Magic Granddad ~ Part 2 of 3

Magic Granddad ~ Part 2

By Len Morgan

Jack was the first awake, he yawned and stretched.   He felt a bit stiff.   The carpet wasn't hard but the floor beneath it was.   The sleeping bag was snug and warm, and he didn't really want to get out, but he could hear somebody or something rummaging around in the next room and his curiosity was piqued.

“Who do you think it is?” asked Tina echoing his thoughts.

Jack turned towards her, and saw her face peeking out from the hood of her sleeping bag, she looked just like an animated Russian doll; the type that has one small doll inside another, inside another…  He smiled with amusement.

“It’s probably Scruffy, Granddad's border terrier,” he answered after a moments thought.

“Let’s go and have a look,” she said on impulse, shedding her sleeping bag like a cocoon.

Jack stood up, unzipping his bag from the inside.   As the two halves separated Tina chuckled loudly.  

“It looks just like a banana skin with you inside it as the banana,” she yelled.

“You got to the green one first, I didn’t get a choice, it was yellow or nothing,” he said defensively.   “Maybe we could swap tonight?” he said hopefully.

“Let’s go find out who it is,” said Tina dodging the question.

They padded barefoot into the hall.   They could see the end room door was ajar, and they clearly heard the noises coming from within.

“What are you doing Granddad?” Jack asked politely.

“I’m looking for some film to put in my camera.”

“Why don’t you look in the magic cabinet that Mum told us about?” Tina asked helpfully.

“That was just a story,” Jack sneered scornfully.

“That’s where you’re wrong clever clogs,” said Steve.   “As it happens, that’s a very good idea Tina, and that’s exactly what we will do!   Back to your rooms and get dressed, and I’ll race you – OUCH!” he hopped on one leg holding his big toe…   “Kicked the f#*@lipping door jamb!” he cursed.

The twins spasmed with laughter.  

“Tut-tut!   language Granddad,” Jack admonished him, with a waggling finger just like Dad.

“Not in front of the children,” Tina snickered, mimicking Mum.

“Excuse my French!” said Steve, seeing the funny side of it.

“What’s all that noise?” Karen asked in a sleepy voice.

“We’re off to the magic cabinet, to get some film for Granddad's camera,” Tina replied, pulling on her shoes. 

“Are you coming Mum?”

“No thanks' Jack, I think I’ll settle for putting the kettle on and starting the breakfast; our things will be arriving today.   Hot buttered toast and marmalade with hot sweet coffee, MMM!” she disappeared into the bathroom.

“I win!” Steve yelled taking the stairs two at a time…

“That’s not fair!” the twins complained bounding down after him, “We were ready, but Mum was talking to us!”

“Tough!   You lose,” he laughed and tousled their hair.

“Where’s the magic cabinet?” asked Jack.

“It’s in my shed, at the bottom of the garden, follow me.”  He led the way, with Scruffy yapping at his heels; he wasn’t going to miss out. 

They charged across the lawn like a herd of wild buffalo.

.-…-.

“Tch, tch, tch,” clucked Mrs Williams at No. 49, shaking her head.   “Barking mad that man,” she said to herself in mock disapproval, “nothing but trouble.   Always was, even when we were at school, he was always instigating trouble.”   She’d always secretly envied his free spirit and refusal to grow old gracefully; he always did as he pleased.    Even when her best friend Esther – Steve's wife - was alive he would still be off gallivanting here and there.   She recalled with a rare smile, Esther used to say; ‘He’ll grow up one of these days’, but of course, he never did.   She wiped away tears, from beneath her eyes, where had the years gone?   She missed Esther and their endless chats.

“Morning Joan, these are my grand children, Jack and Tina, do you feel like coming out to play?” he asked grinning from ear to ear.

He’s seen me she thought, and cocked her snook at him, turning away from the window, too quickly.   “Why do I always do that!” she said angrily, “why do I let him get to me?”   Truth was she’d love to say yes!   But it’s not the done thing for the secretary of the Women’s Institute.   She shook her head sadly, “not the thing at all.”

She’d been lonely, since George passed over, despite her many activities.

“My biscuits!” She cried aloud, sensing disaster with the quivering tip of her nose.

.-...-.

“Now then, let me see.   Where did I put that shed key?”   Steve searched through his pockets in vain. 

 “Ah I remember, Tina has it!”

