by Andy Farman
“Thank you.” She leaned across as if to peck him on the cheek but instead kissed him fleetingly on the lips.
“This is probably goodbye.”
“I know, so you take good care of yourself, Miss.”
He watched her depart before flicking through the pages of the newspaper until he found seven envelopes; three were addressed to the wives of the Pell, Stokes and Scott Tafler, whilst three had postal addresses for Constantine’s mother, Caroline’s and Patricia’s parents, and the elderly occupants of a farm outside Moscow.
He gathered up the envelopes and placed them into the inside pocket of his jacket but paused as an article in The Times caught his eye on the very page where the envelopes had rested. The first summit of world leaders since the war was due to be held at an exclusive ski resort in the Swiss Alps. A byline added that Russia’s glamorous Premier would be taking advantage of the slopes during the breaks, having tirelessly worked towards peace and rebuilding ties with the worlds community etc etc.
Sir Richard looked thoughtfully in the direction Svetlana had taken before checking his watch. He had enough time before his flight back to London to enjoy the warmth and blue skies a while longer, so with a happy sigh Sir Richard Tennant, senior policeman for the Metropolis of London, relaxed and finished his drink.
Annapolis, Maryland, USA: 0845hrs, 9th February.
The term ‘chapel’ hardly did justice in describing the beautiful structure that served the spiritual needs of those he lived and worked at the United States Naval Academy, thought the President. He had spent long minutes in silent prayer, alone inside the building having used his position to ensure that for a short time he would be the only worshiper there.
A muffled cough reminded him that he was not entirely alone, and never could be whilst in office and he stood slowly, reluctant to leave the peace and wished for solitude that this place held.
His posse of Secret Service agents had at least given him space, positioning themselves at intervals along the walls at ground level and in the gallery. He nodded to Mike and saw the man’s lips move, murmuring into a discrete radio microphone to inform the rest of the detail that ‘Knight’ was moving.
An agent opened the door for him and he emerged into the sunlight of a pleasant February morning, and decided to walk to Farragut Field, ignoring the cars waiting outside Buchanan House, the one-time home of the Superintendent of the Academy, and now temporary residence of the President of the United States of America.
The President glanced up at the room the First Lady occupied but she was not stood at the window watching her husband go, and he doubted that she would ever again play the dutiful wife, no matter how public the occasion.
He felt the loneliness keenly, the need for companionship, and had to force himself not to walk stoop shouldered as he strolled along Chapel Walk towards the Severn River.
The academy was quiet, it lacked the hubbub of a training facility in full flow and there were fewer than fifty Midshipmen here. Those who had been in training at the start of the war had largely been siphoned off, depending on their level of training into vacant berths as the casualties had mounted.
He paused when he drew level with the bronze statue of an Indian brave…Native American, he corrected himself. The statue appeared to have been defaced, painted somewhat less than artistically from the shoulders down and he read the name of whom it represented. Tecumseh, the kindly man who had befriended the pilgrims, and saved them from starvation.
He did not know what the daubing with paint was all about, but Henry would have done. Henry knew the history behind countless military traditions whereas the president had held the military in contempt for many years, and had no interest in such things, at least until relatively recently.
He missed Henry and he deeply regretted the harsh words spoken.
The last time he had seen Henry had been aboard the USS John C Stennis, staring into the night, his back turned as Marine One departed.
Henry had disappeared after arriving back from Australia. Using up his outstanding leave he had dropped out of sight by losing himself amongst the displaced masses and neither the CIA nor any other intelligence services had been able to track him down.
A few young faces watched from the windows of Bancroft Hall as their commander-in-chief passed by, his circle of agents on the alert despite the location watched those faces, ready to call out targets to the riflemen on every rooftop.
The President turned right and his walk took him past Santee Basin and along the top of Farragut Field to stand and look along to Chesapeake Bay.
