So This Nation Shall Not Perish (expanded) free porn video

The Sins Of The Fathers In the shadow of The World Trade Centre I wrote a short story, something unusual for me and though I was reasonably happy with it, I wanted to say more. So I started on a second and then a third. They still don't say all that I want them to, but the individual stories I am happy with (sort of). This though is an exercise in what if? The question, which is the basis of all that claims to be Science Fiction. It may deal with a sensitive subject but I have no apologies for this, I write what comes to me. The extrapolation of the possible from current events is the aim of many who have written in the past, Aldous Huxley and George Orwell being two of the masters of this. The fact of it being written does not necessarily mean that it will come to pass or that the author wishes it to come to pass, it is a possibility, that is all. The fact that occasionally those of us who place our musings up for public view are correct should be a reason for caution though. Even I with my limited skills wrote the following words in a story I started on the 20th June 2001 (still not finished). 'He could see how it had all started the dreaded Jihad's of the early twenty first century called by every minor Muslim Religious leader against the Western Nations.' It also dealt with the possibility of using spacecraft as suicide bombs against American State Capitols in a surprise attack. (Rather too close to what happened and it will probably sit in my in progress folder for the rest of it's life) The possibilities of what could happen are plain for all to see (and were plainly visible before WTC) and if even a rank amateur of a teller of tales, such as I, could see the possibilities before it happened. I have to ask the question why it took so many deaths before those in power recognised this possibility and addressed the issues? (Or am I falsely assuming that those in power actually know what they are doing?) I also have to ask another question. Why the population of a country can be starving to death, living in poverty that is unimaginable to me, yet can afford an assault rifle and god knows how many rounds of ammunition for most of its population ?(I couldn't afford one). This is not just Afghanistan, take a look at Ethiopia's arms imports over the years, and take a look at the size of India and Pakistan's armed forces. Something is very screwed here. Then again let us look at the countries, which export the most arms to these unstable area's, United Kingdom, United States, Russia and France. Is this the reason that it hasn't been addressed? Maybe I will follow the money and see what I can see, then write a fourth part a prelude. I am not attempting to moralise or criticise any actions contemplated at the moment. The fact of action being taken against the perpetrators of this atrocity I feel is totally justified. Though a word of caution, please remember that the next acceptable innocent lives to be considered 'Collateral Damage' by persons unknown may be yours or the ones you love or mine or my family (yes I am selfish by nature). So as I have finished my little ramble, which you may have fallen asleep reading or even given up with by this point, but to those who have bothered I thank you for taking the time. This is my place to say my bit and as author my word is final (Till a nice person comes along to offer me money for the contents of my mind, then I will do whatever he says). If you don't like these stories I do not apologise and at the end of the day you have a place to reply, write your own and I will read it here with pleasure. We need more here to make us think. Hypatia [email protected] Chapter One: So This Nation Shall Not Perish ? By Hypatia Just a little thing that came to me as I watch the horror and devastation that man will do to his fellow man. I wonder if there is hope for us on this planet until I see the selfless actions of those who fight to rescue those trapped, risking their lives as many did yesterday and paid the ultimate price for their devotion to duty. At this time my thoughts go out to all of you in the USA and my prayers are for those who have lost loved ones in this atrocity. Hypatia 23.30 12th September 2001 The approach to Bangor International was rough, the New England weather conspiring to make even this method of entry into the US difficult. I don't know how many people that came to check us out noticed our escort, but as I looked out of the window the under-slung ordinance was unmistakable. Most of the people on this flight were too concerned about the other passengers to look out the window. As we boarded the plane at Manchester, one hysterical female had started shouting that one man looked like a Muslim, as if any Muslim who could slip past the security of an airport could be recognized by a civilian. The protesting man was taken away and an hour and a half was lost as baggage and security was checked again. Not that security was a problem for me, my ID opened many doors closed to most but I didn't want to advertise my presence here today. It was with relief that we touched down and the intense security checks that governed all flights across the Continental USA began. "May I see your passport, visa and travel authorization please?" the customs official asked. The two armed soldiers behind him took this job seriously and more than one fatality had occurred at this port of entry. "Yes," I said slowly removing my papers from my pocket. One of the marines raised his weapon at me. "Sir can you open your jacket very slowly?" he said and the customs man moved away from me. "I am MI5. My ID is with my paperwork and I am authorized to carry a weapon on all flights," I told him. It was true and I would have faced disciplinary action if I had not been carrying a weapon. The Marine didn't look convinced. "I am going to remove my jacket very slowly now and let it fall to the floor," I told him, slowly keeping my hands in sight at all times. "Then you can remove my weapon and secure it or I can hand it to you to examine." "Move very slowly, Sir," the Marine said. Both of them now had their weapons trained on me and I did. As my jacket fell to the floor the room door burst open and a uniformed officer walked in. "Stop pissing around Harris, you are expected in Washington as soon as possible. We have a helicopter waiting for you," the General said. "It's good to see you again, Sir," I said keeping my hands up. "For God's sake put your bloody hands down man," he said angrily and I slowly lowered them. "Harris here is cleared to enter the U.S. without delay. If you would look at his paperwork please," the General said to the customs official, who appeared to be confused as to why a British Officer had come bursting into his processing area. "Who are you Sir?" he asked before looking at my paperwork. "I am no one. I am not here. Neither is Harris. This did not happen and you will carry on as normal," the General said flashing an ID card. The Marines lowered their weapons and came to attention. The customs man gave my paperwork a cursory glance and nodded me through. The General then took me out the door and through the corridors full of military personnel. "What is going on, Sir?" I asked, as I looked around at all the activity going on in the airport. "Mossad took out a Palestinian base three hours ago and the reprisals are expected to start soon," he explained. "Which one?" I asked. "Just a minor one just inside the Syrian border but as normal Mossad was not too worried about collateral damage. There