Category: Literature

War Crimes Part 12 – Moira’s Story

Blown Periphery, Going Postal
This is fiction. Any resemblance to any persons living or dead is coincidental. The events outlined have never to my knowledge occurred. Some of the locations are real.

Like most of the important milestones in Edge’s life his marriage was in the autumn, October 14th of 2000 is St John the Baptist Church Instow. It was and is a beautiful church, nestled into the gentle folds of the hills above the estuary of the Rivers Taw and Torridge. Moira Tremain and Mark Edge were married at 13:00 under a glowering sky and predictably it rained all afternoon. He was smart in his No 2s, a Sergeant now with a Military Cross adding to his impressive tally of medals. Nobody asked him and he felt no need to publicise it. Moira knew and she also knew the toll on his mental health being awarded that medal had cost him.
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The Unseen Path – Part Six

1642again, Going Postal

The man known as Mark had been watching her intently, clearly impatient at Iltud’s diffidence. He broke in. “You’re not going mad, and neither are we, as you will see when well enough. Last night did your vehicle lose its electrics, also your other devices? Did you see what you thought were the Northern Lights? Did you feel a crackling in the air, static electricity like you’ve never felt before? I can see from your face that you did. That’s just what happens when someone crosses the barrier. Everything Iltud here has told you is true, and plenty more besides, like no electronic devices work here. Don’t ask me why, I’m not a scientist. There are no cars, nor lights other than oil lamps and candles, no telephones or radios, or any such like, not even thunder or lightning. No one on the outside knows we’re here and that’s the way we like it to keep it, and why, once you find us, you’ve really joined us whether you wish it or not.”
She goggled at him, as he continued. “Did you see what you thought was hunting you? We call them the Guardians, but it was just as well we had business in the area and found you.”
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The Flat Earth Society

Firstly a hat tip to the Flat Earth Society, their website is: https://www.tfes.org/  also for Wikipedia, see here: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Modern_flat_Earth_societies

I thought it about time that we all knew something about The Flat Earth Society, (TFES).  I write this article not in jest, you can make your own mind up.  Those that have not blocked a regular poster, Behold a Pale Horse (BaPH), will have seen his oft quoted “Ain’t no such thing as space bro”.  I asked him to write an article, but I suspect this will not happen, so I thought I would do some research and lay out for you what their basic beliefs are and a little bit about them.

Modern flat Earth societies consist of individuals who promote the idea that the Earth is flat rather than an oblate spheroid.  Such groups date from the middle of the 20th century, although some adherents are serious and some are not.  Those who are serious are often motivated by pseudoscience or religious literalism.

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Victoriana 22

Tachybaptus, Going Postal

Chapter 22

‘I suppose it’s back to normal life for us now,’ Victoriana said. ‘It’s been exciting, though.’
‘A bit too exciting sometimes,’ said Rusty.
They were sitting with Emmeline on empty ammunition boxes in the tent that had been allotted to them in the encampment. Victoriana was wearing a new pinafore, in a hatefully old-fashioned style, that had hastily been bought for her in Oban. But she had won a small victory, she thought, as she looked down at her feet, comfortably shod in a pair of elastic-sided boots that she could put on in seconds without recourse to a buttonhook.
Rusty was ill at ease in a stiff new sailor suit. He looked out of the tent flap at the castle, now surrounded by barbed wire and armed guards. ‘I’ve been thinking about that machine we saw in there,’ he said. ‘It was a kind of Telectroscope, no doubt about it. But it had a lens at both ends. So if you looked in one end you could see something at the other end. But that’s only ten feet away, so you could see it anyway. What’s the point of that?’
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The Unseen Path – Part Five

1642again, Going Postal

THURSDAY

Alan Dare watched Mohammed Badr wake slowly from his drugged stupor; the man must be dying of thirst, he thought. They were in a large barn, bare and devoid of content other than some animal stalls, all occupied except for the one in which Badr was bound and chained. A door was ajar, letting in some of the limp early morning light, joining that which filtered through the dirty high-level windows.
Alan knew the floor was freezing, softened only by animal litter, but could read the prisoner’s face sufficiently to see that the man’s feelings were colder than his body as he realised that he was surrounded by three men, all masked and in grey overalls. One, Art, would seem a virtual giant, another, Georgy, almost Arabic in appearance from the look of the uncovered patch around his eyes, but clearly no brother from their expression, and Alan himself, blondish haired.
“Good, you’ve re-joined us. You must have been tired; you were out for almost twenty-four hours. Let me tell you how it’s going to be. You will tell us all we want to know, every last detail without hesitation, just the truth. If you don’t, you will not survive the consequences. Clear?”
Art removed the gag in Badr’s mouth.
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The Unseen Path – Part Four

