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Semi-doom related: something i started writing once

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Its the story of my "Infamous" wad, Gaydoom:



Chapter 1 – An ordinary day

July 3rd 1977

A series out loud clunks and thumps woke Mark Johnson up with a jolt, he looked around in a daze and realised it was just the bin lorry outside, it was the morning “Shit” he thought “Too many horror movies”. He laid back down and closed his eyes to try and 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 up the street, 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 put on some tatty jeans and a plain, purplish T-shirt, then opened the curtains, causing Paul to complain loudly “Oh, sorry love” he said “Forgot you don’t have work today”, he giggled, the walked over and gently kissed him.

Paul looked quite similar to Mark, but with a more rounded, cuter face, and blue eyes, also his hair was much shorter. Mark suddenly realised the time “Oh BOLLOCKS!” he shouted, to nobody in particular “Gonna be late again”. Now Paul laughed as he ran to the bathroom and flung some water on his face, sprayed AXE deoderant around himself then bounded down the stairs and snatched up the car keys. He fiddled with the lock on the front door before finally getting outside, where he was blinded by the sunlight, it was going to be a bright, hot day. He briefly looked down the street, it was a cul-de-sac built in the 1920’s after The Great War, with rows of semi-detached, now quite crumbly-looking houses. They where mostly stained with brown grime from smoke from Bombings and the Smog of the 1950’s. In 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 royal navy and had “known that sort of thing was going on”, in his own words, what he didn’t talk about so much was what the officers had allowed to happen to “those people” when the ship was going down after taking a fatal hit during the Dunkirk evacuation.

“Morning Alf” Mark said as he walked over to his car, a gleaming red, second-hand Ford Capri mk1, it was only a 1300GT, but it went fast enough for him. “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” he grumbled as he got in. He 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, before continuing “Ah well, you better get straight out, you got 415E today, throwing him some keys. Mark walked round the back of the building to 415E, or to give it it’s proper name, ERM415E, a Grimy, Rusty red Ford Transit mk1, He opened the door and 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 coming off.

“Fuggin’ poofter” grumbled Rob as he watched the Transit cough and splutter before bursting into life. “Wanted to sack that wanker” he carried on, to himself, he absolutely hated the fact that Homosexuality had been Legalised in the previous decade, he thought it was unnatural and wrong, and that gay people could be cured if only they where kept in prison and had it beaten out of them

The Transit’s engine coughed with protest as mark pulled into a Texaco garage near to an M25 Slip-road, he had found the van was quite low and could do with some more fuel, he had also found the radio had been removed “because it strains the battery”, the yellow sticky note in it’s place had said. He pulled into the forecourt quite quickly before jamming on the brakes, they had just been replaced and where about the only thing on this van that worked properly. The computers in the back all slid forwards and slammed into the back of the bench seat. “Hope those things are durable” he grumbled, stepping out of the van and walking up to the pumps. He noticed a few people crowded around a Ford Anglia, its owner had the radio turned right up, assuming it was football he continued filling the van, the only sports he liked involved very loud, obscenely fast motorbikes

“Prime minister”, the nervous intelligence chief said “One report, I might agree with, but after three, I think we should at least take an interest”. The PM brushed aside his concern “Listen, as you yourself said, without any radar evidence we just cant take seriously any fisherman’s radio calls telling us a huge Nazi flotilla is heading straight for the channel, I think you yourself realise how unlikely that sounds, I think the only thing these sailors have had an encounter with is a few too many glasses of Rum”. “I…indeed” said the Intelligence chief, Defeated, “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.

“Its 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, my job is worth too much, besides it probably is just the drunken rambling of a few Cornish 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 Triumph that some posh executive was filling up, He could feel the 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, but 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 screamed, before looking up as another three followed “Some people are still sleeping, you bleedin’ fly-boys” he grumbled, pulling out behind a big old Vauxhall Cresta.

“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 easy terms. “Sir…Britain is..under attack!” he blurted out. “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 said. Suddenly a loud roar sounded 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 and the lights went out as high-explosive rockets slammed into the grounds, the first bombs of a new Blitz.