“I do not?” she said indignantly.  Reaching behind her ear he produced a brass key.  

“Would you mind opening it for me Jack?   I’m all fingers and thumbs today.”

Jack too k the key and fumbled with the lock ‘CLICK’.   “There you are Granddad,” he said.

Steve turned the light on, and they viewed his cluttered workshop.  There were cabinets, cupboards, tables and workbenches, but his tools hung neatly in racks all around three walls.   There were lengths of wood, sheets of metal, metal tubes and plastic pipes in bins.   There was even an assortment of wheels in various sizes.   The floor was covered in sawdust and shavings.   The grimy windows were covered with whitewash.   Not the sort of place Karen would want her children to play in.

“These tools are not toys,” Steve warned them.   “They can be dangerous if you don’t use them properly.   Don’t touch anything before asking.   If you have any questions you want to ask, about anything, I will give you an answer if I can.

Tina looked uncertain, “which one is the magic cabinet,” she asked?

“This one!” said Jack at once, his hand resting on its metal handle.

“No, this is it,” said Tina with equal certainty placing her hand on a small white wood cabinet with a strangely carved handle in the shape of a blackbird.   It was 3ft x 2ft x 1ft and stood on a bench all on its own.   Carefully, she took hold of the handle and turned it, then pulled, then pushed it.   Nothing happened.   Tina turned and tugged, a little harder, then very hard, but still, nothing happened.

“Did you use the magic knock, and ask politely for what you want, using the magic word?” Steve asked.

“You didn’t tell us we had to do that,” said Tina shaking her head.

“That’s why they are secret!” he whispered.

“So are we going to do it or talk about it?” Jack asked impatiently.

“Well…”

“Oh please Granddad, do show us,” she pleaded.   “CAN WE HAVE SOME FILM FOR GRANDDAD's CAMERA – PLEASE!” she asked.

“That, was the magic word, now for the knock,”:

 Tap ta-ta tap tap,

Then from nowhere came the response:  

Tap tap,

 Slowly, and silently the cabinet slid open.   Their eyes went wide with surprise, for inside were three rolls of 35mm film.   Tina removed them reverently from the cabinet and Steve loaded one into his camera.

“Can we wish for something else now?” asked Jack.

“Such as?” Steve asked.

“I would like a ‘Gold Cross’ pram for ‘Linda blue eyes,” said Tina hopefully.

“I’d like a pair of skates,” said Jack.

“That is a shame because you’ll both have to wait, the cabinet is getting old, and only grants one wish a day now, and it only provides things that will fit inside it!”

“So tomorrow, we can ask for a pair of skates each?” asked Jack with a cheeky grin.

“Oh yes please,” Tina added, “but what will Mum say?”

“Leave your mother to me,” said Steve firmly.

.-…-.

They returned the following day and made their wish…

“What are they?”  Tina asked wrinkling her nose at the smell.  Steve smiled in amusement “what you have there are two pairs of skate…”

“Skate?” said Jack in disgust.   “Who asked for fish?  Definitely not me!” 

“What use are fish to us anyway?” Tina added turning away.

“I- I’m sorry,” he stammered, “but that’s how magic works sometimes…” he tried to explain “You have to be specific.   Ask for exactly what you want!   Two pairs of TYCHO roller skates one size 9 the other size 11, with adjuster keys…”

“Thank you for explaining Granddad, but what will we do with these.  Can we send them back?”

“Shhh!    You may confuse it, or worse still hurt its feelings, it is only a cabinet after all.   I think it would be better if we simply accepted gratefully,” he said removing the fish and closing the cabinet door.   “Why don’t you ask your mother?”

.-…-.

“Well,” said Mum rubbing her nose, “we could always fry them in batter, and have them for dinner with salt, vinegar, and chips?”   She turned, giving her father a withering stare.

“It wasn’t my fault Karen!” he pleaded defensively.   “They weren’t specific…”

He shrugged, holding his arms out in supplication, “you know magic, Karen…”

“I know you!” she answered sharply, and then she broke into a smile.   “So it’s fish and chips for lunch – compliments of Jack and Tina?”

“Yea!” They yelled, their disappointment forgotten.

.-...-.

“So!  Tomorrow you start school at Felton Primary; are you excited?” He asked, drying the last of the breakfast things.   Their faces confirmed what he already knew.   “We have three rolls of film and a lovely day.   Why don’t we take some photographs?   I have an idea; if I can get the right shots we could make use of them at the weekend.”

