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Back in 2003 / 2004, I was unemployed for almost a year. The Job Centre didn't know what to do with me, so sent me to this place called Pelcombe Training. The only "training" you could do was work through an entry-level "IT" ("pressing the mouse button once is called a 'click'") course using an outdated book. I think the real reason for it was to corral the long-term unemployed in one place to make sure they weren't doing cash-in-hand jobs while also getting the dole. Anyway, as the place had a bunch of computers, but most of the rest of the people there were ex-cons who had done serious shit like armed robbery, literal racist thugs or pigshit-thick scratters who were in their twenties and still couldn't spell, I spent a lot of time there making websites and writing nonsense. This is some of that nonsense! This is actually also based on an idea I had for a Doom wad called Gaydoom. Somebody on Doomworld had suggested making a "Gay Doom" where the doomguy would have a bright pink dildo strapped to his body and would make girly squeals when hit. My idea for Gay Doom was about a force of Neo-Nazis taking over Britain in 1977, and you have to fight back using excessive brutality and improvised weapons bolted onto awesome classic cars. I also started to make a crap comic based on this, but that didn't get very far. Back when Doomworld was starting to change from what it was at the turn of the century, into the cesspool it is now, I actually posted this shit on there. Despite the fact it's quite obviously terrible, people were saying it was awesome, just because they'd clocked the "gay theme" and were desperate to virtue-signal. The comic and this story also owe a great deal to the old 2000AD strip Invasion, where Britain in 1999 (a 1999 that looks a lot like 1977) gets invaded by the "Volgans", thinly-disguised Soviets. In 2004-ish that strip was actually revived, only now the Volgans were "rightwing" (why do they always write it as one word?) Russians, who looked a lot like the Americans fighting the War on Terror. In the story the Americans were helping to liberate Britain with experimental robot soldiers. I've not read 2000AD for a decade, but no doubt, as I write this in 2019, the plot is now about the Volgans manipulating the Americans to elect a president who will appease them and let them take over Britain. I don't need to have seen a single panel of it to know that there was a plot like that between the years of 2016 and 2020. They just can't help themselves. Oh, also I've tidied up / rewritten this story a bit. Not actually written any more though. Maybe one day.. |
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Bonus Nonsense if I can be arsed to find and upload it |
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An interesting window into just what a vicious little shit I was, back when I was left wing. These pages are presented almost entirely unmodified, except I added a link back here to the bottom of them. |
The Fourth Reich comic It's in the UK right now, and I might not upload it even when I can get to it, because it was very cheesy and shit. ...Wait, so is this story! |
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Found during a routine root-around. It's only one page, may as well upload it for laughs |
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Chapter 1 - An Ordinary Day July 3rd 1977 A series of loud clunks and thumps woke Mark Johnson up with a jolt, he looked around the dimly-lit room in a daze and realised it was just the bin men outside. "Shit" he thought "Too many horror movies". He laid back down and closed his eyes, hoping to get a little more sleep. The next second his alarm clock went off. "Morning" said his boyfriend, Paul, from next to him. "Murrble", was the only response he could give. Outside, the truck revved loudly and started reversing back up the street on which the couple lived, the beeper annoying everybody for hundreds of yards around. Mark hauled himself out of bed and looked for something to wear. He was a tall 21-year-old, with very long, light brown hair and brown eyes, he had a very handsome, defined face (if he said so himself), and a nicely-toned body. He pulled on some discarded shorts from where they had landed, then swished the curtains open, causing Paul to complain loudly "Oh, sorry love" he said "forgot you don't have work today". Paul was already sitting up in bed, blinking and reaching around for something to cover himself. Mark walked over and gave him a quick kiss. At least, he intended it to be a quick kiss. The shorts he had just put on quickly came off again... Paul looked quite similar to Mark, but with a more rounded, cuter face, and blue eyes, also his black hair was much shorter. They laid in bed for a few moments, getting their breath back. Mark suddenly looked over at the clock. "Oh BOLLOCKS!" he shouted, to nobody in particular "Gonna be late again". Paul laughed as Mark ran to the bathroom and flung some vaguely soapy water over himself, showed his teeth to a brush and let at least some part of the electric shaver touch his jaw. Then it was back to the bedroom to hurl some worse-for-wear trousers and the least-dirty uniform shirt over himself. After that he bounded down the stairs, snatching car keys and some other bits and pieces from the hall table. He fiddled with the lock on the front door before finally getting outside, where he was half-blinded by the sunlight, it was going to be a bright, hot day. He briefly glanced up the street, it was a cul-de-sac that had been built in the 1920's, part of the "Homes for Heroes" building boom after World War One. The rows of semi-detached, now quite crumbly-looking houses were stained with brown grime from the years of smog generated when London was still an industrial city. There were few factories or shipyards left in London, now. Even the great mills of the north were looking like closing, as Britain's economy was undergoing a huge upheval, unable to compete with the cheap goods being manufactured by sweated labour elsewhere. At the house next door, their neighbour, Alf, was busy gardening. Despite being in his late 60's, Alf didn't seem to care about their relationship, he had served in the Navy during the war and had "known that sort of thing was going on". What he didn't talk about so much was what the officers had allowed to happen to "those people" when his ship was fatally holed by a U-Boat during a convoy escort mission. "Morning Alf" Mark said as he walked over to his car; a gleaming red, second-hand Ford Capri mk1, it was only a 1300, but at least it was cheap on petrol. "Late again eh?" Alf said as mark opened the drivers door, throwing various objects from his pockets on the passenger seat. "Yep, I'm amazed I've still got the job" Mark grumbled as he got in. "You wanna be careful... if you lose that job, you might not get another, the way things are" Alf replied. It was a serious thing to think about. Britain wasn't quite as badly off as it had been in the early 1970's, when rubbish piled up in the streets and you might only get three days of electricity a week, but things were hardly rosy. Mark worked as a driver for Whyte Deliveries, a distribution firm for office equipment. The distribution centre wasn't very far away, but in London traffic it could still take ages to get there. Luckily the traffic was oddly light today and he got out of his car just as the clocks struck 9. "Fuckin' 'ell, on time for once!" said Rob Smith, his manager, out of the window of his small, wooden office. Rob was hoping for a promotion up into the big, brick-built office on the other side of the yard. Mark knew if that ever happened, he'd have to watch out. Rob knew what Mark was and was always looking for any excuse to bawl him out. With a promotion under his belt, Rob would have the power to fire Mark, and would be