Call of Sport 2205: World at War

[M0nk3yFac3]

great story so far, loving it, if only i had come up with such a fantastic idea.

[SCIAG]

Thanks, Joe, Manumoss (nice to see an OTFer in here) and M0nke3y (how are you getting on at Hendon?). I see my subtle tribute may have been a little too subtle.

Most of the match was simply a hard fought battle. Neither side could penetrate the other’s defence, which resulted in a lot of intense tackling in the midfield areas. I was up against a particularly grim looking central midfielder. He seemed to be the more attacking of the pair, but rather than pass him on to Edgar, I took up some defensive responsibility and clashed repeatedly with him. He wasn’t afraid of putting in a tackle, but he was blessed with a certain amount of technical ability. He had the first shot on target of the match, and thirty yard thunderbolt that Di Gaulto could only turn away for a corner. This was after a good half hour.

There were two over-riding factors in the Blyth side. The first was that they were nearly all Scottish, and I certainly didn’t think any of them came from outside the British Isles. The second was that, whilst none bar the midfielder I was marking seemed to be particularly talented, they were all tenacious, tough tackling and tireless. I wouldn’t have wanted to meet any of them down a dark alley, that was for sure.

Then, in the dying seconds of the second half, I had my first proper touch. The Stig had the ball on the right flank as we counter attacked. I called to him, and he found me. I expected to feel the Scotsman’s challenge at any second, but it didn’t come. I slid a quick ball through the defence. Haowan got to it, and deftly chipped the goalkeeper, only for it to be cleared tremendously by a flying kick from their captain.

The second half was less of a scrap. Neither defence let much go, but at least by now the midfields were tiring. Blyth pressurised us several times, and we simply lacked the tackling skill in midfield to do anything about it. McMorton realised this, and decided that there wasn’t any point trying to defend before the defence. He pulled off Von Billerwagner for Ramiro Cruz, who slotted in on the right. The Stig joined me in midfield.

“Push on,” advised McMorton. “There are four of you in that midfield who are more than capable of scoring goals, so score them.”

We took his advice, positioning ourselves high up the pitch, waiting for the ball. Whilst we managed to pen back Blyth’s midfield, we struggled to get the ball into Jeremy and Haowan. After ten minutes of this, I passed the ball back to Rangi, who found English’s head. He looked to have won the header, but Blyth’s rock of a captain went through him and cleared the ball with his head. Jeremy went down injured. The referee wasted no time in cautioning the offender, who didn’t seem to mind in the slightest. Eerily, I was reminded of Roy.

Benjas helped English off the field, and Volman came on in his place. Now we had no aerial outlet, we had no choice but to try and break down the two rows of four. However, neither striker had room to manoeuvre, and none of the three wingers we had on the pitch could dribble their way through enough players to get a successful shot away. I hit one from distance, but it was easily saved.

Then Blyth turned to their substitutes’ bench, bringing on a striker who sounded French. He had an instant impact. As their defence dealt with another attack, they cleared it away. The Frenchman controlled the ball excellently, knocked the ball past Henare and sprinted towards goal. Our back line had been pushed up very high to push Blyth further back, and none of them had the pace to catch up with the striker, who only had Di Gaulto between him and a goal.

Ryan had never been good at one on ones, and today was no different. He was fishing the ball out the back of the net, and we were looking for two goals to win the match.

[M0nk3yFac3]

see my favourite story on the board gets better.

And ah yes, Hendon i remember that save, sadly though, everything on my pc kinda messed up not long after that and I ended up not being on the forum till recently again and decided on a different story that I started to write a wee while back.

anyway, great story, i look forward to the next update.

[SCIAG]

Thanks, Fac3.

We reverted back to the old game plan of trying to find an opening. Rangi pushed up, and the Stig dropped deep to help defend against counter attacks. It would have been Henare who broke the deadlock. I passed to him under pressure, and he charged through the Blyth back line, shrugging off their captain. The right back sprinted across to cover, but the second centre back was the only outfield player likely to tackle the man mountain.

He fouled him. It was a penalty, and now both centre backs were on bookings. Normally these would have been English’s job, with Von Billerwagner taking if he was off the pitch. With neither player on the pitch, it was the job of Lucas Volman to score it. He coolly slotted the ball into the bottom right hand corner, with Blyth’s goalkeeper only getting a finger to it.

Now we started to break through the Blyth defence more often. The Stig had two shots, one of which was saved, the other going just wide of the right hand post. Henare had a header from one of Fitzpatrick’s corners blocked, and both Volman and Haowan missed chances. With the seconds ticking away, Cruz went past three men and crossed. I just managed to get to it, but my header went harmlessly over the bar. I looked to have squandered our only chance of the match.

Now even Roy and McMorton pushed forwards in an attempt to get a goal. We outnumbered Blyth, who left two players on the half way line to counter attack.

Roy badly misplaced a pass to the Stig, but he sprinted back to get to it, taking his man- Blyth’s captain- with him. The Blyth defence rushed out in an attempt to pull the offside trap. However, the Stig agilely twisted past the lumber defender, and was through on goal. He knocked the ball out of his feet, wound up the shot, and had his shirt pulled. He kicked air. The ref blew instantly. A straight red was produced even though he’d already been booked, and Blyth’s captain jogged off the pitch as if it was routine to him. His dismissal wouldn’t make a difference, there were only seconds remaining in the match. However, we had a free kick in a dangerous position- also known as “the right side of the halfway line.” I don’t want to sound arrogant, but I was- and am- very, very good from free kicks.

I placed the ball down where I wanted it, and stepped back three paces. I stood over the ball with Fitzpatrick.

“Glenn, get closer to the goal, there’s no point hiding what we’re going to do,” I told him. He did as he was told. Glenn had a good left foot, no doubting it, but it wasn’t the right angle for him, and he simply wasn’t on my level at free kicks.

Every outfield player was in front of the ball- though I noted that the gaffer had some restraint, positioning himself roughly level with me on the other side of the pitch. I took a second to study the layout of the penalty area. Ten yards away from me there was a five man wall, blocking my shooting options. They also had a man on the line, with Haowan lurking around the post he was guarding to tidy up any rebounds. Cruz was on the edge of the area, preparing to shoot if the ball came to him. Roy, Rangi and David Lewis were all marked, cutting down on my passing options. The final opposition player was attempting to mark Fitzpatrick, Volman and the Stig, and they were making it difficult for him. However, I only really cared about one of their players, and he was wearing a pair of gloves. He met my gaze, and glared. I returned his stare with a leer of my own. Then I took another step back.

I ran up to the ball, swung my right leg, and sent the ball over the wall. It got down again, and was in exactly the wrong place for the goalkeeper to save it. He didn’t have a chance. I wheeled away towards an imaginary crowd, imagining them roaring. How many would have turned up to watch Blyth two hundred years ago? Now the home fans would be going home disappointed, and our fans would be going back to London happy. The referee blew for full time, and I’d won us the match with the final kick! Nothing could beat the feeling.

It was hard to tell which was stronger- my love of football or my hate of francium packs.

[Cardiovascular]

Brilliant story SCIAG, really enjoying this!

[JoeLatics]

Get in there!

Just a question, are the games held indoors, like in asports hall, or on grass stadium with a roof?

Keep it up matey!

KTF

Joe

[M0nk3yFac3]

Get in there!

Just a question, are the games held indoors, like in asports hall, or on grass stadium with a roof?

Keep it up matey!