was a large loss of civilian life," General Cummings explained. "Why they couldn't just wait and let us send in a team, I don't know." "The Israelis dislike being dependent on us for anything. Too many times in the past, the atrocities committed against the Jewish people have been observed by Western nations and ignored," I replied. "Yes but that all changed with the new Jihads," he said angrily. "It did -- sort of, Sir." I was unwilling to disagree with him totally. "But though the attacks from the air are something that grabbed the world's attention, the loss of life in Israel was much larger." "I know, but at this time, with the situation with the Damocles operation, their escalation of the situation is unnecessary," he responded angrily. "Sorry Harris. I know it's not you, but I was given assurances less than twenty-four hours ago that nothing like this would happen. I shouldn't have trusted the lying bastard." "Sir, I know, and you know, that both of us have lied in the past to ensure that security was maintained," I reminded him as doors were opened for us. "I just hope they hit no one big. We don't need another martyr at this time." General Cummings grew quiet at that and I stayed quiet as we were led to the waiting helicopter. The smell of aviation fuel was strong from the aircraft and the heat from the engines blew across us mixed with the blast from the rotors. This was an urgent mission and to that end they were pulling out all stops to get me to Washington. As we lifted, I looked out of the window and could see two military jets taxiing to take position at the end of the runway. The missiles they carried were to be used in defence of a nation, a nation that had been living under a shadow of fear since 8:45 on the eleventh of September 2001. For twenty-six years this fear had ruled and the names of the Martyrs for the cause of Islam had grown from the original twelve. Every terrorist group with a faction fanatical enough to give their life for a cause had jumped on the idea that was displayed to full effect that day. Gone was the possibility of hijacking and demands for the release of prisoners, you just took over a large jet and flew it above a metropolitan area. The New York incident was just the start; the World Trade Center, though horrific, was just a prelude to the terrors to come. As we approached New York from the north, the air cover that protected the city was obvious and to those who knew what to look for the anti-aircraft defences could also be seen. London had tried to cope without these precautions, but with such a concentration of major airports it was a fatal mistake. The four aircraft that carried out the attack on London had been in the air a matter of minutes when they were hijacked. After the pilots were killed, the targets had been simple, Westminster, Downing Street, Buckingham Palace and The Financial District. Though the world had been appalled at the horror inflicted on the US and offered all assistance in tracking down those responsible, no one had realized what a war against these people would cost in human lives. The psychology of the terrorists responsible for the attacks was something that had been neglected. Any action large enough to make them think twice about committing an atrocity brought more supporters from within the Muslim world. Many times action had been taken and each time the ranks of the terrorists had swelled, with more and more flocking to give their life for the chance to hurt a western nation. The skyline of Manhattan was on show now and I turned my attention away. The gaping area where the Trade Center had been was a permanent reminder of what was started and yet had to be finished. "What is the situation with Damocles?" General Cummings asked. "Well, all is ready. We have a couple of decent sites to try it on, but we are talking an enormous step here. The psychology of the situation is unclear as nothing has ever been considered like this before," I told him. "You are too young to remember the first attack aren't you?" the General asked me. "I remember it, Sir, but I was still in school and the impact of it didn't actually reach me," I admitted. "I saw it on television. I watched the second jet plunge into the tower over and over again, though the sight sickened me. That a person would do that, without remorse, to an innocent unsuspecting population is what gives me the conviction to carry on with this course of action," he said firmly. "The later attacks just made my resolve firmer." "I know, Sir, but with the initial retaliation against Osama Bin Laden, we had the attack on London and Berlin, carried out as a reprisal for the role that American bases on British and German soil played in the bombing of the Afghan capitol," I said, then added at the end, "then the loss of Tel Aviv." "Yes and Pakistan's involvement with the nuclear weapon that was supplied to the Black September group was proved and retaliation was swift," the General said, referring to the firestorm that had destroyed Kabul. "Sir, this is a possible escalation that would make that look like nothing," I answered firmly. "We are talking about the extermination of a population within a hundred years." "Good," the General replied. We landed at the Pentagon, the other symbol of what had been done that day when the sleeping dragon of American patriotism had been released. Our IDs were checked by armed guards at many points before I was finally led into the briefing room. Before I sat, I looked around at the people gathered here. Some, such as the Secretary of Defence, I recognized, but most I didn't. "This meeting is classed as Top Secret. No information is to be divulged outside this room and all materials are to stay here," General Cummings said looking around the room. "Yes General. We know all that. Now can we get on with business and have you tell us what has got the British establishment so fired up?" the Secretary of Defence asked irritably. I stood up at this point and looked around the room. This was my project. I had conceptualised it and nurtured it. Now, at the time when I should be happy, I was scared. What was I condemning a population to? "Come on then son, talk to us," the Secretary demanded, although with a little more sympathy than he had offered General Cummings. "Basically Sir, what project Damocles is, is the destruction of a population which has been aligned against us for almost three decades," I said as I passed around the literature. "In the beginning, this was a dirty tricks project, not intended to cause a loss of life, but to cause disruption within the areas that are the bases for the fundamentalist forces," I explained to them and got blank looks in return. "We were looking for ways to make the masses who flock to join the Jihads think twice before joining," I told them. "Inconvenience them?" a man in an American Air Force Uniform asked with scorn in his voice. "We are fighting a war and you want to inconvenience them, we need to kill the bastards." "Many things that cause inconvenience are useful," General Cummings said in my defence. "Think of the disruption on the French railways during the Second World War. Trucks carrying supplies to the German Army very rarely arrived at their destination the first time, due to small acts of sabotage such as contaminated axle grease. It was very -- useful." "Yes. I can understand that, but why drag us in here for inconvenience?" he asked. "If you will let me continue, Sir, I will explain." I interjected, trying to regain control of the conversation. "Hold your tongue for the moment