Equality

May 21st 1630 Hours Local Time, New York Public Library, New York, USA

Emily was one of the first to hear the shots, one after the other, all evenly spaced, and followed by the shrieking of dozens. She ran, with the multitude, as a masked gunner fired an MP5, letting bullets off into the terrified crowd. People all around her dropped, men, women, children, all alike, dying like animals for no reason. The gunman was clad in black, combat vest filled with ammunition, balaclava revealing only his eyes and a Sig Sauer tucked into his holster. The only sign of any loyalty to a faction was a single white insignia, located over the man’s heart, a cross between the communist, hammer and sickle, and the anarchist symbol.
More people dropped, the blood stained the plaza, the distant whine of sirens echoed through the narrow corridors formed by the towering sky scrapers. Emily heard more firing, different though, from smaller weapons. She looked across the blood stained plaza as two policemen hiding behind their car struggled to hold their own against the gunman. The gunman ducked behind a pillar leading up to the entrance of the library as bullets hit the ground all around him. The two police officers, hiding behind the open doors of their patrol car, dropped dead as half a clip of bullets was emptied into their car. The mighty library doors exploded open, the pillars collapsed as small packets of explosives systematically destroyed the supporting structures. The enormous building collapsed under its own weight, bricks and debris flew in every direction at lethal velocities, tearing through the bodies of people fleeing from the carnage, splattering their brain mass onto the hard concrete. Emily looked back as twenty centimetre piece of metal ripped through her stomach, she collapsed, blood pouring out onto the ground below. She fell onto her side, blood flowing from her torso, and looked up at the library, watching the roof fall into the interior of the building and the walls collapse in on itself.

May 21st 1730 Hours Local Time, London underground, London, UK

Jackson stood, listening to his IPod, waiting for his train after another dull, depressing, day at the office followed by a lecture from his boss about getting to work late while trying to defend himself with the excuse that the subway was late again. The Subway train shuddered to a stop, the doors opened to reveal an intoxicating sight, dozens of passengers, pale, lifeless, dead. The lingering smell of chlorine hung in the stagnant, lifeless, air, polluting the underground station. A boom of epic proportions shook the very foundations of the subway, he, and all the terrified onlookers, span, just in time to see a glorious sight. A giant, ultra bright, fireball erupted out from the mouth of a tunnel leading into the station. Anyone on the side of the platform close to the mouth of the tunnel was instantly incinerated. Next a train, spewing forth a tower of white hot sparks from the brakes, flew out the opening to the station, derailing and sending a carriage flailing wildly across the platform, collecting dozens of shocked commuters in the collateral. The last thing he saw before he was crushed to death was a single white symbol; spray painted to the side of the train, resembling an anarchist symbol and the soviet communist symbol.
May 21st 1830 Hours Local Time, Moscow, Moskva Region, Russian Federation
Nicolai watched in absolute awe as six large men pulled out AK-47’s from their backpacks and started spraying bullets into the crowded streets. They stood, equally spaced apart from each other, pouring lead into the unsuspecting civilians, blood splattering onto the road and footpaths. They paraded across the main road, spraying bullets in every direction, what little resistance they received from any police that where unfortunate enough to be in the area, were soon quelled with several bursts of automatic fire. Nicolai turned and ran, sprinting across an intersection, nearly getting hit by an oncoming car. The concrete leapt up at him as a burst of bullets ripped up the road surrounding him, he ducked behind a car, parked on the side of the road. The windscreen smashed, shards of glass reigned down over his body, cutting his face and hands. The gunfire drew ever closer, so did the sound of squealing sirens. An armoured police van pulled to a grinding stop in the middle of the intersection, not twenty metres from Nicolai’s hiding place. Half a dozen heavily armed Special Forces police filed out of the back of the massive vehicle. Sparks and ricochets bounced all over the exposed side of the police van.
The return fire was spectacular from Nicolai’s position, being able to only see the backs of the police but still have a perfect view of the battle unfolding in front of him. The police used military tactics as they advanced forwards, one-by-one neutralizing the attackers. Taking cover behind the parked cars, either side of the road, they leap-frogged forwards. Covering fire by one, then the other would move to the next cover while firing precision shots at the targets. One assailant dropped, the bullet tearing through his body and creating an exit wound followed by a torrent of blood, soaking the ground where he lay. The rest of the gunman took cover behind the other parked vehicles and fired blind over the top of the cars.
Nicolai, now realising this was the time to break and run, turned and saw a petrifying sight. A massive bus painted in matt black paint with a single white emblem taking up the entire front side of the vehicle. The symbol resembled that of the communist and anarchist symbol combined, the bus was now powering straight for him and the armoured police van. He leapt out from in front of the car as the bus powered through it and collided with the police van. Nicolai ran, jumping over the dead and mauled, debris littered the panic stricken street. He leaped over the body panel left by a crashed car and fell, face-first, into the bloodied concrete, his foot catching on the razor sharp panel, cutting straight through his shoe, into the bone and muscle. He let out a cry in pain, clutched his bleeding foot and looked back at the intense fire fight. There was only two gunmen left now, the battle reaching a climax when one jumped out and emptied a whole clip, catching one of the officers in the head and wounding another in the arm. The bus, now pinning the armoured van up against the corner of a building, let out a pulse of orange light, coming from the inside of the cabin. Not a second after the pulse the whole bus exploded into a hundred metre plume of fire and smoke.
Shards of serrated steal, bricks, building and people flew away from the detonation point. Nicolai watched in helplessness as a small car was thrown effortlessly towards him. The car impacted him, mashing his body against the concrete, leaving only squashed flesh and blood in its wake.

May 22nd 1200 Hours Local Time, Conference of Global Anti-Terrorist Powers, Location Undisclosed

The large, dark, room was filled with representatives from departments of every nation that has a large anti-terrorist plan. An agent from the MI6 represented British authority in the matter, the CIA, American interests and the FSB controlled the Russian Federations view on the negotiations.
The MI6 director had very short black hair and a small moustache sitting very still, a little wider than the width of his own nose. His name badge, something they were all supposed to wear but only he did, read “Jacob Lloyed”. He opened the conference in a rich English accent.
“Gentlemen, as I am sure you have already been informed, the major powers of this world have come under attack from a new threat. One that overshadows any and all Islamic threats that is now present in this world.
So far there have been reports of attacks in Japan, Germany, France, New Zealand, Brazil, Japan, China and North Korea. In total there has been over eight thousand deaths, four thousand injured, 250 billion dollars in damages, the destruction of six Harrier jets after a Boeing 747 was flown into HMAS Illustrious,” the MI6 agent paused before continuing “the attacks have cause wide spread panic throughout the world with riots and violence breaking out in the streets of many major cities as people demand security. The attacks seem to have been carried out by one particular terrorist organisation.” An MI5 agent walked into the room with a folder, thick with information, and handed it to the man speaking. He opened it and drew out a single white sheet of paper that contained a single, black, symbol. “The attacks have all had one thing in common with each other, evidence of this image being in or around the attack area.” He held up the paper for all to see before placing it on the small table they were all sitting at.

The A4 sheet held a small insignia, a cross between the soviet communist hammer and sickle and the anarchist letter “A” surrounded by a circle.