KTF

Joe

In the first game or so, they play in a field near a woods, i believe and the spots are changed so they dont get caught. i believe.

and the story, nice update (: enjoying this one

[SCIAG]

To clarify: much like today, teams play home and away matches. The first two matches have been away, one near Theale, the other near Blyth. The first match was indeed played in a field, and this one was played in a tennis court. Real stadiums would be found and guarded. As Monkey says, the locations are changed from match to match to spot LEFT working out where teams will be from one week to the next.

[O\'Hara_fan]

Now you see, in real life, I'm actually good at one on ones

Great stuff as usual SCIAG.

[JoeLatics]

Ah, OK, all makes sense now!

Can't wait for the next update

[Coop624]

KUTGW mate

[SCIAG]

Thank you all.

Joe, I intend on throwing in something that will answer all your questions shortly.

“Not again!” screamed Roy.

This time, it was worse. In front of us was the largest Sikorsky I’d ever seen. I did a quick estimate- it was probably thirty metres wide and at least one hundred and twenty long. It was flanked by regular Sikorskies- which were still massive- and it seemed to have at least one behind it. I reached for the rip chord- and then Roy grabbed my arm.

“Pull that, and we’ll be over the Channel without enough francium to get back! No, we’re going to have to be much cleverer here...”

The large Sikorsky fired at us with its machine guns. Several bullets ricocheted off my pack, and I felt one embed itself in my arm. Searing pain spread through my body, but it had hit a bone, avoiding blood vessels. I would live.

I managed to barrel roll off to the side of the Sigorsky, and as I did so, I spotted small slits in the side of the spacious helicopter. Through these slits peered very human eyes. I made eye contact with one pair, and then regretted doing so.

The nearest Sikorsky now turned its attentions to me. I knew that it would be unable to use its heavy firepower for fear of damaging the prize Sigorsky. I teased it, floating from side to side. One of the soldiers leant out of the side window of the cabin and started firing towards me with a revolver. His aim was poor. There was little else they could do with me between them and their prized asset.

I felt a slight heat on my right cheek. I dived downward- just in time. A large laser from the tail Sikorsky blasted over my head, where I would have been. I felt my hair singe. Twice in a matter of minutes I had escaped death. Was Roy faring as well as I was? I didn’t have time to check, and if I did, then I would be endangering us both.

Now the tail Sikorsky charged, firing on all cylinders. I ducked and dived blindly, and then twisted back to look. The two Sikorskies collided, and they crumpled in mid air. I saw members of LEFT bailing out desperately, but the helicopters exploded before most of them could jump clear. I was thrown back by the sheer force of the explosion. Those who had cleared the blast zone in time opened their parachutes and floated to earth. The sight of them was bizarrely peaceful.

Then I was shocked. Everything turned green. I felt every hair on my body stand on end. My arms were full of spasm, and my eyes rolled helplessly in their sockets. Then the burning pain stopped, as did the spasms, and I hung in mid air, by francium pack holding me steady. I couldn’t move. I’d been stunned, that much was obvious. I could hear the Sigorsky coming across to attack me, and there was nothing I could do. Where was Roy?

The Sigorsky was directly overhead. I mentally braced myself for the inevitable shower of bullets. It never came. Instead, a circle of men dropped through the sky in front of me like rocks. I managed to make out a gun in the arms of each of them. They were too disorientated to shoot at me though. No parachutes opened below me. The men had obviously been asked to martyr themselves.

Suddenly, everything around me slowed down. A second batch of soldiers fell in front me. Directly ahead of me, one of them pointed his shotgun. I didn’t have a chance to close my eyes. There was a bang, and he dropped the gun. One of his colleagues had panicked and shot him instead. I was reprieved, and I felt movement return to my body, slowly but surely. The third wave dropped, and once again, I was staring down the barrel of a gun.

Then the private’s eyes met mine.

He lowered the gun.

And they all plummeted to earth just as I regained control of my limbs.

I knew, then, that I would never forgive myself if I didn’t return the favour the private had done me. I turned and dived towards earth. I was moving too quickly to hear myself think. I was briefly aware of passing through layers of cloud, but I still did not dally. I pushed the pack to its limits. I had a surge of pace, and then...

It took only a split second of eye contact for me to recognise the private. I scooped him up in my arms and pulled out of my dive. I ascended again, with equal pace. Back through the clouds, back into the open sky. There was the Sigorsky. I passed up the massive helicopter. I spotted a platform on one of its sides. With caution I approached it, aware that I could be attacked at any second. Quickly, I put the private down to rest on it. He was gasping for breath, and his pulse was through the roof. However, we weren’t alone on the platform. A few metres further along, Roy was wrestling with a man who looked like an officer. Between them was a sub-machine gun. I charged along the platform, and helped Roy overcome the officer.

“Wot are you doing ‘ere?” he said, seeming flabbergasted.

“Helping you,” I replied through gritted teeth. The sub machine gun rested on the metal floor. I picked it up and tossed it off the edge of the platform. Then, Roy and I simultaneously activated our packs. We descended rapidly.

“Pull!” Roy yelled. I obliged. Now we really hurtled, with both gravity and the thrust from the pack pulling us to Earth. Would we be able to pull out in time?

I was drenched again as we past through the clouds. It was nothing compared to the splash that resounded as we crashed into the River Thames.

*

Up on the gantry, Private Will Buxton continued to gasp for breathe. He took a lung full of air, and was simply glad to be alive.

“Thank you,” he whispered. His words floated away in the wind. “Thank you... for saving my life.”

[canvey!!]

There's nothing like a good fight scene!

But obviously what you want me to want to know is why did he save Buxton's life?

[M0nk3yFac3]

death, its a close thing these days when you play football.

That private is soo going to start playing football with the team haha...

Good story SCIAG, keep it up (:

[SCIAG]

canvey- I'm not sure I understand that- I want you to want to know why he saved Buxton? I'll have to worm my way out of that, it's quite a long tale...

M0nk3yFac3- I don't think I'd be spoiling anything if I said he wasn't...

We reached the hideout dripping wet. We were the first ones back, and with good reason. The others would take a day or more to return from Blyth. Roy went off to fetch an electrical heater from the back of the store. On his return, we plugged it in to the nearest power socket, and warmed ourselves up.

One thing had been playing on my mind since the events leading up to the match.

“Roy,” I began “when I regained consciousness out in the woods around Blyth, I was on a metal statue of a horse. Apparently Glenn put me up there, but I don’t remember anything, I was out cold when he did it. Anyhow, do you know what that statue is?”

Roy looked at me with surprise. “Are you referring to the Copper Horse?”

“The what?”

“The Copper Horse. It was made as a tribute to possibly Blyth’s greatest ever manager. Apparently he was awful at first, then they got a lot better, just missing out on promotion.”

“The word rings a bell. What does it mean again?”

“In the old days, the league used to be structured. There was the First League of the Barclays Premium, then the Fizzy Pop Championship, Old Division Three, the SPL, the Donald Duck Conference Suite, and finally, the league split in two- the Northern Rock and the Southern Electric league. Blyth were in the Northern Rock. Anyway, the teams finishing near the top of the league entered the Super Bowl, which was played at Wembley Arena. The winners of the Super Bowl got to move up a league. However, once they got to the top they complained about it being a circus.”

“Surely the First Division of the whatever got a bit crowded after a while?”

“Ah. That’s the thing. If a team finished near the bottom o’ the league, they got sacked and moved down a league. Sometimes they’d sack their manager instead to try and save their place, but in the end the FA always sacked ‘em.”

