Call of Sport 2205: World at War

[TomHAVFC]

Cliffhanger eh?

[rancer890]

KUTGW SCIAG!!! :thup:

[SCIAG]

Once more, thanks for the praise, lads.

They fell from the skies like rocks. A few bullets whistled past my face, and one of the Tigers’ players was killed. They were using powerful sniper rifles. We all sprinted to safety- for us, this was the van. McMorton was already inside, as were Von Billerwagner and Haowan. He threw the back doors open. Volman and English were inside within about five seconds. I heard a loud shot behind me. I dared to look back, and I wished I hadn’t.

They’d swarmed over the embankment holding shotguns. Another Tigers player had taken the shot into his chest at point blank range. He fell to the ground with a thud, with a large hole in his chest. There was one behind Fitzpatrick and one to his left. I turned back to the van and sprinted, sure that we would be a man down within seconds.

There was a scream. Then a flurry of ginger shot past me and leapt into the van. He was joined by Cruz, The Stig and I, before the surprisingly fast Benjas boarded the van. Rangi charged in with Lewis, leaving only the two centre backs out in the open. They rounded the makeshift goal posts and looked like they would make it.

Then Torsten went over. He didn’t have time to cry out. The bullet had passed straight through his brain, killing him instantly. Blood oozed out of his wound. Roy bent to pick him up, as he had tried to do with Michael.

“Davies, just get in!” roared McMorton. Roy didn’t argue, and we set off as his left foot left the ground. A few bullets missed the back of the van, and Roy couldn’t resist flicking the squadron a “V” before we left. He then slammed the door shut, knowing that he endangered others as well as himself by keeping it open.

A hole appeared in those back doors, allowing a beam of light to enter the van. After a frantic few seconds, we all confirmed that the bullet hadn’t hit us, and I was allowed to use the hole to see what was happening outside.

A few enforcers were following us on foot, but they were some way behind now. They were the least of our worries. In the sky, a Sikorsky was trailing us. Rows of bullets hit the ground behind us, bouncing off the tarmac. They were like dust, flying at such speed and in such great volume. Then, by the Sikorsky, I saw several black dots appear. They grew. A few were falling in front of us, a few to our left, one or two slightly to our right, and one aiding the forces that were chasing us.

“They’re dropping more men!” I cried out. Sure enough, as the dots came into view, they all spread their arms at the same moment to unfold wings of some strange material. These wings acted like parachutes, only they allowed for greater steering and occasionally a slower descent, as long as the wind was right.

The top of the van was splattered with machine gun fire as Ryan sped us along the streets. Unsurprisingly, we didn’t meet traffic. The Sikorsky would have been warning enough for them to stop their commute and take shelter. It was even possible that a message had been put out on the radio, warning people to stay away from the area.

There was a loud thud on the ceiling. Somebody cried out, before Ryan started swerving the van hard from side to side. There was a scream from above the van, and the enforcer fell onto the road behind the van, his neck and spine broken and his head at a right angle to his body. Once again, I wished that it wasn’t me who had to look out of the tiny hole to watch the carnage unfold outside. I checked the Sikorsky hovering above us like a heavy-artillery dragonfly. It was backing away. Had it received instructions that we weren’t worth the trouble?

No. That was too good to be true. When the chopper was scarcely a speck above the clouds, an orange glint appeared beside it. I called out to my team mates.

“They’ve launched their rockets!”

Rangi threw the back doors open, but Roy grabbed his arm.

“We can’t go out there, it can still see us and we’re still in range!”

“Then what is there to do?” asked Jeremy, shrilly.

“We make our move at the last possible second. They’ll presume us killed in the blast, and the smoke will allow us to get away.”

“I estimate it at fifteen seconds until impact!” I announced.

Roy started a count down. “Three...two...one... run!”

We all bailed out the back of the van. Andy threw himself out of the open passenger seat door. Ryan courageously drove on, before flinging himself out of his door. The blast destroyed the vehicle before he hit the ground. He was tossed forward by the force of the explosion, hitting a fence on the other side of the pavement. He pushed himself to his knees, wheezing violently. Volman ran over to him and help him to his feet.

“Team, scramble!” McMorton ordered. We didn’t need telling twice. The smoke of the detonation wouldn’t last long. I hurdled the fence Di Gaulto had injured himself on, and I heard both Roy and Dave Lewis follow me.

Then I realised what I had leapt into.

It was a graveyard.

[canvey!!]

Exciting! But also creepy! KUTGW, SCIAG .

[weeeman27bob]

I didn't think it could get better, but it has. Marvelous

[Haowan]

whoaaa, exciting =)

KUTGW

[rancer890]

Keep it up mate!