itching to use it at the first sign of a mistake. "You better get straight out, you got 415E today" continued Rob, hurling some keys from the window. He made a point of always keeping Mark at arm's length or greater, lest he be tainted. Mark walked into the big, dusty, brick-built garage and soon found 415E, or to give it it's proper name, ERM415E, a grimy, rusty red Ford Transit mk1. Mark got in, noticing the boxes of computers already piled up in the back, he slammed the van's door and heard the sound of a thousand flakes of rust tingling down between the panels. "Fuggin poofter" grumbled Rob as he watched the Transit whir over several times before bursting into life, great clouds of blue smoke erupting from behind it, and several places underneath, too. "Can't wait to sack the wanker" he carried on, to himself, he absolutely hated the fact that Homosexuality had been legalised the previous decade, he thought it unnatural and wrong, and that gay people could be cured, if only they were kept in prison and had it beaten out of them. The Transit's engine whined with protest as mark pulled into a petrol garage near to an M25 slip-road, whoever had driven this heap before had inevitably left it running on fumes. Mark had also found the radio had been removed "because it strains the battery", as the yellow sticky note over the open hole had said. Maybe with a bit more saving he could buy one of those fancy battery-powered tape machines... Mark jammed on the brakes as he swept onto the forecourt. The pads had just been replaced and were about the only thing on the van that actually worked properly - too properly, in fact. The computers in the back all slid forwards and slammed into the back of the bench seat. "Hope those things aren't delicate" he grumbled, stepping out of the van and walking up to the pumps. He noticed a few people crowded around another car, its owner had the radio turned right up. Mark assumed they were listening to a football match, and paid no more attention. * * * "Prime minister", the nervous intelligence chief said "If it was just the one report, I'd agree with you... but three? I think we ought to at least take an interest". The PM brushed aside his concern "Listen, as you yourself said, without any radar evidence we just can't take this nonsense seriously. A huge flotilla of Zeppelins? Really? And that last one even said they have swastikas on the tails? I think you yourself realise how unlikely that sounds. The only thing those fishermen have seen is the bottom of their rum bottles. Shouldn't be surprised if a handful of them have cooked up the whole lot of nonsense between them. There will be flying saucers in the next report, no doubt." "Indeed" said the Intelligence chief, feeling deflated. "Now" said the PM, "What about my meeting with the Canadian premier?" His secretary stepped up "His plane will arrive at Heathrow in a few hours, sir" she said, before returning to her typewriter. "It's madness!" the Intelligence chief, Reginald Blightley, grumbled to a subordinate "he should at least allow us to send out spotter planes to look, has he not heard of radar jamming?" "We could send them out anyway, sir..." the young corporal said "No, no... my job is worth too much, besides it probably is just the drunken rambling of a few fishermen, nothing to be alarmed about"
Chapter 2 - The Invasion Mark walked out of the garage shop and back over to the Transit, weaving around a Jaguar that some posh executive was filling up. He could feel the disparaging look the slightly older man gave him. "Yeah well your business would go tits up if it wasn't for people like me delivering your computers", he grumbled to himself as he tried to close the van door more carefully. He failed, and heard the same symphony of rust hitting the bottom as before. He pulled out of the garage, checking his clipboard to see where his first delivery was to. "Felixstowe, will need that new M25, then" he said aloud while looking for a gap in traffic. Suddenly, an ear-splitting roar sounded as three jet planes soared overhead at treetop altitude. "FUCK me!" he shouted, further complaints drowned out by another trio following right behind. "Some people are still sleeping, you bleedin' fly-boys" he grumbled, pulling out behind a big old Vauxhall Cresta. A husband and wife were in the front seat, the wife seemed to be animatedly trying to say something, but her husband was brushing it off. Mark idly wondered what they were talking about, but it was probably none of his business. * * * "Prime minister!" The Intelligence chief cried as he rushed into his office. "What is it Blightley?" said the Premier, in a very annoyed tone, Reginald looked over to see a man he recognised as the Canadian PM sitting opposite, Reginald tried to keep his composure, but deep down fear gripped his heart, he could hardly believe the situation, and tried to put it into simple terms. "Sir... Britain is under attack!" "What?" said the PM, "who by?" They call themselves the National Socialist Movement of the Fourth Reich" Reginald said, "they're a new Nazi army!" he added, as the two world leaders stared at him, uncomprehending. Suddenly a loud roar reverberated through the room as three jet aircraft soared right over Westminster palace. "Oh my god" said all three men as a deeper, more rumbling sound replaced the first roar and some larger planes went over. Suddenly, the palace was rocked to its foundations, the lights flickered and dust fell from the ceiling. A precision-guided bomb had fallen right in the grounds, a "warning shot" aimed right at the government of the country - and the first bomb of a new blitz - only just over 30 years after the last one had ended. * * * "Fuckin' jets" grumbled mark as he weaved through traffic on the M25. He came out from under a wide bridge, suddenly something huge was looming over the road. Brake lights flared ahead of him and he could already hear beeping and thuds as a few surprised drivers hit each other's cars. "SHIIT!" he screamed and stepped on the Brakes. The new pads began grinding themselves to dust and the Transit, wheels locking and cargo protesting, stopped just an inch from the rear of a Triumph Dolomite. Mark looked up over the tops of the halted cars and saw an enormous Grey airship, hovering just over the road. "What the fuck??" he asked himself as he noticed the craft had Swastikas it's rear fins. It looked like the old Hindenburg, only with what looked like giant jet turbine engines and a large ring around the rear that he couldn't even guess at the purpose of. Looking lower, he noticed that Grey Tanks of an unknown kind where being lowered from the bottom. They looked like German Tiger tanks from the Second World War, but updated and modernised. Grey clad soldiers on the platforms waved to unseen figures below, directing operations. Another airship was approaching from the distance, and more jets howled around the sky. Suddenly the van door was wrenched open and a man dressed like a Nazi stormtrooper pointed a vicious-looking gun inside. "You go home now!" the man shouted. Mark wasn't all that good with accents, but still thought the voice was not quite German. Where had this army come from? "Okay okay", mark said, his hands in the air as he awkwardly levered himself out. It wasn't his van anyway. A suited office worker from the Triumph in front was being none-too-gently persuaded by another soldier to abandon his car. The old couple Mark had seen in their Vauxhall earlier were now somewhere behind him, the wife repeating "I told you so!" Suddenly there was a burst of gunfire from somewhere close by. Mark saw sparks dancing as wild shots hit the rear of his van. All around, people were screaming and throwing themselves to the ground. The soldier who had opened the van door ran to the rear, crouched and started firing at something. Short, ammo-conserving bursts that told Mark, hardly an expert