I was confused, but I didn’t show it. “Where are you getting this from, Roy?”

“Aloysius’ library,” he said, plainly.

“Your father had a library?” I was stunned.

“Full o’ books o’ football!” he exclaimed. “He wrote ‘em ‘imself based on the extracts he could find!”

“Where did he find them?”

“Books which survived the purge. Internet pages from before the Government allowed brain chips to connect to it. Recordings of TV programmes, like “Match of the Day” and “Gillette’s Super Ultra Grand Slam All Action Sunday”, and radio shows too. They’re largely damaged, but he made out what he could from them. Oh, and a lot of it is simply word of mouth, like the legend of the Copper Horse. You know the bird on his nose? That’s his wife, from before... something happened.”

“What happened?” I asked desperately.

“The records don’t show that much. However, what they do seem to show is that there were groups of freedom fighters who foresaw the end. They did their best to document football for anybody who wanted to know about it in the future. The library indicates that they hid this vital information in a wide variety of places, knowing the future rulers would never get to it all. They sent out games containing player statistics, which were installed on a wide number of machines. We got hold of one of the early twenty first century laptops, and you’ll never believe the number of players to play for Colo Colo...”

“Coca Cola?” I said. The more Roy said, the more confused I got.

“They were one of the best teams in Chile,” he explained.

That cleared it up a bit. “I get it now. At least, I think I do. I take it all those free kick takers you told me about were in the books?”

“Yeah. You seem to be a lot like David Beckham, with yer curlers and yer fancy crossing...”

“I thought we were talking about football, not fashion?”

“We was. Anyhow, there’s also a hint of Mascio in the way you sometimes just blast them in. The strange thing about Mascio is that he seemed to be around for a year, and then he disappeared again. There’s no mention of him anywhere on the internet. The only places with any data on him are old copies of Pro Evolution Managing Coach Man 2009, and even then, they’re wilding inconsistent. All we know is that he was Italian and Brazilian, and that he was very good at taking free kicks.”

“Um... ok. Do you have any books on free kick takers?”

“Yeah, just check out the library any time. It’s on the second floor...”

“We have a second floor?”

“Aye. It’s that wee box on top of the place, the one that looks like a shed. It used to be the room where they controlled all the technical stuff, like the heating, but then we put the piles o’ books in there, and yer wouldn’t recognise it now.”

I was too tired to read, after two flights on a francium pack, a football match and an aerial battle with a fleet of Sikorskies. I headed for my hammock, feeling like I could sleep for days.

[weeeman27bob]

Loving all of the references!

Keep it up!

[Balthazars]

Absolutely fan-freaking-tastic update. Simply hilarious!

[Goofus]

The Copper Horse, absolutely awesome.

If you do drop by London, be sure to visit the James' Tower.

[canvey!!]

The Copper Horse .

[stoehrst]

That explanation of the league system had me in stitches

[Offspring8]

I've only just read all of this in one go but after reading the frst few posts, I was hooked. Keep it going, SCIAG, it's been brilliant so far

[Kewell08]

Great stuff. I assume you will work in a tribute to Leo Dodge xD

[Haowan]

Awesome story =D

The Copper Horse xD

KUTGW!

[BobBev]

That explanation of the league system had me in stitches

Yes, that was rather good wasn't it.

[SCIAG]

I've only just read all of this in one go but after reading the frst few posts, I was hooked. Keep it going, SCIAG, it's been brilliant so far

Thanks, Offspring!

Great stuff. I assume you will work in a tribute to Leo Dodge xD

I won't be tributing myself

Awesome story =D

The Copper Horse xD

KUTGW!

Loving all of the references!

Keep it up!

Absolutely fan-freaking-tastic update. Simply hilarious! (thumb)

Thanks

The Copper Horse, absolutely awesome.

If you do drop by London, be sure to visit the James' Tower.

The Copper Horse (Big Grin).

None of you picked up that "Cu" was the Perodic Symbol for Copper, so I thought I'd better make it slightly less subtle

That explanation of the league system had me in stitches

Yes, that was rather good wasn't it.

Glad you liked it

[SCIAG]

I sprinted for dear life, not looking back. I knew they were after us, and I knew they were faster than us. Sweat poured down my face. We had not had a huge head start, but we had the element of surprise, although they knew the area better. On top of that, they had guns, and we didn’t.

Yamasu and Oshi were tiring, it was plain to see. I was faster than Oshi, and far faster than Yamasu, but I wasn’t going to leave them behind.

“Down here!” I called. I turned off to the left sharply, and they followed. I could here the footsteps behind us getting closer, but safety wasn’t far away. I sped up, trying to inspire my friends into surging through the doorway. I risked a glance over my shoulder, and then immediately wished I hadn’t. Our pursuers were gaining on us. We could make it to safety, but it was going to be a lot tighter than I would have liked.

Another two hundred metres and we’d be through. We had about fifty on the guards, but Yamasu was slowing us down a lot. Oshi and I grabbed him by the hands and sprinted. It was harder work than running outright, but we couldn’t abandon Yamasu. We definitely had him moving faster than he would have managed to on his own. The exit kept creeping temptingly closer. I could smell escape!

Twenty steps, fifteen, ten, five, and one...

We were through! We were safe! I stopped and panted for breath. My legs ached like they’d never ached before. I had done a lot of running in my life, but nothing could ever have possibly prepared me for that. I could still feel the adrenaline pumping through my body. I started to laugh joyfully. Freedom tasted so sweet. A few of the people in the departure lounge gave us strange glances. A few of them were backing away with terrified looks on their faces, getting to the furthest point from us.

Then Yamasu screamed. There was a knife embedded in his thigh. Oshi pulled it out. Big mistake. Blood poured out of the hole in his leg like a volcano erupting. There was no time to do anything about it. Our pursuers were evidently prepared to risk civilian casualties if it meant catching us. We hadn’t escaped at all.

I hoisted Yamasu up onto my back, and we ran for it. Oshi charged for a door in the far corner. The people over there screamed. Another knife whistled between us. Next time, I wouldn’t be so lucky. Oshi was nearly at the door, but I was starting to lag.

“Put me down!” Yamasu said desperately.

“I’m not even going to consider that, mate. There’s no way you can walk with that leg!” I replied defiantly.

“They I won’t walk!” he said. “I’ll buy you time!”

“You don’t stand a chance!”

“So be it!”

“I’m not abandoning you!”

“If you don’t, we’ll both die! Just save yourself!” he pleaded.

There was no point arguing with him. I quickly let him down off my shoulder, and then sprinted after Oshi, gaining ground on him quickly. There was mania around us as the crowd went into hysterics. They all ran for the doors Oshi and I were going towards. Yamasu was crushed on the ground, and many others were forced against the walls and frame of the door. Now Oshi and I were certainly free- nobody would be able to get to us now.

“We have to find a flight!” he said desperately. Then, without consulting me further, he darted to the right.

It was one of those tunnels they put up on the way to a plane! As long as there was a plane at the end of it, we would be out of the country within half an hour. We were both sweating- but now we were safe. They wouldn’t check to see if we were meant to be on the plane- normally, we wouldn’t have got this far without being scanned at least fifty times.

We were safe- but would we be when the plane touched down?

[max1994]

excellent work SCIAG keep it up.

[canvey!!]

Interesting...we now seem to be somewhere else. Last thing I knew, Danny was in his hammock - and who are Oshi and Yamasu? Intriguing...

[SCIAG]

Thanks max and canvey. I'll see about transfering an update across. It may mean bring my laptop across the road, but needs must.