Clive. Let him finish," The Secretary said to my inquisitor and nodded to me with a smile. "Well, we started research on the common childhood diseases, those so infectious that they are unlikely ever to be eradicated. We were working on mumps and with a bit of genetic tinkering we happened to beef it up a bit," I said. "Beef up mumps? What the hell is that going to do?" the Air Force Officer demanded. "Very simply Sir, we are talking about the possibility of wiping out the reproductive capability of all nations who sponsor the war against the west," I explained, "and there are a few other rather interesting side effects." "How many will this virus kill?" the Secretary asked. "Less than one percent of those infected, a lot less than one percent, and it is different enough that it makes no difference if you have already had mumps." "You are talking about wiping out a country within a hundred years, what risks are there to us in the Western World?" a U.S. Army Officer asked. "With a simple variation of the Mumps, Measles and Rubella vaccine that is used so often on our own children, we have immunized the population, but with the length of the infectious period and the incapacity caused by the infection, it is unlikely that anyone carrying the disease will be travelling out of their own country." "What are we talking about here? Can you put it as simply as possible why I should be listening to you?" the Air Force Office asked. "Well Sir, what we are talking about is giving every male in hostile territory a very bad case of the mumps. This will result in bilateral orchitus and destruction of the testes, basically we are talking about the sterilization of every male in the region." I spoke carefully and slowly, allowing them to digest the words. "What of these other interesting side effects?" the Secretary asked. "Well the Fundamentalist Islamic Nations are very male dominated societies. What we do will undermine the structure of their society. We are talking genocide as the result of our actions, but there is more. The testes are destroyed in the two days the virus is active. As a result, all testosterone production in the body is stopped. The human body is a carefully regulated system and both males and females produce testosterone and the female sex hormones," I said, looking around at the faces and seeing how little comprehension these people had of what I was saying. "Can you put that in a way us old men can understand?" a Naval Officer asked with a smile. "We aren't exactly the brightest when it comes to human biology." I waited till the laughter stopped and then took a deep breath. "Basically, with no testosterone in the system at all, the males who have been infected will begin to have problems. Initially, secondary female sexual characteristics are likely to develop, primary and secondary masculine development will be affected drastically." I still received some blank looks though somewhere laughing at this point. "Basically, Sirs, after being infected, the men are likely to stop growing beards, a large number will grow breasts and their male sexual organs will atrophy. Also, since testosterone is so closely associated with aggression they will be a lot less aggressive." There were gasps and laughter all around. Everyone understood. "Son, what you are suggesting we do is, as well as stopping them from making more of the little bastards to attack, stick a pair of tits on every one of the sick bastards," the Secretary spoke lightly, but there was steel in his eyes. "Yes Sir, though with time other health problems such as osteoporosis are likely to be encountered due to the lack of hormones in their systems," I added quickly. "Can they make hormones over there?" the Air Force Officer asked. "They could Sir, but not for all of their populations and any facility large enough to manufacture them is an easy target. However, this shouldn't be taken lightly. We are talking about the extermination of a people." "Tell them the other suggestion Harris," General Cummings said looking at me. "Yes Sir," I said refusing to look back at him. I didn't like this part. It was likely to sell this whole idea to these men, yet I felt it was morally wrong. "The men will need hormones to prevent osteoporosis, the leaching of calcium from the skeletal structure, a condition common in post menopausal women. Hormones are needed to prevent this, that only we would be able to supply, but they don't have to be male hormones." The laughter grew in intensity from the group. "You are well placed in the dirty tricks department Harris," the Secretary of Defence said while laughing. "Yes Sir, from all our information this should stop all aggressive acts towards our countries and only a small area needs to be targeted for the rest of the involved parties to capitulate," I elaborated hoping to tame the situation down. "But if we hit them all at once, we can end the problem once and for all. Any self-respecting Islamic Fundamentalist terrorist is going to think twice about what action he takes against us if he has to put on a bra before coming out to war," General Cummings said smiling. The man loved this idea. "Yes Sir, that is basically the psychology of the situation, but what the long term affects is likely to be I don't know. We will also eliminate the possibility of the prepubescent males in the area taking action against us in the future, as they will never grow to be male ? at least as we understand it," I told them. "But I must say that, despite the fact that this operation and the ideas are mine, I feel they are morally wrong and we shouldn't even consider trying this." "So you don't like the idea, yet you came up with it and presented it here," the Secretary said looking sternly at me. The steel was back in his eyes as he tried to fathom my intent. "Yes Sir. I may not like the idea but I know my duty and my responsibility. This decision is not up to me and, though I may not like it, I have to present it properly." I waited for the rebuke. "Well spoken Harris. I like your style and we will consider the moral issues before any action is taken, but as one who was there when the Pentagon was hit in 2001, I can honestly say that there is very little I would consider 'too drastic' with these people. They deserve all that they get and unless you have experienced it, lived through it, you wouldn't understand. This is not a case of a vengeance weapon, this is a way of ensuring that this nation, and the ideals for which it stands, does not perish from the earth," he intoned to all assembled. "Thank you Harris for being so honest. I promise all factors will be taken into account before any action is taken." "Thank you sir," I said. "I just felt I had to tell you my personal opinion." "I have listened and I will pass it on to the President when I meet with him. You may leave now Harris," the Secretary said and I made my way to the door. In the company of an armed escort, I was led to an area to wait and a plastic cup of liquid, supposedly coffee, was passed to me. I sat there silently sipping it and watching the people go past. My escort seemed unwilling to enter into any conversation. "Just what the hell was that all about?" General Cummings asked from my side and I sprang to my feet spilling the coffee down my trouser leg. "Sorry Sir. You know how I feel about this project and I felt I had to say what I thought," I told him. "We will let it pass for the moment, but there will be words when I return to Britain. If it had been anyone else but the Secretary there, you would have made me look like a right fool. Luckily