in military matters otherwise, that these men were at least well-trained "Fuck this" Mark said, weaving between stopped cars and cowering people as he dashed from the road. Here it was slightly above the level of the land, and slid down the embankment into a field full of tufty, soft grass scattered with wild flowers. He looked back up and saw a few British Army Land Rovers and trucks amongst the cars, more gunfire echoed and he could hear someone howling in pain. One of the cars exploded, burning petrol showering other vehicles. More people erupted down the embankment and ran into the field, one woman with a sleeve on fire. Mark backed away and started to run across the field, the motorway had erupted into a war zone. Beneath the big airship, powerful engines and grinding tracks could be heard as the tanks prepared for battle. Mark got to the middle of the field and started walking instead, it was several miles to home and he could hear explosions and gunfire all around, and smoke rose from various points in the distance. "Where's the RAF?" he wondered aloud, noticing the ponderous but purposeful shapes of more airships moving about. Others were also lowering tanks, while parachutes blossomed from many more. Twisting and turning vapour trails in the distance told of an aerial battle in progress. One dark speck suddenly blossomed into many tiny yellow ones, a crackling rumble followed a second later. Tiny red pinpoints told of flares being fired to fool missiles, many more vapour trails were abruptly turning into black smoke trails, heading downwards. A new Battle of Britain was being fought, and this time, the British were evidently losing. * * * Sergeant-major Bill Bowler looked down the street and snarled to himself. These Nazi invaders had come out of nowhere and suddenly seemed to be all over the city. His men where surprised, but thanks to his training soon sprang into action like a well-oiled machine. Going as far as they could, they were finally able to hastily barricade a major street and set up an anti-tank battery. The enemy had somehow managed to bring tanks right into the capital, thanks to their fleet of huge, Zeppelin-like airships, which appeared to be powered by some kind of advanced jet engine, and seemed to be filled with helium. Judging by what he saw when one of them was blown into pieces by anti-aircraft fire from elsewhere in the city. The AA crew hadn't been given long to celebrate, as another of the ships had poured fire into them from several heavy, rotary machine guns that had almost chopped whole buildings in half. How had they built airships capable of carrying so much weight? "Sir!" a young private shouted, pointing down the road, Three Menacing Grey tanks approached. "Roight men, this is it!" Bill shouted, and the 128mm Cannons opened fire. Two shells holed the lead tank, its turret was thrown into the air by some internal explosion, crashing into a shop front and sending bricks and roof tiles raining into the road. The second tank had a track blasted of. It slewed sideways and crashed into a cafe, demolishing the interior and causing the whole building to shudder. Much of the roof slid forwards, crashing into the ruined street. Suddenly a man in a suit and a bowler hat ran across the road. "Cease-fire!!" Screamed bill "Oi, you in the bowler! Get yer 'ead down!" Before he could say another word, the Third Nazi tank had used the break in firing to shoot back. Bill saw the puff of smoke from its barrel. Time compressed so much that he was beginning to think the shot had missed, when suddenly an orange flash threw him sideways, and he knew no more. * * * Captain Hans Schwartzmann opened the hatch of his tank and looked around, it had crashed into a small cafe, rubble and glass shards littered the area, he heard the crackle of small fires all around. Clacks and clinks told of parts of the building still falling. Thuds from above told of somebody in the flat over the shop panicking and trying to get out. This was the first time the captain had seen another country, he was Argentine, but of German extraction, his family had fled to Argentina after the war to escape justice at the Nuremberg trials. Several Nazi leaders, including, it was rumoured, Hitler himself, had built a huge army in a secret valley and, later, an underground city over the decades. Many Argentine children who were judged to be sufficiently "Aryan" had been kidnapped and raised as Nazis, while others had been secretly recruited by "political groups", only initiated into the actual army once their trust could be absolutely assured. This huge, secret army was now mobilised. Schwartzmann remembered Marshall Von Hocken's grand speech - broadcast on the secret city's internal television network - before they left. "Over 30 years ago", the Marshall had begun, "The forces of the Third Reich where sadly defeated, by an enemy superior in numbers and, at the end, in technology also. Well now, thanks to the great undertaking, of which you all have been a part, WE are the ones with technological superiority! Our great Glasberg Airships, our Tiger mark Eights, our Wodenstormm fighters and other secret weapons - which only a few of you will know about - shall sweep all resistance before them! First we shall take Britain, that easily-defendable island which resisted us so well. From there, we shall take the world!" Plaster and bricks dropped onto the tank as a young corporal clambered into the ruined shop. "Captain, are you okay?" he asked, in broken German. "Yes, fine, it appears the enemy are neutralised, well done. Now let us press on!". The third tank rolled forwards, shoving aside the ruined artillery pieces that had been one of London's few real points of resistance. Overhead, the grey jet fighters bearing swastikas continued to swarm. The air battle was obviously already over, and the ground battle, in the capital at least, would only last a few more hours. * * * Mark walked through an empty suburban street. Nobody was about, though he sometimes caught glimpses of people nervously looking out fron behind their curtains. The occasional rumbling explosion and burst of distant gunfire caused him to twitch nervously. What few people he had seen walking the streets looked shell-shocked and terrified, they didn't offer any conversation. After a few streets, Mark came across an abandoned old warehouse, or perhaps it had been a small factory. It was covered in graffiti and litter, almost every window long since broken, the metal frames rusted. Normally he would be scared to walk through such a place, but just carried on. Smoke rose from another nearby building. The tail of an aircraft jutted from the wreckage, covered with soot. Mark couldn't tell what side the plane had been on, though he had an uneasy suspicion. Further into the building, the recently-killed body of a tramp was slumped against the wall. An empty shotgun cartridge lay nearby. Who had done this? Were there British traitors around, cells who had been in prior contact with the invaders and were now cleaning up "undesirables"? Or had somebody just taken advantage of the confusion to do it off their own bat? Mark was suddenly in the yard behind a shop, it seemed to be abandoned, the back door was hanging open and the building next door had been hit by some sort of explosive. The upper floor was ruined and smouldering, all the lower windows shattered. A single dusty Cortina sat in the yard, with a section of wall sunk into its bonnet. He walked through the store-room and into the front, discovering it was a TV rental shop. All the screens showed, in colour or black and white, the same scene - a BBC news reader nervously reading out an announcement that people should stay in their homes and not go out, and that the "Army of the Fourth Reich" was now in charge. The newsreader occasionally nervously looked up at something off camera. The broadcast finished and a