“The insignia has been found spray painted to a train that was derailed by packets of explosives at a British Subway, on the tactical vest of a gunman killed at the explosion in the New York public library and painted on the side of a destroyed Brazilian oil tanker. It was also painted on a soviet era T-72 tank that attacked the city of Beijing, in Paris the symbol was made out of pieces of the Arc De Triomphe after it was destroyed, it was traced in petrol before they set a German nuclear power plant on fire, painted in blood after the police siege of a bank, held hostage by gunmen in Tokyo, arranged out of bodies in a mass killing in Wellington, New Zealand, It was also made by arranged out of captured North Korean vehicles when a lightly defended air force base came under attack by highly trained commandos whose strength seems to be in the hundreds. The base was recaptured without incident after the KPA mobilized several mechanised platoons to take back the airbase; the commandos disappeared shortly after the attack. A search is still on to track down the attackers now.
This is no ordinary threat, this is something bigger than anything anyone could have ever seen before, this terrorist cell has access to highly advanced mil-spec equipment, in total, from all the attacks, we have found that they have used and have access to gen 3 body armour, mil-spec submachine guns, several hundred kilos of C4 plastic explosives and dozens of types of assault rifles, all of varying origins. They have shown that they have access to anything from Ak-47’s to G36’s and SMAW anti-tank weapons and a form of tactical insertion and extraction, whether it is via Para drop, helicopter or some form of land transport, it is effective and must be stopped to reduce the number of incidents.”
The Russian FSB director went by the name of Dmitri Travanovsky; he had spent 10 years in the Spetsnaz GRU, possibly the most elite military unit in the world, and knew war. He had short, dark, hair as well as short stubble around his mouth; he spoke with a heavy Russian accent.
“I have seen this symbol before,” he paused “back in Afghanistan, as a Spetsnaz operator, we ran recon and supply line disruption missions. We attacked a supply convoy, this one was bigger than the rest, instead of a couple jeeps and trucks filled with troops and ammunition this one had dozens of trucks, filled with troops, probably two hundreds, and armoured vehicles. T-72’s, BMP’s, trucks filled with AT rockets, stingers, everything you could imagine.
We ambushed the column, destroyed the armoured vehicles and took the rest as loot. Only now do I realise the meaning of the insignia painted on the side of the tanks and trucks, they supplied the Afghan Mujahedeen with weapons, men and ammunition, much more than anything the US could produce without becoming extremely conspicuous, after all that’s who was training and arming them, the US, no matter; They were being trained for their own deaths, sent into battle against a vastly superior killing machine.”
The CIA agent stood up defiantly, his strong southern accent made Dmitri chuckle under his breath. “Our troops, as well as the troops we trained, where competently equipped and instructed in the ways of modern warfare when it came to combating the Soviet war machine! How dare you offend the capabilities of the United States Armed Forces! If we are to work together you can at least resist the urge to throw your redundant and misleading comments around in an audience of high ranking members of prestigious organisations; Organisations that have saved society as we know it from the red menace!”
“Yes, and look where that got you, a crumbling economy, several hundred thousand murders each year, the constant threat of anti-American terrorism and population of ultra-Anti-change individuals that populate your nation.”
“You ignorant, short sighted prick-“
“Please, Mr…” Dmitri wrapped his arm over the American’s shoulder and took a few small steps away from the others
“Martin, Alex Martin.”
“Well, Alex, I have no intention of cooperating with you unless it results in the safety of my people, I respect the people back home, not you, and not the American dogs that populate that wretched North American state that we are forced to refer to as the United States of America. Remember that… comrade.” Dmitri let go of Alex and turned around, “Well Mr Lloyed, what is the plan of attack?”
“The plan of attack is that we look at the Intel gathered by CIA agents and base the plan off that. Satellite imagery show large numbers of tanks, soldiers, AT weapons, AA tanks and small arms of every calibre and origin being loaded into several different ships, there is one severally modified civilian freighter, and two captured military troop transports. The civilian cargo freighter is equipped with something resembling an extremely powerful Radar and communications array capable of detecting aircraft at the same range of that of an AWAC. They are now sailing up the Red Sea towards the Suez Canal as we speak, if they are unloaded we will lose track of all the weaponry completely leaving the entire world open for attack.
Their target, we suspect, is the recently constructed Russian, prototype, nuclear fusion reactor, if this is damaged or destroyed it could spell complete disaster for the entire eastern half of the globe. The materials used in the latest prototypes are extremely volatile compared to that used in traditional fusion reactors and produces 10,000 times more energy than the ones of the past two decades. If the reaction is tampered in such a way that would cause an overload, then, well, I would hate to think of the consequences. The billions dead, a miniature super nova on the earth’s surface, the results, I’m afraid would be not be something we would want to remember.
The radiation damage itself would be tremendous, reaching every corner of the planet, not to mention the actual ball of energy it creates, a star, several kilometres in diameter. Although it would only last a few seconds after it collapses in on itself the ultra-intense heat could set parts of the atmosphere alight, spelling catastrophe for the entire eastern half of the planet.”
The CIA agent interrupted him and sent a glare in the direction of Dmitri “Well, it’s not like it’s of that much urgency then.”
“What the bloody hell do you think you’re doing? Billions of lives are at stake and all you can think of is your extinct Cold War rivalry? Snap out of it, get over it, or I’ll have you replaced.” Jacob said this in a harsh and scolding tone. He continued “Anyway, assuming you can put away you’re petty ignorance, we will focus on the task at hand. We will gather a team of Special Forces personal, operatives from each nation, and set about in the systematic destruction and/or capture of each and every shipping freighter. Understood?”
Alex stood up and started to speak “Why not simply put a guided missile through the side of each ship? Save the time, save the energy required to mount a Special Forces operation?”
The Russian accent broke the silence left by Alex. “Yes and the news headlines the next day would read ‘American cruise missiles, kills forty, and sinks three Civilian freighters’. But I guess you’re nation was never known for its subtlety, was it?”
“Now is not the time, nor the place Dmitri!”
Dmitri slowly turned his head to the direction of Lloyed to reveal a gradually disappearing smirk.
“Very well, carry on Mr Lloyed?”
“Special Forces will insert at 0300 hours tomorrow morning, via Black Hawk helicopter. They will commandeer the ships, neutralize any and all hostilities and prepare for another helicopter to insert a skeleton crew into the ship that will pilot it to the nearest dock under the escort of the HMS Torrent. If Special Forces are, for some unforseen reason, unable to commandeer the vessel then the HMS Torrent will fire on and destroy any ships that have resisted the Special Forces units. On a side note, three Chinese battle fleets have moved towards the Russian city of Vladivostok. This is an unprecedented military movement and may or may not have a connection to the global attacks. Several Chinese battalions are also reinforcing the Chinese-Russian border, possibly as a deterrent force, but it is unclear as to the motives behind the PLA’s decision to move such large amounts of troops around.”
“so, a series of devastating terrorist attacks on several countries including three of the world’s super powers and China starts mobilising its massive war machine against the Russian federation? Sound a bit suspect to me.” said Dmitri.
“Well, it could just be a matter of internal security, let’s not jump to any conclusions here. Our objective at the moment is to stop any more loss of life, not to start a global standoff. The mission window is between 0300 hours and 0600 hours. If the mission is incomplete by 0530 hours, then the Special Forces will be withdrawn and the British warship will destroy any remaining transports.

The call signs and operations names are as follows: the three of us will command the operation from the HMS Torrent; we will be call sign Reactive Actual. The first Special Forces teams will be call signs Reactive Alpha, Reactive Bravo and Reactive Charlie; the operation will now be referred to as Operation Smoking Trilogy. A helicopter will be here any minute to transport us to the HMS Torrent for the administration of the mission.” He stood up straight, hands now behind his back, facing all the members listening to him in the room. “And remember gentlemen, failure is not an option.”

May 23rd 0300 Hours Local Time, Red Sea, just north the city of Jidahh, British Warship HMS Torrent

The dark clouds smothered the moon, blacking out any moon light that might have aided in the operation. Three black hawk helicopters hovered over the mighty frigate, its massive hulking body, poised, like a leviathan. Each helicopter was filled with a different group of Special Forces; Russian Spetsnaz filled the first, American Delta Force filled the second and British SAS filled the third.
They were clad in black with gas masks, gloves, submachine guns, body armour, and webbing. Each and every operative knew the responsibility they had on their shoulders, the lives of the innocent, the lives of the free, the lives of the vulnerable; they had one hell of a job on their hands. The men sat in silence as the choppers roared over the frigate, waiting for the go.
The radio crackled through their headsets as they lifted their heads and started to listen. “Gentlemen, as some of you already know, I am Jacob Lloyd. The operation you are about to embark upon marks a milestone in the fight against terrorism. From this day on, never again will a nation be attacked by this invisible enemy, this enemy that refers to themselves as ‘terrorists’ will be brought to light! They will be held accountable for each and every life they have ended and for each and every family that they have torn apart. We will make them pay!”
The men nodded silently, this was no time for any over-the-top reactions. They were precision killing machines and so had to stay in a state of mind that allowed for clear and accurate thinking.
Jacob Lloyd continued “We are here for a reason. That reason is to rid the world of a threat, a threat that will kill thousand without thinking, if it is given the chance. We will not give it that chance! In a moment your mission will begin and you will be responsible for the downfall of terrorism all across the globe and responsible for the victory of the innocent over the evil.
You are the best in the world; the hostiles on board those vessels will fight to the very last man and will do all in their power to deny you the pleasure of shutting down their operations for good. But you are men of pride, men of character and men of skill; you will not allow their tyranny to continue. The enemy you are about to face is well trained, battle hardened and extremely well equipped; do not underestimate him. Remember, freedom isn’t free. That is all.” Jacob Lloyd finished in a stern voice and handed the mike to Dmitri for him to start the operation.
“All call signs this is reactive actual, weapons free, advance to waypoint bravo and commence the attack. Operation Smoking trilogy is a go, I repeat the operation is go!”
The choppers roared to life, the casual rumble of the idling engines replaced with the whining of turbines over the vicious whopper whopper of the blades, spraying up water as the air pummelled the sea. They flew fast and low, not ten metres off the water, avoiding any radar systems that the freighter might have installed. Captain Vasili Kuznetzov, he cocked his AK-74 along with all the other men. He looked outside the black hawk to see the water race past him, what seemed like an arm’s length away; looking up the he saw the dark, menacing, silhouette of three ships approaching fast. Looking off the right he saw an SAS operative perched on the edge of the open door looking directly back at him, the gas mask and the absence of any skin made him a terrifying figure.
The ships where coming up fast and the three choppers raised altitude by about ten metres, getting ready to pounce on the ships that where still nearly two kilometres away. The chopper pilot started to talk and it broke out over everyone’s headsets “This is Reactive Bravo, we are detecting United States military transponders on board the all of the vessels, please confirm, over?”
Dmitri responded immediately “Reactive Actual here, continue on course, the transponders are probably interference from the stolen weapons.”
“Ten-four, continuing on course, distance from target three hundred metres,” the pilot turned round to look at the occupants “ready up!” he yelled over the drone of the helicopters engines. Vasili switched the firing mode from “safety” to “full” on his Ak-74 as did the rest of his team.
Vasili looked out the side of the helicopter once more as all three choppers closed to within fifty metres. They rose up and over the deck of each vessel, hovering twenty metres above the ships, a helicopter to each ship. Vasili watched as the darkness under the helicopter next to him was lit up by an orange pulse on the deck of a troop transport. A grey trail snaked up towards the SAS helicopter, at the end a bright orange-yellow glow. The trail leapt up from the deck and ploughed its way into the side of the SAS helicopter, “Oh shit, we’re hit! Going down, mayday, mayday!” the words crackled through the headset and where suddenly subdued by the whirring of the side mounted Vulcan Minigun spinning up in his helicopter. The SAS helicopter shuddered in mid-air once the missile hit, the tail of the helicopter was half blown up and the fuselage was spinning around in circles as it fell steadily to the ground. The deck was lit up with an ultra-bright explosion as soon as the chopper impacted the deck, shrapnel exploded out of the fireball. The explosion illuminated a single man, holding a stinger missile launcher, which stood in the middle of the open deck.
Not as soon as Vasili saw the man was he filed with tracer rounds from the Vulcan, he exploded into pieces, blood soaked the deck around him and the Vulcan ceased fire.