“That’s a nice thought,” said Karen, “I’ve always fancied myself as a model.”

The twins laughed as she paraded up and down in her apron.

“We could take some in the house and some in the garden…” said Tina.

“Some in the car and I’d like everyone to pose for a close-up portrait.”

Steve shot a roll of film, then the twins shot a roll – several involving sleeping bags, and scruffy.

“Just one roll left,” said Mum.

“Let’s go to the park,” Jack suggested.

“Yes, we could take some on the swings, and the slide.”

.-…-.

At twelve o’clock, they handed their films in at a shop in the High street.

“That will be £4.50, and your photos will be ready for collection in one hour, thank you for using WONDER SNAPPS,” said the cheerful young woman behind the counter.

.-…-.

  They went into a Café Steve called ‘the greasy spoon’.   Mum had egg-chips-beans-bread & butter, and a mug of tea.   The twins had burgers and chips, with frostie cola. 

 “I’ll have the all-day breakfast with black pudding, button mushrooms, and a nice cool glass of cow juice,” Steve said.

“He means milk,” Karen whispered as Tina opened her mouth to ask.

Later, they sat outside the library, laughing at their pictures.   Tina particularly liked one of scruffy begging for titbits.

Steve selected the five best portraits, and while Mum and the twins registered, for library membership, he took them to the photocopier and made A4 enlargements.   Later, he visited the art shop and made several purchases, but would not reveal what he was up too.   “It’ll be a surprise,” he said mysteriously.

That night, while the twins were tucked up tight in their beds, Steve’s shed light was on into the early hours.   

.-…-.

 “Mum says, breakfast is ready and, your eggs will go hard.”

“Coming!” he said pulling on his clothes.   He could hear scruffy and the twins dashing down the stairs. 

“You lose…” he heard Tina call.  

He smiled; the old house had certainly come alive again since their arrival.   He hadn’t felt this happy in over five years.   Not since… ‘If only she could see them’ he thought, smiling again, yet his eyes had filled with tears.

.-…-.

 Steve sat at the table, sipping his second cup of tea, reading the paper.

“Haven’t you finished reading that old newspaper yet Granddad?”  Tina asked impatiently.

“Just let me finish this paragraph,” He smiled, he couldn’t contain his amusement.   “Alright, alright,” he said putting it down “come on then, down to the shed, and I’ll reveal my surprise.”  

“Yes!” They yelled in triumph.   Scruffy followed yapping excitedly, with the twins close behind.

“Can I come too?”   Karen called from the kitchen door.

“No!”  the twins said in unison.

“Yes, of course, join the party,” said Steve over his shoulder.   “Ok!   Who’s got the key?” he asked accusingly.

“Me!”  Jack said.

“Me!”  Tina giggled.

“Yap, rar, rar, yap,” added Scruffy as Karen arrived breathless.

“Give me the key woman.”   He demanded, plucking it from behind her ear.

“Here Tina, it’s your turn to open it,” he said glancing towards the kitchen window of number 49, Joan smiled and waved at them, Steve and Jack waved back.

“We must ask Joan over for Sunday lunch,” said Karen, reading his mind.

“That would be nice,” said Steve with a twinkle in his eye.

Tina pushed open the door and switched on the light.

“Wow!”  Jack gasped.

“That’s me!” Tina exclaimed.

“They’re brilliant dad. You’ve obviously been working very hard.”

On the facing wall, were two life-size portraits one of Jack and one of Tina.

“You didn’t tell us you’re an Artist,” Jack said in awe.

“You didn’t ask,” said Steve flattered.   “But really, I simply know some effective methods of getting a likeness onto paper, that doesn’t make me an Artist.   I’ll show you how it’s done then you can judge for yourself.”

“Do you think we could?” asked Tina.

“I’ll tell you what!   You can do portraits of your Mum and me.   If I can do it, I’m sure that you and Jack can do at least as well.” He answered with confidence.

“I thought you threw away all your art stuff when Mum died,” said Karen.

“No, I just put it away for better times.   Times I thought would never come again,” he added quietly.   “There are two easels; I’ve taped a sheet of watercolour paper to each, with a piece of carbon copy paper, over it, and one of the photocopies I made at the library on top of that.   All you need to do is draw the outline of the main features – head, shoulders, ears, eyes, nose, lips hairline and any clothing.”   He watched as they followed his instructions.   “Now remove the copy and carbon paper…”

“That’s great!” Jack enthused.  