It occurred to him that he was stood between two worlds, behind him stood the foremast of the battleship USS Maine, sometimes called the longest ship in the US Navy because the mainmast stood in the grounds of Arlington cemetery, on the far side of Washington DC to where he was now standing.
Washington DC, the irradiated city was abandoned now and the state capitol of Maryland was to be the site of the new White House, while the city of Baltimore had become the new capital city of the United States of America.
It lacked the ring to it that Washington DC had but the President, along with a sizeable portion of the population of Maryland, was opposed to the renaming of Baltimore to that of New Washington.
Work was already underway to build the new residence at the edge of the Naval Academy on the corner of College Avenue and King George Street. It would be a virtual replica of the White House and the President felt that that should be a statement that it was business as usual.
Much of the world resembled the post war Europe of sixty years before but this time there was no Marshal Plan to aid the rebuilding. America demanded a return to the old way of doing things.
Today he would begin to address the problem of Great Britain and the other European military governments. His administration was under pressure from those who held the big purse strings, who had tried and failed to resume business, to their satisfaction, with those countries because the military men who were in charge now would not bend the rules or take bribes to grease the way for them either.
The beating blades announced the approach of Marine One, an aircraft less pleasing to the eye than its predecessor, but the rugged looking CH-53E Sea Stallion and its back-up aircraft projected a no nonsense aspect of the presidential office.
The President gestured to an aide who handed across an attaché case before standing back, watching the large helicopters settle onto the grass of Farragut Field
The President Theodore Kirkland did not hurry aboard; he rehearsed in his head the speech he would make in a few minutes time from the saluting dais in Baltimore. The world would see the might of America displayed at the victory parade to salute the fighting men who had now all returned from foreign shores. The world would hear his words and the underlying threat aimed at those who had overthrown their democratically elected governments. America was the land of the free and her military did the bidding of her government, not the other way around.
There would be no copycat military coups in the USA because the people were satisfied with the way their civilian government worked, and his administration was determined that like governments should also stand in Europe.
The parade was not the big event of the day though, a meeting with the oil companies and industrialists was scheduled for an hour later, and there the fall of the European military governments would be planned.
The side door of Marine One opened and two crewmen placed steps for their commander-in-chief to mount, he walked confidently forward and boarded, seating himself alone in the belly of the Sea Stallion.
The aircraft differed from the troop carrying version, sound proofing would allow the VIPs who may be aboard to hold a normal conversation and a bank of TV monitors showed the president six different channels, five of which were now displaying news programs whilst the sixth was set to the stock market. He lifted a telephone style receiver from its mounting beside his head and wished the pilot a good morning before turning
down the volume on the monitors.
He opened the attaché case and removed a file from within, but there were no neatly typed pages inside, and the file bore the printed title ‘Operation Armageddon’s Song’, a name he vaguely recalled from somewhere. Some small objects tumbled out into his lap. He stared for a moment, muttering to himself how his aide was about to find himself in the unpleasant position of being on the job market during a recession.
He picked the flimsy items up with the intention of tossing them away, but instead took a second to look at the cheap pieces of coloured cardboard. They were stained, aged, and the dyes had long begun to fade. On one side was borne an advertisement for a bar in Borneo whilst the reverse carried the logo of a well-known Far Eastern brewery, but there could also be discerned some handwriting in the margins.
Too many of the words had faded away with time to be read with the naked eye but it appeared to be some kind of declaration and the president was now more curious than he was annoyed. He extracted his spectacles to better read the spidery writing in the light of a sun that streamed through the left side window.
“Well I’ll be damned…….!” he breathed, as he deciphered the signatures at the end of the beer mat constitution.
Movement on the TV monitors caught his eye because all six stations were now showing exactly the same image, depicting a live feed of the crowd’s rapturous applause in downtown Baltimore. This was not supposed to be happening. He had been briefed that only CNN would broadcast the event live, the others channels would show the edited highlights at normal news times.
His eyes dropped from the monitors to the beer mats in his hands, and then to a sun shining through the wrong window if they were supposedly flying north, before returning to the screens showing the Joint Chiefs of Staff had taken the dais without him, and standing at their fore was Henry Shaw, General, USMC.