The rope was lowered quickly to the deck; Vasili grabbed the rope, pushed the AK-47 sling over his shoulder and slid down, the rest of his team followed in suite. He hit the deck hard and pulled the AK up to his shoulder, looking down the sights. The three others in his team all did the same, covering each angle of the deck. The dark sky made it almost impossible to see anything in the shadows but flashlights attached to the barrels illuminated the wet concrete, allowing the team to see any threats that lingered in the darkness. He ordered them to fall in, circling his finger in the air before looking at the bridge and starting his attack, they followed directly beside him, each two metres apart.
Vasili and his team where tasked with commandeering the freighter, the largest of the three ships, and subdue or kill any hostiles that presented a threat to the mission.
They moved silently, black uniforms seamlessly blending into the surroundings, weapons up to their shoulders, eyes down the sights, each covered the other as they tactically moved up the deck towards the bridge at the far end of the ship. The deck was covered with shipping crates of all colours, creating narrow walk ways and impenetrable cover and concealment. But the concealment didn’t last for long. A spot light, fixed to the railing for the walkway that wrapped around the bridge, flashed on, illuminating the deck and leaving no possible way to sneak into the bridge. Vasili and his team took cover behind the shipping crates that where closest to the bridge, gazing up he saw several men atop the walkway.
The walkway was about two stories above the deck and level with the bridge’s windows, a spotlight sat atop the railings being controlled by a man clad in full combat armour. Two men on either side of the first held American assault rifles- M4’s and pointed them directly at Vasili and his team. Vasili lent around the crate, pointed his rifle and fired. A burst of three bullets bounced around the walkway and tore a hole through the spot light; sparks flew out in every direction and startled the three men, they quickly returned fire at Vasili, narrowly missing him as he pulled his head back into cover. Bullets sprayed all over the shipping crates and the concrete deck. Vasili ordered one man to throw a smoke grenade into the gap between the doorway to the bridge and their position, while he ordered another to execute covering fire. Bullets sprayed all across the walkway, half a clip, and caught the two gunmen in the chest and head while the other ducked down, throwing himself to the ground in time to see his comrades be filled with bullets.
The smoke filled the breach, reducing vision to less than a metre in that area and allowing safe passage through to the bridge. Vasili ordered his men through the smoke, he sprinted forwards, and the only thing stopping asphyxiation was his gasmask. Gun up and running, he slammed, shoulder first, into the wall to the side of the closed door; his team reloaded and checked their rifles as the words “Ready up!” came through the headsets.
Vasili on one side, his second in command, Vladimir Prodaved, on his left and his two other men, Sergey Marx and Alexi Saylis, pointing their rifles at the door; Vasili kicked the door in, as Vladimir, followed by Sergey and Alexi, stormed through the door and fired their rifles at the unsuspecting men inside. The three of them, all holding weapons, dropped dead. Vasili entered the room last, rifle up, and looked around the large room. It was as large as the entire bridge and on the opposite end of the room was a staircase leading directly up towards the bridge itself. Another staircase ran down under the deck into the ships hold.
“This is it.” said Vasili. He signalled with his hand towards the staircase that led to the bridge and started to walk towards it. BANG BANG BANG. Three shots in a burst rang out through the room, Vasili instantly span around and pointed his gun to where the shots had come from. Sergey stood holding a smoking AK pointing towards the staircase into the hold. At the bottom of the staircase stood a man stumbling backwards with the bloodied holes in his chest. He held a M4 Carbine in one hand and clutched his chest with the other. He dropped to his knees, let out a cough that covered the floor in blood before the M4 clattered to the ground. Sergey let off a shot into the back of the slowly dying man’s head, ripping through the skull, splattering grey matter across the room, he collapsed, instantly dead. Vasili looked down the staircase and into the pitch darkness, his barrel mounted torch illuminating only small section of the cavernous hold. Footsteps echoed through the dark hold as well as the unforgettable sound of at least twenty rifles and SMG’s being loaded and cocked. “Quickly, up the stairs. Secure that bridge!” Vasili edged backwards towards the stairs to the bridge, the others pointed their weapons up the stairs and began storming the bridge. Vladimir was the first on the bridge, and then Alexi; Vasili and Sergey stayed down the bottom, hoping to stop any threats from cutting off their retreat.
Vladimir ran up the stairs, his rifle down by his hip, ready to spray into the confined area. He leapt up and pointed the gun into the room. Two men, dressed in nothing but civilian clothing sat on their knees with their hands behind their head and side arms in front of them. Vladimir and Alexi kicked the pistols away from the men; Alexi kicked the very right man in the chest, pushing him onto his back on the ground. Vladimir stood back, pointing his rifle at the three of them and yelling commands in both Russian and English. “On your backs, now!” the other man took a moment too long to respond and was greeted with the harsh rear end of a rifle. Plasti-cuffs emerged out of nowhere and Alexi started bounding the hands of the prisoners that helplessly flopped around on the floor, his foot on their backs and tightening the cuffs to the point of torture. Once both of them had been cuffed Alexi walked down the stairs to where Vasili stood looking down into the hold and Sergey out onto the deck.
“The bridge is secure. Two men, what appear to be the people piloting the craft, have been taken hostage and relieved of their weapons. Vlad is still up in the bridge guarding-” He was cut short by the ear shredding sound of an explosion going off not metres above him. Shrapnel, glass and body parts rained down onto the deck and a fireball emerged out of where all the windows in the bridge used to be. “Oh shit, Vlad!”
“Look alive! Tango’s coming up the stairs!” Vasili fired down the staircase as he said this. The splodge sound of bullets hitting flesh was drowned out by the intense sound of a gun going off in an enclosed room. Vasili pulled back into the room, out of the staircase, as the sparks and tracer rounds danced across the stairwell. “Fall back, let’s get the hell out of here, there’s probably a hundred of them down there!” They stepped out onto the shrapnel littered deck, avoiding plates of steel and body parts, pointing their rifles back through the doorway and walking backwards, from cover to cover, towards the insertion point.
The insertion point was the helicopter pad at the front of the ship; the round helicopter pad was surrounded by knee-high cement walls, separated from each other by a distance of their length. The black hawk helicopter that had dropped them off was circling the ship at a safe distance; a good four minutes fly away.
Vasili, Sergey and Alexi ran like hell away from the ricocheting gunfire. They sprinted the hundred metres back to the helicopter pad in a matter of seconds. As the last few metres approached Sergey and Alexi leaped over the concrete barriers. Vasili placed his foot onto the barrier as a round fired by the Terrorists found its mark. Hitting square in Vasili’s back plate of Kevlar and throwing the lunging officer off balance and chest first into the barrier. Sergey lifted his head up and rested his rifle on the barrier. Vasili pulled himself between the barriers and shot a look at Alexi who, through the thin eye slots for the gas mask, had ultra-pale skin. He stuttered “They… they killed Vlad.” His eyes where widened with shock. Vasili responded harshly “Alexi, pull yourself together, this is war. People die.” He shoved Alexi towards the barrier and pointed towards the onslaught of fire.
Nearly forty men, dressed in urban camo and chest armour, rushed forwards towards the Russians. Rifles level with their hips they sprayed hundreds of bullets at the pinned down Special Forces. Sergey took a ricocheting bullet to the chest and was thrown to the ground, the wind knocked out of him. Vasili fired blindly over the barrier whilst keeping his body behind the cement. Three of the opposing soldiers walked slowly down the corridor of shipping containers, firing the whole way down. Alexi picked himself off the ground and put one round square into the heads of each of the walking attackers. “That’s for Vlad you bastards!” he yelled over the almost constant gunfire.
Vasili lay down behind the concrete barrier; hand on his headset changing the channel. “Reactive Actual, this is Reactive Alpha, requesting immediate Evac. The mission has gone to shit; we are pinned down, outnumbered and out gunned, we need help now! We have one man down and 30 plus bogies.”
“Roger that, Reactive Alpha. We are redirecting a chopper to your position now. They will provide support until the area is clear.”
“What’s the ETA on that?”
“Support is inbound now; expect a Blackhawk approaching from behind your position in five minutes.”
The fire fight raged on until the Special Forces where down to their last clips. Vasili’s gas mask was torn open as a bullet ripped through the side of it. Fragments of glass and plastic cut open the left of his face, blood trickled from the cuts. “Oh, shit!” he threw himself back down behind the wall as more bullets smacked into the cement. Pulling off the mask he had far better eye sight and realized how badly outnumbered they were. From every angle there seemed to be tracer rounds zipping past them. He lay down behind the wall, grabbed a grenade from his vest pocket and pulled the pin. Lobbing it over the wall it rolled it made contact with the ground and moments later exploded. The ground shook for a moment and bloodied moans soon followed.
“Shit, Vasili, I’m on my last clip!” yelled Sergey from across the other barrier. “Same here.” responded Alexi. Vasili felt his webbing. Empty. “One shot one kill” said Vasili as he put another round into the throat of an assailant. Blood splattered out of his throat as he clutched at the hole in agony before dropping to the ground. The familiar whopper whopper of a helicopter soon drowned out the fire fight completely. Vasili looked up and it was hovering fifteen metres above him, side mounted Minigun pointed at the attackers. The weapon roared to life with a deafening thunder, the Minigun fired two hundred bullets in 3 seconds flat. The deck lit up from the tracer rounds bouncing off the ground and through the shipping crates. Gun men who had previously been concealed dropped dead from the hellfire. Vasili and his decapitated squad continued firing, one shot one kill, into the enemy. “These bastards won’t just give up!” screamed Sergey as he threw a grenade over the barrier at the attackers.
Another burst from the Minigun finished off the resistance. “Reactive Alpha, this is your ride out of here. It’s now or never.” came the call over the radio.
“Roger Reactive Transport Alpha. We are ready for Evac.” Vasili replied eagerly.
“We are coming down now, keep your team away from the bird till we land.”
Vasili ordered his team out from under the helicopter and as it hastily descended.
As it landed Vasili jumped on board followed by Alexi, they jumped into their seats. Sergey pulled himself into the cabin as a spray of blood shot out from his forehead. He slumped onto the ground his legs dangling on the deck of the freighter. Alexi grabbed his vest and pulled him up into the chopper. With another thunderous burst of fire from the Minigun, another two hundred rounds flew out onto the freighter. Armour piercing bullets penetrating every obstacle in their way. The cabin was covered in tiny droplets of blood.
The chopper lifted steadily off the ground; more rounds flew out onto any possible sniping position in the ship. The Blackhawk was now at 200 metres above sea level and another hundred metres away from the ship towards the Torrent. Vasili sat in shock looking at the corpse of a man he had spent half his life training and working with. At three hundred metres from the freighter another shot, probably from a .50 Cal rifle found its mark on the engines. The craft shuddered in the air. The pilot started talking “Oh crap, we have 20% power output from the engine. Seem to have sprung a leak in the hydraulics to. We might just be able to make it back to the Torrent it’s only just under a kilometre from here. We can make it.” Another round ripped through the cabin and out the other side, no damage was done.