[Dinaldo]

This is a good story SCIAG:thup:

[SCIAG]

Thanks Dinaldo

It was London Heathrow. We were standing in arguably the most famous airport in the world. It was also easily the most heavily guarded. Whether this was terror prevention or simply to show off the country’s muscles, I wasn’t sure. However, escaping from it alive would be a big task.

“Act natural,” I said to Oshi. He put a finger to his lips.

“Ricky, they have machines here that can translate what we’re saying. We shouldn’t say anything until we get outside. Ok?”

I agreed. We also agreed that it would be courteous if I did the talking to airport staff if any was required. My English was far better than Oshi’s, thanks to my Canadian mother. Sure, they would be able to understand Oshi anyway, but it left a better impression if we spoke in English.

We advance casually. We passed straight through baggage collection and customs, avoiding making eye contact with any of the passenger who had legitimately been on our plane. I doubt that either of them had any suspicions. Then came border control. Neither of us had our passports. We were, to use a British term, screwed.

Although, we did both share a skill that would come in handy here. Both Oshi and I were black belts in three martial arts.

*

Five minutes later, two pilots passed through border control. They were wearing sunglasses, hats, and had scarves wrapped around their faces. They did not need to show their passports. Instead, they merely flashed ID cards, which weren’t examined nearly as closely as passports would have been. Presumably, they’d be coming back through in a minute. They turned into the toilets. Both of them got into cubicles, which happened to be next to each other.

Forty five seconds later, Oshi and I emerged from the cubicles that the pilots had entered. It would be about fifteen minutes, maybe more, before two sets of pilot uniforms would be found on the floor of the toilets- they were amongst the largest in the world, and there were never queues to use the facilities. When the uniforms were discovered, a man hunt would start, and it would be about another ten minutes before Ishmael Powell (pilot) and Amir Hussein (trainee) were found unconscious in what had looked like a broom cupboard, wearing only their underwear and a vest each.

We hurried now, but in a way that made it look like we were late for an appointment rather than running from the law. Our final obstacle was a row of heavily armed security guards guarding the entrance and exit to the state-of-the-art airport. There was a gap of about ten metres between each one. Most people tried to stay as far away from the guards as possible. They were the ones most likely to be stopped, as it seemed more suspicious than staying close to the guards. We decided to try a double bluff. We walked up to the nearest guard. He looked like a bag of pure muscle, and was holding a massive gun, that was also held to him by a strap that wrapped around his chest. Being Japanese, I couldn’t help identifying it from my shooting games- an AK 47-18. Newly commissioned to replace the old 47-17, it held more bullets than any other gun in history, and it was one of the most rapid firing. Of course, this meant it was a very short range weapon, but you did not want to go near someone holding one of those monsters.

I was trembling, and I could tell that Oshi was terrified too. I tried to hold my nerve, or at least give the impression that I was calm(ish). I walked straight passed the man mountain.

Then I felt his hand grip my left shoulder like a vice.

“Where’s your luggage?” he asked in a thuggish tone.

“Myself and Oshi here came to pick up a friend,” I answered, sounding a lot calmer than I was feeling. “Unfortunately, it seems we missed him, so we shall be leaving now.”

“In that case, can I see your Visas?”

“We’re EU citi...” I began, before launching a jumping spinning sidekick. I sent the gun flying, breaking the strap that held it to the guard’s body. He raised a boulder-like fist, but I reacted quickly. I also broke the first rule of martial arts combat- never kick below the belt. Let’s just say that it won’t be as easy for him to build those muscles now...

We ran. I didn’t think we’d get very far, but evidently the other guards had other priorities. They had to secure the gun and tend to their team mate before coming after us. We made it out unscathed, but our hearts pounded in our chest. We both leapt over the side of the route into the underground train station that would get us to central London and relative safety. We were lowered to the ground slowly by the station’s levitation field. Then we quickly hopped on the nearest tube train. It left within seven seconds of Oshi’s back foot leaving the platform. We were travelling far too slowly for my liking. I approximated the speed of our journey to just over one hundred and twenty kilometres per hour. We had trains in Japan that could break the 450 barrier. Still, there were no burly security guards at the station we arrived at. We floated out.

Then we spotted them. There was a large patrol of armed police about one hundred metres behind us. Both of us ran instinctively. That was a bad move. We had drawn attention to ourselves. Shots rang out behind us. We sprinted now, trying to put ground between us and the police. We rounded a corner into another main road...

... And an arm grabbed me and pulled me into an alley. I saw Oshi being pulled in too. We were told to “shut it” by the shadowy figure that had grabbed me, and the other one that had grabbed Oshi put a finger to his lips.

About five minutes passed. Then the taller figure spoke.

“Sorry ‘bout that,” he said gruffly. “We couldn’t let yer say anythin’ in case yer gave us away ter ‘em LEFT lot. Now, who are yer and what are yer doin’ ‘ere?”

“I think what Roy is trying to say,” said the other one in a more friendly tone “is that you can never be too careful in London. Now, we can help you, and hide you if need be, but first we need to know more about you.”

“I’m Ricky Nakano,” I began, “and this is Oshi Shalakoki. We’ve been exiled from Japan for playing football. My mother was Canadian, Oshi’s father was Zimbabwean. Our friend Yamasu was killed when we escaped. We...”

“Good,” grunted Roy, in the same gruff tone. Evidently, he always spoke like that. “In that case...”

“We’re all in the same boat,” said the second man. “I’m Danny Derby, and this is my best friend Roy Davies. We have been exiled from England for playing football- but we’re not leaving, because we have nowhere to go. We’re the resistance against LEFT. We’re outlaws here. And now I’ve told you that, either you join us...”

“Or I’ll have to kill you,” grunted Roy.

Danny elbowed him. “He says that to everyone. Honestly, the last kid we recruited was so petrified that he needed a new change of underwear.”

“We’ll join you,” I said instantly. “I presume you have some other followers?”

Roy sniggered. “Yeah, we’ve got followers alright. A whole football team’s worth...”

[canvey!!]

Ah, I see - these are new transfers .

[JoeLatics]

Hey hey, it's all coming together now!

[SCIAG]

Sorry, guys. I can't seem to remember where I was going in the short term with this. Therefore, I want you all to forget the massive plot hole that is about to be opened up here, and imagine that Ricky and Oshi have been at the club for months.

[SCIAG]

Right, now here we go...

canvey- spot on. They've actually been in the game all along, it's just that the "escape from the Orient" scene was one I had had in mind for a long time. It transforms the story from "southern England at war" to "World at war." Although there's still a few more minor scenes that need to be added.

Joe, there is some way to go before everything "comes together". I'd estimate it at 10 pages of writing.

Further note- I originally intended to write about a home match here, but to be honest, there's a lot less scope with them. The three home matches between the Theale match and what will be the final match have been ignored as if they never happened, and I'll see if I can work that into the story somehow.

"With the Tigers practically folding, the Blues are likely to be our main challengers at the end of the season," said McMorton, in what I think was an attempt at positive motivation. "Therefore, this is a crunch match. A real four pointer. Strong words for our fifth match of the season, but they are warranted. If you men want to become mice and claim the league tie, then this is your chance. We're unbeaten, and whilst we haven't been playing football, we've held together incredibly well, when both team mates and opposition are dropping like flies. I wouldn't get your hopes up for having a competitive league next season. If we lose today, the Blues get the upper hand. You will also each get a thrashing. You know what to do."

I gulped. I wasn't the only one.