swastika appeared on the screen, with the words "Reich Broadcasting Network". Mark could smell smoke and heard some creaking sounds. He decided it was probably safer to be out on the street, the building might collapse at any time. The road outside was boxed in by wrecked, burning tanks on one side and the remains of some sort of artillery emplacement on the other. A tall building had since collapsed on top of this, a few dead British soldiers were laying around. Wrecked cars lined the road, including a mangled Triumph Herald with a dead woman wearing a supermarket uniform hanging out of it. Further up, a businessman in a suit and bowler hat was crouched, cowering, behind a low wall, he was covered in dust and blood, Mark ignored him and walked down a small, cramped alleyway. The street on the other side of the alley was a lot quieter, though a jack-knifed lorry and some small bits of burning wreckage could be seen in the distance. * * * The TV Crackled into life again. Paul was sat staring at the screen wondering where his boyfriend was. The whole world seemed to have gone mad - the situation was unbeleivable. He kept wondering if he was still dreaming, but no effort seemed to be able to make him wake up. A blonde, blue-eyed Nazi came on the screen dressed in an elaborate looking uniform. "People of Britain" he spoke "I am Marshall Von Hocken, Your new supreme governor! Aside from a few pockets of foolish resistance, which will soon be crushed, we, The army of the Fourth Reich, have full control of your country. Please return to your homes and remain in them for the time being, anybody trying to resist us will be executed!" It then showed pictures of British soldiers surrendering, a Phantom fighter crashing to the ground under withering anti-aircraft fire, and large Airships landing, spilling out soldiers and tanks. Another picture showed a whole row of British fighter planes ablaze on the ground - a squadron that had somehow been surprised before they could even take off. "Damn it Mark, where are you?" he said aloud, another huge explosion echoed in the distance * * * Mark ducked under the small bridge as a vast explosion turned a nearby building into rubble. A shower of bricks, wood and glass clattered all over the bridge and plummeted into the small, concrete river below, a burning car with three screaming occupants crashed through the fence and fell into the river too, a badly-burned head floated to the surface and bobbed around. He picked himself up, ears ringing, and carried on towards home. Behind him, the blazing building popped and crackled. Apparently some sort of anti-aircraft machine gun had been set up there, but hadn't had a chance to fire before a bomber got a bead on it. These new Nazis didn't fight like the old ones did - no carpet bombing for them, they seemed to have hi-tech, precision guided missiles that could take out a target with only one shot. Mark walked into the Whyte Deliveries main yard, he looked around the building for Rob, or one of the other managers, but the whole building was abandoned. Quite a few of the staff cars where there though, the others had obviously decided to walk home. He went into the main storeroom and saw a few of the neatly stacked crates where now scattered around the floor. He thought about driving home, but judging by the state of the roads in other parts of the city, it was probably better to walk. He just hoped nobody would steal his car, or blow it up. Walking down a back alley, he passed "Patels corner shop", it was locked up, but inside he could see a bunch of skinheads and football hooligans milling around, blood was splattered on the wall, and an Indian-looking woman was strung up on the wall, eviscerated. A thin line of blood ran from between her spread legs down the wall. She had obviously been violently raped before being killed, and maybe even after. "No Pakis" was written all over the inside. A few of the hooligans had machetes and knives, Mark just kept on walking past, and wasn't noticed. Again he was thinking about the people in Britain who would be welcoming this invasion with open arms... and who was going to have to watch out. Himself and Paul included. He'd never hidden his sexuality, and had gotten a lot of heat from it. Would somebody inform on him? And what would these new Nazis do about it? Passing a big Vauxhall with a broken front axle, Mark realised he was actually quite close to home already. And a nearby alley would provide a nice shortcut.
Chapter 3 - The end of the world General Hank Blukowsky looked over the bank of screens at the American Nuclear Command centre. British aircraft swarmed over the map, some heading towards New York, Washington, Miami. Others where coming from the other direction towards the East Coast, while still more where coming down from the arctic towards Canada and the central United States. "They say they're the cavalry" said a young communications officer. Blukowsky was worried. Earlier that day almost all of the United States' airforce had been destroyed all at once. Confused reports apparently said that every plane had been struck by lighting simultaneously - though lightning normally conducted itself around metal objects - these planes had been melted, ignited fuel finishing the job. The president had immediately got on the hotline to Moscow, only to be berated by the Soviet Premier for doing exactly the same thing to his air force. Already "aliens" was being whispered in the corridors. Whatever was happening was certainly strange, though the General didn't think it went that far. Similar reports were coming from China and other countries, sabres were being rattled all over the world... but at whom? "Well" said the Major "The British are allied with us, we might as well clear those planes". Switches were flicked and code-words were spoken. The blips moved closer. Somewhere over the other side of the room, a breathless junior officer burst in and began to have a whispered conversation with his immediate superior. The pair began to advance on the General, deep worry etched on their faces. More news about destroyed planes? The General hoped maybe these British air crews would have some answers. * * * "Target coming up" The navigator announced, Captain Fritz Heisberg looked out over the bay, in the distance he could see the Statue of Liberty and the twin towers of the World Trade Center. New York, the city he had been assigned to destroy. The British Vulcan bomber screamed over the Atlantic at just under the speed of sound, with its lethal load of Blue steel missiles on board. "Arm number one" he said, coldly, "Bring us into range". The cockpit went silent for a moment, apart from the distant whine of the engines, then a low beep sounded and a red light came on. "Fire one" the captain announced as he pressed the button. The large bomber swept away in a gentle arc. * * * "They-" Said the private, Major Robertson, and everyone else in the command centre, stood transfixed by the main screen. A small dot shot into a lit-up green area on a map of the East Coast. Seconds later a light a thousand times brighter than anything on earth flashed out over the Atlantic, a gigantic pressure wave swept away buildings, cars and people with ease. In the command centre there was a momentary realisation about what happened, before the walls began to melt, the metal glowed red-hot and the clothes of everyone inside burst into flames, before the whole room was swept into dust. A dark grey mushroom cloud hung, smeared over the ruined, burning city. The same scene was repeated up and down the United States, Russia, The Far East, Africa and South America. Billions where dead, and much of the world's wildlife, cities and people where forever swept away. The survivors where already condemned to a slow, protracted death, or being flung back into stone-age savagery. They would remember this day as the end of the world.