[SCIAG]

The three of us stood still in the mire of the necropolis. I was acutely aware of both the bodies that were buried all around me, and the LEFT, who would be swarming in to check for survivors of the blast right then.

“So, we had better hide then, hadn’t we?” said the Welshman, David Lewis. Roy grunted. I ducked behind a large gravestone. Upon checking the inscription, I realised it was a Second World War memorial. Nobody buried under it, thankfully. Roy hid behind an old shack that stood a good twenty or thirty metres away from me. He was certainly better hidden than I was. There was a cherry tree- or at least, I presumed it to be a cherry tree- around ten metres to Roy’s left, if we were facing the fence. Dave hid behind it. Both of them were a lot further away from the oncoming storm than I was. However, behind me, I heard a thud of boots. They were in the graveyard, and I would have to settle for my hiding place.

I heard muttering. I squeezed myself up into a tiny ball, my chin between my knees. Then I heard one of them.

“Come out now and we’ll consider sparing your lives. Or at least, we’ll put the execution on hold,” he added. I didn’t dare breathe. There were still patches of smoke dotting the air, and the sun was behind a large storm cloud. It was as dark as a mid winter evening, and as cold, too. I felt sure that my breath would hang in the air, giving my position away.

“Your time is up,” said the same enforcer. A split second later, one of the gravestones to my right exploded. The one to its left followed suit a few seconds later. They were firing at them in a hope to rat us out! There were only three between me and the one that had just gone. Bang, and another went flying. Then another, and I couldn’t take it. I sprung out from my hideaway and ran for the shack. A bullet whistled behind me, and two more followed, each closer than the one before. I couldn’t help myself. I sprinted behind Roy’s shack. He pushed me up against the back wall, and signalled for me to guard the corner of the shack. He moved to the other end as quietly as possible. One of them came round the side Roy was guarding. He head butted him, knocking him out cold. I scrambled for the shotgun that he no longer needed, and picked it up just as the second rounded my corner. I swung the gun wildly, hitting the man on the temple. He, too, was out cold. I high fived Roy with my free hand.

“Freeze” said a voice behind me. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up at right angles.

“Drop your weapon and face me,” he said. I did as I was told, my hands raised in surrender. Roy did the same. Our captor was the third officer. He stared down the barrel of his gun, with it pointed straight at me. I would have thought he would be threatening Roy, but I supposed that I had had the shotgun.

I was sweating with nervousness. Any minute now, it would all end.

[SCIAG]

Note to self: always leave a line at the end of posts to avoid shrinking problem.

[canvey!!]

Excellent writing SCIAG .

Unfortunately, I have two errors to note (). Post 58 (the latest one), paragraph 5, line 1, 'it's left followed' should be 'its left followed'.

Post 1, paragraph 1, line 1, 'Sweat pored down my face' should be 'Sweat poured down my face'.

Sorry to be critical () but I thought you'd rather know.

Other than that, brilliant. I hope Danny is alright.

Plus, there was a scene earlier when they didn't want to pay for the bus with their chips - I thought it meant as in with fried potatoes! - I was slightly confused, to say the least.

KIU!

[stoehrst]

Enough with the dramatic cliffhangers! You're giving me anxiety attacks!

[Kewell08]

How on EARTH did you get to 2203?

[Guest roberto922]

By holidaying would be a pretty obvious answer....

[Kewell08]

My computer would die. That would take days...

[Goofus]

This is really a violent story. Children look away!

[canvey!!]

My computer would die. That would take days...

I downloaded a 2141 save-game (or somewhere around then) once and I tried loading it and it went so slow I had to close Football Manager with Task Manager.

[gavrenwick]

Haha, my old computer used to struggle to beat the game at getting to 2010.

[SCIAG]

Thanks for the continual praise. The holidaying took over three days on a friend's powerful but underused computer. I only loaded the Icelandic top flight, with no additional players, no auto save, and a compressed save file. With the league detail set to "none", holidaying didn't take as long as I anticipated. I then copied the file onto an external hdd and moved it onto my laptop.

Lewis grabbed the man round the abdomen and yanked backwards. He was winded and dropped his gun. I picked it up, and Roy grabbed the one that I had dropped seconds earlier. Lewis forced the man to the ground and held him down, holding his hand over his mouth as a gag. Roy pointed the shotgun barrel at his head. I stopped him.

“I know he was trying to kill us, but that doesn’t make it right for us to kill him!” I argued.

Roy rolled his eyes at me. “You are aware that he’ll squeal on us if we don’t kill him?”

