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A Moral Dilemma For Modern Day Britain

By: Rod Bridger

a.k.a The Rodfather

Tomorrow!

The time:  just a few days before the Christmas holiday sometime in the very near future.   Austerity is the order of the day.  The government, which was not elected into office by the British people, is a mish mash of a so-called ‘coalition’.  British society has been cut to the bone and little has been spared the Chancellors knives as he has slashed away at the very basics of that Society.   Industry has been savaged by extortionate interest rates; the people have been forced to part with more half of their earnings to a government that claims   hat an alleged National Debt is more important than the people themselves.   From the sick and the unemployed – to the elderly and young babies;  nobody is safe.

Amongst the government departments that have been severely hit is the Ministry of Defence.  The British Armed Forces have been stripped to the bone.   Thousands of our service men and women who have fought for this country in far off wars, have been cast aside like some kind of toy that is no longer in favour, leaving a standing Army smaller than in Napoleonic times, a Royal Air Force smaller than that of Belgium and a Royal Navy unable to protect the very few capitol ships that were left flying the White Ensign.   A flag that once fluttered proudly across the globe and Ruled the Waves.

Despite the promises of the politicians to ‘bring the troops home’ the Nation is still bogged down in a far off primitive country, fighting a guerrilla war with an exhausted and ill-equipped military that are losing men every day.   Barely do we have enough people under arms to defend our own country should the need arise. And yet despite all the warning signs of a major conflict developing in the oil-producing Middle East the British government commits more of our overstretched forces into another war on another continent.   A conflict that has all of the hallmarks of turning into another long drawn out guerrilla war that will drain what little life blood there is left from the fighting forces, and their ability to defend our own country in the face of foreign aggression.

Sitting quietly watching on the sidelines is another nation that has harboured the ambition and objective of subjugating these fair isles for many years – the name is immaterial for we are, at the moment, both unaware of it’s aims or it’s preparedness to achieve those aims.

Our forces depleted, exhausted and ill-equipped.   The people worn down by years of austerity and fear, kept in their place by an ever-increasing police state and political correctness that has drained the ability of the masses to think of much more than surviving from day-to-day.   A population who find their solace in the releasing warmth of an unlimited supply of reality TV shows that are shown all day and night by an unrelenting media which pushes these and celebrity worshipping programmes to dull the senses even more.

05.15 hours 25th December.   Whitehall London.

As the last of the revellers wind their weary way home from the previous evenings celebrations and the rest of the nation either continues to slumber or are dragged from their beds by excited children eager to see what Santa has left them, a blinding flash which stays and builds into the intensity a mini sun, engulfs the area.   Closely following is a deep booming sound that seems to just go on and on.   The few who were still sober and awake, and more importantly far enough away to not be directly affected by the  blast, could make out what appeared to be a huge pall of black smoke in the shape of a mushroom, rising into the star-studded early morning sky.   The two suicide bombers in the removal truck that had just cleared the police cordon 50 yards from the Ministry of Defence Building had achieved their objective.

The large well protected building was reduced to rubble as their suitcase sized nuclear device had exploded earlier than was planned. It should have been 10 minutes later but the sight of a heavily armed police officer; intent on moving them on from their chosen location, bearing down on them was sufficient justification in their minds for overriding the timing mechanism and bringing forward the detonation.   The Officer’s last thought on this planet was one of annoyance.   Nearing the end of his shift, he was a tad annoyed at being dragged from his warm little cubby hole to sort out these “bloody contractors.  I specifically told them not to stop their truck there”.   He, along with the two men in the truck and the partyof revellers singing their way down Whitehall, simply ceased to exist.   The Police Post from which he had just emerged was no longer there, only rubble and flames from Parliament Square to Trafalgar Square.

The security gates at the entrance to Downing Street had been lifted by the force of the blast and had been carried straight through the famous building that they protected and were now indistinguishable from the rest of the carnage.   Clearly Big Ben would never be heard again as the renowned tower that housed it had collapsed and the bell itself had smashed and splintered amongst the rubble.   St Thomas’sHospital, although still standing, had lost every window.   The shards of glass causing terrible injuries to the patients and staff as they cut through the air.   The London Eye was laying half-submerged in the River Thames.   Lord Nelson, who had witnessed much of London’s glory as well as pain over the years still stood atop his column.   He had however lost his other arm and most of his sword.   His gaze, which now looked toward a rather battered and scarred Buckingham Palace, was just as impassive as he gazed down at the devastation.