ENDEX
Aftermath
Colonel James Popham US Army – G5 (Plans) 82nd Airborne Division.
Major Garfield Brooks US Army – Instructor: Mountain & Arctic Warfare skills.
RSM Arnie Moore (Rtd) - Chief Technical advisor for the movie ‘Vormundberg’.
Captain Nikki Rich (nee Pelham) – CAG: USS Winston Churchill- San Diego
Gerry Rich (Former Flt Lt RAAF) – House husband. San Diego.
Mike Arndeker (Former Lt Col. USAF) – PTSD Counselor.
Tony Loude (Former UK PM) – 5yrs: Treason. 15yrs: Attempted murder.
Marjorie Willet-Haugh (Former SIS chief) - 5yrs: Treason. 15yrs: Attempted murder.
Victor Compton-Bent (Former UK PM) – 2yrs: Expenses fraud. 2yrs: Tax Evasion.
Lt Col Rapagnetta – Vice Chairman: Italian Military Government
Colonel Leo Lužar – Chairman: Hungarian Military Government.
General Patrick Reed – Chief of the UK General Staff.
Major Mark Venables – Succumbed to burns.
Don Caldew – Chief pilot for the aerial cinematic unit, on the movie ‘Vormundberg’
WO1 Colin Probert – RSM 1CG.
WO1 Ray Tessler – RSM 2CG.
WO2 ‘Ozzie’ Osgood – Tactics Wing, School of Infantry, Brecon.
2Lt Dougal Ferguson, Nova Scotia Highlanders - Missing believed KIA.
Sgt Russell Blackmore, Nova Scotia Highlanders - Missing believed KIA.
Danyella Foxten-Billings – 10yrs: Attempting to pervert the course of justice.
Simon Manson – Cashiered. Co-Defendant with Foxten-Billings. Suicide, pre-trial.
Sir Richard Tennant (Rtd) – CEO Tennant Private Investigations PLC.
Lt Col Hector Sinclair Obediah Wantage-Ferdoux – CO 1RTR
Rebecca Hemmings (Former REME) – Owner: Hemmings Heavy Maintenance PLC.
Guy Thomson ex G Sqdn SAS – Author ‘How I won the war, and everyone else was a xxxx’
Sqdn Ldr Michelle Braithwaite – CO No. 47 Squadron RAF.
Nancy McGonnigle (nee Palo. Former Sgt USAF) – Married Liam McGonnigle of Galway.
Lt Barry ‘Baz’ Cotter – Regular Commission 1RGJ and author ‘Bugles, Bayonets and Hate’.
C/Sgt Dopey Hemp – CQMS C (Royal Berks) Company, 2 Wessex, and still a barman.
General Pierre Allain (Rtd) – Author ‘The Honorable Mutineers’
Lt Cmdr Sandy Cummings RN – Joint Harrier Force.
Elena Torneski (Russian Premier) – Skiing accident, deceased.
ARRSE.CO.UK Review
Review; Armageddons’s Song by Andy Farman.
Posted on April 30, 2014 by old_fat_and_hairy
Ah, this is better!
In what might be scenarios culled from this month’s news, WW3 has begun. Expansionism by Russia in an unholy alliance with China has led to the invasion of Taiwan, attacks on Australia, the Philippines and even Britain. Nuclear attacks on Europe and the USA, the loss of a president and an entire British Cabinet. Not to mention the arrest of a British Prime Minister for treason, (Ah, if only!)
The books – so far there are three – are so filled with action and story-lines that it is difficult to precis them, and as a warning, don’t get too attached to any of the leading characters!
The best way to describe this series is to liken it to a combination of ‘Chieftains’ allied with ‘Red Storm Rising’. If you liked those books, then you will like these. There are even echoes of ‘Team Yankee’ in there. I can honestly say that these are some of the best books of this type that I have read. The writing is good, the research seems to be impeccable and the narrative certainly rackets along at a good pace.