“I’ve mixed flesh tints, and all the other colours are on your pallet,” he explained.   For shadows, you mix a tiny dab of blue with the flesh colours, and a little white for the highlights.  Don’t forget to wash your brushes before changing colours, or the paint will get muddy,” he demonstrated.  “Use the colour photos, I’ve taped to the side of your board, for comparison when you’re mixing colours,” as they started work he took Karen’s arm, I think we can go back to the house now and let these two Artists get on with their work.   Call us when you’re finished or if you need any help.   Don’t rush, take your time and do a good job.   It took me two hours to paint each of your portraits.”

.-…-.

Both Steve and Karen liked their portraits.   All four pictures were hung in the dining room so they could be seen and admired by friends and family alike.   The twin's work, of course, had pride of place on the mantel shelf.

during the following week, the twins became secretive.   They requested, and were given access to the shed but, when asked what they were doing they simply said: “It’s a secret!”

Steve was aware that they had been searching the house for something, but they wouldn’t say what.   He spied them talking to Joan Williams at No.49, but when he approached them they just clammed up.   Later, when he made polite enquiries of Joan she smiled and told him to mind his own business.

Karen knew they had raided their money boxes, and assumed it was to buy each other a birthday present.   They asked her permission to go out with Joan after school on Friday, explaining that it was personal and she wasn’t welcome.

“Would you like Ice Cream Sundae’s tonight?” Steve asked.

“Better not,” Jack replied, “we’ve got a lot of work to do…”

“A school project,” he enquired.

“Yes a project,” Tina answered.

“Will it take long,” Steve asked, “only I need to use the shed for a project of my own at the weekend.”

“Tomorrow,” said Jack.   Then, they wolfed down their tea and dashed out to the shed.

“What are they up to?” Karen asked.

Steve shrugged “they said it was important and a surprise.”

“Don’t you think we should take a peek?”

“Do you want to tell them we don’t trust them?” Steve replied.

“Just a little peek…   They are only seven…”

“Best not,” he said “trust is a double-edged sword, they have earned our trust, and we have to respect their wishes.   Besides, Joan wouldn’t get involved in anything underhand; she’s secretary of the Women’s Institute don't you know?”

To be continued/...

Flamingo Podnyalsya Ch 12b

Flamingo Podnyalsya Ch 12b

By Phil Miller

Admiral Stark and Major Singha had re-joined the rest of the war cabinet. “Update please. Any reaction from Moscow, Iran or Beijing?” he asked, focusing in on a region of the Pacific Ocean, just off Japan, “None, Sir! Local Chinese media are reporting the blast as some kind of chemical factory explosion,” replied a senior officer.

Major Singha tapped his headpiece to receive an incoming call. “Sir! We have scoped a call from agent Donyevsky’s phone. Different SIM but  IMEI verified and VR confirmed the caller ID as special ops agent Cody Wright”. Major Singha stood up abruptly, knocking his coffee to the floor in the process, “get that number up on the board and get it traced. I want a drone and G-force on them, double quick. No way they could have gotten Donyevsky’s phone; they would have to kill him first. If we are quick, there may still be time.”

Moby had been hunting the Russian Archangel-M2 for three months and had stealthily tracked it into the murky depths of the Pacific Ring Of Fire, just above the lines of the Kamchatka and Kuril Trench. The crew were at battle stations and although it was the pride of the Russian naval fleet, it was still no match for the ultra hi-tech, hi-spec allied master of destruction that was, MOBY.  She had  been fitted with the most advanced weapons and sonar system known to man, the only negative being that it was noisier than the Russian diesel electric 040AX which made it easier to locate in a theatre of war.  

Both nuclear vessels were manned by highly focused professionals, but Captain Terence Morgan was confident they had the edge.

He had carried out many tours around the oceans and seas of the world and, to the Captain, the crew were his family, the sea his home and MOBY, his pride and joy.

He was lost in thoughts of nostalgia and retirement; this was his last tour. He thought of all the people he had served and who had served under him, all the families he had known and all the weddings and funerals he had attended and the medals he had received and awarded. He had achieved much, considering his humble beginnings; orphaned and rescued from a Romanian orphanage, aged just 11 months; adopted by a wealthy and childless American Industrialist.