he likes people who speak their mind," he said as he looked at my wet trousers. "Sorry Sir," I repeated. "I think you are too much of a liability to continue presenting the case here. You are to get the next flight back and to start making preparations to implement Damocles. You can do that?" he added on the end, the scorn in his voice obvious. "Yes Sir, I meant it when I said that I know my duty and responsibility," I told him. "Good. The helicopter is waiting to take you back to Bangor and, despite the outburst, good job," he added as a parting shot. "Thank you Sir," I called after his retreating figure before being escorted out to the waiting aircraft. The Boeing Osprey hadn't bothered folding its blades and with the vulnerable position it was still in, I decided that my trip back hadn't been a spur of the moment decision. They had planned on me going straight back. I should consider myself honoured, though. A twenty four-seat troop carrier, all for me. With the price of fuel at the moment, this trip would probably cost more than I earned in two months. As the rotors started, I contemplated the impending atrocity I was responsible for unleashing on the world. In Bangor, thanks to my escort, I was swiftly through customs and on the 767 before any of the other passengers. I could see a few of the first on board look at me with surprise and a little suspicion as I sat at the back, but I just sat there watching them getting shown to their seats with an expression of obvious boredom. The engines started and eventually we taxied to the end of the runway. Then the engines powered up and I was pressed back into my seat by the acceleration and the nose of the plane lifting. A few seconds later we were airborne. I sat there thinking as we ascended through the rough weather. Perhaps I should have suppressed the research and lost the data. The annihilation of a people, however hell bent on the death of everything that the democratic nations of the west stood for, had to be wrong. What would the Chinese reaction be to this? After the first polite offerings of sympathy, they had sat quietly while the conflict raged, neither condemning nor approving actions on either side that could be classed as a crime against humanity. What I had put in action was comparable to the nuclear detonation that destroyed so many in Tel Aviv. I would be the person responsible for all that occurred from this point forward. Movement about a third of the way up the aircraft got my attention. Three men stood at the same time and one of them walked down the aisle towards me. Four rows in front of me his left hand shot out towards a man who sat in the isle seat. A flash of silver caught my eye. A woman screamed and I heard a gurgle from the man who had just been assaulted. The man just in front of me reached towards the man he had assaulted and pulled out something from his clothing. I saw it was a gun and realized that whoever they were, they had just taken out the Sky Marshal on board. "Everyone will sit down, remain quiet and stay in their seat," he shouted down the body of the plane. The woman next to the Sky Marshal was still screaming and without a thought the man turned and fired. The silence after the shot was deafening. The Marshal had probably been loaded with low velocity soft slugs like I was, but even though they are not supposed to penetrate an aircrafts skin, I wouldn't have risked shooting the woman while pointing the weapon at the side of the aircraft. The woman, being made of slightly less resilient material than the aircraft, died as her head was destroyed by the bullet. Luckily, the bulkhead, though damaged by the bullet and the mass of brains and bone, held. "Your one chance to live at this time is if you do exactly as I say," the murdering bastard shouted down the aircraft. "We are demanding that all our brothers and sisters living in the shadow of Israeli opre?" He was cut off at this point by the two shots that hit him in the left side of his chest in the back. I couldn't miss at that distance and he was thrown forward onto his face. I walked forward and picked up the dropped revolver. Glancing to the right, I saw that the original owner had had his throat cut by an improvised knife made from razor blades embedded in something that looked like a hair brush handle. "Who are you?" a man to my left demanded. "Harris, British Military Intelligence," I said training my weapon on him. "Hughes. NYPD," he said, pulling a badge from his pocket. I glanced at it and passed him the revolver. "If you make use of that, don't take out a window," I told him and the two of us made our way up the aisle of the aircraft. Ahead of us, a stewardess was on the floor clutching her face as blood poured through her fingers. I stepped past her, while Hughes stopped and helped her into a seat. I waited for him while looking forward to the curtained area ahead, keeping the Browning I carried raised and watching either side in case someone came at us from one of the forward seats. The curtain moved and another stewardess was thrust out ahead of a dark haired man with a beard. "You will now drop your weapons or this woman dies," he said without any trace of an accent. "No," I replied and took aim at a distance of about twenty foot. The homemade knife was waved under the stewardess' throat and then pointed in our direction. "I will use it. Put your weapons down or this woman's blood will be on your?" The explosion of my weapon stopped him speaking. It wasn't a clean shot; the angle at which he held his head and the area I had to aim for had limited my choices. The bullet entered his head slightly to the right of his nose just at the level of his eyebrows. It exited through the same side just before his ear. Clean or not he dropped twitching from the damage the bullet made from its passage and I swiftly pulled the stewardess out the way while placing a second round in the back of the man's head just to make sure. Pulling open the curtain I saw the galley area ahead and the closed door to the cockpit. "You kick, I enter first," I whispered to Hughes. "I go right, you follow left." He nodded, took position by the door and kicked. It held tight. He kicked again and it still held. I tried the handle and it was locked. Taking aim at the area I assumed was the lock, I fired two shots into it and Hughes kicked again. This time it opened and I dived inside. Seeing the one person not in uniform I instinctively fired. I hit him twice in the chest and he fell. "Clear," I shouted and Hughes helped me up. "Are you hurt?" he asked. "No but I think we are short a flight crew, I noted looking at the bodies of the two crew. Both had had their throats cut, but for some reason their faces had also been horrendously mutilated. "Draw that curtain and lets get them out of here," I said to Hughes. He did and the two of us carried the three bodies to the galley area. The stewardess who had been held hostage entered. "Is he dead?" she asked. "Yes and the flight crew are as well," I said bluntly. "Are any pilots hitching a ride today?" "No -- none of our pilots, anyway. I will make some discrete enquiries though," she said and left us. "What's your first name?" I asked Hughes. "John," he said holding out a hand. "Kevin," I said, grabbing it. "But don't tell anyone, not many know. You New York cops don't know how to fly a jet do you?" "I can pilot a police car and occasionally a bicycle, but this thing, no," he admitted. "Pity. Lets try and find out if anyone on the ground can help us," I suggested. With a moment or two of messing about with various