“Fuckin jets” grumbled mark as he weaved through traffic on a slip-road leading through some disused, overgrown ‘green belt’ land towards the M25, he came up over a small bridge, suddenly something huge loomed over the road and traffic was grinding to a halt. “SHIIT!” he screamed and stepped on the Brakes, the Transit grunted in protest as the pads ground themselves to carbon dust and he came to a stalling, juddering halt just behind a Dolomite. He looked up over the tops of the halted cars and saw an enormous Grey airship, hovering just over the road. “What…the….fuck??” he said as he noticed the craft had Swastikas on the back of it, it looked like the ghost of the Hindenburg. Though he also noticed it had jet engines, a curious ‘ring’ towards the rear, and radioactive signs on hatches at the back. Then 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. 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, he sounded more Spanish than German to Mark. “Okay okay”, mark said, his hands in the air. Gunfire sounded from somewhere close by and a loud clang echoed through the van, a few bullets had struck its roof. The soldier who had opened the door ran to the back of the van, crouched and started firing at something. “Fuck this” Mark said as he ran to the side of the road and dived down the embankment into a field full of tufty, soft grass scattered with weeds. He looked back up and saw a few British army landrovers and trucks amongst the cars, more gunfire echoed and he could hear someone howling in pain, a car was lifted up and blown apart suddenly, and pieces of it landed all around. Mark backed away back down the embankment and started to run across the field, the slip-road had erupted into a war-zone. He 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, London had become a battlefield.

Sergeant-major Bill Bowler looked down the street and snarled to himself. The Nazi invaders had come from nowhere all of a sudden and started to bomb the city, his men where surprised, but thanks to his training soon sprung into action like a well-oiled machine, and readied the anti-tank cannons. He now manned a battery set up in Oxford Street, and awaited an enemy attack. They had managed to bring tanks right into the capital thanks to some kind of vast zeppelin-like airship, which appeared to be powered by some kind of advanced jet engine, and they seemed to be filled with helium. Judging by what he saw when one of them was blown into pieces by some anti-aircraft fire from somewhere in the city. Bill remembered the sight of another airship replying to the AA fire, he remembered seeing the searing white concussion blast up into the air followed by a vast fireball. “Sir!” a young private shouted, pointing down the road, Three Menacing Grey tanks approached. “Roight men, this is it!” He shouted, and the 128mm Cannons opened fire, the shells ripped into the lead tank, which crunched in at the front and appeared to shatter, its turret flew into the air and crashed into a building, crumpling the brick walls and showering rubble into the road. The second tank had its tracks blasted off, and reared up into the air like a snake about to strike, before shunting sideways and slamming into a shop front. 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 or we’ll blow it off!”. Before he could say another word, the Third Nazi tank had taken the break in firing to reply, Bill saw the puff of smoke from its barrel, nothing happened, he thought “Whew, it wasn’t aimed at us”, Suddenly his world was shattered by a huge orange light, he felt unbelievable pain, then nothing.

Captain Hans Schwartzmann opened the hatch of his tank and looked around, it had been blown into a clothes shop, rubble and glass shards littered the area, he heard the crackle of small fires and dying moans of his crew. This was the first time he had seen another country, he was Argentinean, 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, underground city over the decades, recruiting normal Argentineans for their footsoldiers, while the Germans where given the top jobs. This army was now mobilised, he remembered Marshall Von Hocken’s words before they left “Over 30 years ago, The forces of the Third Reich where sadly defeated, by a technologically superior enemy. Well now, thanks to a great undertaking, and great difficulty, are the ones with technological superiority!, The time for the Fourth Reich Is now!, we shall invade Britain, our great enemy, first, then proceed to conquer Europe!, and then The world!”. Plaster and bricks dropped onto the tank as a young corporal rushed over to him. “Captain, are you okay?” he said, in broken German. “Yes, fine, it appears the enemy are neutralised, well done. Now let us press on!”. The third tank pulled back from the blocked street, the buildings on either side, which had been hit where slowly buckling and would soon collapse