“And setting off that thing will only attract attention!” I retorted. “He doesn’t have a clue what our names are, he doesn’t have our DNA. We’ll be fine! Anyway,” I added “if you were in his shoes, you wouldn’t want to be killed!”

Lewis came to a compromise.

“Knock him out with the guns, then head off back to HQ. He can’t squeal until he wakes, and he doesn’t die.”

It was this advice that we followed. We were over the fence within thirty seconds, and we met no resistance as we continued on to our last safe place. We hoped, for their sakes, that our team mates had fared just as well.

[canvey!!]

Last safe place? Methinks that will not last too long.

And another correction (), last line, team mates had fared just as well.

KUTGW, though, I'm really enjoying this .

[TomHAVFC]

7th line, it should be "his" instead of "him".

Great story though!

[SCIAG]

Just a quick warning for readers-

"There's no time like the present" has reached a point where writing it is too fun. I am therefore slightly neglecting this story, and updates will become less frequent for two weeks or so. I'm now going to shamelessly plug "There's no time like the present" by suggesting that you catch up with it, because IMO it's much better than this.

[TomHAVFC]

I'm now going to shamelessly plug "There's no time like the present" by suggesting that you catch up with it, because IMO it's much better than this.

It's not. Trust me!

[SCIAG]

He pointed his stun gun at the roots of the tree. He’d seen movement by them only seconds earlier. Now, however, he wasn’t so sure. Had it been merely a trick of the light?

“Leave it,” said his colleague. He turned his back, and a heavy weight fell on his head. He felt his knees give way, and his spine snapped, paralysing him. He clamped his eyes shut, not daring to look.

His colleague felt a jab in his own spine, before the breath of a single word floated into his ear.

“Checkmate”

*

“Please, I’ve done nothing wrong!” he cried desperately.

“I’ll ask you one last time, Rodgers,” menaced the officer. “Did anybody suspicious use this bus earlier on today? This is your final chance” he added.

The driver took a gulp, and then blurted out the information his captor craved.

“There was a big German bloke, and two of his mates. One of them sounded English, and apparently he’s broke, but the other one... his nationality was mentioned at some point, it was Bolivian or something like that...”

“What did they look like?”

“The German was at least 6’5, with shoulder length hair. His mate had gelled hair, also brown, and deep, brown eyes. The Bolivian guy was wearing massive sunglasses, so I couldn’t see much of his face, and he had a hooded jumper, with the hood up.” The nervousness showed in the man’s voice

“Where did they get on, and where did they leave?”

“I think-” started the driver, before noticing the threatening looking in the enforcer’s eyes. “-I mean, I know, that they got on at Tottenham Court Road. They left twenty-one stops later.”

“What were their chip references?”

“They paid using cash.”

The officer paused, committing the details to memory. Then...

“Thank you, Rogers. Your government will reward you highly for your loyalty.”

Fifteen bullets entered the driver’s body within three seconds of each other. The officer’s cover at the door to the bus turned towards him.

“Why did you kill him?” he enquired. Every death caused by LEFT had to be justified. A wry smile spread over the officer’s face.

“I was bored,” he said. Then both men burst out laughing.

*

Commander Buxton of the Southern Counties and Greater London sub-division of the LEFT paced the pitch where the greatest infringement of the law in nearly 10 years had taken place. Six men and a greyhound lay dead on the field of green grass. Four wore identical orange and black shirts. Another wore red, with black shorts. The final man was dressed in black from head to toe.

“Five players and a referee.” Buxton muttered under his breath. “Six out of thirty or so. Unacceptable.”

He turned to his second in command. “All further infringements are to be solved using heavy firepower from a distance. As far as I can tell, only one of the men was killed close range. The other five, and the dog, were killed by snipers. Additionally, only a single survivor has been sighted from the blast that destroyed one side’s getaway vehicle, and he is now presumed dead. All channels of public transport are being patrolled, cars are being stopped at random and being forced to pay tolls at certain points, and still no rebels have been caught.”

“We do, however, have confirmation that there are at least seven rebel footballers in the south of England. They will be tracked down and destroyed. I want the best pointsmen of the Upper Corridors on this.”

Another enforcer came running towards Buxton and his assistant, machine gun in front of his body. He let the gun hang on its strap and saluted as he reached his commander.

“Corporal 1541 of the Third Corridor reports that a bus driver in London sighted the big one earlier today.”

“And?”

“He was with two others. A Bolivian- which narrows it down to approximately five thousand Bolivians in the area- and an Englishman. We suspect the latter of the two is the same man Fifth Corridor chased through London on Wednesday, and also the sole sighted survivor of the blast launched by Sikorsky D an hour ago.”