buttons John had the radio working. "Press that then you can speak," he said pointing at a button. "Mayday, Mayday, Mayday," I said. "We are a Boeing 767 out of Bangor, Maine, bound for Manchester England. We have had a terrorist incident on board and the flight crew is dead. Help." "Station calling, please repeat," came from my headset. "The flight crew is dead and we have no one to fly the plane," I told him. "Who are you and what of the terrorists?" the man asked. "Kevin Harris, MI5 and General Cummings, at the Pentagon with the Secretary of Defence, will confirm that. The terrorists are all dead, as are our flight crew and a man, I presume was an Sky Marshal," I told them. "Can you get us down?" "Hold United 547 and I will contact you in a moment," the voice said. "MI5, I would have never put you down as a spy," John said sat next to me. "That is the idea, that you don't look like a spy. But to let you into a secret, I spend my life in an office and the only things I ever shot before were targets," I told him. "You did good for a rookie," he said with a smile. "Now, how are you at flying a plane?" "Hopefully good, for a rookie," I told him. "Harris? Is that you up there?" came a voice through my headset. It was General Cummings. "Yes Sir, we had a little fun up here. The action's all over, but we are without a pilot," I told him. "Are the controls locked, Harris?" he asked. "I don't know sir," I told him. "Wait one second, Harris. We will get someone on to you who knows what they are talking about," the General said and was gone. "What does he mean locked?" John asked looking worried. "All modern aircraft use a retinal scan to allow access to all flight control systems. Without either the pilot or the co-pilot's retinal scan we can't do a damn thing," I told him. "Does the eye have to be living?" John asked standing up to walk to the galley area. "I don't know," I answered honestly. "Forget it. I guess that's why they destroyed the poor bastards eyes, both of them," he said weakly. "Are you okay there?" I asked. "Yes its just a little gruesome," he said through clenched teeth. He came back looking pale. "Well, in that case I would think that the controls are secure," I told him. "Kevin can you hear me?" came a different man's voice through the headset. "Yes I can," I told him. "Which seat are you sitting in?" he asked. "Left hand seat," I replied. "Good we are going to see what your control situation is." His voice reminded me of a doctor speaking to a sick patient. "Yes Sir," I said. "Good. Now I want you to press the right hand rudder pedal with your foot quite firmly. Then we will see if your course changes," he said. I did as he said and waited. "Have you pressed it?" he asked. "Yes I have and nothing all is happening," I told him. "Wait one minute," he said. "Are you with anyone on board, John?" I asked. "No, I was going to a conference on terrorism in England," he replied. "Left the wife at home. I was feeling guilty about it, but now I'm glad. What about you?" "A few hours stop over on business," I told him. "You think we are in shit?" he asked me and I nodded. "What a pisser." "My thoughts were similar," I admitted. "Kevin we need you to find out what has been programmed into the computer," the voice on the radio said to me and I followed a series of instructions till some numbers came up. "38.33N, 77.03W and then it has HP," I read off the screen. "Thank you, Kevin," the voice said possibly losing some of its composure. I waited for the next instructions -- and waited -- and waited. "Do you think they've forgotten us?" John asked. "No," I told him. The stewardess returned. She looked scared. "No one on the aircraft has any flying experience," she said. "It was a slim chance, but it always works in the films," I told her. "How is everyone?" "Two passengers are dead, one flight attendant badly slashed, but everyone is remaining calm," she said. "Good. Panic won't help anyone now," I told her. "Harris? Can you hear me?" came the General's voice. "Yes Sir." "Harris, if you look out over your left wing you will see you have an escort." I looked and could see a F22 Raptor close in on our wing, not exactly a common sight. "Got another one here," John said looking out of his window. "Yes, I see them Sir." I waved to the aircraft. The pilot didn't wave back. "Well, Harris, it seems you are in a bit of a fix. They have set you to fly directly to central Washington and then circle in a holding pattern till you run out of fuel." "And these two gentlemen are here to make sure there is no major loss of life on the ground," I finished for him. "Yes, Harris, that's the idea," he said gently, "but rather than having the engines blown away by a twenty millimetre Vulcan cannon, there is another way that might give you more of a chance." "Yes Sir. What is it?" I asked. "You set off the fire control systems in both engines and you ditch in the sea." "And that is a chance, Sir?" I said sarcastically. "It is your only chance," he said sadly. "Can you do it?" he asked. "Yes Sir. I can do it," I said despondently, "as the other option involves getting blown to shit. No way to disable the lockout on the controls?" "Only with a living pilot," he said. "Look above your head. Do you see two red handles -- T shaped?" "Yes Sir, I see them," I admitted. "Let us allow the flight crew to prepare the passengers and I will do it." "Good man Harris, I knew you would do the right thing." "Look, I don't know your name, but we need to get the passengers ready to ditch in the sea," I told the attendant. "I'll take care of it sir," she said calmly, but tears streaked her face. "Before we hit, press there and shout 'brace, brace, brace' -- and its Karen." I looked at the button she was pointing at and nodded. "Good luck Karen," I told her. "And to you Sir. Thank you for saving me from them," she said and was gone. "Right. The passengers are being made ready. Give them a minute and we'll go," I spoke into the microphone. "Cigarette?" John asked pulling out a battered packet of Marlboros. "Go on. I shouldn't. I quit for my health," I said with a wan smile, but I took one anyway. Taking a deep drag, I enjoyed the rush it gave me and I sat looking out at our escort. "Harris you are going to have to do it soon or you will be crossing land," the General interrupted. "Okey Dokey Sir," I said reaching up and pulling first one handle, then the second. "It's done sir," I shouted as various lights and sirens began to try to get my attention. "Good man," The General said. "Sir, do you remember what I was saying about Damocles being morally wrong?" I asked. "I could hardly forget it," he replied. "Well Sir, on reflection it was a load of crap, but not for that 'so this nation shall not perish from the earth' garbage that the Secretary was quoting." "Why was it crap then Harris?" he asked. "It was crap because anyone who supports sick bastards who would do this shit doesn't deserve a place on this planet," I told him. We had come through the clouds now and I could see the sea looking grey, cold and wet. I looked out at our escort and waved one last time. This time the pilot saluted back. "Thanks for your help John," I said looking at the man sitting next to me and lighting another cigarette. "Hey you did the work," he said holding out a hand. "Good luck." "And you," I said shaking his hand. "BRACE, BRACE, BRACE" I screamed?. The End Of Part 1 Chapter Two: The Mother Of The Grendel By Hypatia Grendel's mother was a monster of a woman; she mourned her fate- -- Beowulf Man is the one animal that can't be tamed. He goes along for