Chapter 4 - Back home Mark walked into the end of the lane, and saw Alf still out weeding his garden, seemingly oblivious to the fact he was in the middle of a war-torn city, and that British democracy was being destroyed around him. "He's still in there" Alf said, barely even looking up. Mark walked up the step and into his house to be greeted by a tight hug from Paul. "Aww, so glad you're okay, I was so scared" said Paul. Mark could tell he was close to tears. "Its ok, its ok" said Mark, "I'm 'ome now, the bleedin' Jerries seized me van, had to walk". Paul suddenly looked serious "We had better try and get out of here!" he said, Mark was confused "Get where?". "Out of the country, maybe America or something, I bet other people are leaving, we have to get away from these nazis!", Mark was unconcerned "Ah, never mind, it will all blow over. I shouldn't think they will last long, if we keep our heads down nothing will happen to us". Paul still looked a bit worried "look, I love you, I wont let anything happen to you, I promise!" said Mark, which comforted them both a little. July 23rd 1977 The Nazis had finally taken control of all of Britain and started to spread their empire outwards into Europe. People who where under their influence still didn't know what had happened to America and Russia, as well as other places. A few ships of refugees had tried to sail across the Atlantic, but nobody ever heard from them again, though rumours that they had been bombed where circulating. There where small resistance cells operating in Britain, which where often in the news. One of their first acts had been to set fire to the census records office, and therefore destroy all information on the race, religion and other information about people in Britain. The government came on the radio and said it was a senseless act of vandalism, and that they had no plans to ever discriminate against people in the way that the Third Reich had, though few people believed this. Especially since the nazis occasionally "tested" some deadly new kind of weapon on London and the other big, diverse, cities. The weapon that they regularly fired at London, supposedly "targeted at known resistance cells" was a descendant of the primitive V-1 "Doodlebug" used in World War 2, this version had roughly the same explosive power, enough to take out a house. But flew much faster, was nearly silent until it was just about to hit, and had a special shape that made it hard to detect by radar. Not that most of it's victims had radar, but it was also fired over the channel and North Sea to hit targets in Europe where legitimate governments and armies were resisting a takeover. The actual Nazi leaders had decided to take up residence in a mansion in a large region of Dorset, which they had turned into a virtual fortress, all of the civilians of Dorset had either evacuated to Cornwall, or had been press-ganged into joining the army. Some people said they where hypnotised or brainwashed using some scientific technique. "Okay gentlemen" Marshall Von Hocken looked over his officials, sitting around a table in a plush Dorset Mansion. "We need to discuss the plans for the removal of the non-Aryan elements of the population. Now, we all know that the British people generally fear another holocaust, and there will be uproar if we just start one. We need to 'spin doctor' it, as the previous government would have said". "How do you propose we put a positive light on the wiping out of entire races?" one young officer spoke up. Field Marshall Roy Mosely, son of the British union of fascists leader, Oswald Mosely. "Well Mosely, it is quite simple really" The Marshall said "We start off with a section of the British populace which will not be missed. One which is universally hated in this country, and which we can easily circulate lies about, because not many people know about their true nature". He paused, before telling them who he would start the mass-murder of "We shall start with... Homosexuals!". The rest of the officers around the table nodded gently, showing that they understood his idea. "If we wipe them out, we will have the generally universal support of the British people. Then, when we come to the destruction of the Black and Jewish people, they will be sufficiently de-sensitised to the idea of death camps". He looked around the table and saw all the officers contemplating what he had said. "Well then, if nobody has any disagreements, we can start work on constructing the death camps. I suggest we put them in the South Downs, because that area is quite open and sparsely populated, so that the construction can be written off as a new military base. Also there will be space to dig the burial pits and the chalk soil will help to cover up the smell of corpses". * * * Mark walked into the living room, to see Paul anxiously watching the TV, there wasn't much on, just broadcasts of the Nazi party showing their crushing of resistance across Europe. Ironically they faced some of the strongest opposition in West Germany, the country they had originated from. Probably because the German people where so ashamed by what the Nazis had done in their name that they where almost happy to take out their anger on an embodiment of this evil. East Germany meanwhile, was in absolute chaos after the destruction of Moscow and the Soviet government. And the people there seemed to be awaiting their inevitable conquering by the Nazi army, simply because it might mean that the rule of law might return and that they would get something to eat. "Feeling okay?" asked Mark "No, I feel sick" said Paul, looking incredibly depressed. Mark went over and gently hugged him. "Hey, don't worry, I still love you..I'm sorry about not wanting to go and get a ship to America, but you've heard the rumours about them being bombed. We're still alive for now, and I intend that we both stay this way, so lets make the best of the situation we are in". Paul looked at Mark, with tears in his eyes, and kissed him "I love you", he said softly before curling up on the sofa and gently crying. Mark cuddled up to him and fell asleep. Mark woke up suddenly, it was 3 hours later and the Marshall was on the TV. "Bluh, what a coward, hiding away in Dorset like ya are" he muttered, half asleep before getting up. Suddenly someone hammered on the door, he walked to the door in slow motion and opened it, the street was filled with cops, hiding behind their cars pointing guns at him, just like in the movies. Suddenly they all opened fire. Mark felt the bullets ripping into him, and saw the doorframe and ceilings disintegrate under the hail of fire, as darkness took over his vision. Mark woke up again, it was 3 hours later and the Marshall was on the TV. "Fuck it" he muttered, gently extracting himself from Paul and going to the front door. He looked out and saw nobody in the street. A Morris minor chugged past the end of the road and he shut the door. "What's going on?" he grumbled, still almost asleep.
