a nice southern lady or chilling out with my mates in the back of a VW van smoking weed? Maybe it’s high on a mountain,                        

being inspired by nature and writing a poem.

To the pubs we go, twenty of us taking it over by our politeness. Interacting with the locals and chatting away like long lost brothers, an exchange of stories and culture. We show them we’re not a threat, even when we’re drunk, you see we take each day as it comes and make friends when we can. Enjoying the simple things and remembering the night before, as we raise a toast to our lost brethren who died in car crashes or of old age.

Not one bad thing happened to us in twenty years of travelling to four hundred different places.      

We met women who gave us children; some of us dropped out and took up regular jobs, only to return when they became restless. The open road and transit vans are our life, ending, briefly,     

at unknown locations for a few days. We have a fair ground that we set up and make some cash. It rewards our hard but content life. Some of our men are real toughs; they save this for the boxing ring and take bets. Heady stuff, I can tell you. I must go now; we have another place to visit.

Fire Extinguisher Man Erotic Stories Series One By Jimmy Boom Semtex

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Meet Fire Extinguisher Man, an ex fireman, who now has the perfect job. He's a gigolo for hire. The best lover, a trained counselor, he's perfect company for the ladies. Join him in five stories with bored housewives and frustrated women. When Mel's husband neglects her, she replies to Fire Extinguisher Man's advert and meet Kerry, the farm girl. A romp in the hay is in order. What else will our rampant lover get up to? This is Jimmy Boom Semtex's new erotic short story series. Over 18s only. Prepare for action ladies. If your hubby neglects you, you know who to contact.

Natalie. Basic

Basic flight training was like dancing to The Elementals. Basic, scary and fun. Did Nat know that in a year she would be at the controls of a deadly multi million dollar warplane in the wrong war, with the wrong enemy? No amount of gothic looks would appease her situation over the coming months. Was it all real? That was a distant question, not for now.

The girl danced and flew with equal passion and ferocity. Her brown hair was all over her face and she danced like a spinning airplane. Eyes shut, she was somewhere else. In her mind, she was in the cockpit of her red coloured training plane. Her flight instructor, Alberto, allowed Natalie to acrobat the little plane. She flew it with wildness that surprised everyone, including her.

Rolling upside down and pulling the control stick to her guts, the red airplane moved like a kid’s toy. Diving straight downwards, picking up speed. Alberto was going to take over before top speed was reached but Nat second guessed him and pulled back into a half loop. Up they went into the blue, a hawk in the heavens. Free. Natalie screamed in joy. Looking over at Alberto, her smile said it all. She was a born pilot.

When the record changed, Nat went to the bar and ordered a glass of red wine. Joining her friends, they chatted on guys, music and Nat’s new air force career. Several of her friends had nice boyfriends or lovers with them. In close embraces, they kissed and made small talk. Nat chatted to Katie, on the fundamentals of aerobatics and flight, demonstrating how to loop and roll with her hand. Her other held her wine. Time passed, music played, wine was drunk and Nat slow danced with Roberto.

Being Catholic and part of a close knit family, the girl was a bit of a rebel. Her mother wanted Natalie to marry and have children. Nat was having none of this; it was music, flying and the air force. Not even men like handsome Roberto swayed the girl for marriage. He was local and conscripted in the army. His passion was films and he had to give up college to serve his country. After a year he would finish off his film studies, if fate allowed. Both were friends and occasional lovers, now they danced in Sacha’s.

Ultima Thule by Jimmy Boom Semtex

© copyright Jimmy Boom Semtex 2015 all rights reserved.

Only a single poem maybe reproduced for reviewing purposes. In any article list Jimmy Boom Semtex as author.

ISBN: 978-1-326-14210-0

Dry Dry Dry

There's a beer river up at San Miguel. We went up there to the brown river. A little wooden boat carried our souls. Not to safety. We all fell into the beer river! I was floundering so bad. The three others couldn't save me; nor me them. Beer engulfed us. It was each to their own. Save your skin. Not before drinking your fill. The others preferred San Mig Lite. I had Red Horse. I was called Lucky as I spied a bottle of Happy Horse. I swear the horse was smiling. We drank the San Miguel river fucking dry dry dry. I burped when I was done. Drank my fill. As had the rest. I staggered shoreward. Leaving our upturned boat on river bed. If you read this, tell them we drank the San Mig river dry dry dry. And it don't exist no more. Except in myth and legend. So I'll spare you the Antipolo Jeepney ride there. Don't go looking for it. We drank the San Mig river dry dry dry.

Fire Extinguisher Man

It could be held off no longer. Shane climaxed. It arrived like a freight train; all powerful and unrelenting. Her breathing was deep, as was her scream. There were three orgasms. Each was more intense. Fire Extinguisher Man shot his load on the third; both enjoyed the joint orgasm. He grunted through clenched teeth and pumped away for England. His big black dick being the star of the party. 

Now 

Now I have no close friends but ghosts surrounding me. We have stimulating conversation making people run – he’s mad talking to himself!
Now I have a great job that pays well plundering freshly buried corpses for their jewellery and a chance find of a full wallet – dead man’s cash to get pissed.
Now I have a great girlfriend dead six months but I keep her in oil to keep her private parts fresh – necrophilia is my passion and Angela is my lady, can’t say no!
Now I have got a cool car I pulled from the lake, seats a bit damp and engine runs a bit rough but hey it was free – stolen by yobs then found by me, finders keepers!
Now I have some expensive tattoos on my arms but I never felt any pain. I bought a lamp at the auction of a concentration camp victims’ tattoos – glued them on my skin!