The early detonation of the device which had been packed into one of the trucks fuel tanks, had little more effect on the overall major plan of the perpetrators of this atrocity, other than one of slight annoyance that it spoilt the symmetry of the plan.     It had been intended that all of the bombs would go off at the same time. However it could not be helped and obviously it had been necessary to detonate early and bearing in mind that all of the others went off simultaneously, the plan was still considered a success.

At 05.25 hours there was an equally large explosion at Northolt to the west of London.   A council salt gritting truck giving the appearance of having broken down spluttered to a halt close to the entrance of the nation’s air defence communication centre, repeated the example of his fellow martyrs at the MOD.  Although the blast from the gritter did not completely destroy the underground bunkers, it did devastate all of the above ground buildings and do enough damage to temporarily knock out the communications systems.   The air defence communications system for the United Kingdom was blind.

250 miles to the north a motor caravan that had been parked at the side of a quiet country road, complete with it’s awning and bar-b-que still in place from the previous nights meal, erupted into a huge orange fire-ball.   Due to the remote location,  little damage was done to the surrounding area other than setting the gorse alight over a huge area but the rising sun would soon illuminate the line of massive white domes that had stood at this site for the best part of 50 years.   They were nothing more that a pile of black twisted and burning metal.   The US listening post at RAF Fylingdales was no longer able to ‘see’ the ‘hostile sightings’ massing over the North Sea.   Other blasts took place similtaneously at other key military sites, including RAF fighter bases and the city centres of Plymouth, Birmingham, Liverpool, Manchester and bizarrely Melton Mowbray in Leicestershire.   By 05.35 hours the enemy had been advised by their numerous and willing assets on the ground that all targets were dead.

At 05.45 hours, whilst the majority of people were still snoring and blissfully unaware of what was happening, the first cruise missiles crossed the coast line of East Anglia.   The first to hit their target were the two that were heading for the London Headquarters of the BBC.   The new Manchester Broadcasting Centre collapsed just 36 seconds later.   Numerous other missiles heading inland launched from what had up until now appeared to be normal cargo vessels heading to British ports or up Channel to Amsterdam.   Liverpool docks were hit, twice but great care was given to leaving the wharf sides free of damage.   They would be needed to berth the ships and unload their second cargo of troops, stores and fighting vehicles.

Three ships which were ostensibly heading up Channel to Amsterdam suddenly veered towards the Kent coast.   The smaller of the trio headed toward the beach at Dungeness and carried out an old-fashioned amphibious assault on the beach, landing more than 1,000 assault troops.   The other, much larger ships headed into Dover harbour to unload more troops and enough equipment to keep the combined assault force in the South East operational for at least a week.   The docks at Harwich were treated similarly to Liverpool.   Enough damage was caused to the infrastructure to ensure that, on this the quietest day of the year; the docks would be inoperable, but ensuring that the dockside was free to accept the two huge container ships that would be berthing by no later than 0715 hours.   Other ships were further out to sea but heading to ports around the land, loaded with troops, vehicles, stores and ammunition for a full-blown occupation of Great Britain.

A few switched on troops and police that were on duty and armed made gallant but futile attempts to fight back.   Dungeness nuclear power station was quite badly damaged as the Nuclear Authority Police fought like tigers against overwhelming odds.   It was the quick thinking of one police officer from that location, that managed to get the first alarm call out, seconds before all communications were blocked by the invaders.   Unfortunately the operator at Maidstone Police HQ, who had just come on duty, was just a tad slow in his reactions due to the previous night’s jollities.   By the time he had decided that the weird call he had just taken had better be passed upstairs in case it was one of those stupid tests they keep springing on them, the building around him collapsed as two missiles struck it simultaneously.   The same fate befell every Police HQ in the country at roughly the same time, except for New Scotland Yard. It was felt, correctly, that the bomb in Whitehall would take care of that.