Mark walked through bland suburban streets, the occasional collapsed house and burst of distant gunfire causing him to twitch nervously. What few people there where walking the streets looked shell-shocked and terrified, they didn’t offer any conversation. After a few streets he came across an abandoned industrial complex, covered in graffiti and litter. Normally he would be scared to walk through such a place, but just carried on. Smoke rose from one old office complex, the tail of a British Tornado jet fighter stuck out of the wreckage. In another part of the complex he passed the shot-up corpse of a tramp, spent shell casings littered the ground a few feet away.

He was suddenly in the yard behind a shop, it seemed to be abandoned, the back door was hanging open and the building next door was collapsed and on fire, a single dusty Cortina sat in the yard, with a section of wall sunk into its bonnet. He walked into the store room and through into the front, it was an electronics shop, some of the TV’s where still on, a BBC news reader was 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 “Nazi broadcasting network”.

Mark could smell smoke and heard some creaking sounds and nearby, muffled explosions, so he decided to get out into the streets before the shop collapsed. In the road he saw it was boxed in by wrecked, burning tanks and rubble on one side, and what looked like a huge bonfire on the other, on closer inspection he could see burnt-out cannons and dead bodies in it. A few wrecked cars sat in the road, including a mangled Triumph Herald with a dead supermarket-looking worker 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. 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 on sight!” It then showed pictures of British soldiers surrendering, a Tornado crashing into the ground under withering anti-aircraft fire, and large Airships landing, spilling out soldiers and tanks. “Damn it Mark, where are you?” he said aloud, Another huge explosion could be heard 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 which landed 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, the blazing building now generally ignored by the few other people who where about. The airship which had fired at it had flown off, so wasn’t likely to fire at it again.

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’s cars where there though, they had just run away. 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 Asian-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. He walked past a big Vauxhall and realised he was actually quite close to home, and that there was another alleyway that provided a nice shortcut

Chapter 3 – The end of the world

Major Hank Robertson looked at the bank of screens over the American Nuclear Command centre. British aircraft, in formation with other, unidentified planes, swarmed over the map, some heading towards New York, Washington, Miami. Others where coming from the other direction towards the West Coast, while still more where coming down from the arctic towards Canada and the central United States. “They insist its just a routine run” said a young communications officer, though there are other reports of some kind of upheaval in Britain, there seems to be confusion all over the world right now” he continued. “Well” said the Major “The British are allied with us, we might as well clear those planes”

“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, and 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 cities, since the actual Nazi leaders had decided to take up residence in a mansion in 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. The weapon that they 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 which where resisting being taken over.

“Okay gentlemen” Marshall Von Hocken looked over his officials, sitting around a table in a plus 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 great British union of fascists leader Oswald Mosely. “Well Mosely, it is quite simple really” The Marshall said “We simply 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, seeing 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 appear to be normal. 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 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.

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 execution, to Jim it seemed just like the holocaust of world war 2, despite what the Marshall had insisted 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 been a builder, noticed him and they went silent as he walked past. He could feel them watching, they waited until he passed the big 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, he will think that’s me and open it!” Mark thought, looking around for a weapon or something, 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’s 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”. Mark seemed a little amused now, “Boyfriend” he corrected. 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 sound of another gun being cocked. “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. 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. 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 Rebel’s 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 it 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 a mere 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.

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 where no guard dogs or lights, so they crossed the garden and scaled the taller fence at the back. Across the road was the Chief Inspectors 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 Mk 2, 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 and Mark and Roy sat in the back. “That’ll show them” 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 paper 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” he 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 him turn a corner into a small alleyway behind some houses. Picking up a bulky radio he said “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 takk 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 highly 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.

Well that was long, maybe i'll write some more one day, or just make the sodding wad

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Heh, i'm amazed someone did read it, maybe i will carry it on day, or not..., either way i need to sprite some cars if this is gonna get anywhere

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