The only drawback so far is that the fourth instalment is as yet unwritten, and I for one can barely wait.
As far as I can tell, these books are only available on Kindle, but I could be mistaken about that. I’m not mistaken in thinking that most readers on here will thoroughly enjoy the books.
Trivia
Volume Three and Four side tracked me with the details of commercial and military satellite operation. There are a fair few dead satellites up there but as it would cost more to refuel them than to replace them. Their technology has been superseded anyway and therefore there are two disposal options, up or down. Down requires vastly more fuel to accomplish safely than boosting to a higher orbit but there are two places that spacecraft go to die. A graveyard orbit of about 403km above the Earth and a cemetery, of sorts, 3900 km South-East of Wellington, New Zealand at the following coordinates 43°34′48″S 142°43′12″W. Even if you could dive that deep it would not be advisable to visit. Aside from the exposed nuclear reactors of military satellites that were guided to splashdowns there, it is a toxic dumpsite for chemical weapons and old Soviet nuclear reactors.
I found the potential for new stories lying about everywhere I happened to research. For instance, there was a tiny coral atoll in the Pacific, six hundred miles from anywhere, but a hundred feet deep in inedible crabs, bad tempered sea birds and nitrogen rich Guano. (Bird poo.)
That atoll became at various times, a pirate base, a significant fertilizer resource, a retreat, a military base, the scene of several shipwrecks, and also of serial rape and murder.
The atoll’s sole financial asset is long gone, but the crabs remain. (Isn’t that just like life?)
Île de la Passion
French Guiana was a place I knew virtually nothing of until an attack upon the ESA facility by either China or Russia seemed to be a necessity. It is a place that was much fought over by the old European empires.
When Wolfe brought an end to the French rule in North America, France was in a quandary as to where to relocate those colonists who wanted to leave. Return to France was not an option for a bunch of losers, but they were good Catholics in the clutches of the heathen Protestant British, they had to have their souls protected if nothing else. French Guiana was the eventual site for those who had lost ‘New France’ to end their days.
Has anyone seen ‘Papillon’?
Henri Charrière, ‘Papillon’, was a prisoner in the colony but
not on Devils Island, that was a fabrication. Only people convicted of treason went to Devils Island.(Good movie though!)
There are whole websites dedicated to fans of Henri Charrière, and discussion groups debating the type of crimes the fans would consider committing in order for them to be incarcerated and live out their fantasy of being a Henri Charrière, and escaping from somewhere on coconuts.
Suggestions that, 1/ The book was intended as a novel, and not a memoir, 2/ That Henri is dead (Born in 1904 so he’d be pushing 110 at the time of writing), or 3/ That he really was a murderer and deserved to be a convict, can lead to expulsion from the various groups.
Papillon makes life imprisonment Cool!
The odd case of the destroyed tooling.
The F14 Tomcat was without doubt a phenomenal war bird and one that arguably still had a decade or so left of useful life. Aircraft, like champion boxers, one day meet the young hungry wannabe who hands them their ass. No one stays at the top indefinitely. The mystery is however, why did Dick Cheyney order the F14D production halted when it was still on top of its game, and why was it so important to have the tooling destroyed so none could ever be built again, without a huge cost implication?
The ignominious end of the Aussie ‘Pig’.
The F111D of the Royal Australian Air Force was quite iconic but getting a little long in the tooth. Of the forty three aircraft in the fleet, eight have crashed since 1973, twelve have been sold to museums or put on static display, but twenty three were chopped up and buried.
Now that wasn’t very polite!
(Since the publication of edition 1 I have since learned that the original purchase agreement specifically prohibited resale of the aircraft by Australia and consequently the sale of the aircraft to a major arms dealer was cancelled after the US Government intervened. Apparently the aircraft could only be returned to the USA or rendered permanently unusable. Those they could not give away to museums and airbases as gate features were stripped and buried.)