Chapter 5 - The Murder Mark walked through the aisles of the Bodkins supermarket. He had gone out to get some bread and other food that could be found. There where major shortages, though small deliveries where coming through. Mark and Paul had quite a bit of money for now, but he knew if they couldn't get back to work soon that would go. He chucked some bread in the trolley and went to look for some milk. Some old people where hanging around chatting. He overheard parts of their conversation, they seemed quite happy that Britain had been invaded by the Nazi army, he wondered what they thought during the war, did they secretly hope the battle of Britain had been lost? or did they just think that these Nazis where honestly different to the ones who threatened Europe in the 1940's? He could feel their stares as he walked past, he must have looked "suspicious" to them because of his long hair. He'd thought about cutitng it, to look more normal, more of an inoffensive "grey man". But he still had a hard time beleiving that what was going on was real, or that it would last. Surely the British army would soon assert itself, and throw out the invaders? * * * Jim Paige looked out the Cortina window and saw a long-haired bloke walking along the pavement. He looked over at his Sargent, Mick Gibson and asked "Think he was one of 'em?" Mick glanced in the mirror "Dunno" he grumbled "Don't matter, we'll get all of them eventually". "Yeah, still, I don't see why we gotta do this" said Jim, They where assigned to the duty of rounding up gay people for disposal, to Jim it seemed just like the holocaust of world war 2, despite the Marshall insisting that the New nazis where different. Mick glared at him "Listen son, back in my day we used to round up poofs every Saturday night. For one I'm glad that we finally have a government who are talking sense on the issue! Those gays are unnatural and perverted, and we are a Christian country, so it is our duty to help remove these elements from our society". Jim seemed to be pacified a bit, but then noticed a roadsign, "Here, have you gone the right way?" he said. * * * Mark walked down a narrow, grimy alley in between two tall buildings. It was a shortcut home that he often took, but now there where two blokes at the other end of the alley, whispering to each other. He caught some odd words, like "blow up" and "police commander". Suddenly one of them, a rough-looking black bloke who looked like he might have once been a builder, noticed him and they went silent as he walked past. He could feel them watching, they waited until he passed the wrecked Vauxhall Cresta at the end of the alley before they started muttering to each other again. Walking out of the alley and over the road to a small walkway into his road, Mark noticed a strange silence in the atmosphere, like there was some intangible fear hanging in the air. He walked through the alley and noticed a blue light flashing, as he came out he saw the source, a Police Cortina parked outside his house. "Fuck!!" he thought, before edging back into the shadows. He wondered what the police would want with him and his boyfriend, though he thought he could guess. He saw one big fat copper banging on the door. "Oh shit, Paul will think that's me and open it!" Mark thought, looking around for something he could use as a weapon, though he knew the cops had guns, the big one had a revolver drawn, while a thinner, younger-looking one was looking around the street, looking worried about something. Mark saw the door begin to open and at the same time heard a strange, hollow rushing sound. He lost control and rushed out into the street, screaming "NOOO!". Everything seemed to go into slow motion. A dark shape, bigger than a car, rushed over the street, Mark saw Paul's face, he saw the gentle smile of recognition, of love, on Paul's face, it was the smile that had won Mark over in 1974. The dark shape collided with the top of the house. Paul continued to smile as the whole scene slowly turned yellow, then orange. A deafening explosion rang in Marks ears as he watched helplessly. Suddenly, Paul vanished in a fireball that shot out of the doors and windows as the front of the house started to disintegrate. The dark shapes of the cops where swept away just as quickly. Mark was thrown backwards to the ground, dust and small particles of rubble stung him and his vision went black. All he could think about was the last time he ever saw Paul, he knew everything he lived for was gone.
Chapter 6 - The Resistance Mark woke up, thinking that what had happened had been a horrible nightmare. He looked down the road and his house was still a burning pile of rubble. Glass, bricks and wood littered the street, and small fires where burning themselves out among the remains. Mark got up and took a few steps towards the ruins, somehow expecting Paul to have survived, but he collapsed onto his knees and started crying when he realised nothing living could have survived that blast. Alf came out of his house and looked over. "Fuckin 'ell" he said, in as much shock as anyone. Mark was replaying the events over and over in his mind. One small detail kept coming to prominence, even more so than his boyfriend's face, it was the flying bomb that had destroyed the house. It had a Swastika on the side, He started to feel an overwhelming anger at the Nazis, they had launched this weapon, probably totally indiscriminately, which had destroyed his life. He got up, with a new sense of purpose, and walked over to the Cortina, all of it's windows where shattered, the paint on the bonnet and front wings was stripped, and the roof was dented in from a large chunk of rubble that had landed on it. Mark wrenched open the driver's door, aware that Alf was watching, and rooted around in the front - he found what he was looking for, the now standard-issue shotgun given to all police patrols for backup in case of heavy resistance. He pulled it out of the car and grinned evilly. "What are ya gonna do with that?" Alf said, but mark hardly even registered a response as he walked over to the remains of his house. He had noticed the hall cabinet poking out of the wreck. Flinging off rubble he found it was amazingly intact, and he pulled open one of the drawers and found a small pendant-like object. Alf was still asking questions, Mark just glared at him and showed him the pendant, it had a small, faded picture of Paul on it. "One thing left!" Mark said. The sound of a car engine reached Mark and Alf's ears. "Shit" said Alf, "Better get inside, come on". Mark stared down the street, he recognised the sound as that of a Rover V8, Signifying a Rover P6, A car used by Gestapo officers. "You're joking" snarled mark "I aint running from filthy NAZIS!" he growled, the car came into the street and directly towards him, as he held the gun behind his back. He waited for the car to almost reach him then bought it round and