The chopper shuddered violently through the air, black smoke billowing out of the stricken engine. With the Torrent just fifty metres below and the vacant helicopter pad at the rear looking ever more enticing the unthinkable happened. The engines stopped.
It sputtered and bellowed more smoke than ever before. The craft stopped moving forwards and plummeted to the deck. The pilot tried in vain to restart the engines and pull the helicopter out of a spin. Vasili and Alexi both buckled up. The helicopter impacted the deck in a glancing fashion, the blades shattering on impact with the reinforced armour deck.
Vasili woke a few seconds after the crash. Alexi was slumped over in the seat, his harness keeping him in place. The nose of the helicopter was completely crushed; it took the brunt of the force, the pilots where dead. Vasili realised he was hanging upside down, strung up by his harness. Unclipping himself he dropped to the ground and a searing pain when through his left collar bone, broken. Medical crews and fire fighters rushed to the wreckage as Vasili pulled himself from the destruction with one arm. “Alexi, he is still-“ Vasili started talking as he lay on the ground but halfway through he passed out, smacking his head on the concrete.
May 23rd 0450 Hours Local Time, Red Sea, just north of the city of Jidahh, Bridge of the British Warship HMS Torrent
The three intelligence officers, Dmitri Travanovsky, Jacob Lloyed and Alex Martin, stood in the bridge. It was bristling with technology of every description. A lieutenant of the Royal Navy walked into the bridge. “Report!” demanded Lloyed as the officer entered. “Sir, the GRU team was hit by sniper fire and forced to crash land onto the pad, they have one KIA another MIA presumed KIA. The SAS team was shot down while preparing for a fast rope to the deck of the freighter making seven KIA including the pilots and gunner. The American Delta Squad has encountered little resistance at their target and instead has found large shipments of weapons and light vehicles. Hundreds of crates filled with ammunition and weapons. LAV’s and jeeps where found in the hold as well.”
“What the hell? How did that happen? Are you saying the Spetsnaz and the SAS where not able to capture their targets?”
“yes, sir.”
“Alright,” he had a sick look on his face “go to last resort option, fire Surface to Surface missiles at target A and B. do not fore at target C, we still have Delta operative on board.” The captain of the ship gave a look at the weapons officer. He hit the fire button.
It was a mighty sight as the two slots on the ships SSM launches opened up and two glorious streaks of light flew into the night sky at incredible speeds. From the deck of the Torrent it was extraordinary, the glows grew smaller and smaller until they turned 90 degrees down and plummeted towards their unseen targets. Two explosions, almost simultaneous, reaching a hundred metres into the sky illuminated everything. The burning silhouettes slowly sank into the black body of water.
“This is going to be a difficult thing to explain away to the media” said Martin as he stared perplexed at the fire licking the night sky. “Or we could not lie to the public’s faces and tell them what really happened?” replied Dmitri. “This is not good, no matter what we do. It’s in violation of so many rules it’s ridiculous, not to mention the very fact we destroyed two “civilian” freighters. This has been a strategic failure.”
May 25th 0900 Hours Local Time, United States of America, Channel 2 news
The TV in the Adams family was not usually used due to the lack of interest but this was different. The recent talk of important events around friends has left the family with newly found interest in the subject. The news started.
“On the night of May 23rd at approximately 5 AM, the British warship HMS Torrent attacked US military shipping in direct violation of military alliances set up by both parties. ‘The three freighters which had been converted for military transport use where first boarded by British Special forces. After the ensuing fire fight the British boarders where repelled, the Torrent then used Surface to Surface Missiles to sink the vessels.’ says the chief of defence in a press conference last night. The shipments contained ‘weapons and munitions to supply the Egyptian rebels enough fire power to sustain a powerful and strong government.’ The Chief of Defence also stated that one of the ships that were destroyed was transporting hundreds of American army soldiers to Egypt to reinforce the new rebel government’s authority.
The British government strongly denies these claims but satellite imagery given to us by the press release has confirmed a British warship firing surface to surface missiles at two freighters. Another photo, taken moments later, shows the freighters ablaze.”
The images showed up on the screen. Ultra clear, high definition, photos depicting the Torrent as it launches both missiles into the night sky and then the burning freighters.
The next night the TV was on again and again, every night for the next week until one especially important news update.
“It has been made open to the public that ongoing talks between British and American diplomats have been taking place over the last week. The official statement from the press release given to us several hours ago states the following. ‘On the day of June 1st political talks broke down. The United States will not stand for outright aggression between to allies. Drastic action must be taken in order to stop deliberate and malicious attacks on the welfare of our nation, its people and its servicemen. To protect both troop’s afar and the people of America at home the United States is prepared to defend itself.’ No further comments were given by military or civil officials.”
June 3rd 1200 Hours Local Time, United States of America, Channel 2
Over the next few days nothing of importance happened. The same thing played over and over on the television, and then something happened. The TV switched from midday soap operas to a solid blue screen. “This program has been interrupted for an important announcement. Last night, at 10 o’clock, United States Marines started operations in conjunction with the United States Navy and Air Force. USMC expeditionary forces on high alert where deployed to the British mainland last night. Minimal casualties have been reported on both sides. The United States military has been deployed as a very last resort in the imminent danger of facing more attacks. We now return you to your normal program.”
June 2nd 2200 Hours Local Time, Celtic Sea, United Kingdom, HMS Illustrious
The sky was covered by cloud and the sea by mist as Royal Navy Lieutenant Steve Jackson pulled himself into the cockpit of his Harrier Jump jet. He prepared the massive craft for take-off from the air craft carrier. Briefing made it clear that this was purely a recon mission; minimal armament, maximum fuel and a new, shiny, camera to take photos with. The all clear was given to take off and the he slowly pushed the throttle to full. The engines whined as 25,000 pounds of thrust exploded out the back of the aircraft, it lit up the entire ship like midday. It inched forwards then stopped. Suddenly the plane lurched forwards at an astonishing rate the brakes released and the catapult pulling the wheel of the plane forwards, accelerating from naught to 300 in a matter of two seconds.
Suddenly he was away, thrown off the carrier and out into the open sea. The plane sped through the air, effortlessly floating above the water. Jackson looked in the mirror at the Illustrious; she stood majestic, surrounded by her carrier fleet, she was a monster, dwarfing any of the other ships in the fleet. The Illustrious slowly drifted into the bleak and misty background.
Jackson spoke clearly into the Headset. “HMS Illustrious, this is Spotter 1-1, vectoring a course for the recon. I understand you need me to confirm the identities of several phantoms on the radar?”
“Uh, yeah that’s affirmative Spotter 1-1, report back anything strange. I get the feeling this mist is deflecting back stray radio waves to the dish.”
“Roger that Illustrious, we better keep an eye out in case the Americans try anything.” he said in a rather humorous tone. The laughter from the headset came through crackled and distorted. “Yeah okay, Jackson, you’re just sour because they didn’t choose you for desert storm.”
“We both know that’s not true. I was needed for the special mission of,” Jackson continued in a deadly serious tone “keeping the home waters safe from invasion.” Laughter erupted from both ends of the radio. “Whatever you say Jackson, but it doesn-“Static cut him off. “Say again Illustrious? I’m getting interference on my end.” The radio was blocked completely by static.
Jackson fiddled with the radio until the familiar sounds of the illustrious mission director came back through. “…so now you’re just some no-name pilot who is stuck on this concrete slab with me. But at least it makes good conversation.” “Yeah, well, I don’t know about you Illustrious but according to the Royal Navy I am on mission and must maintain 100% combat effectiveness at all times’. So don’t mind me, but, if I get blown out of the sky it’s your fault.”
“yeah okay, okay. Well, Spotter 1-1, continue on that course. In approximately 30 seconds you should be 1 kilometre above the phantom dots on my RADAR.”
“Roger, the mist is clearing now. I have visual on the water now.”
The Harrier jet flew sub sonic at nearly 1200 metres above the water level. Mist concealed nearly everything closer to the water than 40 metres. Spotter 1-1 ripped through the air at extraordinary speeds. The RADAR screen went crazy in a matter of seconds, “Illustrious, I have over 70 RADAR contacts, what fuck is going on?”
“Say again Spotter 1-1? Confirm the contacts?”
“Affirmative, I have… what the hell?”
Jackson looked down towards the ground as several carrier fleets worth of battleships, frigates, air craft carriers and gun boats made a steady course towards the coast of England. Jackson looked up towards the sky above him as his HUD lighted up with flashing lights. A solid tone erupted in his headset; he was being painted by several wings of F18E fighters that flew in formation above him.
Pulling back hard on the stick and hitting the master arm switch on the controls he tried to get out of the lock on. “Illustrious this is Spotter 1-1; I have eyes on several carrier fleets and maybe fifty F-18 hornets.” The response was static.
Jackson was directly over an invasion fleet and below enough firepower to blow him out of the air several hundred times. Pitching up the craft shuddered under the extreme forces; he gunned the throttle and hit the flares. “Illustrious, please respond, I have eyes on American naval and air forces. Scramble the fighters!”
As Jackson pulled up two white streaks ripped past his wings, missing by less than a metre and exploded a few seconds later. The craft shuddered from the shockwaves. Flack guns erupted into action as yellow streaks tore past his craft from the invasion fleet below. Thousands of rounds flew through the air. Jackson, who was now completely vertical, rolled his craft to the left and began to yaw the craft so it was now flying straight down towards the ground at lightning speeds. Pulling up he levelled the craft off and the solid tone of being locked on died off. He let out a sigh of relief.
Then a second later his plane was riddled with 20mm flack. The engines flamed out, hydraulics crashed and the frame was tossed around in the air. As the engines died so did his instrument panel, the lights that filled his cabin shut down one by one, the craft slowed dramatically, its small wings not suitable for gliding. The emergency power kicked in and a few of the most important instruments came back online.
Another solid tone came through his headset, this was it; he had only a few precious seconds left. Jackson pointed his plane down towards the largest carrier and let rip with all he had. The machine guns ripped up the carrier’s deck as the 20mm cannon exploded on impact with the steel deck. Missiles dropped of his rails and ignited, burrowed deep into the aircraft carriers deck before exploding. A massive hole in the deck from four AGM’s opened up the level below the deck.
Jackson hit the flares again and emptied all his flares completely, the cannon continued to rain hell down on the aircraft carrier’s deck, hitting people, aircraft and AA guns. Closing to less than 300 hundred metres he pulled the ejection lever, nothing. He pulled it again, still nothing. Jackson was hit in the chest as another hundred rounds of flack broke his plane into pieces and it hit with incredible speed into the aircraft carrier’s deck.