“Who do we have who matches the description?” Buxton asked his assistant.

“Danny Derby, 21, of Hampshire. He hasn’t been seen for over three years. I have seen the files of several other possibilities, but I think it’s most likely to be Derby.”

“Block his chip. Set his risk level to Serious Threat, and his citizen status to Eternal Outcast. I think we may need double oh dispensation.”

“I’m on it.”

[Kewell08]

There's that Sigorsky again...

[SCIAG]

We arrived back at HQ very tired. It had taken five hours of solid walking to get us from Theale to London. Once, as we walked along the narrow footbridges of Wallingford, we had spotted a patrol below us, but we remained undetected.

The entire squad were back. Ryan had hurt his right arm, and Volman had a few cuts and scrapes on his face and legs, but otherwise, everyone was unharmed. We shared our tales of escape with each other around an electrical heater. Fitzpatrick had taken refuge in a bar. Von Billerwagner had thrown himself into a lake until the danger had past, and had then stowed away in a boat down the Thames. McMorton had risked the train, and had hidden in the toilets when the LEFT turned up in his carriage. I couldn’t help grinning. For all their professionalism and military demeanour, the LEFT were definitely easy to fool. Cruz had stolen a car, and used his fake passport- his real one would have revealed him to be an international footballer- to prove that he was Fernando Garcia, Spanish physiotherapist. The forces hadn’t checked the vehicle’s documentation, focusing solely on the persons inside it.

Possibly the most exciting tale of escape, however, was Volman’s recollection of his battle with two members of LEFT. They were privates armed with stun guns, but still dangerous. Lucas had just managed to get himself and Di Gaulto into a tree before they showed up, before leaping onto one and paralysing him. He’d taken his stun gun and stunned the other for half an hour, by which time they’d crossed the Thames, found a couple of bikes and cycled back.

I became aware of just how tired and weary I was. It was quarter past eleven, and we had woken at five in the morning. I excused myself, and made my way around to the area Argon Davies had turned into a dormitory. In reality, it was simply a row of hammocks strung between two aisles, with electric sleeping bags on the floor below them. I clambered into one of the hammocks, allowing myself to fall asleep.

My dreams were filled with horrific images.

Torsten, only steps away from safety, collapsing in a heap, blood oozing from his skull.

The officer who had landed on the van, on the concrete road behind us, his neck broken.

The Tigers player who had been shot at point blank range with a shot gun, a massive hole in his chest, a look of anguish on his face.

Mike’s face.

Her face.

The way she walked like a golden ray of sunshine, lighting up everything around her. Her gorgeous smile that never failed to make anyone who saw it smile. Her hair, which would sway in the breeze elegantly.

Her eyes, welling up with tears.

Never to return.

None of them.

Gone, forever.

[TomHAVFC]

I see the story is being kept in the highest standards. Keep it up SCIAG, it's brilliant so far!

[SCIAG]

Thanks Tom!

I was woken by a scream. It was continuous, and soul-splitting. I realised that it was coming from Cruz, in the hammock next to me. He sat bolt upright- something I would never have managed to do, my balance simply wasn’t good enough- screaming as if he’d seen a ghost. I knew he’d been dreaming of Torsten’s death, for I had as well.

The rest of the team were also woken by the unearthly screams, but fortunately, Ramiro stopped screaming and dropped back asleep after around a minute. The lack of noise from the rest of the hammocks and sleeping bags told me that the others were likewise dropping off. I relaxed in my hammock.

Then I saw him, floating in the air. One of the two people I had cost the lives of before I had joined the Mafia.

“Matthew, I’m sorry...” I cried out. He looked at me, a mixture of emotions across his face. Guilt. Sorrow. Worst of all, anger. Accusatory anger.

“I’m so sorry; I didn’t know they’d kill you!” I bellowed out. It amazed me that nobody had been woken by my shouting. Matthew grimaced. The guilt ran through me so strongly. If it wasn’t for me, Matthew would be alive, in a safe job, as would she, and Mike would still be alive, too. Three lives had been taken due to my carelessness, and yet here I was, still alive! That wasn’t fair. I began to weep. Then Matthew spoke, each word a dagger.

“It’s alright for you; you’ve got football and a life! Everything I could ever have had has gone, Danny, and it’s your fault! You killed me!”

“It wasn’t I who killed you, Matthew. It was LEFT!”

“Oh, technically, I was killed by LEFT. But really, they’d never have had a reason to execute me if it wasn’t for you!”

Then I woke up, sweating. It was my turn to scream.