Ryan Di Gaulto kept his place despite his mistake in the previous match. In front of him, the back line consisted of Lewis, Davies, Nakano and Shalakoki. Rangi and I would play in midfield, with the Stig and Ramiro Cruz switching flanks. The striker pairing would be Jeremy English, who had been having some minor problems with his hamstring, and Lucas Volman, who had put in an impressive performance off the bench in Blyth. That left a bench of Benjas, McMorton, Von Billerwagner, Fitzpatrick and Haowan. We finally had enough players to fill out our bench!

The Hammersmith Blues, as they were now known, could trace their history back for 300 years or more. They had enjoyed their most successful spell in the early part of the 21st century. After being taken over by a Russian oil baron- Argon's library indicates that this was probably Russia's attempt at invading Britain during the Cold War- they had masses of money to spend, and they bought players like Pele, Maradonna, Beckenbauer and Bramble. Shortly afterwards, they rebranded as "Peter Kenyon's Barmy Army" and sacked their manager for having a pet dog. This began their fall from grace, which ended when their long-serving captain sneezed whilst taking a penalty and gave his team mates swine flu.

The Blues were now based under a shopping mall in Hammersmith. They survived with ease, having an almost unlimited stock of high quality GM foods almost on tap. They argued that it wasn't stealing, because technically the food hadn't left the shopping centre. Their living quarters were only accessible via one of the hundreds of lifts in the building. It was the only one with a working "Basement" button. The company that owned the mall thought that they'd filled in the basement years earlier. The workers paid to do it had actually been Hammersmith players, who had lied when they said it had been completed.

We entered the shopping centre one at a time, with intervals of roughly five minutes between us. Thousands of people used it every day, so we would blend in with the background. I accidentally entered the wrong confectionary shop once inside the complex, and the woman behind the counter seemed very perplexed when I questioned her on the mating habits of the Outer Mongolian Wombat. Fortunately, Fitzpatrick noticed me, and explained to the woman that I had been on powerful drugs to cure my erectile disfunction, and they had made me go slightly mad at times. Glenn had never been the best at making up believable excuses.

The pair of us met in the right confectionary shop, where McMorton had given the password to the elderly woman manning the customer support desk. Showing an extreme lack of professionalism, she left the desk immdiately, without so much as requesting a break from her manager. We all followed her. She guided us around the back of a jewellery store and up a disused flight of stairs. At the top of the stairs was a long corridor, and at the end of the corridor was a plain looking wooden door. It certainly didn't look like the doors to a lift. The woman left us, and I didn't blame her. But surely this wasn't the door?

Strangely, it was. The door concealed the metal doors behind it. McMorton started pushing the "open" button that was where the doorknob should have been on the back of the door, but it seemed to be having no effect.

"Anybody know how you spell "HELP" in morse code?" he said after a while. It took several attempts, but after several goes, Dave Lewis, whose father had been a seaman, worked it out. The metal doors slid open, and we stepped in. Henare had to turn sideways to get through the door, and even then, he needed five of us to pull him through. When he was in, Andy pressed the "B" button on the control panel.

I suddenly felt very tired, and then I felt very squashed, as Rangi fell on me.

[M0nk3yFac3]

nice read SCIAG, had to re-read a few bits to familiarise myself again with whats going on again, but all is well.

[SCIAG]

I woke groggily, and pushed myself upwards. I seemed to be making a habit of passing out on match days. This time I wasn't the only one though. Half the side seemed to still be out. At least we were out of the lift, and presumably in the secret basement.

McMorton wasn't. He was bolt upright, and holding a small man by the lapels. He was at least a foot off the ground.

“What the blazes was that about, you window licker! You knew you had a match, you knew we'd be in the lift! There was no need to knock us out with ruddy sleeping gas!”

“I beg to differ, Mister McMorton. If we dropped our guard because we had a match, LEFT could infiltrate our headquarters easily.”

“Codswallop! They have no idea you're here! Heck, I doubt they know the Hammersmith Blues exist!”

“I'm sure they didn't know that Theale Tigers existed either, until you betrayed them!” the little guy snarled.

McMorton dropped him, then struck him. Once, twice, a third time. Face, body, top of head, chin. Jab, hook, uppercut. I dashed over and pulled him back.

“Leave him. He's no danger.” I said. Andy shrugged me off. “I had friends with the Tigers. In fact, the Hammersmith Blues are the only side I have no alliance with! Scum.” He spat the last word furiously, and then, to my horror, actually spat at the short fellow. I didn't like the look of him. He was probably about 5'1, and had a permanent phoney smile on his face.

“We have a match to play, unless I'm mistaken,” he said in his oily voice. I noticed just how vast the basement room was. It was easily big enough to fit in a football pitch. Fifteen men in Royal Blue were already warming up in the large space. “We kick off in three minutes.”

With that, he slipped away.

“The c*ck” said McMorton. “He drugs us, then asks us to play football. I mean, the Stig isn't even awake yet.”

“You'll have to let Glenn into the side then,” I said. “The Stig can come on in the second half, if he gets better in time.”

Andy begrudgingly accepted it.

We kicked off. I had a shot after about five minutes, but I put it shamefully over. Fortunately though, their shooting was no better. Ryan wasn't tested.

Rangi and I found it hard to compete with Hammersmith's three man midfield. I could see why the gaffer had wanted the Stig on the wing. Carlos was inclined to cut inside more than Glenn, so would help us out a bit. Whenever I got the ball, I had two men closing me down, and it was the same for Rangi. However, Roy and Ricky had no problems with the lone striker.

Shalakoki burst forwards. I received the ball from Henare and played him in. He played a pass up the line for Fitzpatrick. He span and beat his man, before crossing into the box. Jeremy jumped, but his man did enough to put him off. Volman got his head to it, but his header was lame. Lucas looked like he'd kick himself.

We had another attack, this time up the opposite wing. Cruz jinked inside and pulled the ball back to English, who tried a snap shot. It deflected off a centre back, and made the goalkeeper look silly. It would go down as an own goal.

“I swear your original shot was going in,” I said to Jeremy. He shrugged. He was being very gentleman like about it. If I had hit that, I would be claiming it all the way.

Hammersmith tried everything to create a chance of their own. If they kicked it to the striker's feet, Roy tackled him. If they played it over the top for him to chase, Nakano beat him to it easily. Playing it in the air was even less effective, as either of the centre backs were in their element there. The left winger tried to go through everybody, but he couldn't even beat Lewis, who put his foot in. Lewis tried to pass to me, but I couldn't get a touch on the ball before it was intercepted. The midfielder who tackled me tried a hollywood pass. We appreciated the throw in.

At half time, McMorton had some bad news.

“The Stig still hasn't woken up. I think he could have reacted badly to that stuff. If he doesn't wake up soon, we'll have to take him to hospital.”

We were shocked. None of us had ever been to hospital. Headquarters had a very large stock of antibiotics and painkillers, and we normally took those if we were under the weather. Hospital was no place for outlaws. Worse than that, the Stig was an illegal immigrant. He was breaking the law firstly by being a footballer, and secondly for being, full stop.

Our heads were spinning as we re-entered the pitch. It showed. We were sloppy. Ricky under hit a back pass, and their striker stole in, putting the ball well out of Di Gaulto's reach. He was clearly gifted, but he'd spent the match isolated. It was the wake up call we needed.

I got the ball not long after the restart. I surged passed one midfielder, then the next. The third came across to stop me, leaving Henare unmarked. I slid the ball to him. He roared, and charged forwards. Suddenly, one of the midfielders tripped him from behind.