June 2nd 2240 Hours Local Time, Cornwall, United Kingdom, RAF Wiltshire

Corporal Samuel Ross of the Royal Air force was and just finished his promotion course and his new station at Wiltshire Air Force base meant a lot more responsibility. After political talks had broken down the brass ordered every military base in the UK on to high alert, this meant they had to be 100% combat effective at all times. He was posted in the RAF regiment which entitled him to defend the Air Force bases from ground attacks at all times.
Due to these new conditions he was to remain combat ready at any point in time, this meant when he was on duty to be wearing full combat armour, carrying his L85 Assault rifle and as much ammunition as he could carry. Sam was walking around the bases extended perimeter which was a circle several hundred metres out from the razor wire fence that separated the base from the rest of Wiltshire. The entire squad of 10 men, most of whom he had never actually seen beforehand, seemed extremely unimpressed with patrolling at close to midnight during a time of peace. The only people he knew the names of where the few people he had known for the very short time at this base. The lieutenant, James Worthington was an extremely laid back man, short buzz cut blonde hair and at the age of 22 he was only promoted to lieutenant because the base was seriously lacking in officers. The other man he knew was the support gunner, a short stocky man of German descent whose family came to the UK just before the outbreak of World War 2. His name was Joe Keller.
Sam was in charge of a fire team of 4 men in the squad, this included Lance Corporal Joseph Keller and 3 Privates that go by the names of John Martin, Ansley Martin and Adrian Balfour. He had never actually seen these people before his posting to this base two days ago and the longest conversation with any one of them was a simple ‘Hi’.
The patrol couldn’t be duller, everyone walked in silence, partly because of military doctrine and partly because no one knew each other. Well it was dull up until the point the radios crackled into life. “This is Air Marshall Crieg, Britain is under attack. All combatant forces are to report immediately to their combat positions. This base is in the direct flight path of several hundred unidentified aircraft. All fighter pilots are to scramble immediately. Good luck.”
The Shocked look on everyone’s face was from something that no one imagined possible. The silence was broken by James. “Well you heard the man, let’s get going. We need to be at the main gate in the next five minutes.”
Sam couldn’t believe it; Britain hadn’t been at full scale war since the Second World War. While he had a distinct distaste for America in general he had incredible worries, Britain may have been a super power 50 or more years ago it was no such thing anymore. Britain had long relied on its allies; Australia, Canada, India and finally the United States of America. He couldn’t understand why the United States would attack a nation that had for so long been its ally. But now was not the time for questions everything would be explained in due time, now was the time for action and readiness.

The squad quick marched the half kilometre to the main gate in a few minutes. There the squad took up defensive positions under the direction of lieutenant Worthington who ordered fields of fire to be situated on the road leading into the base and to only fire unless fired upon or ordered to do so. It was exciting, everything going so fast, rifles loaded, aimed and ready. Now they waited, 5 minutes, 15 minutes, 40 minutes, one hour later. Sam nearly fell asleep on two occasions and was drifting off a third time when the thunderous tearing sound of nearly 20 Harrier jets ripped above him at insane speed as they pulled up, gaining altitude as they flew over the base. Suddenly a ball of light erupted from the wing tips of all the harriers and shot off into the matte black sky. They ripped through the air and flew for several seconds before, suddenly, another volley of missiles appeared in the night sky. The only difference this time is they started in the black sky and shot down towards the harrier jets below.
The Harrier jets broke formation as several were struck down by missiles, tearing the crafts in half. The rest broke and opened up with more missiles that shot up into the dark sky, illuminating everything below. The burning wreckages crashed to the ground in a glorious ball of flames. The runway and open field of the air base becoming something resembling hell with fire spreading out and super-hot shrapnel flying in every direction. Then the AA guns opened up. Super bright flak rounds spat into the air, hundreds of round a second; the ultra-bright yellow from the tracer rounds contrasting on the black sky. The rounds shot high into the sky, thousands by the minute, they fired blind as the fighters above were all carefully designed stealth air craft.
Sam looked high in the sky as the tracers ripped up in the air and as they passed by the attacking aircraft illuminated them against the black. There were hundreds of them up there and another 30 engaged in dogfights with the harrier jets. He stood in awe, the lights dancing in his eyes, his mouth agape as his homeland was invaded by the strongest nation on earth.
The radio crackled into life again and the now concerned voice of Air Marshall Crieg spoke again. “Men and women of the RAF, we are under direct attack from United States Air assets. In this grave hour I expect all of the staff at this base to perform their duty with utmost professionalism and pride. Good luck.” With that solemn speech Sam stood could only stand there, his mouth open in shock as the realization finally hit him. He could die.
James pulled his hand up to his headset and started talking into it; Sam caught only a few of the words. “…say again? How the hell did they get through? And you’re sure of this… okay… what position? Ten-four, we will hold it.” He let go of the button on his headset, looked up and got everyone’s attention.
“We have four platoons of United States Marines headed to wipe out this base. If we lose this base it would open up the path for the rest of the Marine battalion to head through, unchallenged, straight to London. If we lose London we lose the entire southern coast of England. We will be meeting up with 1st and 2nd platoon in Chippenham where Colonel Collins has set up a perimeter around 2 evacuation zones for civilians in Chippenham.
We have to hold Chippenham long enough for the Evac to take place and the Civvies to be withdrawn to Swindon.”

As if perfectly timed a Warrior FV510 Armoured personnel carrier rolled out through the gate and came to a jerking halt in front of James and his men, Keller jumped aboard the APC entering through the rear door that was opened by one of the crewmen inside.
“Sergeant McKreilly, sir we have orders to take your squad to the town of Chippenham ASAP. You will be joining up with 1st platoon at the public hospital to aid the evacuation. Load up.” The crewman said in a rather strong English accent. The squad loaded into the steal beast with all haste then it took off with a jerking start while Keller struggled to balance himself and pull the door closed at the same time.