[SCIAG]

Buxton paced his office, helmet off but uniform on. Earlier that day- actually, now it was the previous day as it was past midnight- he’d discovered a serious breech of security, two rebel football sides, at least one of which was still active. Now he had to terminate the threat to public security.

Buxton had joined LEFT on his sixteenth birthday. Within a month, he’d been promoted to corporal, and was the youngest captain of LEFT in history, becoming an officer at 17 years and 143 days of age. He’d been made Commander of the Southern Counties and Greater London sub-division of the LEFT (the most intense and harsh sub-division) just before he turned 23, and was predicted to be made Chief Commander of LEFT when the current leader, Rockley, retired. Buxton himself was now 37, which restricted his action to piloting. He’d never married, but he had two nephews in the LEFT. One was an ordinary Lieutenant in Fourth Corridor of Buxton’s branch. The other, however, had inherited his uncle’s talents, and was a High Attic Officer in the Greater Manchester sub-division. Effectively, he was in the inner circle of that sub-division, and a prime candidate to take the role of Commander in the future.

Buxton had never needed another department’s help before. Usually, he was the one rushing to their aid when they messed up. Today, of course, would have to be different, because innocent lives could be lost if he didn’t swallow his pride.

He placed his helmet on his head. It scanned his retina, verifying that it was, in fact, Commander Buxton. The helmet could do various tasks- the goggles at the front could change to infrared, for example- and it was all voice controlled, recognising Buxton’s voice when he spoke. There was also an analogue setting, if it needed doing in silence, where Buxton’s fingerprints would be scanned as he fiddled with various tiny dials and buttons.

“Command: Vid Link. Great Manc High Officer 6.”

The goggles in front of Buxton lit up with a picture of his nephew, who was staring straight ahead. His entire body was in shot, even though he too was receiving visual data from his helmet.

“High Officer 6,” began Buxton Senior. “I have reason to seek your assistance with a pressing matter. Our sources inform us that there is a significant chance of rebel football sides operating in your jurisdiction, and an even greater chance of such sides operating north of your field. We have reason to believe that there are at least two sides operating within our jurisdiction who are likely to make their way north to face those teams under your authority or even those further north. It is my recommendation that all possible measures are taken to prevent such a disaster. I need Sikorskies in the skies looking for suspicious activities, and all available troops setting up road blocks. Speak to your commander about this matter.”

“Firstly,” began High Officer 6, “as a High Officer, I have earned the right to be address by my name. High Officer Buxton, or, for the time being, Acting Commander Buxton. My commander is currently in Scotland, investigating a case of experimental breeding, and he has taken the Upper Floors.”

Commander Buxton nearly chocked on his own breath as he heard this. “What the devil is your commander doing miles away from his territory, leaving the least experienced of his High Officers in charge of a bunch of privates and corporals?”

“Correction: I am also in charge of several Lieutenants who were left behind, along with two Sikorsky pilots and the Captain of the Lower Floors.”

“That’s still utterly brainless. A major crime is committed, we have a great opportunity to catch any remaining rebels, and your commander has taken your finest soldiers to Scotland because of a case of experimental breeding. It beggars belief! Why can’t the Scottish LEFT handle it themselves?”

“Ah,” said Buxton Junior. “It seems that a senior member of SLEFT was involved in the scandal, trying to mix a goat with an elephant in an attempt to create superior haggis for the annual Aberdeen haggis competition. The Wynees” he said, referring to the Wear, Tyne and Tees sub-division of LEFT “weren’t trusted to get involved in such a complicated case, leaving us as the best viable option.”

Buxton Senior shook his head in disbelief. “Unbelievable. So, I take it that, as the Commander left two Sikorsky pilots at base, you still have access to at least one Sikorsky?”

“Indeed. Sikorsky A, as well as F and G”

“Why keep three? You’ve only got two pilots.”

“I have a license to pilot A if it is required in case of an emergency.”

“This Saturday, I want all three patrolling the skies. One on the border between Greater Manchester and Merseyside, one in the centre of Greater Manchester, and the final one near Yorkshire. Our Sikorskies will also be on guard, along with the Sigorsky” he said, referring to the even larger chopper that only came out after major disasters.

The Acting Commander nodded. Buxton terminated the video link.

[max1994]

This is a great story SCIAG, really gripping. KUTGW

[stoehrst]

Hahahaha slipping in the Sigorsky there, nicely done

[weeeman27bob]

“It seems that a senior member of SLEFT was involved in the scandal, trying to mix a goat with an elephant in an attempt to create superior haggis for the annual Aberdeen haggis competition.