years as peaceful as a cow, when it suits him. Then when it suits him not to be, he makes a leopard look like a tabby cat. Which goes double for the female of the species. -- Robert A. Heinlein, Tunnel In The Sky, 1955 The news this morning wasn't good, there was another dirty bomb. This time it was Manchester. It didn't kill anyone but that wasn't its purpose. A large area of a city covered in radioactive waste is not the easy cleanup that the authorities say. Not that they are actually going to do it properly. September is a month that has too much going on to bother with a decent clean up. What's a little radioactivity going to cause? Birth defects? Cancer? It might even kill a few people. No one gives a shit anyway. But today we make a difference. Life is what you make it, my mother told me. This was soon after the Damocles virus ruined me, twenty-two years ago now. I was only eight when the virus that the Muslims stolen from the United States and loosed on the world caught up with me, my father escaped this fate by virtue of being dead -- lucky bastard. My mother gave up her drinking when I was thirteen, replaced it with a bottle of tranquillisers to help her sleep. The nightmares at that time were bad, always the plane crashing. It didn't help the fact that they had the last tapes of Dad's conversations and often played them. Some of it was classified because of the operational details he knew, but they liked playing them because he was a hero. His actions saved over half the people on the plane and untold numbers on the ground. But when a cockpit hits water at two hundred miles an hour it doesn't leave much of the occupants. Mum kept dreaming his last minutes and those words. "Anyone who supports sick bastards who would do this shit doesn't deserve a place on this planet." The last words of a hero, words that were taken up in parliament. When I was fourteen she never woke up one morning, accidental overdose, or so it was claimed. I saw the two medals on the bedside cabinet and I understood the message. No matter how high an honour, two bits of metal, one from our government and one from the United States could replace his loss and she had gone to join him. I also understood the other message she was giving me. You're on your own son. I lived there for a while, as the son of a hero I would have been honoured. As a product of Damocles, I was something to be ignored and avoided. At that time there were still quite a few full males around, but that soon changed. A hierarchy formed. That most illusive of creatures a fertile functioning male was at the top, then women, then sterilized post-pubescent males and finally us prepubescent Damocles Victims, PPDV's. This was soon corrupted to "Deevers" and we became a new underclass. It could have been changed, testosterone was the key but it had to be prioritised. Politicians and important people got the first cut, then the military -- and if any was left it went to those married males who had earned the treatments. If you never had testosterone production of your own then you stood no chance. The theory was, "What you never knew you would never miss." What a load of crap. Production of female hormones wasn't needed for birth control anymore so they were used. The children of the streets were growing in number now, though the artificial insemination program was successful and producing plenty of males, the Damocles virus was a sneaky little bastard -- it kept mutating. They said it was because it was an engineered virus, unstable to start with, lacking millions of years of evolution to develop it. I think it was due to the shit in the atmosphere. Some of the varieties killed, many others didn't. I didn't care anymore. I knew my place and I knew it wasn't with the decent people. I might be carrying something to infect someone. This was my place. Here my word was law and I kept some sort of order in the hell that was Liverpool. When the uninfected had started sealing themselves away from the rest of us, "protecting the future of our nation" as the politicians called it, they left us out. We weren't worth the effort of checking for infection, because we were subhuman. We were in the minority at first and back then they didn't care if we killed each other off. It was bad at first, the food supplies they left were barely enough and the strongest got them. The weak died. I hadn't been weak. Yes, I was only five feet tall and no muscle, but I hadn't been weak where it was important. I was smart. Then a City Coordinator was dumped on us after the first eighteen months of segregation. Some of the occupants of the city had been trying to get across to the enclave of the Wirral. Alan Jones and a number of his thugs had been supplied with all they needed and came through the tunnel to impose order on the "animals." The authorities didn't care how he did it, just as long as the problem we created was removed. He did it by controlling the limited food supplies into the city, with muscle and weapons, neither of which we had. He wasn't strong where it counted though. He wasn't smart. Even before he came, I had been making friends and making sure that plenty of people owed me favours. That was my currency. I would do anything to help anyone on the promise of a favour, but unlike do-gooders I collected; not always as was expected though, I wasn't after a person killed or protection. The explanation of how an engine worked, some medical knowledge, a book or some judo lessons was more likely to be my payment. I made my life more comfortable. I had limited electricity and a radio. Food I was as short of as everyone else, but I had plenty of hormones. A lot of the people didn't bother; they believed that the hormones were there to subdue the population. I did a little reading before I made my decision on what to do. I realized that if my bones started to crumble it wouldn't make any difference if I had breasts or not. I had taken them up to the point when I was evicted from my home by a large group of men and pushed into the Birkenhead end of the tunnel, but as soon as I could get settled again, after a few months, I started again. As I had things that others didn't, I started to get unwanted attention. My home became a place of fear and I filled it with traps for the unwary. I also started calling in favours. I was selective at first. My initial problem was protection. I could protect myself against individuals and small groups, but if a large number came again I was going to suffer. Size is nothing in the martial arts I had learned well and practiced religiously, but skill is nothing when the weight of numbers is too great. That was when I found Alex. Alex was different from the usual adult Damocles victims. I understand his wife had died before he caught the virus and as such he was not a candidate for testosterone. Alex had raided a hospital and ran for Liverpool. He wasn't willing to live his life as a eunuch. He had a price on his head if he was caught and under the emergency powers law he would face the death penalty. Men who had been affected by Damocles were a less visible reminder of what was going on than we were, so we were exiled and most of them survived on the fringes of society. Except those who left of their own volition, with their own agendas like Alan Jones. Alex was a nice man; not particularly bright, but that isn't a crime. He came into my home and into my bed as a lover; not that it interested me, that side of things, but in these times I use whatever means I can to get by and get what I need. I think to be honest he loves me. I'm