Map of area surrounding RAF Wiltshire: Pinpoint shows RAF base

The Warrior was soon joined by 4 others that had sped out of the base and onto the dark main road through the Wiltshire countryside. All up 30 men in the four APC’s armed with various assault rifles, support weapons and anti-tank weapons gunned it down the main rode passing through Caine in a matter of minutes with the constant blur of yellow tinged headlights swishing past on the right lanes heading off in a desperate attempt to escape the onslaught of American troops.
Soon the convoy reached the town of Chippenham, flood lights shun down from the roof tops of the hospital, illuminating the ground outside the perimeter like it was day light shining into the open area outside the tall, white, 6 story building. Snipers where poised above the building scanning the horizon, two Bell 212 transport choppers fast roped reinforcements into the open field to the side of hospital. Two warrior APC’s pulled alongside a Challenger II MBT that had been air dropped in from the Tidworth army base. The defence was rushed and thrown together at the last moment.

The main perimeter was several hundred meters outside the Evac points, a secondary perimeter that surrounded the Evac zones themselves and acted as a last stand position had the most military hardware and effort going into the construction. The first line of defence was more a skirmish line, slow down and recon the enemy force so that superior fire power can be allocated to the correct position.
The Warrior came to yet another jerking halt outside the hospital and the crewman threw open the door. Blinding flood lights shun directly into Sam’s eyes as he clambered out of the APC, his combat armour weight several kilos and weighing down his movements as well as restricting his limbs. How people where supposed to shoot, run and fight in it he could not work out, maybe he would be able to run faster when people were shooting at him. “Right, spread out, get tactical. Keller set up the MG on the other side of the main road, Martin, Martin, Balfour and Ross with Keller. The rest of you follow me!” The squad spread out fast, Keller sprinted across the semi-lit road into a ditch on the other side; Sam followed closely behind his body armour and pack making almost no noise thanks to the invention of duct tape to tie everything down.
For the next ten minutes soldiers ran around creating small fox holes and sand back emplacements for LMG’s that their squads carried. Sam, Joe and Adrian had created a small machine gun nest in the ditch beside the road. Made up of a small collection of twenty sandbags, half a shrub that Joe cut down with his bayonet and a sheet of corrugated iron that Adrian insisted would stop shrapnel. Together it made for a comfortable whole if you ignored the fact the ditch they were in was for drainage and there for filled with six inches in water. They sat in a ditch on the opposite side of Bath road to the Hospital.
Now they waited, the spot lights now changing their angle from pointing at the soldiers digging in to the surrounding town and now pointed out towards the direction of the advancing Americans. Soon it was nearing 3AM, rough seas must have made the beach landing, although not opposed, far more dangerous.
The radio crackled into life once more, “This is lieutenant Worthington, your commanding officer; estimates of over 5 platoons of US marines are engaging the town of Box as we speak. I expect each man to do his duty to the end; we must get the civilians out in time. If Chippenham falls so does London and the entire southern coast. The wellbeing of our nation and the lives of your families are at stake.” Sam gulped at the thought of his parents and brother sleeping safely in London as of this moment. “Remember an entire nation is at stake. I do not expect heroes from each and everyone one of us, I do expect that you fight with me and for our families and our nation. Good luck, give them hell.”
Ten minutes later the first shots rang out and shattered the deathly silence. The skirmish faze had begun, the first defensive line that was several hundred metres ahead of Ross and his MG nest had started the fire fight. The echoing Clack! Clack! Clack! Of single shots firing one after the other ripped through the night. Civilians being loaded into the back of trucks behind Ross and his team started screaming and ducking as they began to think they were being shot at. Now the machine guns opened up and tracers seemed to light the air on fire as they tore through into houses, trees and concrete.
The Marines slowly pushed through the weakly defended skirmish line and the British soldiers retreated back to the main battle line while bullets fizzed over their heads. Joe opened up with his L7A2 General Purpose Machine Gun to give the retreating soldiers cover. Bullets flew out over the open grassed area in front them and smacked into a Marine that stepped out from behind a house into the open street, felling him instantly, blood spraying across the ground. Joe recoiled with every shot but his aim was good, for the first 30 rounds fired no one saw where the fire was coming from. That was until “Oh shit, get down!” a bright burst of flames shot out at incredible speeds towards them from two hundred metres away, across the next street. The rocket roared towards them and impacted just metres away, showering them with red hot shrapnel.
Dirt shot up and over them, the shock wave impacting Sam’s chest threw him to the ground; a warm trickle of blood ran down from his forehead and a high pitched whine pierced his ears.
He lay in the ditch for what seemed like minutes before Adrian pulled him to his feet just in time to see an M1A2 Abrams explode through a house across the street. Bricks flew out across the ground and the steel beast came to a jarring halt as the entire house collapsed behind it. The tanks barrel levelled out and made micro adjustments to its aim then, for a split second, everything froze. BOOM, the tank shuddered as dust and smoke exploded up from the ground by the shockwave and the shell was propelled forwards at incredible speeds, smashing into the ground around the retreating RAF troops. Blood spray, dirt, rocks and shrapnel blasted into the air as two British servicemen were torn to shreds from the HEAT round.
“Mother fucker!” the shock Sam had just recovered from was replaced with complete and utter rage and hate. Lifting himself and his rifle up above the chest high dirt, Sam opened up with his rifle. Spraying down the house that the rocket came from, bricks and mortar were torn from the building. A full clip was emptied before Joe grabbed Sam by the cuff and hauled him downwards. A spray of mud flew over their heads as machine gun fire lit up their positions only inches away.
The distant roar of jets grew louder at a terrifying rate, “You have got to be fucking kiddin-” Joe’s words were drowned out as a wing of 4 F35B strike fighters cut through the air at supersonic speed just 80 metres above them. For just a second Sam stared in awe as the thunderous birds of war shot past him and dropped a metre long bomb out of the bottom of each plane. They impacted just 50 metres to his right. Dirt sprayed up over Sam, Joe and Adrian. It blocked out the light and smothered him.

June 3rd 0800 hours Local Time, Experimental Fusion Reactor, Siberia, Russia

“Tim, you heard the announcement didn’t you? Maximum security, that means bring the reactor down to minimum output and be ready for burley men with over sized guns to take over.”
“Yeah, yeah, I heard, just wondering if this has anything to do with the recent events in Europe.”
“Probably is you know, I mean the largest single power generator and the only sustainable fusion reactor in existence, it’s more than just a prize, if this melts down, well, I hate to think.”
Tim, a German Physicist, and Anthony, an English professor in nuclear engineering, had gotten on well from day one. Both being highly skilled in their fields and some of the very best in the world they were responsible for keeping the reactor in check underneath 300 metres of concrete and anti-bunker buster armour. The compound was under constant Para-military guard with 150 trained guards equipped with Ak-74s and PP-19s, an assortment of mounted machine guns and orders to shoot to kill made the compound a formidable force capable of defending against any mob of angry villagers or suicidal journalists. Unfortunately they were not defending against journalists.
Tim set about shutting down the reactor to minimum power output, still overkill and a half to power the facility and surrounding towns but the traditional coal power plants would have to come online this morning to keep the city of Novosibirsk up and running. Tim and Anthony were expecting a long day at the office, the highest level of security meant military reinforcements involving tanks and attack helicopters, no one leaving or entering the facility and a complete lock out of all non-military communications save the automated emails and calls sent to pre-determined addresses to alert family members of the workers that they would not be home that night.
The door to the reactor control room flung open, a soldier in full battle dress with PP-19 in arms joined them. “I’m here to check everything is under control, it would appear the facility is under attack, this is not a drill, and we need you to stay here in case the situation changes, all non-critical personnel are being evacuated to the bunkers.”
“We were just putting it on minimum power output as procedure goes.” replied Tim.
“There will be guards outside, no one is allowed in or out of this room till the safety alarm is sounded”
“Sounds like fun, don’t get shot!” Tom said in a half joking manner. The soldier looked back at him with a worried look, shit, maybe they were in a lot more danger than they realized.
Half an hour went by as they entertained themselves with old text adventure games on the computers and by eating the chocolate out of the emergency ration packs in the wall compartments. That was until an explosion cut them off mid-sentence, the walls vibrated from the shock wave, “Shit… I hope that wasn’t one of ours.” Anthony said, his voice suddenly struck with fear.
“We have good men up there, we’ll be fine. Plus the army is en-route as reinforcements; they’ll be here in less than ten minutes.”
“I damn well hope so.”
The explosions gradually grew in ferocity and size, either that or they were closer, they hoped it was the first one. While they waited the computers went insane, lights flashed, alarms sounded, more lights flashed. “What the hell?” Tim swung around as the computers flashed and warned of an imminent melt down. They both ran to the consoles and sat down, immediately seeing the problem. The reactor was at full power output but the coolant was still at the same levels as minimum power output. More lights and sirens went off. “Shit, the coolant pressure is too low, what the hell happened? Bring it up to normal operating temperatures!” Anthony ordered.
“Controls aren’t doing anything, they’re being over ridden, and I can’t bring the reactor power output down either. Someone is fucking with the system!” They both realized what was happening and what they needed to do. The only internet electronic connection to the reactor control room was a single yellow fibre optic cable that carried all the information to and from the reactor room. It was the only way anyone could remotely access the controls. Severing this meant that there would be no electronic access to the controls rendering the console useless though they had a mechanical set of controls in case of such an emergency.
“Cut that damn cable!” Anthony yelled. Tim ran to the panel in which the network cables were kept, he ripped it out of its socket. At the same time Anthony got the mechanical controls up and running, with no electronic access the mechanical controls now became the highest priority in the list of orders that the reactor would follow. They immediately spammed the controls, pressing buttons, watching dials, flicking switches. “The damn radiators are melting! I didn’t think that was even possible.”
“Apparently it is, how many do we have left?”
“Thirty five at 70% efficiency, another five are melting down.”
“Temperatures are dropping… coolant pressure rising.”
“I think we have it under control, for now anyway, and to think, we were this close to wiping out life on earth”
“I prefer not to think.” replied Anthony, clearly not amused.
In the chaos they hadn’t noticed that the gunfire had intensified, it was without a doubt inside the facility now. The lights flickered before dying completely, the humming background noise of over worked air conditioners also dropped out. “Good to see that in the event of an emergency our wiring and life support systems don’t break.” Tim mused.
“Great.” Anthony replied flatly. The backup lighting kicked in and they stood in a dull lit room, the air slowly getting stagnant and warm. “We can’t stay here, the reactor is safe now and I locked out the controls, no one can access it unless they know my password.” Anthony said.
“Alright, the fire fight seems to have died out without lights, it could be the army is here now, either way we should get to the bunkers.”
They stepped out expecting to be halted by heavily armed guards, unfortunately no such thing happened. The soldiers were gone and slumped up against the wall was a man, covered in his own blood, stomach ripped open by automatic fire, submachine gun in his lap. His uniform was unfamiliar, something that worried both of them. Tim picked up the weapon, weakly holding the metal frame stock to his shoulder. “What are you doing?” Anthony asked “You don’t even know how to use that thing!”
“Sure I do, it’s easy, point, pull the trigger and hope for the best.” Tim said; humour clearly being his best defence in a life threatening situation.
“Fine, just don’t point that thing at me, stay in front.”
Tim walked down the narrow, concrete, corridor, bullet marks on the walls and spent casings littering the floor. His hands shook as he aimed the weapon, then he froze. Torches flashed against the wall as the corridor came to a T junction. Just around the corner was a team of highly trained, heavily armed bad asses. The lights got brighter and brighter, as they rounded the corner and shined directly in Tim’s eyes he freaked out and pulled the trigger CLICK “Oh…” the gun was empty. A moment paused as Tim expected to be torn apart by bullets, instead a friendly voice came out of the glaring light. “Tim? Wow man, fuck, you nearly shot me. What the hell are you even doing out here? You’re supposed to be in the control room.” Tim dropped the submachine gun and collapsed to his knees, out of breath and sick to the stomach.
Hours passed before the gunfire died down completely and the normal lighting systems returned. Apparently the attacking force had been counting on using night vision goggles in the complete darkness not realising that the facility had two back up lighting systems for such an event, after all, that information was top secret. They were also not prepared for the flanking power of the Russian Paratroopers, they came in behind the assailants, flanking round with airborne LAVs, annihilating everything that stood in their way. Small arms tend not to fend well against 20mm cannon, armour plating and rocket launchers.