It was the midget. He was about two foot shorter than Rangi, so there was a general disbelief that he'd managed to ground him. No foul, although it really, really should have been.

We bombarded the goal. We were all shooting, except Roy and Dave. The problem was that we simply couldn't get a chance good enough to actually look like scoring. The goalkeeper had no troubles saving our screaming shots, but he'd shown that he wasn't good when the shot was from closer.

In a very brave move, Andy pulled off both strikers. On went Haowan and Von Billerwagner, with Edgar playing alongside Rangi and I. Now we matched them.

I got the ball again. Quickly, I played a one two with EVB. I ran past the midfield, and wound up a shot, when I felt studs scrape down my leg.

I span furiously. It was the midget.

“Did you really think I'd let you shoot with seconds remaining?” he sneered. Anger overwhelmed me, and I would have hit him, I would have, but Rangi smothered me.

“Probably for the best,” said the tiny excuse of a man. “You wouldn't want to get hurt. Rushing in tends to get people hurt.”

Right in the solar plexus.

“Danny, let the football do the grinding into tiny pieces,” said Rangi in his deep New Zealand accent. I took some deep, slow breaths.

“Okay, I'm cool,” I assured Rangi. He let me go.

Now there was nothing but the ball.

I stood over it. I visualised it going into the top corner. Loads of curve, loads of dip. After about fifteen seconds of this, I was ready. I ran up, and hit the ball on the valve.

It was high, and it was swerving. The goalkeeper dived, and he missed it. I started to celebrate, but it was cruelly hooked off the line.

There was Roy, out of nowhere. A bullet of a header. Revenge. He came running straight towards me. He threw his arms around me, and we let out a victory roar together. We'd shown him!

Our celebration was short lived. The Stig still hadn't woken up.

“We need to get him out of here without arousing suspicion,” said McMorton frantically. If I didn't know better, I'd say he was panicking.

[SCIAG]

“We need to get him out of here without anybody noticing.” said McMorton frantically.

“Impossible, gaffer,” argued Roy. “The place is swarmin' with people. They'll see us, one way or another.”

McMorton grimaced. “In that case, it looks like we need a distraction.”

All heads turned to Ricky.

* * *

“Are you getting anything, Danny?” Ricky asked me. He'd opened a panel in the wall. Behind it was some complicated wiring. He cut a few wires with a tool that reminded me of pliers.

“Re-connect them” said the voice in my head that I knew to be my brain implant.

“The chip wants me to put them back together,” I said.

“That's because it's not built for sabotage.” Ricky explained. “Your implant has been programmed with knowledge of electronics, and probably engineering.”

I nodded. “My family have been engineers for generations. My Great Grandfather worked on the stadium for the 2132 Olympics.”

Ricky looked pleased at this. “I want you to do the exact opposite of what that chip tells you. I've disabled the retention of video files from the CCTV cameras in the building. When Glenn gets here, you'll need to snip the black wire to shut off the cameras completely.”

I nodded. Rangi seemed slightly put off though.

“I thought Glenn was to signal when I had to get the Stig out of here?” he objected.

Ricky sighed, and explained the plan again. He, McMorton, Roy and Oshi would start a fight to distract civilian attention, and hopefully get them running. When the four of them were in position, Fitzpatrick would relay me that information so I could cut off the cameras, before running back to cue the start of the riot. As soon as there was enough mayhem for Rangi to carry the Stig, still unconscious and in a deep fever, out of the building, then Ramiro Cruz would come running and would accompany them through the chosen escape route. When those two were out, Glenn would come back to me, I would cut the yellow wire, and we would escape.

“You do know your escape route, don't you?” said Nakano.

“I hold onto the belt outside the window and grapple down. Glenn grabs the one next to me. Correct?”

“Then what?” he asked, most irritatingly. I didn't know.

“You'll be on the roof of the next building. Don't stay still, because the glass will be shattering around you. There's a stairway on the other side of that roof. Jeremy is opening it for you as we speak. From there, you'll be able to slip into a panicking crowd and get away.”

I acknowledged him as he slipped off to the auditorium. I waited with Rangi and the unconscious Stig. Then, at the other end of the corridor, Fitzpatrick whipped into view. He shot me a thumbs up. I felt the wire cutters in my pocket, and carefully snipped the black wire. I turned and returned Glenn's thumbs up. He swivelled and shot around the corner.

[mark wilson27]

Just caught up with everything SCIAG, really enjoying the story.

[Haowan]

Just read all the recent updates, the stories going pretty well

KUTGW!

[TigerJoe]

Just read everything. KUTGW SCIAG! Great stuff

[SCIAG]

Thank you very much all!

Now the tension mounted. I paced from wall to wall. We could hear panicking masses in the distance, like the build up to a 21st century rap track. Rangi's breathing was heavy. It was as if his lungs were twice as big as anybody else's. The Stig seemed stable, although he was sweating heavily still. Rangi gave him a squirt of water from a bottle. With the tiny South American nested on the giant Maori's lap, they looked like an over sized mother and baby.

Then there was Cruz. Rangi stood up quickly, with the Stig in a fireman's lift. He wished me luck, and ran off. I was going to need it. I still didn't know what the yellow wire did. I watched Henare and Cruz round the corner. Now I was alone.

If I had been nervous before, now I was terrified. There's that old cliché that every second seems like an hour. It genuinely applied. I rocked backwards and forwards. My heart rate soared. I kept expecting Fitzpatrick's ginger hair to appear by the corner. It didn't come. It didn't come again. Every time I looked up and didn't see it, my panic intensified.

After what seemed like an age, he was there. I'd never seen him run so fast.

“Now! Now!” he screamed. I yanked out those wire cutters for the second time. This time I wasn't so precise. In fact, I was quite slap dash. I did get the yellow wire...

To the window. My hands were sweating, so it took a few seconds to get a decent grip on the belt that would secure me to the wire as I grappled down the twenty storey shopping centre. We were off. We started on the nineteenth, and were to finish on the fourth. Fifteen stories... fourteen... thirteen. We started to make bigger leaps. We reached the tenth storey, and...

BANG!

A fireball swept out from above us. The windows on the twentieth story were blown plumb out of their frames. Presumably, that was the yellow wire. What had I done?

No time to think. Faster and faster. Five stories to go. Four. Three.

Glenn disappeared.

I leapt further than every before. Two stories vanished. Then I felt my grip go.

Blackness.

Shards of glass falling.

Blackness.

A Sikorsky, in flames, spinning in mid air.

Blackness.

Glenn lying there, blood pouring from his mouth.

I pulled myself towards him.

“Come on, Glenn. This can't be it. Luck of the Irish, remember?”

Glenn stifled a chuckle. “I think my luck's out, Danny boy. I've had a lot, but here it ends. Now get out of here!”

His eyes closed. He gagged horribly. I didn't have time to do anything to save him. I picked him up in my arms, and ran. Behind me, shards of glass continued to fall. A loud noise to my right made me turn my head. The Sik was coming down, probably near Harrow or somewhere like that. Why had it been so close to the explosion.

There. The black metal stairway Ricky had mentioned. I reached it and descended. Glenn was dead now, I could feel it. There was Jeremy. He looked shocked.

“What happened?” he asked.

“Explosion.. thrown down. Helicopter. Fire, wind, glass. Blood from mouth. Luck gone. Dead.”

I knew I was talking gibberish, but I didn't know how to string together a sentence.

“I'll take him,” said Jeremy. I passed him Glenn. “Now...”