1642again, Going Postal

There was a call on one of his secure pay-as-you-go phones. “Abdul, it’s Suleiman here. Amallifely’s been martyred, shot outside his house this morning. The police are all over it and have been searching the house and asking lots of questions of everyone.”
“Then why are you calling me on this number, it may have been compromised? Meet me in forty minutes at point B.”
The younger man was panicking he realised, his inexperience showing through. Better contact his leader, Badr, to confer. They might have to accelerate or abort their mission, but it wasn’t his decision. One more call with this phone then dump it. No answer. Thirty, sixty, ninety minutes later, still no answer. Concerns began to rise. Alternative numbers not answering either. Better go around – a risk he knew – give it twenty-four hours then. Low key for the rest of the day other than meet Abdul and the others; they can ask questions of local sympathisers to try to fill in the gaps.
He turned on the local news. There had been a drugs related murder according to police, in Amallifely’s street. He was really worried now; it was too much of a coincidence. Something had gone seriously wrong and his leader had disappeared. Yes, too much of a coincidence, Badr had all the contacts outside their cell; if he were taken they could all be rolled up. Amallifely, Badr’s deputy, would have known what to do. They were taught to be flexible, self-sufficient and unpredictable. They might not have very long so they had to move fast. Allah would steer them and provide. Devotion, dedication could overcome all, even in this hostile infidel land. As next in authority now, unless Badr re-emerged, it was his call. Strike now before it was too late, even if not fully prepared? The panic, the fear began to recede as he came to his decision. It would be tomorrow evening at the softer alternate target then; now to tell the rest of the team.

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The Unseen Path – Part Three

1642again, Going Postal

‘Damn Sally, why did she have to go so distant to him now?’  Andy Bowson thought to himself as he sat waiting outside the meeting room in West Midlands Constabulary headquarters later that day.  ‘She didn’t play this hard to get when we were going out, if only she hadn’t rediscovered God.’  As soon as he thought it, he chided himself, but he had sent eight text messages over the last few days and had only a single monosyllabic response to the first.
He was broken from his reverie by the meeting room door opening.  George Edward rose beside him and ran his fingers through his ill-kempt hair.  Both men looked a mess after twenty-four hours without a break, but Bowson knew that this was the least of their problems right now.  The Chief Constable’s assistant beckoned towards them somewhat sympathetically, “You can both go in now gentlemen.”
Bowson led the way in and Edward followed closing the door softy behind them.
“Please take a seat, gentlemen.  Would you like tea or coffee?  You’ve had quite a night and day of it I understand.”
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War Crimes Part 11 – Moira’s Story

This is fiction. Any resemblance to any persons living or dead is coincidental. The events outlined have never to my knowledge occurred. Some of the locations are real.

When Angela found Moira it was obvious that Moira had been crying. Her dark mascara had run from her eyes in blue streaks and those eyes were puffy and reddened. Even her hair looked slightly dull and listless, as though the spark had gone to be replaced with self-indulgent misery. She was sitting on the loading bay, pretending to smoke a cigarette. Moira was drawing in with a huge suck, the cigarette end glowing like the tip of an inquisitor’s poker, then she let out the smoke in gentle puffs, because it was obviously too hot for her oral membranes. Inhaling was out of the question.
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Ah feel pure sorry fer that wee Damian Green pr*ck

DH, Going PostalAh wance got wheeked intae the inspectah’s oaffice fer a right f**kin’ hidin’ aboot whit some nosey wee IT c**t foond oan mah wurk computah.

“None o’ yer crime reports are gettin saved intae the system cos yer computah’s run oot o’ memory,” the c**t says tae me.

So ah says that’s got f**k aw tae dae wi’ me cos ah’m a f**kin polisman no some pointy heided c**t worken fer Bill Gates. Whit the f**k dae I ken aboot computahs? Ah’m pure gettin’ the polis federashun rep in here tae raise a grievance against aw a yeez f**kin d**ks.

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