June 4th 1000 hours Local Time, somewhere in Chippenham, United Kingdom

Sam lay in the ditch, pain and muscle ache through his entire body, a constant dull thudding in his ears. As he sat himself up, the cracked plates in his body armour grinded, the vest was screwed. Using the rifle by his side as a crutch he lifted himself above the walls of the hasty defences, clearly they hadn't fared so well. Light seared his eyes, a contrast from the muddy trench. The sight was astounding. Burnt out vehicles, bodies, craters and even a downed chopper, a British Lynx gunship littered the field ahead of him. He looked down, “Fuck…” he was right next to one of the Martin twins, and clearly he hadn’t been so lucky, taking several rounds to the chest, his rifle half loaded, empty magazine discarded the new one hadn’t made it into the receiver.
Sam pulled himself up out of the ditch, mud soaking his lower half; rifle in hand, the plastic hand guards shattered and cracked. Limping, he made his way to the hospital; he was maybe two hundred meters away, a long walk in this condition. The thudding in the background had drowned out his hearing, as it came back he realised it was shelling, the battle was still raging. Artillery off in the distance, whether it friend or foe, was having a field day. “Son of a bitch.” dead civilians, torn up from stray tank shells lay in the parking lot to the hospital, clearly casualties of war. Burnt out Warrior IFVs, fox holes, civilian cars, an Abrams tank and soldiers on both sides lay dead in the field between the defensive line and the hospital. Clearly they had fought till the end, never stopping, never yielding; buying time for the civilians to escape the onslaught. The hospital was a mess; at least a dozen shells of differing sizes had hit the walls, completely caving in some sections. It must have been the last line of defence for the British servicemen stationed there. Spent shell casings were scattered all over the car park and field, the only reason he was still alive was because he had been knocked out early into the battle.
His headset crackled into life; clearly it had seen better days as static kept cutting over the radio. “SHHH-heavy fire, Oh fuck get do SHHHHHHHHH-Requesting reinforcements at SHHHHH-up against SHHHHH-why are they shooting at us? SHHHHHHHH-is happening here? Anyone-SHHHH respond immediately.”
“Hello?” Sam spoke into the microphone while he adjusted the radio, “Who’s there?”
“Fuck we’re being overrun! Why the hell are US Marines shooting at us?”
“This is Corporal Ross of the RAF Regiment, Chippenham is over run, my unit is gone, what the hell is going on?”
“Shit, finally someone can hear me, we are held up north of Chippenham, by the A350. Make contact with command, we are down to six men, limited ammunition, been holding them off for the last three hours now. We won’t last much longer out here! Tell them first platoon is wasted; all that’s left is remnants of the RAF Regiment and the Parachute Regiment. Get someone here ASAP soldier!”
“Yes sir!” Sam snapped round and ran for the hospital, hoping for some heavy radio kit in the makeshift HQ.
Walking up through the main door was astounding; bullet impact dints were everywhere, destroyed sandbag bunkers and other chaos that the battle caused. He put the rifle to his should and walked up the stairs of the old building into the waiting room, MG emplacements, blood stains, holes in walls, the place was a mess. “Die you son of a bitch!” A blood curdling scream erupted from behind him; he whipped around to see a woman in her twenties, covered in blood, mutilated in the face, wielding a knife charging him. He pulled the rifle up and aimed, taking two steps backwards, she didn’t slow. “Fuck.” he breathed out and fired. She was thrown the ground by the impact only a meter away, dead. “What…” he didn’t bother finishing his sentence. Up the stairs and round a corner he found the temporary HQ, all the large expensive hardware had been taken, others destroyed but the radio controller was slumped against a wall, blood splatter soaking the floor around him. In his back pack a mobile radio, the antenna collapsed into the unit. Sam took it out of the back pack, hooked it up to his headset and scanned the radio channels.
“This is Corporal Ross, RAF Regiment, is anyone out there? I have been separated from my unit, what the hell is going on out there?”
“Corporal, this is Lieutenant Worthington, what’s your situation?”
“I’m holed up in the Chippenham hospital, by myself, I have no idea what is going on.”
“The entire west coast has fallen Ross, you’re out there alone, we have nothing that can reach you.”
“Sir, I have made radio contact with friendly forces just north of my position, they are heavily outnumbered and taking casualties. They need reinforcements.”
“You are the only reinforcements we can get to them. Make your way back to friendly lines; I have orders to withdraw to London; that is where we will hold them. Good luck soldier. I’ll see you there.”
“Yes sir.”
The radio cut to static, the signal was being jammed. He flicked over to the last channel that he was on when he talked to the soldiers under siege, silence. Damn, too late. Sam’s new objective was to get back to friendly lines without ending up in a body bag. He had to find a vehicle, preferable civilian to attract less attention. The ones in the car park were burnt out and destroyed; maybe he could find something further out. The sound of artillery was getting more and more distant and whatever background battle noise had now faded away completely. Clearly the war had moved further on, towards London.
He searched for half an hour before finding a suitable vehicle, a 1995 Subaru Impreza WRX. Sporty and inconspicuous it was almost perfect, not to mention because of how old it was it was readily hotwired, something Sam had learnt in his shady years before the military. The WRX started up smoothly, Sam had no idea where he was going, where the enemy was, his only hope was to get really lucky. He gunned the engine down the A4, he guessed that the main force of USMC was forcing it’s what down the M4. This would take him down south a distance, away from most of the enemy forces, with any luck he could link up with some flanking British units starting a counter attack on the USMC’s flank.
It was a long ride; the sky was getting darker, the wind stronger and the occasional fighter jet ripped through the air high above him. The roads themselves were surprisingly clean for a mass evacuation, though having Chinooks and troop transports’ making an organised evacuation tends to help these situations. Something caught Sam’s eye as he drove down the four lane road. He pulled up. He grabbed the L85 assault rifle in the seat next to him when a soldier stood up from behind the wreckage of a HUMMW. Sam was staring down the barrel of an assault rifle, he released his own rifle and it clattered to the floor. The soldier pulled his door open, keeping the rifle trained on him the whole time. Sam kept staring forward, hands half up, palms open, waiting for soldiers next movement. “Ross?” The soldier asked, startled, Sam turned to be greeted by the glowing face of Joe Keller who had now lowered his rifle. “Joe! Holy shit man, having fun with that?” he said as he pointed towards the large machine gun Joe was holding by his side. Sam pulled himself out of the car as another soldier pulled himself out from behind the wreckage, he was hurt. In one hand a pistol while he clutched at his upper right arm, dried blood soaked the arm on his uniform. “So where are you headed Sam?”
“London, that’s where Lieutenant Worthington and his men are going. I’m trying to regroup, that’s where our guys are making a stand.”
“Alright, this is Andrew Hollar, got clipped in the arm back at Chippenham, after those birds dropped the bombs I thought you were dead. We had to leave in the chaos, they were all over us. Some of us held up in the hospital, too damn bad the civvies were caught in the cross fire. Some of the bastards came up and just cut them down. I mean fuck, whatever happened to the Geneva Convention?”
“Damn, I saw the aftermath this morning when I came to, I got charged by some women with a knife, she was pretty messed up. Covered in blood, face mutilated, ran at me with a knife. Had to put her down.”
“Some of the civvies went psycho, while Andrew and I hid in the dark we watched helplessly as the Marines round up the civilians and soldiers alike, anyone who resisted was executed. One woman, probably the one that charged you, was beaten senseless and dumped outside with the other casualties, her kid taken away from her while she fought them like a woman possessed.”