pulled the trigger. There was a huge roar and he was nearly winded by the kickback, he had never actually fired a gun before. The tight grouping of pellets slammed into the driver's side of the car, he heard a scream over the sound of the engine as the car swerved to a side and slammed into a brick wall. Another officer was flung out of the front and smashed into an adjacent wall, spitting out blood as he did so. The car's petrol tank exploded and the sound of someone being burned alive reached Mark's ears. The back offside door opened and someone fell out. Mark just walked over to the man, who looked like a young rookie officer, as he got up. The man saw mark's gun and raised his hands, looking terrified. "No shoot! Unarmed!" the officer said, mark gave him a cold, hard stare. "Its alright, go on, run away, I wont hurt you" he said. The officer turned and started to run. Mark let him get about 10 meters away then fired at him. The pellets ripped through the man's body and lifted him off the ground a little, a huge cloud of red blood blasted out in front of him, and chunks of ribs and lungs shot out, staining the ground where they landed. The young officer, he cant have been more than 18, slumped forwards, dead. A large puddle of blood formed around his corpse and the street went silent once more, aside from the burning fires. "Shit, you just slaughtered them" someone said. Mark turned around, pointing the gun squarely at the newcomer. He felt a little strange at having killed someone, but he was ready to do it again. He recognised the man as one of the two he had passed in the alleyway a few minutes ago. One of the resistance members. This one was pretty tall, and white, with pretty messy, black hair, and small, round-rimmed glasses. The man wore a black trenchcoat, and, now mark noticed, held a mean-looking, old fashioned bolt-action rifle. The two stood there, guns on each other for a few seconds. In the distance the strange, mournful whine of a Nazi airship could be heard, getting louder. "Maybe we should find somewhere indoors", the man almost casually suggested. "Agreed" said mark as they both started running. Down the small walkway, across the street, round the huge Vauxhall, and into the other alleyway. The black guy was there, holding open a rotten-looking door, and all three dived in as the airship came overhead, attracted to the smoke from the destroyed house and car. The three men crouched in a small, dark room, shafts of light filtered in from a boarded up window. "As you might have guessed, we are resistance" said the tall man "after seeing what you did back there, we imagine you want to join us" he carried on, almost emotionless. "They..they killed.." Mark started to say, tears coming to his eyes once again as he thought about Paul once more. "Its okay" said the tall resistance member "Your girlfriend wont have died in vain, that's what I tell myself anyway". "Boyfriend" he corrected, almost automatically. Suddenly, the short black man was holding him against the wall, he felt the cold steel of a pistol pressed against his head. "Fuckin' gays" the man said. "Roy, let him down" the tall man said, still virtually emotionless. "Fuck 'im" came the reply "disgusting faggot, let him rot in hell". Mark was angry and terrified at the same time, he wished he had just told them he was straight. He heard the mechnical sound of another gun. He'd soon learn this was the sound of a safety catch being taken off. "Let him go now, we need every fighter we can get" the emotionless man said, mark was released and dropped to the floor. He heard Roy back off, muttering "I'm watchin' you, fag". Mark struggled to get his breath as sirens started to sound in the distance. "Damn time-wasters" the tall man said, "lets move!". Roy walked to the middle of the room and lifted a grate, and motioned for mark to climb down a ladder, he walked over and saw it led to a sewer. The tall man pushed in front "I better go first" he said, as he started climbing, Mark followed and Roy came last, replacing the heavy metal cover. The ladder led to a dark, underground tunnel. Dust covered everything, rusty metal pipes dripped and rats could be heard rushing about. "What is this place?" Mark asked, thinking it was too big and dry to be a sewer. "Old underground line, hasn't been used since the 40's" The tall man said. "Name's Steve, by the way". "Mark Johnson" Mark replied as they started to walk down the dank tunnel. He didn't think it worth speaking to Roy, who trudged suspiciously along in silence, watching Mark as much as he was watching for the enemy. Steve pulled out a torch and switched it on, rats squeaked and rushed away down the tunnel, it was filled with rotten sleepers and small bits of track which had been left behind, though most of the rails where gone. The floor was made of gravel and sand, and the walls of bricks. White and green mould covered most surfaces and small puddles of dark, stinking water dotted the floor. Up above heavy vehicles could be heard moving around, but gradually the sounds died away as they walked along the tunnel in silence, past an old and abandoned station that looked untouched since the war, torn and faded "Dig for victory!" posters lined the walls. "Blacksmith common... nearly there" Roy said to nobody in paticular. Mark walked with tears forming in his eyes, the shock of losing his boyfriend was really starting to hit him now. After what seemed like walking miles underground, they came to a grimy, but new, ladder, Steve looked up and said "Here we are, its an old victorian pub that has been abandoned for years, we managed to build a decent hideout in there". Roy went up the ladder first and lifted off the heavy cover, Mark, looking up from the bottom, could see he was greeted by the barrel of a gun, while someone else seemed ready to chuck a grenade down the hole. Roy had a few short words with the men at the top and all three where allowed to come up. Mark went last. The resistance HQ was a rabbit warren-like maze of haphazard rooms, thin mattresses, looking like they had came out of camper vans, where laid around on the floor, and weapons of various kinds where laying about. Mark noticed quite a few guns, from Captured Nazi machine guns, which one person informed him where called MP70's, to a few Russian AK47's, Mark didn't even want to know where those came from. Other weapons where also laying around, including Axes, Bows, Molotov cocktails and even one large, black, very-sinister looking weapon, with a large black barrel and a strange red lens on the front. Germanic writing indicated it was a captured weapon, though what it did Mark wasn't sure he wanted to find out what it did. Scattered around the walls where various home-made posters with slogans like "Nazis never again!". People sat around on crates and plastic chairs. Mark could tell from the look on their faces that most had lost loved ones to the enemy.