sure of it and I am fond of him and I enjoy the sense of security he gives me snuggled in close behind me, holding me tight, a hand caressing my breast. Alex was an imposing man, well over six foot tall and amongst a population virtually all under six foot, few were willing to challenge him. Not that I think he would honestly hurt anyone, I was the aggressive one and if he had ever turned on me I would have removed him from my life permanently. It's amazing what those cunning Asians figured out you could do to a human body with your own. Very rarely does it involve lots of shouting, screaming and high kicking, but used correctly with just a few movements you can bring down the largest man before he knows what's hit him. Then the choice is yours -- unconscious, crippled or dead. The advantage of dead is, they don't come round and get you with their mates when you aren't looking. I built up the number of people associated with me, medically trained people, teachers, engineers and people with any skills before they were exiled. We gave our skills in exchange for goods and favours. We did not work for our food or the food of others. That was my first decision. Alan Jones was keeping control by his hold over the food supplies and medical supplies through the tunnel. This meant he was hated. I would let people work for what they needed and take in return what they felt was fair. Books were a staple trade item though. With a book you can learn to do what you can't do yet. With practice you can splint an arm, wire a house or strip and rebuild a weapon. Once you have learned these skills, you can teach others. Amongst the people who had contact with our group we had an almost one hundred percent literacy rate and only the youngest that were dumped through the tunnel didn't read yet. The other thing different about my group was the fact that violence or intimidation was forbidden. I kept this law personally and if words didn't convince them, then I would resort to violence. The young came to us first, those who even in our society were the outcasts. They survived in groups fighting for the few scraps from what we received. No one cared if they lived or died, as we were all too busy trying to survive. I changed that view and they thanked me with their love and their loyalty. I was "Mother Sam" to the young and if they came into my world they lived by my rules. They were simple rules that all could understand; no violence toward anyone in our group, no theft and everyone works. That included me, I was leading by example. If someone wanted to take a swing at me then I fought and took them down. Surprisingly, some of those who I tangled with became the people I relied on most and trusted with my life. I taught unarmed combat classes with two others. I wasn't in the same class as either of them in their own discipline. Escrima, I hadn't heard of before I met Mr. Kay, as we called him. He was an old man from the Philippines and despite the fact there is very little chance of mistaking anyone from there with someone from the Middle East he had been moved over the water. The Judo taught by Simon was a bit more conventional. I used both, as necessary and I could stand my own against any one person in my group. This didn't include Mr. Kay or Simon, but I was starting to get lucky, occasionally. This set up worked for a couple of years as the city split into three factions. My group, Alan Jones' mob, which was attracting a lot of families who wouldn't abandon children to us "savages" over the water and the independents. Everyone had to work through Alan for food and medical supplies. The independents preferred to deal with us for anything they didn't have to get from Alan. Then things took a turn for the worse. We had gotten quite organized and by this time we were supplementing the food rations by fishing and what vegetables we could grow. This was a direct threat to Alan and his crew. Food and his control over it was how he kept order. He sent in armed men to destroy our efforts and the first few times they did, but we improvised our defence with what we had at hand. The first counter strike was a homemade bomb in a vegetable patch that six men had come to destroy. Four died and we dumped the wounded and the dead where they would be found. We kept their weapons and waited for his next move. It came in the form of twenty-five men demanding my surrender to the recognized authorities, on charges of murder, hoarding goods, incitement to riot and a slew of other charges -- all with the death penalty. We demanded their surrender and they laughed at the thought of surrendering to such as us. Six died, three were wounded and the rest we took prisoner. The dead and wounded we dumped back where they could be found again. We didn't have the supplies to treat the wounded and preferred not to kill unnecessarily. The prisoners joined the club. No male hormones here and we couldn't let them risk osteoporosis could we? These acts couldn't be ignored. They had attacked my people for nothing more than being successful in the situation we had been dumped into. I had three thousand people with me in my immediate family and many thousand of the solo operators who were looking for trouble, but we only had weapons for thirty. They had possibly a thousand they could call on and weapons for only seventy now. We picked our ground -- I didn't want to involve innocents in this fight -- and we marched from Allerton to the centre of Liverpool. People joined us on the way and our numbers swelled. In front of the Liver Buildings we made our stand. Alan Jones was not slow to arrive and he came with all of his thugs and followers, but the numbers were against him. From the moment he saw the situation his usual arrogant swagger ceased. "Get back to your holes vermin," he screamed at the people gathered, "or you won't eat for a week." No one moved. Not one sound issued from my people as I walked out between the two forces and stood there waiting. The silence added to the tension and I could see a lot of the opposition trying to make sure they weren't in the front row. "You think you're man enough to come out here and talk to me face to face before we turn to bloodshed?" I shouted. I could see the uncertainty on Alan's face and the expectation of his force that their "Big Man" would meet me. "I'll come out there with two men," he shouted across and I nodded. I watched him pick the two biggest men he had and was about to come out to me when I decided I couldn't let him have too much of an advantage. "Unarmed as I am. You have your two bodyguards, so you can leave the weapons or we fight now," I shouted to him. "What the hell do you want then Deever?" he demanded when he finally got to me. "You will stand down as City Coordinator. You will leave all your weapons and we will find a place for you to live in peace," I told him. "I'm not worried about your little friends," he replied with scorn in his voice. "What do you Deevers think you can do against real men?" "If that is your decision then there is no point continuing this dialogue," I told him turning to leave. "I should have known better than to talk you. Anyway you're only half a man." This pushed him too far and, while my back was towards him, he grabbed my arm. "You're coming with me," he screamed, starting to drag me by the arm he held. Escrima is an art that improvises with what weapons are at hand and also uses low kicks to disable an opponent. Pananjakman aren't the flashy high kicks you see in a lot of martial arts, they are low vicious and nasty. Alan found this out with a