Another Kent Police officer, realising that the military vehicles heading towards him were not friendly, tried to block the entire invasion by throwing his response car across the A259.   He was cut down by a burst of machine gun fire as he tried desperately to radio through to his non-existent HQ,  his car pushed into the flooded ditch by the first enemy vehicle which never even bothered to slow down.

Enemy troops were moving along our preserved motorway system a full hour before there was any serious organised response from British forces.   By now, the deep buzz of unmanned drones could be heard in the skies above the gentle British countryside,  patiently waiting and watching for movement below.   Many of them were armed with Air-to-Ground missiles and at the first sign of suspected military activity, their payload was unleashed on the unfortunate and bleary eyed troops below.   Other drones were equipped with surveillance cameras and when the operator sitting in his comfortable chair over 2,000 miles away saw something that warranted his attention,  he flicked a switch and spoke directly with the pilot of a circling fighter-bomber.   The bomber pilot uploaded the data into his onboard computer and swooped from the sky to obliterate the selected target,  without the target even being aware of its existence.

Within 48 hours, the depleted, exhausted, under equipped, undermanned defence force of Great Britain was defeated.   Smashed into oblivion by a superiorly equipped force many times larger than our own.  The resistance put up by individuals and small groups of British fighters was strong and some vicious fights took place across the country.   A heavy price was paid by the invader and it was soon clear that despite all of the problems faced by the defenders, they were by far the superior soldier.   However, no matter how good the soldier is, if he is greatly outnumbered and fighting against superior equipment, he can only delay the advance for a short while. It quickly became apparent that organised defence had all but collapsed and as if the word was passed on a non-existent radio system, the decision was made to ‘go to ground’.   Losing their uniforms and donning civilian clothes they attempted to merge with the civilian population, a task not always easy for the average British ‘Squadie’ with his short hair and military bearing but most quickly adapted to their new role.   Less than a week after that first terrible explosion in Whitehall, the occupation was complete with all organised resistance ceased.   There was no formal surrender made by the British Forces or the government.

What commenced now was effectively a guerrilla campaign aimed at wearing down the enemy.   Small groups of soldiers posing as civilians and supported by many ex-Squadies, who simply allow the country they loved to be swamped by an unholy mob of foreign scum as they saw the enemy.   The British way of life was being crushed under the weight of the enemies’ boots and their tracked vehicles and that was not acceptable.

The spy-in-the-sky drones were constantly patrolling the skies and from time to time the operators of these machines would spot a group of people gathering.   They had no way of knowing what the purpose of the gathering was, it could be just a chance meeting of friends, a wedding party or a funeral, of which there were many these days.   It could have been a gathering of ‘terrorists’ meeting to discuss the next murderous attack on their troops.   Always ‘better to be safe that sorry’ was the order of the day for these operators as they quickly talked to the pilot of a hunting attack helicopter.   The first that the wedding party or the ‘terrorists’ knew of the existence of the aircraft was when cannon shells would rip into them, shredding the flesh of children and adults like scraps of tissue.

Many more innocent lives were lost to this murderous fire than gorilla’s, or freedom fighters as they were now known to the public at large.   With each innocent death, particularly those of children, more freedom fighters were drawn to the cause.   Many had military experience but many others knew just that they just wanted to hit the enemy.   They saw their country being crushed, their friends and family being killed.

They were fighting for their family, their country, their flag or their honour.   The reasons for fighting were almost as numerous as there were fighters but what was clear was that the ‘British stiff upper lip’ was not enough to see off this ‘Johnny Foreigner’ and the one thing all of the freedom fighters had in common with each other was;  they all had British blood pulsing through their veins.

No matter the cost, nobody was going to take England away from the English.  No part of this ‘Sceptred Isle’ was safe for the invader.   The Welsh mountains became a gorilla ‘badlands’ for the enemy.   Like wise the Scottish Highlands were recognised as not a good place to visit if you were not British.   No village street or city road was safe for the enemy to wander freely.   Homemade roadside bombs were used to blast the enemy in their vehicles.   With each improvised bomb manufactured, in hidden bomb factories throughout the land, improvements were made.   The first ones were quite primitive in relation to the latter much more sophisticated devices.   The bomb maker had ample experience to improve his art and each ‘little baby’ that left his care was better than the last – or worse, depending on whether you were the target of his enthusiasm or not.

