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Post by Legionnaire on Mar 26, 2016 1:04:19 GMT
Rhys's cousin, Jed, is a lance corporal at the Shrewsbury Royal Corps of Transport TA Depot & has managed to get hold of a bedford full of army Diesel! He's arranged to meet the "Bala Boys" in a field just outside Llangollen & they'll pay handsomely for it! After a quiet trip along the A5, he pulls into the field at the edge of the copse & a shadowy group of figures surround him..... Once his heart stops thumping, Jed realises it's Owen & the boys and while they're lowering the tailgate begins the haggling with Owen. "STOP WHERE YOU ARE, YOU'RE UNDER ARREST" Figures appear around the edge of the field! It's Plod!! Somehow they've got wind of this & have set up an ambush - The Bala Boys know it's a long time inside for them if they're caught & Jed hears the sound of multiple weapons being cocked. With a sigh, he says to Owen "there'a a box of grenades in the cab, one previous owner" "Great, I love Party Poppers" grins Owen..... Tune in on Monday to find out what happens now! The cigarette smoke was thick in the briefing room and the usually crisp white shirt was clinging uncomfortably to DCI Keith Brockhurst's body, the gathered men were all looking determined and Sergeant Whittle cracked his big sausagefingered knuckles. "Listen up everyone," DCI Brockhurst addressed his men, "this morning we received a tip from one of our eyes out there. There's a serious deal going down out of town tonight. The Bala Boys are aiming to get their hands on some military hardware, according to intel! I don't think I need to stress how serious this is for the community. IF these Welsh national revolutionaires get their hands on that, we might have gunfights running in our streets and THAT'S not happening on MY watch!" he slammed his fist at the desk. "The only way we can possibly squash this, is by going in so hard that they won't know what hit them! And maybe, just maybe, we can prevent serious spillage of blood, be it Welsh or English! I strongly suggest you all to go home to your families, spend time with them and report back here at 1800hrs for duty, we have a revolution to nip in the bud!" The twin beams from the headlights cut through the darkness as the lorry rolled up towards Jones' field and the dozen or so police officers hidden in around held their breath, this was it! PC Twittington wiped the sweat from his brow and cradled the Stirling SMG in his hands and swallowed hard. He was thinking of Emily back home, his son Steven and the one that was on its way and here he was freezing his arse off in a muddy field outside Llangollen!!! He snapped out of his reverie when there was a quiet rustling from PC Benedict's uniform when he shifted position, in the pale moonlight Twittington could just about make out the SLR in his hands. Anytime now would the signal go, and then? Twittington hoped that the Bala Boys would see reason and give up: "You caught me fair and square copper," but he doubted it. This wasn't Dixon of Dock Green anymore, this was 1979 after all. There was a loud noise of car doors opening and closing, someone lit up a f*g in the distance by the lorry and sounds of voices drifted over when the hastily mounted vehicle spotlights were suddenly flicked on and the scene bathed in ghostly light! "STOP WHERE YOU ARE! YOU ARE ALL UNDER ARREST!!!" DCI Brockhurst's voice boomed out of the loudspeaker and there was a fevered activity! "nuts! They are not going to give up that easily!" muttered PC Twittington under his breath and with shaking hands he racked the bolt on the Stirling, getting ready to deal in lead with a pounding heart!!! "UP YOURS COPPER!!!" someone shouted and then there was a thunder of gunfire, muzzleflashes and the smell of burnt cordite, PC Twittington heard someone scream out, but he didn't know if it was one of his colleagues or one of the others... IT'S 1979, WELSH BORDER AND EVERYONE BROUGHT A GUN
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Post by Legionnaire on Mar 28, 2016 21:57:30 GMT
The church bell tolled, solemnly and foreboding and the rain drizzled. Several coffins were carried out of the village church, one after another, borne on the shoulders of scores of police officers, some of them crying openly and the congregation filed out afterwards in a large throng of people, gathering at the gravesites. The camera panned back to focus on the dolly bird Fiona McGrath, hotshot reporter for the BBC. She was dressed in dark clothes and held an umbrella which the rain dripped from. She brought the microphone up and spoke:
"Three days ago the Kempford police tried to apprehend armed men, but in the ensuing gun battle, seven officers, husbands and sons lost their lives with another two in serious conditions in hospital. In the aftermath it stood clear how severely the law enforcement had underestimated the armed men's numbers, capabilities and armaments. The initial reports gave the impressions that it was a handful of men with a couple of sawn-offs, not a small army with military grade weaponry, something that it turned out that the police was ill equipped to deal with. "
The Last Post sounded and the attendants, men, women, families and scores of police officers filed out of the cemetery, crossing the wet streets to the pub on the other side.
The cell door opened and a burly copper entered, Davyd smoked his f*g with a smirk, the copper had red eyes like he had been crying. Davyd had been knocked out in the gunfight and dragged off to the clink but he know how badly the Brits had been hurt and it gladdened him. What could they do? They were coppers!!! The man sat down and opened a folder: "You've got some misdemenours here Davyd but nothing like this! You know what's going to happen, don't you?" "What about it geezer?" Davyd sneered, "Your mates got shot to pieces and all YOU can do is put me behind bars! I bet that doesn't seem fair to you at all!" he laughed and blew smoke in the coppers face. The man stood and he actually smiled, a smile that sent a chill down Davyd's back. "No, you're right and that doesn't seem fair at all, but I have news for you, boyo! As of this morning, Great Britain is now under Martial Law and as you are now falling under the terrorism act, I have a surprise for you. DCI Brockhurst who was killed has a brother who VERY much like to talk to you, and I shall leave the two of you to acquaint yourselves with each other in peace and quiet!"