kick to his calf and a quick follow-up to his knee, which caused a gratifying tearing noise. The knee to his face was just a formality, he wasn't going anywhere. The other two were no more trouble and the three of them lay on the floor, unconscious, in a matter of seconds. An army without a leader is a rabble. The rabble that faced us was grossly outnumbered and capitulated without a fight. I kept tight control and didn't let anyone avenge the wrongs they felt had been inflicted on them, but I had a problem with Alan and his thugs. I was not willing to kill them myself, not that I didn't think they deserved it, but I hadn't got here by fear. We sent them back, all who had come with him to inflict themselves on us, through the tunnel. The shots could be clearly heard, as they were welcomed at the barrier halfway through. We found a lot out that week. We found the tons of food stored in buildings around the city centre. We also found out that those on the other side didn't give a toss who was in charge as long as they weren't bothered. This attitude made the anger inside me grow. We hadn't done this. We hadn't asked for this. But we were treated as if we were the Muslims who had unleashed the horror that made us like this. I could understand the problems the country faced abroad. Our troops were getting massacred by Muslims who no longer cared if they lived or died. China had taken a side all of its own and was engaged in strategic battles to take over and control the oilfields of the Gulf. Any non-Chinese ships or troops near this area, it considered fair game. Afghanistan was a place of devastation, that made men into corpses by the thousands and the death toll kept rising, while Russia was losing ground hand-over- fist as the Muslim States encroached further and further into what had been the Russian Federation. Africa had erupted into a thousand fragmented tribal wars, the origins of which were long forgotten. The Baltic States were trying to exterminate each other again and the Indo-Pakistani conflict was killing millions. The world had turned to shit, but that was no reason to treat us like shit. Damocles was indiscriminate in its victims, not caring about race, creed or colour. As it swept through an area, the population demanded revenge for what had been done to them, at least those that were still alive depending on the variant. The thing that did confuse me though was everyone was blaming everyone else for Damocles. We blamed the Muslims. They blamed us. The Serbs blamed the rest of the Baltic and India and Pakistan blamed each other. All the time, funds, resources and people, which no country could afford to lose, were being sent to war. Fifty years of intermittent conflict had destroyed economies and devastated populations. Much more of this and humanity would be facing extinction. I decided that we had to make a stand. I had eighteen months if I wanted to make a big statement on a day that would be significant to everyone. We put the city in order, clean and tidy first. We had law and order, but above all we had equality. Yes I must admit I tended to dress a bit fancier than most of the people that we had, but as I was told it was expected. Also, Alex liked the way I looked and dressed. Despite everything that had happened he was still the person I turned to for support in all I did. I made myself seen. I cleaned the streets with the others and planted food. I fished and I taught the children. All the time my popularity was growing, being reinforced by my actions. They didn't like it over the water on The Wirral, but as I explained to them at the barrier, if they sent anyone over to try wrestle control from me, I would personally send them back. On the radio the stories about me started, first just local news about the mad creature who had taken control of the City. Later on I began to be described as a Muslim sympathizer, a fascist dictator, a communist infiltrator and a "mad freak of a Deever." It was obvious to all who listened to the broadcasts that these were just labels put on me to try and instigate hate and rebellion within my people and I don't think anyone in Liverpool believed any of it. We took no hostile action, though certain acts were blamed on us. I cannot believe they thought we really did it because food and people kept being pushed through the tunnel. We started our own newspaper putting; out our version of the news to our people and the radio attacks became more violent. They decided I was a "Monster" and, with my nickname still being used by many, I became "The Mother of the Grendel" and "The Queen of the Deevers." a bigger threat to the people of Britain than the monsters that started the war. Through out 2050 I stockpiled food and equipment and at the end of the year I explained my plan to the City Council. "We have been pushed here, into a useless ruin of city that no one wanted, to die," I told the council. "We didn't die, so they sent Alan Jones to make sure we knew our place, but we removed him and made this city fit to be lived in again. What did they do then? They decided, because we weren't willing to live in shit and die, we were a threat to them. We have done nothing to the people of this country except be born and be the victims of a war that has ruined much of the world. Now the time has come to show the people of England that we are not animals. We are not going to be shoved in cages and shot if we try to escape. August of next year we will march out of this city; not in fear, not in anger. We march out of this city proud of what we have done and we will give them a message they will not be able to forget. We will march on London and make them treat us like people, to talk to us like people and to recognize us for what we are. We are the victims of this war not the aggressors." "What if they decide to attack us?" one man asked. "We go with everyone, the children, the old and the sick. They will see we are not an aggressive force and above all these people are British like us. We didn't start this war. We didn't loose Damocles on the world and, above all, we do not kill innocent people. We are not Muslims like the sick bastards who started all this. We are decent British people and we demand our place on this earth," I told them and a cheer arose from the hall and I had them. We continued our preparations with the full support from the council. Yes, I was in charge and what I said was done, but I tried to work with them. In June, as the hot summer cheered everyone up, I told the people what I was doing. I told them that I was going and if we all went together, then they wouldn't be able to ignore us any more. The people I had brought out of fear and starvation into the city as it was now, a place where people could walk around at night without fear, agreed with me and told me where I led they would follow. Last night though, as I lay next to Alex, the doubts assailed me. What was I doing? Why didn't I just stay here and live off the scraps that were offered? I worried about the government's reaction. Janet Kipling, our illustrious Prime Minister wasn't exactly a tolerant personality, but none of my people had been offered the chance to vote for her. I would be leaving the city tomorrow with children with me and no woman, a mother herself, could attack children and kill children. Now, as my people cleared a path through the minefields and barbed wire of Garston, I knew we didn't have an option. We were doing it. The people of Widnes, and then Runcorn, hid as we marched through their towns and across the bridge over the Mersey. No one cha