I couldn't stop laughing when I read this. Keep up the good work SCIAG.

[SCIAG]

Thanks max, good to have you onboard!

stoehrst- now I can't be pulled up on it

weeman- glad you found it amusing

Thursday 10th September 2205

The squad set out for our next fixture today. It’s against Blyth, so they need plenty of time to travel. However, Roy and I were left behind.

“It’s for every one’s safety,” explained McMorton. “You’ve had two run-ins with LEFT recently, and in the second one at least one member saw your faces. We can’t have you travelling with the squad.”

Roy grumbled, but I knew the gaffer was right. We found be endangering the others to travel such a distance with them.

“However,” McMorton had continued “we do want you both in Blyth. This squad is down to the bare bones, and we can’t go leaving two players behind at base. You are to come via the Francium packs on Saturday.”

Another groan came from Roy.

“Don’t you groan at me, Davies. I know those things make you travel sick, but you’ve got to live with it.”

I’d never been on one before. Now I would. I wasn’t looking forward to anything that made Roy queasy, let alone sick...

[SCIAG]

Saturday 12th September

I was shaken awake brutally.

“Get up,” said Roy gruffly. “It’s time to make a move.”

I yawn and stretched. “What time is it?” I said, groggily.

“Quarter to eleven,” said Roy. “You always take half an hour to get ready, it’s a twenty minute trip, and it will take a’ least an ‘our for yer to se’tle. Then Andy’ll want yer to warm up for ‘alf an ‘our.”

“That still only takes us to five past two...” I mumbled.

“Really? I thought we were gonna be late! Ah well, this way yer’ll ‘ave more time ta se’tle.”

I changed into my kit- which, despite what Roy claimed, didn’t take me half an hour. I washed my mouth with mouthwash, which had kept surprisingly well without being refrigerated. I was now as ready as I’d ever be. I skipped breakfast, despite the rumbles coming from my stomach. If I ate, there’d be more to throw up later.

I strapped myself into my Francium pack. Roy did the same.

“How does this thing work?” I asked.

“Put yer ‘ands on the straps,” instructed Roy. “You should be able to feel two tiny joysticks. The one on the right- or is it the left?- controls the angle. Push forwards on it to tilt down, push left to swerve left, like that. The other one controls which of the four boosters is activated. There are boosters on the front, back, and sides. Basically, to go forwards in a straight line, you need to hold the angle steady and activate the back boosters. There should be a button somewhere that lets you keep a booster on until you turn on another...”

“Roy, thanks for the controls, but how does it actually work? I mean, francium explodes in the air...”

“Exac’ly. The francium is stored in some sorta liquid that stops it reacting. Then when you turn on a booster, midgety bits of it get thrown into tiny amounts of acid, and you’re sent forwards by the explosions.”

“Right.” I said. “Now, what does this joystick do?”

Then everything went black.

[Almondo]

Just come across this one and i'm gripped. KUTGW SCIAG

[tenthreeleader]

Our Sikorskies will also be on guard, along with the Sigorsky” he said, referring to the even larger chopper that only came out after major disasters.

Well played.

[SCIAG]

Thanks Almondo, I hope you enjoy the ride!

10-3, the plural of Sikorsky is Sikorskies, right?

I awoke, and nearly threw up. I was above London. Panicking, I grabbed at the straps of my pack.

“S’okay,” said Roy, pulling along beside me. “You smashed into the ceiling. I got you outside and got us both into the air. Now we’re on course for Blyth. Perhaps we could go slightly to the north east, but I think we’re fine.”

“How high are we?” I asked, feeling queasy already.

“’bout 20,000 feet,” replied Roy, sounding rather more casual than he probably felt. “We had to get above the clouds.”

It was cold up that high, and quite hard to breathe. My ears felt like the hard icicles on them, and my clothes were damp- presumably from breaking through the clouds.

We were moving rapidly. My occasional glimpses of the ground showed a wide variety of sights. One minute we were over countryside, the next over a motorway, then some walkways, then a city, presumably Northampton. At one point, we were very briefly over a lake, with a few Canada geese on it. Canada geese, along with pigeons and swallows, were one of the few species f bird left in the country. They were supposed to have only survived because of their migrations, and it was the same for the swallows. Nobody was really sure how the pigeons had survived, though.

Then I heard Roy swear.

Around us, the clouds parted.

[canvey!!]

Smashed into the ceiling .

Loving the writing, SCIAG, this latest addition is really exciting - flying on a Francium pack at 20,000 feet \o/.

[max1994]

Smashed into the ceiling KUTGW SCIAG

[chesterfan2]

One Word, mate : Phenomenal.

