Tag: Terrorism

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 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 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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The Unseen Path – Part Two

1642again, Going Postal

Mohammed Badr’s morning run proceeded as usual as he headed out of the city up into the hills on the edge of town; this was going to be a long one, twenty miles at least, as he built up his training schedule. He would visit the gym later for martial arts class, and then maybe some resistance training. The sirens were particularly busy today, the kaffirs’ stooges inflicting harassment on some poor victims. No matter, his record was clean, and he had been careful, and was headed away from the gathering commotion which seemed to be concentrated some way away. He had time to clear his head and focus on their mission.
He was in the small country lanes now, climbing a narrow hilly section passing just the odd farm driveway or cottage. There was rarely any traffic to contend with at this time of the morning up here, but he could hear an engine in the distance and moved closer to the wall in anticipation.
A Land Rover came around the bend towards him, picking up speed as it descended the hill, it was getting hellishly close to him, leaving him with nowhere to go…

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The Unseen Path – Part One

1642again, Going Postal

It Begins

The man about to die pulled the green framed glass door shut and glanced furtively up and down the street before locking the door and placing the key in his jacket pocket.
His would-be assassin stretched his right index finger to relieve tension and took a slow deep breath to reduce his heart rate before cradling the rifle stock firmly against his shoulder.  Using the open rear window of the van, his mobile hide for this hunt, to frame his target, he carefully sighted on his intended victim through the sniper scope attached to his weapon.  The light remained weak in the overcast early morning conditions and he flicked on the scope’s target illuminator.  It was taking too long for the target to turn around to face the street so that he could get a final identification, but long enough for the tension to build again though, for his heart rate to rise and his palms to feel clammy, long enough for the doubts to begin anew.  He knew that killing his first human quarry, even a man such as this, put him on the far side of something, but the far side of what: a moral or spiritual chasm with only Hell for an escape?  Whatever it was, he only knew there could be no way back once the trigger had been squeezed.

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When Martin Met Asif Mohammed Hanif

When Martin Met Asif Mohammed Hanif: Martin Mezger, Going Postal

It’s mid 2002. I’m working on an interesting project, with a couple of good friends. I live in Hampshire, and part of the job is based at Stockley Park, near Heathrow. To arrive at 07h00, I have to get up much earlier than normal to drive up to the M4 and then on to Heathrow.

Driving in this early, the traffic isn’t too bad. Quite often when I get to site, there’s a chap with a beard but no ‘tash, whose job it is to man the parking barrier and direct non-pass holding visitors to allocated parking. One day I arrive late, having been held up in traffic; parking is tight, and he lets me park in the management’s reserved space. He seems polite and helpful. He often has a half smile on his face, as if he’s distracted by some private joke. He’s obviously Muslim.

My boss for this job is a Muslim, too. We are friends as well as colleagues. I’ve met his wife, his children, his mother and his brother and sister-in-law. He’s a bit younger than me, integrated, has strong views on 9/11 and against terrorism. He’s British.

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Left Wing Privilege Part II: The Triggering

Left Wing Privilege Part II: The Triggering, Going-Postal.Net
Stay Puft Trampling Lefties

Whilst I applaud Rorschach for taking the time to write a response, I’m afraid he singularly failed to address a single one of my points. And how could he? For a start, he can’t deny it was those on the left who indulged in violence, spitting and threats at another party’s conference, that it was the left who held street parties to celebrate someone’s death, that it was a Labour conference that got security guards to drag an elderly man out of the hall and have him detained by police under the Prevention of Terrorism Act, that it was the left who stayed silent on racist remarks by Diane Abbott, Yasmin Alibhai-Brown and Gerry Adams.

Instead, he spent a long paragraph talking about Paul Staines of Guido Fawkes and allegations about his history. I’ve got no obligation to defend Mr Staines or answer for any of the allegations about him. What is notable is that it is a prime example of how the left operate when inconvenient facts are revealed. They play the man and not the ball. So instead of dealing directly with the revelations of virulent anti-Semitism in Labour, he just focuses on the man who found the social media postings, as though that’s of relevance. The individuals concerned made the postings. No one forced them to do so. As well as being anti-Semites, they’re also incredibly stupid to have posted these comments on forums that are visible to the whole world. Anyone could have found the tweets and Facebook posts. The fact it was the Guido Fawkes website is neither here nor there.

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I am not my brother’s keeper

Enoch Powell

I have been reading several of Enoch’s religious books and I am indebted to Mr Powell for the idea that I am not my brother’s keeper. Citing the biblical story of Cain and Abel, Powell takes issue with the prevailing morality of the 60’s and 70’s (still occupying the moral high places today) that what my brother chooses to do is in some sense my responsibility and shows that it most assuredly is not.

The story (Genesis chapter 4) tells of how one day Cain ‘rose up against his brother Abel and slew him.’ Then God said to Cain: “Where is Abel your brother?” Cain retorted, “I do not know. Am I my brother’s keeper?” This has been interpreted by those of a Leftward persuasion as proof positive that we are all interconnected and that somehow we all are custodian of our brother’s wellbeing. And yet, even a cursory reading of the reply that Cain makes indicates that what he says is said with a large dollop of sarcasm. Am I my brother’s keeper? No.

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