Now I have a life full of bad taste and it’ll get worse in your eyes but better in mine – where can I live I need a home. Move in with you? 

Tutorial Days

Shane was a thirty seven year old graduate. Her husband, Adrian, was her ex University tutor. He was twelve years her senior. Now they were married, fifteen years and counting down to extinction. Over the last two years, both had grown apart. This included in bed. Was this because they had done everything? Enjoying themselves, going to swinging clubs, doing party games like spin the bottle, strip poker, truth or dare and much more. Naughty sex like that only lasted so long before you were burnt out. And in each sexy adventure there, Shane and Adrian had been together.

Nick’s Inner Beauty

There’s more to me than my tattoos.

I’m the person inside;

I have views feelings, emotions, dreams and desires.

I’m not a piece of wood.

My inner beauty shines forth.

BUT

I wear my soul upon my skin.

See what bits you can spot.

Turn me inside out.

I’m a bare white light of energy.

My inner being is free.

My love of a certain band =

a certain tattoo of them.

JUNIPER’S DAUGHTER – FRONTIER TOWN A novel by Nick Armbrister

JUNIPER’S DAUGHTER – FRONTIER TOWN

A novel by Nick Armbrister

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 4th 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…

jimmy's new poem book with poem

jimmy's new poem book

Seventeen Again
You'll never be seventeen again. Nor will I.
You'll never argue with me over music. I'll never face the trauma of her saying, "I'm pregnant."
You'll never drive your wreck of a white Ford Escort Mk3. I'll never work in the MG car garage.
You'll never try to make me fight in the pub. I'll never see Status Quo live.
You'll never pretend to be my friend. I'll never own and drive a rally prepped red Fiat 127.
None of us will ever be seventeen again.

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Ultima Thule by jimmy boom semtex ebook new new new

Buy Ultima Thule by Jimmy Boom Semtex (eBook) online at Lulu GB. Visit the Lulu Marketplace for product details, ratings and reviews.

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Ultima Thule is at the edge of our known world. Enter Jimmy's world and explore the unknown world through his varied alternative poems. From satirical poetry about world leaders and the New Cold War they created, to the old Cold War, kinky sex, aircraft, natural places, drinking beer and surreal poetry, it's all here. Each poem is a story. If you want something different, this is it. Jimmy Boom Semtex's new poetry ebook.

A Bullet For Darling Daughter's Mother

I should of listened to my gut feeling from what my eyes told me about you. From what I saw you looked like, the cheap disposable type. A trashy kind of woman that my home town is full of. And we call them varied slanderous names.

You knocked on our door. I know your plan was well thought out. And it succeeded. Just as it had a dozen times with a dozen people before. My wife let you in and you sat there on the settee, hiding your lit fag behind you.

I hate smoking and should have told you to put it out. You asked my wife to borrow a 1000. She didn't answer but I did. I lent a grand to you in good faith. Totally misplaced of course. I was hoodwinked by you, the bitch.

You said you'd bring the 1000 at weekend. You never did. I saw thru your rancid lies. Your darling daughter lived next door. I got my wife to tell her of your borrow, to shame you. Darling daughter promised to pay your debt; she never did.

You're no better than a disease infested mosquito. Leaving your infection on all you cross. Even a prostitute is better than you; she provides a paid service. You ask, beg, borrow and never pay back. And die? The list is long, don't you think?

Guess it runs in your family. Not to be trusted. You did call round to our house and apologise but it was false. I never got my grand back. And my wife went to your house several times with no result. Your birdcage of lies. Trapping you.

A lesson here. Don't lend anyone you don't know any cash. Oh they'll tell you many a sob story: my baby is eating weeds, my rent needs paying, etc etc. You really need the cash for booze and fags. No less, no more. What no drugs?

So do me a favour and endure the karma I send back to you three times. Let justice be done against you and all of your type: The bitches, liars, slags, whores, alkies, druggies, illegals, criminals and more. This poem is for you. Enjoy!

White Devil

You're a white man, whiter than white. You work for The Firm. Your rep is brighter than light. You see the world in black and white. You live in the white part; the good bit. You destroy the bad guys, and gals when need be. No mercy given when none's asked. You'd live on the astral plain if you could. But you're a soldier of reality with a job to do. And you do it. With your tools: pistol with suppressor, piano wire, varied knives and lastly, your hands. Keeping it decidedly low tech. The old skool way. It gets things done and brings results. Your enemies are black; evil men inhabiting the shadows. Soviet spies, Muslim terrorists, nation state hackers and a plethora of others. If you need to follow them down the street, you do. If you need to be ether borne, so be it. You can track an electronic trail, spoof them too. But you're a hands on guy. Your white actions occupy the back world. No one endures there long but you. America's top assassin, born in Russia. Killing anyone if ordered to including his countrymen. You feel no guilt, take no pleasure in this grisly business. It's what you do. No mission is impossible. You're the tip of the spear, the white man operating in the black black world of espionage and competing spheres of influence. Several times you stopped the big one; full nuclear release. Will you ever fail? Blackness beating white. Dooming us all.