BTW, the Sigorsky = the really big helicopter they only use in emergencies. Love it.

[Goofus]

Gotta be one of the most exciting stories on this forum. Keep it up! Hope it isn't Tony Stark up there. He'd blow you half to hell.

[SCIAG]

“You alright, 33025?”

“How can I be, 61782, when we are in a situation like this?”

“Hey, we knew what we were getting into when we signed up” replied 61782.

“I didn’t have a choice, though,” said 33025 with a sigh.

61782 frowned. “Why not?”

“Long story.”

“Is it longer than the time before we hit the ground?”

“No.”

“Then you might as well tell me.”

33025 sighed again. “My name is William Buxton.”

“Oh.”

“My father signed me up when my uncle became commander. He sent my brother to join the Greater Manchester regiment-”

“Isn’t he a High Officer?”

“Yeah. Meanwhile, I’m a rotten shot, and all I’m good for is leaping out of a Sigorsky with a “faulty” parachute.”

“Couldn’t the commander get you out of it?”

Buxton laughed. It wasn’t a laugh of joy, nor a smirk. “He was the one who volunteered me for this. I have no other use.”

“Ouch.”

“We’re going to be saying that in three hours.”

“The parachutes could work...” said 61782, more in an attempt to reassure himself than anything else.

“No, they couldn’t. Any parachute opening would distract us from the task in hand- taking down the footballers. And, of course, it would be a waste of material. No, we’re being sent to our deaths, but it’ll be worth it- for them- if we kill Derby and his colleagues. Our only hope is if the Manchester Sikorsky kills them on the way up.”

“When’s it due to strike?” asked 61782.

Buxton checked his watch. “About five seconds ago.”

[JeffS]

love this story KUTGW

[SCIAG]

Thanks, JeffS. I hope you continue to enjoy it!

------------------------------------------------------

It soared in front of us. The blades that formed the upper propeller whirled in front of us, blocking our path. Then the turrets mechanically turned.

Roy barrel rolled off to the left. I did the same to the right- though I was a lot less gracefully than him, for once. We passed the Sikorsky and pulled together again.

Roy was breathing deeply. It was a combination of the low air pressure and pure fear.

“Danny,” he panted, slowly but urgently. “By your side, somewhere, there should be a cord. Pull it.”

I fumbled by my side. The Sik seemed to be at least as fast as the francium packs. We only had about twenty metres on it. I was panicking. Then I found it, only to fumble it again. The second time, I held onto it.

“What does it do?”

“No time. Three, two, one, PULL!” he roared. If we had been travelling fast before, now we hurtled. My eyes were sore, the tears being wiped away from them. Then they were bloodshot. My nose was running, or worse, and my shoulder length hair whipped back. I felt like my entrails would come up through by throat and be thrown down to the ground.

Then it stopped.

We slowed back to our normal pace. I gasped for breath, gulping down what I could. I risked a glance over my shoulder. There was no sign of the Sikorsky.

Then it burst through the clouds some way behind us. We’d put a few miles between us, maybe as many as twenty, but we hadn’t thrown it off. I soon realised why.

“We’re leaving a trail!” I cried. Thick black smoke had been churned out of our packs, and the Sikorsky was following it. Not afraid of leaving a trail of its own, the Sikorsky had turned on some sort of thrusters. The gap was closing.

Roy sprang into action. He flew above me, and maintained his position.

“What are you doing?” I asked, desperately.

This time, he answered me. “I’m turning off your thrusters. You’ll fall towards the ground. I need you to control your descent. If you shape your body correctly, you’ll fall near enough to Blyth’s designated pitch. I’ll follow you.”

“This is insane!” I cried. “We’re twenty thousand feet up, and even with a parachute you’re not meant to drop more than ten thousand!”

Roy shouted something, but it was lost in the wind.

Then I was falling. No black trail of smoke pursued me, but once again I had the sensation that my skin was about to be torn from my body. I passed through the highest clouds with a splash. I was soaked. It was cold at such altitude anyway, but with water covering my body, I was hypersensitive to it. That cloud had merely been a cirrostratus- in other words, not a rain cloud. The cumulus and cumulonimbus clouds would be the lowest of the three layers.

The speed I was falling at simply kept building, but I didn’t seem to be getting any nearer to the ground. By the time I past through the final clouds- to an even bigger splashing noise- I was tired of it all. Death would be better than this pain, this suffocation, this soaking. The Sikorsky was too far away to be heard- or, I suppose it was very possible that I had gone deaf.

Now, suddenly, after what seemed like an age, the ground approached. In the blink of an eyelid, I went from the highest of the walkways to the tops of the trees. In less than that, I went from the tops of the trees to their roots.