Chapter 7 - Striking back! Mark had been at the Rebels' base for a few days, waiting to strike back at the vile enemy which had taken over Britian. The two who had introduced him to the resistance had been planning to assasinate the local Chief Inspector of the police, who was a known collaborator with the Nazis, and a member of the BNP. They had managed to rig up a decent motion-activated car bomb to fit onto his Jag, but first needed to observe his movements and see when he was most ungaurded. Mark had gone on one of these missions and watched him from behind a tall brick wall around a disused factory. He had actually visited the location where Paul, Marks boyfriend, had been killed just a day earlier, Mark had murdered 4 Nazi officers and two Cops had also been killed by a misguided missile at the location, so a major investigation was taking place. Alf hadnt told them anything and insisted both Mark and Paul had been in the house when it was destroyed, so he was officially dead. Sightings of known resistance members around the area had neatly explained the subsequent shootings, too. Tonight was the night they where planning to strike. The three of them sat around in the back of a Commer camper parked a few streets away from the house. Roy was still quite suspicious of mark, and gave him a hateful glare from time to time, but Mark didn't care too much, he just wanted to kill the enemy. The three men slipped out of the back of the Commer and, keeping their heads down, darted along an alley to a narrow street. One of the street lights had been put out of action in the fighting, and they darted across the road into the pool of darkness it left, before creeping around the side of a P6 that was parked there and hopping over a low wall into someone's garden. There were no guard dogs or lights, so they crossed the garden and scaled the taller fence at the back. Across the road was the Chief Inspector's large, expensive house. Small lights dotted the lawn and lined the driveway up to where the Jaguar was parked, it was a large, gleaming white XJ6, and nobody was around. Steve advanced forwards, almost crawling, and ducked down into a hedge, seconds later Mark watched the small lights on the lawn flick off. He tightened his grip on the Browning pistol he had been given and aimed at the distant front door, if anyone came out he probably wouldn't hit them, but it would be enough of a distraction for Steve to open up with his AK-47. A weapon Mark learned that he owned before the conflict, though the reason why was a mystery. Nobody responded to the small lights going off and Roy, who had sneaked around the side, crawled out of the side hedges and fiddled at the back of the Jag for a few minutes, before flashing a torch once and vanishing again. Steve returned from the hedges and joined Mark and a few moments later Roy crawled up to them too. The four went back to the Commer by a slightly different, and longer route. They passed a poster that had Marshall Von Hocken next to Adolf Hitler with "One struggle" written underneath it. Back in the commer, Steve took the wheel, while Mark and Roy sat in the back. "He'll have a bit of a backfire in the morning, eh?" Mark said to Roy as the clattered noisly through back streets, Roy didn't hear, or pretended not to hear, which was quite unsettling to Mark, considering they where both armed. * * * The newspaper slammed down on the table, The leader of the Resistance hideout looked very pissed off. The headline read "Lucky escape for Chief Inspector!", it seemed he had hired a driver that very day, who had gone out to start the car and been blown to bits. "We need to get that bastard somehow" the leader snarled, "but he's gonna be more guarded than ever!" "Don't worry" Steve called over, "We've got a new plan..." * * * Mark ducked and hopped over the low wall, before falling to the ground as he heard the crunching footsteps of the police officer stop and turn around. The steps started again as he looked up and saw the uniformed figure turn a corner into a small alleyway behind some houses. Picking up a bulky radio, he whispered "Coming your way, five, over". The Policeman didn't know what hit him, as a resistance member with a brick dropped from a tree and smashed his head in, he slumped forwards on the pavement, dead. Mark and Roy ran up and pulled him into a garden through a tall gate, and took the body into a shed. Minutes later the third resistance man emerged from the shed in the uniform. Picking up his own bulky radio he said "Phase 1 complete". Steve's voice came over the radio; "Phase two-go!". Various different voices confirmed their readiness, and Mark and Roy ran out and took up their own positions overlooking the police building. The plan was that the bloke disguised as the copper would enter the building and kill the chief, then all the people hidden on the outside would launch a savage attack which would distract attention from what was going on inside. Mark was extremely nervous about this, he had never been in a combat zone before, except at the motorway, and then he just ran, he was very scared of the fight to come, but knew he had to do it to avenge Paul's death. The resistance member who had entered the building walked through the hallways trying to look natural. A copper pushed past him and walked towards a water cooler as he went up some narrow stairs. The building was a typical 1960's office building, with lots of sharply angled, narrow hallways and small rooms that led into the main offices. He walked past two gaurds, giving them a small nod, and entered a small mini-hallway. Two more gaurds stood in front of a door. These guys weren't going to move aside so easily, though they were not suspicious of the newcomer, either. Reaching for his radio, the infiltrator pressed the "morse code" button once, almost immediately the sound of gunfire and bullets hitting the walls echoed around the building. The two guards near the door started to react, but where suddenly blown away by the infiltrator's machine gun. He kicked his way into the office, and saw the Chief sitting there in shock. He sprayed bullets into the surprised man, who tumbled backwards off his chair, blood spurting onto the cork-panelled walls. Outside, Mark caught sight of a copper armed with one of the MP70 machine guns dashing for cover behind some crates. He fired his shotgun, it was a long-range shot, but a lot of the pellets caught the copper and he went down, howling in pain. An explosion turned a small barricade to splinters as a pipe bomb went off. A few more exploded at points around the building and the resistance moved forwards. Mark ducked his head and ran, bullets impacted around him and he looked up, blasting at a window on the first floor, from which a gun muzzle protruded. A cloud of dust and blood flew up around the window where the man was and he fell backwards, his gun dropping to the ground below. Mark rushed over and picked it up just as a few more coppers came from a side entrance. Now with an MP70 of his own, he opened up on full-auto, and the three coppers went down, he watched as they dropped to the floor, twisting around with expressions of shock and terror. It gave him a dark satisfaction. Rushing over to the door, Mark pulled out a pipe-bomb he bad been given and chucked it in. he waited for the blast and rushed in, finding the room empty. Suddenly the door burst open, he pointed his captured subgun, but quickly realised that it was the assassin who they had sent in. The assasin slammed the door and shouted "Get down!" to Mark. Two cops burst through the door and the two resistance men fired, the cops where flung back through the door, amongst splinters and chips of plaster, one smashed against a water-cooler, knocking it apart and causing the water to mix with the blood that had been splashed everywhere. The firing stopped after the last traces of resistance had been wiped out. Mark got up from the assassin, who had been wounded in the battle, and walked outside of the small room. The door bumped against the corpse of one of the blokes who had ran out of it, who where now rapidly staining the road with their blood. Resistance members wandered about, checking the dead enemies. A shot rang out as a wounded man tried to rise, with a revolver in his hand. Walking over to a doctor, Mark told him about the assassin. The medic ran off to the small room, while Mark continued to look around. He was only just starting to realise how close he had came to being killed in the battle, and a kind of mix of fear and exhilaration struck him. He barely noticed Steve walking over and saying he had done a good job. "Incoming!" said one resistance soldier, who was crouched over a large, bulky ham-radio setup. At the same time several people noticed sirens and airship engines in the distance, and they began to melt away. Mark, Steve and a few others went into an abandoned house, down into the cellar, where they hauled a heavy cabinet aside and went down a passageway that had been made a few days before by some ex-builders working for the resistance. There where secret passages like this being created all over London, so that operatives for the resistance could spy on enemy installations or make quick escapes. The passage led down into another of the dark, abandoned Victorian underground railway tunnels... |