“RUN!”

[SCIAG]

Mania. Screaming. Noise. Panic. Madness. Hysteria.

Jeremy carried Glenn's body through the crowds. People were running. I hadn't known that Ricky's idea of a distraction was so extreme. I really hoped nobody else had died because of this. Nobody noticed the body, really. Several other people were carrying the wounded in their arms. Perhaps they thought the terrorists- for surely that's what would have caused an explosion in a shopping centre- might be planning on striking again. The hysteria gave me an overwhelming sense of guilt.

The crowd slowed. Our path ahead was blocked by a police cordon. They couldn't hold back the masses for long though. Soon the riot shields were breached, and the mob surged onwards. Nakano had been right. This was the best distraction we could have hoped for. It was getting us through the police barriers, but at what cost?

We were bottlenecked into a narrower road. Cars had been abandoned by their owners. Jeremy and I walked between them. Glass smashed. Looting had begun. It was inevitable, I suppose. An alarm went off somewhere in the distance, but it was soon drowned out by the screaming. A few cars were honking their horns even further away. They may not have been able to make out the Hammersmith Shopping Centre between the other large structures that surrounded it. The city was in terror and confusion.

Another cordon was ahead, this time made up of police horses. These horses were the only ones left in the world. There were no wild horses, and they were no longer bred for racing either. Only the massive police horses remained. They were reared near Ascot, where a large racing track had once been, by LEFT. The huge animals were known for their fearlessness, but also for their empathy. They felt the panic of the crowd. They were scared too. They turned, and galloped away, taking their furious mounts with them. It was a remarkable sight.

We rounded another corner. Passers by were sucked into the crowd, that seemed to have lost all logical thought. More glass smashed. The city was flooded with sirens, and they seemed to be closing in. I didn't think they'd do much good against the masses.

Then I saw it. A heavily armoured tank blocked the path ahead of us. Three turrets rose from it. Now another round of screams erupted in within the hysteria. I grabbed Jeremy's arm, and we ran the other way. People were tripping in their frenzy as they ran for their lives. I spotted a passageway, and we darted down it. In the distance, something exploded. No extra Sikorskies had been called out, thankfully. Things would be much worse if they had.

The passageway came out into a main road. Normally it would be bustling, but not today. It was completely empty. A car was on fire by the side of the road, and a melon lay sliced in half on the pavement.

“I know the way back from here,” said Jeremy. It assured me. My heart rate dropped. I felt safe for the first time in half an hour. We headed off to base, Jeremy carrying the weight of Glenn's body, and I carrying a much greater weight. Guilt.

[SCIAG]

We reached the old super market. I was about to go in, when Jeremy stepped in front of me.

“We may have avoided the police, but do you really think everyone else will have?” he said. “For all we know, LEFT are in there, waiting for anyone else to go in.”

It was a good point, and to be honest, I hadn't considered it. However, I saw no alternative but to risk it. I went to knock on the door, and it opened in front of my fist. Roy stood there. From behind him, I heard the gaffer bellowing. Roy gestured with his head for us to come in. I led the way, and when Jeremy walked in, everyone (for the room was pretty full, and most if not all of the others had clearly got back) fell silent, even McMorton.

“Not another one. Just when we were getting the numbers up,” he said.

There was a awkward moment of shocked silence. Then McMorton turned to Ricky.

“You did this! You knew that would happen! You bloody well knew the building would explode, and you also,” he punched him square on the jaw, “bloody,” and again, “knew- that- Glenn- and Danny- were- in – there!” Ricky didn't retaliate to any of the blows. He could have easily overpowered Andy, who was six inches shorter than him and also not nearly as accomplished a fighter. However, he knew everything the gaffer said was true.

“We have a saying in Japan,” Ricky said, finally. “It's “gotta catch 'em all.”

“What on Earth does that mean?” asked McMorton, through bared teeth.

“Absolutely nothing. However...”

McMorton hit him again.

“It was the only way!” Ricky insisted.

McMorton swung his fist once more. This time, Ricky blocked it firmly.

“Look, young'un.” McMorton started. “There is always more than one way. Glenn was a great lad. He was always joking around, but inside he was sensible. His aim was to go back to Ireland at the end of the year and help his brother out. Their parents are long dead. Glenn's brother's family need every penny they can get to survive. Now he's dead, they'll struggle.”

For the first time, Ricky hung his head. My stomach twisted itself around even further.

“Then there's the civilians. No way they all got away fine from that. The Sikorsky and the people in it won't be coming back, either. I know LEFT don't show us much consideration, but we shouldn't kill them unless absolutely necessary.”

Ricky mumbled something. I couldn't make it out, but McMorton could.

“I know what I told you, but I thought common sense would stop you doing anything that stupid!”

I couldn't take hearing McMorton's harsh words any more. “Sorry, but is everyone else okay?” I asked tentatively.

A headcount was called. Thirteen were found. With Glenn included, that meant two were missing to make up the squad of 16.

“Where's Rangi?” Lewis asked.

“Is he with the Stig?” Cruz managed to say.

“As a matter of fact...” said a deep voice from behind us all. I turned. It was Rangi, and by his side, the Stig. He was standing, and looked fine.

“Where were you?” McMorton barked.

“I was here all along.” said the Maori.

The Stig said something in Spanish, which Cruz translated. He felt much better, although his memory was very fuzzy. Some good news, at last.

I couldn't help feeling even more guilty now. McMorton had berated Ricky, but I had escaped his wrath. That only made me feel worse. I wish he'd shout at me, too. Somehow, the silence from such an outspoken man was a lot worse.

[SCIAG]

I didn't leave my hammock for several days. Glenn's body was dealt with by the others. When I did get up, Roy filled me in on the past few days.

Ricky hadn't needed to say anything. McMorton had not shouted at him any more, and there had certainly been no hands raised. The whole subject of what had gone on in the shopping centre was a taboo now, and a very strong one at that.

They'd received a telegram from the Hammersmith Blues. They were safe enough. Their HQ had survived the explosion and the falling debris. They'd promptly set up a tent nearby, offering medical support. Nobody suspected a thing. They had created an extra entrance to the underground hideout, as the elevator shaft was broken.

The night before, Oshi had dropped a bombshell. Sicily had declared independence from both Italy and the EU. One of the first acts of the newly created government was to legalise football. The unofficial Genoa Calcio Serie teams had migrated south, and a fully fledged league was running for the first time in decades. Hearing the news, Ryan Di Gaulto had ran off, saying something about his dad. Lucas Volman had followed soon after. Without our Italian contingent, the squad was down to 13, and we had a match the next day. It would be on the south coast, against the Portsmouth Pirates. Their name was almost as cringe worthy as ours.

[SCIAG]

“Prisoner number 81611359, you have a visitor.”

He couldn't see much. The five weeks of pitch blackness had almost blinded him.

“Evening, 81611359.”

He recognised that voice. You know my name, he thought. Why don't you call me by it?

“We have reason to believe your associates were involved in an incident in Hammersmith last week. Did you know of this?”

He thought.

“I knew they'd be in Hammersmith, yes. I didn't know of any planned incidents.”

“Don't be cheeky with me, son. Where will they strike next?”

“I haven't the foggiest.”

His nose broke. It had only just healed from the last time his “visitor” had talked to him.

“Sorry, breaking my nose won't help with my recall. If anything, it will hinder me...”

He took another blow. He felt very groggy.

“You know what would help? Some Lemsip. Preferably blackcurrant, I can't stand the lemon stuff.”