At the last possible moment, the pack activated and righted itself. I was thrown around like a ragdoll, just above the ground. Then I dropped the few inches that separated me from the hard earth below.

I vomited with much vigour, and then passed out.

[canvey!!]

Whoah!

Excellent writing, SCIAG - this is so novel-like - I can imagine the event happening in a novel. Great work .

[max1994]

amazing wiritng SCIAG Keep it up

[Coop624]

whens the novel coming out?

[Balthazars]

I vomited with much vigour, and then passed out.

I admit, that I have quite some catching up to do with this story, and as such, I am confused as heck, but this line had me chuckling like a 12-year-old again for some strange reason.

Your writing is superb, SCIAG, very entertaining even though I am confused as heck due to having not caught up with a chunk of the previous stuff. Excellent work!

[SCIAG]

The novel will come out after American Calcio and American Pilgrimage do.

Thanks for the continual praise lads, I'm glad to have you all on board.

I was alive, but I couldn’t tell where I was. I wasn’t laying down straight- instead, I was lying on a bent, cold surface, with my head raised higher than my torso and my limbs hanging low.

I opened my eyes. The light blinded me. Then, slowly, my eyes grew accustomed to it. I sat up, one leg on either side of whatever it was I sat upon.

It was a metal statue of a horse. I’d never seen one, but I hadn’t imagined them being this large. It seemed to have one hoof raised off the ground. It had no saddle- I sat astride its back.

“He’s awake!” somebody called from my right. I turned. There was Lucas Volman, with Ramiro Cruz and Haowan following him. Volman grabbed me by my waist and hoisted me down to earth. Now I could take a better look at the horse. On its crested front, the letters CU were engraved, and perched on its muzzle was a small, round bird.

“Come on,” said Haowan shrilly. “McMorton will be expecting us.”

“Have you found Roy?” I asked desperately.

“He landed even closer than you did,” said Volman. “Just outside our court. He was fine, but he went charging off into the woods when you didn’t turn up. He carried you back.”

“And who put me up here?”

“It’s Glenn’s idea of a joke.”

We weren’t far from the tennis courts that would be our pitch. We headed over, opening the gate cautiously before entering.

Obviously, I received a rollicking from Andy, who was wearing a long, thick, grey coat- it was cold, yet he was the only one wearing more than a kit. I should have landed closer to the courts; I shouldn’t have passed out, and so on. However, I was still named in the side.

“Ryan will keep his place in goal. Lewis, you’ll switch sides and play left back. The central defensive pairing will be Henare-” McMorton announced, not surprising anyone. There were no other defensive options “and Davies, obviously. In midfield, we’ll have Fitzpatrick on the left, Derby and Von Billerwagner in the middle, and English and Haowan up front. That leaves a bench of Cruz, Volman and Benjas.”

“Hang on, boss,” said Fitzpatrick. “There’s no right back in that side. Are you expecting the Stig to do the work of two?”

For a moment, McMorton’s face hung still. Then, a huge grin spread over his face.

“He’ll have to, going forward. But I thought it would be obvious who would go right back.”

McMorton yanked his coat open. We all rapidly turned our heads away, only carefully glancing back a few seconds later. Fortunately, McMorton was clothed beneath his coat. He wore our red football strip, complete with black shorts and socks.

The majority of the squad stood in stone silence. It was Roy who broke the silence, a large grin on his face.

“Gaffer, yer not sayin’ that yer’ll be comin’ outta retirement, are yer?”

“Of course I am, Davies.” McMorton replied, now rather irritated. “Desperate times call for desperate measures.” Now, in another strange twist, McMorton went misty eyed. “I used to play for Blyth, before Aloysius got me to play for his side. It’s the traditional stepping stone for Scots. Glasgow and Edinburgh are even more fiercely patrolled than London; nobody would get away with playing football there. That only really leaves Aberdeen, and that’s miles away from the border, so it would add an extra two hours onto journeys. No, Blyth’s your best option. I came down here with two friends, who, as far as I know, are still here today.”

There was another awkward pause. We slowly shuffled towards the court.

Our referee today was an elderly man. He stood surprisingly supplely, but it was obvious that he had had a long life. We weren’t meant to get to know referees, but I found this one interesting.

Then I snapped out of it, as he put a whistle to his lips and blew.

[JoeLatics]

AWESOME story mate, can't wait for the rest!

Subscribed!

[Manumoss]

if i didn't have a short attention span, i'd be in this forum a lot but sadly i'm not a reading person.

looks good though and KUTGW