The stool scraped as the burly copper rose, picked up the folder and exited the cell. Another man strode in and gently shut the door behind him. Davyd swallowed. The man was dressed in a military uniform, crowned with a green beret. Davyd wasn't really sure what that meant, but the man looked 'proper hard' and he loomed over Davyd: "Hello Davyd, you are going to tell me EVERYTHING I want to know, trust me. And we can do it in a nice, civil manner or the hard messy way, it's your choice. I have ALL the time in the world and we won't be disturbed here until I say so, there are MANY angry police officers waiting outside that would love nothing else but tear you limb from limb for what your comrades did. I can make that happen... or not... depending on your co-operation. Have I made myself clear?" The man shook out a John Player Special and lit it with a Zippo. "Ready when you are," he took up a pencil and a notebook, took a drag on the cigarette and made himself comfortable as Davyd seriously considered his options, he was sure the man wasn't telling porkies, so he drew a deep breath and told the man what he knew.
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Post by Damon on Mar 29, 2016 9:48:17 GMT
There was a haze of cigarette smoke in the backroom of the "Betswy Brawler" public house, several of the men round the table were wearing police hats, one sporting a bullet hole in the front & what appeared to be cream cheese on the brim....
"Quiet now" said the figure at the end of the table, "Here's to Owen & the boys - those Brits think they can just swan over here & do as they please, well it ain't gonna happen no more! Jed here has some interesting news for us...."
The young lad in the middle stands up "You all know I can't go back to the TA as they know it was me that nicked the diesel right? Well, I'm still in touch with some of the lads in the platoon & there's at least a section or two that are ready to join us. I reckon that if they can break away when they're meant to be on patrol they'll be able to bring their weapons with them - there's a "Show of Unity Patrol" next month through Llanberris to prove to the media how friendly things really are - I reckon if we could cause a bit of a distraction the boys'd be able to get away, maybe even plug a couple of Brits while they're at it!"
"Sounds like a plan young 'un" says Rhys, "lets have a think about this, Merryl! More Beer!", he pulls out a street map & they all lean in & start pointing, talking & drawing on the map......
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Post by Legionnaire on Apr 10, 2016 8:14:41 GMT
The curtains were drawn to the Kempford village hall to keep prying eyes out, but it’d take a very determined soul to stand there in the drizzling cold November rain. Inside several of the villagers nursed a warming cuppa and a cheese sandwich, courtesy of the wives and girlfriends who were manning the kitchen, although most probably wished for something a lot stronger at this point, but a clear head was needed at this occasion and a hazy mist of tobacco smoke wafted in the air. George Smeadley rose and banged the makeshift gavel in the table and the hubbub died down. “Thank you all for coming,” he was originally from Yorkshire and had lost none of his northern accent. “as you well know, with the police force being massacred just two weeks ago and the terrorist attempts by the so-called Free Welsh last week on the TA march, I am not alone in feeling that we can’t just stand idle and let all we value and cherish being blown to pieces!” There was a rhubarb rhubarb at that from the villagers, voicing their support.
“Therefore, I have decided to set up a militia and will welcome anyone that wants to join, those who don’t will not be shunned though, because I understand fully if you are afraid.” He let that sink in, and as he did so, several crates and other assortments were carried in and put down in the centre of the village hall. “As one of the more wealthy people here, I have invested some for our benefit, because what good will my money do me if my factories are bombed to smithereens by these insurgents? Please come closer to see what I offer.” The crowd shuffled closer and Smeadley held up the first item, an armband in white with red stitching ‘KVA’, it was passed around. “This is courtesy of the knitting circle, which my wife is holding as you all know, and the stitching is for Kempford Vigilance Association, which I suggest all members are wearing to show unity.” Next the wooden crates were opened and lots of firearms were revealed, along with other bits of military hardware. A man who’s good Italian looks were somewhat spoiled by his large ears stepped forward and picked up a seriously looking assault rifle. “The Ak-47, commonly known as a Kalashnikov, easy to use and of a sturdy construction. How many here have ever fired a gun for real?” A few hands were raised but not even half of the assembled. “Ok, we will later on have some basic drills on handling them. Rule number one, ALWAYS treat a firearm as if it was loaded, it’s NOT a toy!!” A few more items were displayed and then Smeadley called for order again. “Right, we have now means to protect ourselves and the will to do it. Which brings me to the next item on the agenda. With the cowardly terrorist attack on our streets last week, we are going to return the favour! Brian, if you please?”
A projector screen was pulled down and the lights turned off. The projector was turned on and a picture slide was pushed in, depicting a man that looked like he took fashion statements from Elton John and wore a camel hair coat, smoking a cigarette. “Derec Jones, also called ‘Groove Man’, local Northern Soul DJ and in neck deep with the Welsh Freedom fighters. He is mostly on the move in the area on his vespa, BUT… every Tuesday he visits the same three places.” Another slide was shown, a local pub. “The Duck and Bill, he takes his tea there and the landlord is his brother-in-law.” A new picture slide, a terraced house with the number 36. “His nan’s house. She is widowed and he pays her a visit religiously.” The last slide was put into place, depicting a record shop. “And Worsley’s Disc’s and Cassettes, a record shop where he resupplies.”
“Thank you Brian,” Smeadley said. “The plan is as follows: we are going to take a little trip and bring Derec home with us, I’m sure he can tell us loads of what the Free Welsh are planning. Patrick, you have some additional info I believe?” Patrick Whitbread rose, his long blonde hair ran down past his shoulders and his denim jacket proudly displayed KISS and Saxon patches. “Yes, I have a Lannie and a Cortina that we could use for the mission and they would be difficult to trace back. All I need is a second driver.” “Thank you Patrick. So who is with me?” said George and there were general shouting as most of them signed up on the spot. He leaned backwards in the chair and took a sip from the hipflask. This was going well so far.
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