British Londinium
24-02-2007, 04:43
RAF Bexley
Bexley, Eurasia
2345 hours
A Royal Marine marched around the perimetre of RAF Bexley, his machine gun cocked and ready.
Thirty metres away, two men huddled in a set of thick shrubbery on top of a hill overlooking the base.
"Aziz, shall I shoot the bitch?" whispered one of them in quick Arabic as he readied his sniper rifle.
"Jamar, you goat whore," shot back Aziz. "We use the throwing stars."
The pair crawled down the hill towards the base, the star flying from Jamar's hand and slicing the marine's jugular, killing him almost instantly.
"This is Alpha," hissed Aziz into a portable radio. "All units, the coast is clear, coast is clear."
Hundreds of masked men rose from the hill, clad in coal-black uniforms with green, Arabic writing on the sleeve. They crawled to the fence, cutting it open and slipping through.
***
"Dear, I'm sorry I slept with that prostitute," susurrated Corporal Stewart into his mobile whilst he stood in a guard tower. "Yes, I know it was our anniversary, and I know that I sold my ring to pay for the Thai hooker...who turned out to be transsexual...but don't blame me baby!"
In his distraction he not only failed to notice that two hundred and thirty one Islamists were crossing through the fence, Stewart failed to notice that an arrow was about to shoot him in the face. His body slumped over the rails of the tower, falling onto the concrete tarmac.
***
Three Jeeps with mounted machine guns roared through the airbase, riddling the barracks with bullets.
Intruder alert, intruder alert, intoned a female voice on the base-wide communications systems.
Explosions flashed all across the base as the Islamists overwhelmed the surprised Eurasian soldiers.
An hour later, the last Eurasian was shot in the head after being raped, and the Eurasian standard was torn brutally from its flagpole, and the flag of this new terrorist faction (http://img150.imageshack.us/img150/3935/615pxflagofoicsvgyu5.png) was raised triumphantly.
***
Kensington Palace
Kensington, Eurasia
0813 hours
Sir Phillip Sinclair sat at his desk, meditating. The white papers marshalled themselves into order, regiments of pens lined up along the edges, flanked by computer interfaces, covered by squadrons of data reports. Rotating in his chair, he looked from his office window unto Kensington Bay and the other side of the city. The wind howled down the streets of Kensington, rain battering the marble structure of the Palace. The morning was humid, permeating all of the northern island, and tendrils of mugginess wrapped themselves around Eurasians all across the city. He picked up a data report from the escritore, skimmed it, and violently threw it against the wall. A timid chime rang from the door.
"Enter," barked Sir Phillip. Elliot Crompton, Minister for Defence, strode in holding another data pad.
"I presume you read the report?" inquired Elliot.
"Of course," spat Sir Phillip. "These radical, socialist Islamists - the Crimson Jihad - have taken over the entire island of Bexley and declared its independence. Un-fucking-believable. And they have a cache of nuclear weapons. Short-range, but enough to take out Westminster. I want our troops ready to march at my command."
Bexley, Eurasia
2345 hours
A Royal Marine marched around the perimetre of RAF Bexley, his machine gun cocked and ready.
Thirty metres away, two men huddled in a set of thick shrubbery on top of a hill overlooking the base.
"Aziz, shall I shoot the bitch?" whispered one of them in quick Arabic as he readied his sniper rifle.
"Jamar, you goat whore," shot back Aziz. "We use the throwing stars."
The pair crawled down the hill towards the base, the star flying from Jamar's hand and slicing the marine's jugular, killing him almost instantly.
"This is Alpha," hissed Aziz into a portable radio. "All units, the coast is clear, coast is clear."
Hundreds of masked men rose from the hill, clad in coal-black uniforms with green, Arabic writing on the sleeve. They crawled to the fence, cutting it open and slipping through.
***
"Dear, I'm sorry I slept with that prostitute," susurrated Corporal Stewart into his mobile whilst he stood in a guard tower. "Yes, I know it was our anniversary, and I know that I sold my ring to pay for the Thai hooker...who turned out to be transsexual...but don't blame me baby!"
In his distraction he not only failed to notice that two hundred and thirty one Islamists were crossing through the fence, Stewart failed to notice that an arrow was about to shoot him in the face. His body slumped over the rails of the tower, falling onto the concrete tarmac.
***
Three Jeeps with mounted machine guns roared through the airbase, riddling the barracks with bullets.
Intruder alert, intruder alert, intoned a female voice on the base-wide communications systems.
Explosions flashed all across the base as the Islamists overwhelmed the surprised Eurasian soldiers.
An hour later, the last Eurasian was shot in the head after being raped, and the Eurasian standard was torn brutally from its flagpole, and the flag of this new terrorist faction (http://img150.imageshack.us/img150/3935/615pxflagofoicsvgyu5.png) was raised triumphantly.
***
Kensington Palace
Kensington, Eurasia
0813 hours
Sir Phillip Sinclair sat at his desk, meditating. The white papers marshalled themselves into order, regiments of pens lined up along the edges, flanked by computer interfaces, covered by squadrons of data reports. Rotating in his chair, he looked from his office window unto Kensington Bay and the other side of the city. The wind howled down the streets of Kensington, rain battering the marble structure of the Palace. The morning was humid, permeating all of the northern island, and tendrils of mugginess wrapped themselves around Eurasians all across the city. He picked up a data report from the escritore, skimmed it, and violently threw it against the wall. A timid chime rang from the door.
"Enter," barked Sir Phillip. Elliot Crompton, Minister for Defence, strode in holding another data pad.
"I presume you read the report?" inquired Elliot.
"Of course," spat Sir Phillip. "These radical, socialist Islamists - the Crimson Jihad - have taken over the entire island of Bexley and declared its independence. Un-fucking-believable. And they have a cache of nuclear weapons. Short-range, but enough to take out Westminster. I want our troops ready to march at my command."