A familiar piece of cold metal pressed against his head.

“Why hello, Mr Colt. How are you doing?”

“I've warned you, 81611359...”

A searing pain spread up his body. It was as thought sharp knives were being forced through his arms.

“It's all a mind trick, isn't it?” he said.

“Of course.”

The knowledge that the agony was fake did not help him overcome it. When he could take it no more, which was a lot less than it sounds, he cried out.

“Portsmouth.”

“Continue.”

“ I don't...”

The pain intensified.

“Edge of the New Forest. Some abandoned factory...”

The pain immediately eased.

There was no word of thanks from either party.

[canvey!!]

The huge animals were known for their fearlessness, but also for their empathy. They felt the panic of the crowd. They were scared too.

Wow, pretty fearless horses .

[SCIAG]

Empathy>all

We'd stolen our way into a delivery lorry, which had got us as far as Southampton. From there, we'd hired bicycles, and had abandoned them on the edge of the New Forest. We'd spent the last few hours continuing on foot. Eventually we came to what had once been a wind turbine factory. Now it was home to the Pirates. It was dark. The lights we off, with good reason. If anyone saw hide or hair of activity in the factory, the police would do a UAV scan, and the Pirates would be detected. The only light was the pinprick coming from the torch Von Billerwagner held.

The door was falling off its hinges. Rangi approached it carefully, moved it open, and stepped inside. He turned around straight away.

“Trap!” he shouted. Then five men leapt onto his back. We all ran for it. One of the men ran at Cruz, but the Mexican threw an elbow, which caught the man square on the face. I looked over my shoulder at Rangi. He was desperately trying to shake his captors off. Then he fell still. He didn't look dead though...

I couldn't help wondering why they didn't have guns. I suppose it would have been too much of a giveaway. Nevertheless, we escaped, minus our massive Maori friend.

We only stopped running once we were well into the New Forest. Roy broke the silence.

“We've been betrayed, we 'ave. So, which of yer is it?” he said. He turned immediately to Ricky.

“I wouldn't do that. You're taking care of me, I would never...” Ricky protested, his lips trembling nervously.

Roy span to face Oshi, who stepped back defensively. Roy gave him a hard stare, and then spun around again. He looked at every single one of us.

McMorton spoke up. “A witch hunt will get you nowhere, Davies. For all we know, the Pirates were betrayed, or seen. Maybe one of the other teams was followed here.”

Roy wouldn't listen. He turned again to face Ricky. I had known Roy for years, and I'd never known him this angry.

“It would explain a lot, it being yer. My Dad always said yer could never trust the Japanese.”

We all fell silent. Roy was fiery at the best of times. Now, he'd had his anger trebled at least. He was turning on his team mates. The wrath of somebody who never knew their mother and saw their father die violently at a young age, is a horrible wrath.

“Yer gonna leave us, right this instant.” Roy said. “If I ever see yer face again, I'll kill yer.”

I knew right then that Ricky had not betrayed us. No actor could have faked the look on his face. However, we were all too scared of Roy to stand up for him. Ricky walked off into the forest. Oshi made to follow him, but stopped. Ricky turned and said something to him in Japanese. I heard the name of their dead friend, Yamasu. Oshi nodded, said a few words, and looked back at the group. Benjas put an arm around him, as Ricky walked away. I could hear Oshi's muffled sobs.

“Lumberjack...” said McMorton, sounding uncharacteristically human. Roy ignored him.

[SCIAG]

As the night started to run west, we arrived back at base. Surprisingly, it wasn't empty. Sat there were both Volman and Di Gaulto. Ryan looked very shaken up. They turned to look at us, Lucas mustering a smile.

“You look like you've had a rough night,” he said. I thought the same could be said of him. Before I could say this though, Roy butted in.

“Ricky betrayed us. They got the Pirates, and Rangi.”

Volman winced. “Ricky betrayed you? I didn't think he was the type.”

Behind Roy's back, the rest of the squad looked at each other shiftily. Volman spotted it, but didn't let on. Dave Lewis broke the awkward silence.

“What about you, then?” he said, in his mild Welsh accent.

Volman and Di Gaulto had arranged to meet at Stansted, which would be less heavily guarded than Heathrow, Gatwick or City, after Ryan had explained everything to his parents. Ryan had gone to his father's bakery in the East End. When he'd got there, nobody had been in. He went around to the back to the living quarters, scrambled over the fence, and knocked on the back door. When nobody answered again, he kicked the door in.

His parents were lying on the dining room table, with gunshot wounds in their chests. Both of their faces bore expressions of absolute horror. Ryan shut their eyes, and muttered a Catholic prayer his father had taught him as a boy. Then he'd seen the man. He'd leapt back, and the assassin had detonated a set of charges. The building had collapsed upon itself. Ryan had just dived clear of the rubble. He'd been injured.

It had no thumb.

Ryan had been sounding increasingly agitated as the story had gone on. He'd nearly broken down completely when he'd mentioned his parents. However, revealing the stump of a thumb on his right hand seemed to hit home the whole story to him.

Volman took over.

“When I realised Ryan had been gone for too long, I took a taxi back to the East End. I asked after the Di Gaulto bakers, and everybody I asked looked at me very strangely. One elderly woman gave me directions. I found the rubble. I saw the three dead bodies. At first I thought Mr Di Gaulto was Ryan, but then he came out from behind me. LEFT were descending, so we made ourselves scarce.”

It dawned on me that the same could have happened to my parents. Nobody else had to worry. None of them lived in London. However, my parents thought I was dead, whereas Ryan's knew all about the Cockney Mafia.

“You don't think...?” I said. I didn't need to finish my sentence.

“No. It was Ricky. 'eck, I bet he even betrayed them!” Roy said firmly.

I didn't point out that Ricky knew nothing about our families.

Suddenly, the whole world started to shake. An ear splitting noise rang out.

“Attention all. This is Commander Buxton of the Law Enforcement Force Team for London. We have an important announcement. This is an order, not a request. Gather today, at high noon, in Trafalgar square, for the hanging of a practising footballer. That is all.”

His booming voice ceased.

[SCIAG]

“It might not be Rangi, you know.” someone suggested.

“It would be a bit of a bloomin' coincidence for one of the other teams to have a player captured within such a short period of time, wouldn't it?” snapped McMorton.

The Gallows had been assembled on Nelson's Column. The plan was to storm it, rescue Rangi, and return safe and well without getting captured. It would almost certainly be futile, but we didn't care. We had to try and help him.

Somebody fired a gun into the air from bellow the gallows. The tent-cum-gazebo assembled to Nelson's left emptied. Three members of LEFT led out a large, handcuffed figure with a sack over his head and his legs chained together. It was undoubtedly Rangi. Another two armed men stood by each side, with four backing him up. He was led up the steps of the gallows, and onto a stool. The sack was taken off, and Rangi's head placed through the noose.

The man who had fired into the air made a speech (using a very retro microphone, I may add) about the dangers of football, and why participation in it was so harshly punished. We edged forwards individually. A voice I vaguely recognised shouted something out. The crowd was slightly restless. Then the man with the gun fired again, and everybody fell deadly silent. I noticed Jeremy near the front of the crowd. He'd be able to breach the fence surrounding the column and gazebo without too much trouble.

The man finished. He placed his foot against the stool Rangi stood on, and held the microphone to Rangi's lips.

“Any last words?” he said. Jeremy braced himself.

Rangi paused. “Yes.”

An age past. Then, that deep Maori voice uttered one final word.