Other than the obvious effect of being caught by the blast of a well hidden device – with each explosion, whether it took out an individual soldier or an armoured vehicle, there was one other equally important effect.   That was the terror that it spread throughout the enemy as they saw the viciousness of the wounds caused to their comrades.   Many of their soldiers were sent home in coffins but many, many more were sent home badly mutilated with missing limbs and damaged minds to further spread the sense of doom to those at home.   Each death or maiming caused to the enemy was worth celebrating as it marked another small defeat for the enemy – who came to fear such injuries to themselves, sometimes more than death itself.

Some guerrilla fighters took the fight directly to the heart of the enemy.   They would befriend them and whilst appearing to be collaborating with them they would wait until the most opportune moment and then suddenly show that collaboration was actually the furthest thing from their mind, turning their gun upon the enemy before attempting to make good their escape.   Many knew that they would not survive the encounter but reckoned that if they could take enough enemy with them,  it was a fair exchange.

The general opinion among the British people was that the ones who were mainly responsible for the terrible situation in which the country now found itself, were of course the politicians.   Most had been killed in the early days of the invasion, either by enemy action or at the hands of their countrymen.   It is a sad fact of war that there will always be traitors and Quislings and many chose to work with the invader.

To the gorillas they were fair game and almost as much planning was put into putting our own traitors to death, as they did the enemy.   The opportunity to physically capture a traitor was more than welcomed and after a swift but scrupulously fair trial of course, the miscreant would be hung.   For those executed in the London area the body would often be found emerging from the early morning mist swinging from a lamppost somewhere in Central London, as close to the ruins of Trafalgar Square which had taken on the guise of Freedom Square to the people.   Despite the message sent out to all politicians who worked with the enemy, there was always a plentiful supply for the guerrilla forces to practise their execution skills, as the lure of piles of corrupt money was a major draw.

The swift campaign of shock and awe that the enemy had hoped would lead to a complete collapse of this country was denied them, thwarted as it was by a relatively few brave soldiers, a few more  ex-soldiers and a few civilians who faced death every day at the hands of the enemy.   Instead the enemy was drawn into a never-ending campaign of attrition which drained the will and the moral of the enemy soldier.

Any nation that seeks to subjugate another for any reason must expect to pay a heavy price in blood.  Our Freedom Fighters are seen as Terrorists by the occupying forces.   The acts of war, as we see them, that are intended to punish the aggressor for bombing our country and drive him from our homes, are seen as acts of heroism by our people.   The enemy sees these acts as cowardly acts of terror.  When we succeed in detonating a massive bomb that demolishes a government building that kills dozens of the enemy and traitors, we see it as a huge success, the enemy sees it as mass murder.

When an enemy gunship wipes out a number of freedom fighters but in the process also kills a number of passing school children we are incensed and more fighters are called to the cause  The enemy is ‘regretful’ but it is collateral damage and unavoidable.   When we see enemy troops torturing freedom fighters they have captured, or mistreating civilians, we want to exact revenge on them.   When we see our dead heroes bodies being abused and shamed by enemy troops we want their blood.

Footnote:

This hopefully will never happen to this great country of ours but it has happened to others.  Looking eastward there are two countries that have never been a direct threat whatsoever to us.  However we believed the lies that we were fed by our own political leaders and we allowed them to take us to war.   To invade those countries – to bomb them into what was hoped to be submission for reasons that we will not fully understand until the politicians who made those decisions stand in the dock accused of treason.   The true reasons that we have gone to war are immaterial to this tale, what is important is that the actions of the population of those countries that we attacked and the people who take up arms against the invader, are not those of a terrorist any more than if we are the victims.

They are fighting for THEIR country, for THEIR families, for THEIR honour, as they see it.   Clearly if we were to be attacked, we would fight like absolute demons to drive the invader from our shores and make them pay dearly for their actions.   This is exactly what is happening to our troops.

We are the ones who are acting illegally. Perhaps it is us who are the terrorists?   Perhaps we should be the ones to arrest OUR political leaders as War Criminals?   Perhaps we are the ones who should say

“No more wars – Stop killing our young people – stop killing their people.

Rod Bridger. 3rd February 2013

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