They all climbed back into the Subaru, Joe riding shotgun, Sam driving and Andrew nursing his wound in the back. “I made contact with some men holed up just north of Chippenham. They made the bastards pay for every inch of land they took. I tried the radio for reinforcements but it seems we are the only ones left this far west.”
“This is fucked man, when did this happen?” Keller said morbidly.
“I… Don’t know, one moment I’m going for my marksman’s the next I’m getting bombs dropped on me, bullets being shot at me, friends dying. I don’t want to think what caused it, wasn’t that whole thing with the transports in the Middle East was it? I heard the Russians attacked it, but then again, I also heard we attack it.” His voice trailed off.

June 4th 2100 hours Local Time, just outside Bristol, United Kingdom

“Who was it?” The Marine demanded. Dozens of civilians cowered in fear on their knees. Hands behind their heads, faces inches from the ground, they didn’t dare look at the figure staring them down. A platoon of United States Marines were taking full advantage of the black out in media and the blind eye command turned when it came to aggressive movements by their forces. Fifteen fully armed and armoured Marines stood around the clearly terrified civilians, flashlight from the rifles blaring in their faces. “Oh I’m sorry, didn’t you hear me? I said who the fuck killed my corporal?” He lifted a twelve year old boy up off the ground with one hand with no regard of his comfort. “Was it him? We found him with the body of my soldier. Was it him?” the sergeant was clearly pissed off beyond all reasoning but tried to act civil in front of them. No one dared say a thing in response. “Well then, I guess we have our culprit.” The sergeant threw the kid on his knees and pulled out his sidearm. A Colt M1911, he pulled back the slide and placed it against the quivering boys head. Tears streaked down his cheeks. “No!” and as the sergeant turned to face the direction of the voice a man in his early thirties, clearly not well done by, covered in his own blood, bruises and cuts had jumped up from the ground and charged the soldier holding a pistol to his boy’s head. The Marine pulled his pistol up to bear on the charging man but it was too late. The man connected with the soldier, a fist flung out and smacked hard on the Marine’s nose, a sickening crack followed by a spray of blood and the man went down, his pistol went off in the air as he fell hard. The father picked up the pistol in an instant and aimed it with confidence at the closest Marine. “Run Jack, now!” yelled the man as he looked over at his son. The kid looked up at his father for an instant, he understood there was no time and took off. He sprinted out of the light and towards the shadows, behind trees, bushes, cars, fences. Not stopping ever, he just ran, never looking back till bam and he dropped to his knees and collapsed in the dirt behind a chest high wall. His father had sacrificed himself for the life of his son. He sobbed into his hands until RATATATATA Screams and gunfire erupted from behind him. They were being executed for his actions.
The soldier had come into his house, kicking the down the door. As the man tried to separate him from his mother she pulled the knife on him, a kitchen knife and as she swung it at the soldier he opened fire. She collapsed in a pool of her own blood. The soldier turned away from the body, stone cold and started walking out. Jack, completely numbed out from reality picked the knife up and plunged it into the soldier’s neck with all his might. He dropped to his knees, blood gushing from the wound, clutching his throat as the blade protruded the front of his neck. Next think he knew his father ran in and saw the mess, a dead mother, a dead wife, a dead soldier, a mentally fucked up child. “J-Jack…” the boy turned, tears in his eyes, blood on his hands. In the next second three more soldiers ran into the house, rifles raised, yelling and screaming commands. They kicked his father to the ground, pushed Jack against the wall, rifle barrels in their faces then they were being dragged out of the homes, thrown on the concrete and searched.
Now he was alone. His parents dead, an only child, living in a city away from any other relatives and with no friends; he was now homeless, an orphan, a murderer, and all alone in a city under siege.

June 5th 0600 Hours Local Time, Russo-British war Relations Conference, Location Undisclosed

“What the fuck was that?” Jacob Lloyed yelled across the room. His bodyguard, a suited though looking man, MP7 in hand and a USP .45 tucked into his belt holster, flinched a little as Lloyed threw the thick folder across the room. Pages flew wildly while the Russian FSB agent, Dmitri Travanovsky, sat coolly in his chair, his own bodyguard, Captain Vasili Kuznetzov of the Russian Spetsnaz, handling his Ak-12 rather zealously. “Here we are on the verge of world war three, parliament is calling on the Commonwealth to join our war, the United States are running rampant through our cities and are maybe three days fight from London assuming the situation doesn't change and all you can do is laze around as if you know everything there is to know!” Lloyed paused and changed his tone completely “which of course, you don’t, right?” he asked worryingly.
“Mr Lloyed,” Travanovsky said politely “as far as the world is concerned the United Kingdom and the Russian Federation declared open war against the US of A. There is no convincing the public otherwise at this point in time. The Terrorist organisation is real. They go by the name of Red Anarchy, red suggesting the tie-ins with communism. This organisation has existed since the Korean War in the 50s. It was is indirectly controlled by CIA deep cover operatives to keep in check not only some of the most dangerous mercenaries but to also act as a cover for selling weapons to the enemy. The Red Anarchy sold weapons and munitions to North Korea, the Vietcong, hell; they even managed to get weapons into Iraq and Afghanistan under that name. Basically all it was and all it ever will be is a proxy; a proxy army to sell weapons and the equipment of war to their own enemies.”
“Well this is all well and good but why?” Lloyed asked
“War is good for business, especially if you meet it in the middle, selling weapons to both sides so the conflict lasts longer than it should. Look at this.” Travanovsky handed over a manila folder filled with colour photos and pages of tables filled in with data. Lloyed pulled out the first image, a way too detailed map of Georgia, the small Slavic nation that Russia had invaded in 2008 during the South Ossetia conflict. The map had two locations circled, the town of Kurta in South Ossetia and town of Ninotsminda, both in Georgia, north and south side respectively. He pulled a second sheet out; it detailed the weapon transportation of Red Anarchy’s trading. The sheet read as follows.

To: Commander Leonardo
From: Unit Saturn, Officer #1
Date: 6th August 2008
Intro: Unit Saturn has successfully transported quota to Kurta under banners of Red Anarchy, Unit Neptune has made contact with possible Russian forces, expect high casualties; assumed FSB Spetsnaz operatives. Two million sixty thousand units gained, two million units sold, returning to position Sol.

Data:
Type Number Unit gained/lost
Ak-47 450 +600, 000
Ak-74 230 +120, 000
AT-4 30 +240, 000
SVD 50 +90, 000
RPG-7 70 +40, 000
BMP-3 2 +900, 000
PKM 45 +70, 000

Casualties:
Unit Saturn; 1 KIA, insubordination.
Unit Neptune; 5 KIA, foreign interference, 12 MIA, foreign interference.

Final Notes:
Unit Saturn has yet to make contact with Unit Neptune. Presumed Unit Neptune is KIA or routed and self-disbanded. Suggest sending Unit Mercury to search for traces under cover. Unit Saturn has lost Corporal Reilly due to a break down in command after radio contact with Unit Saturn was lost. I was forced to terminate Corporal Reilly in order to salvage the mission.

Signed: Lieutenant Evila

“So you’re saying the Americans under the proxy of Red Anarchy were selling weapons to both sides of the Georgian conflict?” Lloyed asked.
“Exactly, they do this for several reasons. Firstly to control all the criminals they don’t want working for someone else. Why go hunting and executing them when you can make them come to you, put them to work and make a convenient enemy for the American public should the need arise. Secondly, it allows them to sell paraphernalia of war to their enemies and the enemies of their enemies for a quick profit.”
“So that’s it then, we are fighting a fabricated enemy. One with some of the most hardened criminals ranging from Nazis to dishonourably discharged soldiers and at the very top several deep cover CIA operatives with no contact to the higher ups in government. For all we know the Red Anarchy has gone completely haywire and is now operating out of its own interests.”
“Precisely, now with this information and the Red Anarchy’s attack on the Fusion reactor the Russian Federation is two hours from declaring war on the United States. This attack could have wiped out life in Russia and China. Naturally China is pushing the economic strangle hold on America. Spies have reported that The United States is preparing to write off all external debt, effectively putting the US into a number on economic position. If the United States carries through with this China will no doubt join the war, the United States will use the declaration of war as an excuse to execute the debt write off.”

June 5th 1900 hours Local Time, Port of Bristol, United Kingdom

“Alright gentlemen, thanks to the brilliance of our friendly neighbourhood R&D department we have been able to make it into enemy airspace undetected using their own Friend-Foe-Identification. Last minute intelligence puts the 77th Armoured Division twenty kilometrs outside Bristol moving towards London. We’ll be setting down soon