He began to get dressed. An immaculate uniform lay neatly on his bed. It was time to address the men. He was a tad displeased at the crease in his shirt but pulled it on anyway. As the call came through from the bridge he checked himself one last time in the mirror. He smiled to himself but couldn’t help noticing a small red vein pulsating under his left eye. It felt itchy, so he scratched it slightly, which caused it to pulsate more frequently, the irritation working its way into his right eye. He began to twitch and his vision blurred. He blinked to clear them, but the movement of his eyelids felt like molten metal. His eyes started to weep blood as he staggered back, falling to the floor, the strength leaving his body as he lay, staring up at the ceiling. His body felt like it was being eaten alive by an army of fire ants, his hands tearing and clawing at his eyes, face and neck. The shock sent him into cardiac arrest. It was just the beginning of the end for the Captain as his body burst into hundreds of rashes which expanded and burst, releasing jets of black blood around the room. Five minutes later he was dead.

The Allied Command Centre was a hive of activity as operations swung into action. The order was given for Carrier Strike Group Sword 1, headed by the multi-billion pound 120,000 tonne aircraft carrier, HMS Regina Ignis, to attack

Trojan 3 had been loaded onto an Israeli F-35I, in full escort with 116^th squadron, as satellites confirmed the mobilisation of the Islamic Republic of Iran Army (Artesh).

Admiral Stark was being briefed minute by minute.

“Sir.”

“Yes!”

“Sir, Moby is dead in the water, sir!”

“What?”

“Sir, Russian forces are reporting that they have destroyed an allied submarine along the Kamchatka line. We are awaiting visual, sir.”

John Stark was incredulous. “That’s impossible. What the hell happened?  I want eyes on screen 1,” he loosened his tie and popped the top button of his shirt. Time seemed to stand still for all personnel as they visually confirmed a mass of floating debris.

“Sir,” the President is on line, sir!”

The Admiral had been joined by other high-ranking members of the joint chiefs of staff. All were speechless, staring at each other, or at their laptops. Most watching the events unfolding on the large screens around the Command Centre, when comms dropped completely. The entire system seemed to have collapsed, again.

“Forget the President!” screamed John Stark. “Jesus! What’s going on? Wait! Matrix must still be alive. It must be her,” he grabbed at a desk phone- completely dead; mobile phone- power but no signal.

“Someone get me a bloody working phone, now,” he yelled at the top of his voice.

All personnel checked their communications devices; all dead. Panic started to set in. They were blind to the world. Voices rose in frustration, confusion and anger. After 10 minutes a unanimous sigh of relief emanated almost instantaneously from all present, along with cheering, laughter and clapping when their giant TV screens and monitors flickered back to life. Stunned silence followed.

The Russian president and Chinese Prime Minister stood, side by side, on all visual displays. They spoke in their own languages with subtitles, in English, provided along the bottom of the screens.

“We, the Joint Eastern Communist Party have taken control of all Western Intelligence Networks Data centres (WIND’s). All national infrastructure networks within The United Kingdom and America are under our control. Electrical grids, metro and underground, hospitals and clinics are out of action. Your trading floors cannot trade and your planes cannot fly. Thank you for ghosting our prestigious Russian Super Data Centre. We could not have achieved this without your help. Please observe the following link.” A small box appeared in the corner of the transmission which showed the small patch quilted island that could only be England. An unmanned aircraft zoomed in to a small section of land in Essex and two people holding each other tight.

Admiral Stark and Major Singha, along with the entire staff at Command Centre were frozen to the spot, waiting, watching, gripped with fear and trepidation.

The narrative continued, “We have control of HADES. Please observe that he is almost at complete contagion phase. We have the ability to stop it. We have the ability to activate it. We shall demonstrate”.

The drone moved in closer. “I think they have us, Cody. No more running,” he said, resignedly.

He pulled away from Cody, holding her at arm’s length. What felt like a bolt of lightning shot through his body, his muscles tensed in reflex. Cody jumped back as he began to scratch at his head, vigorously, then tore off his clothing and fell to the floor. Red and black patches appeared all over his body. They began to expand and join up, giving the impression they were about to burst, when suddenly, they reduced in size and formed into small rashes, before turning a light pinkish colour, blending in with the pigment of his skin. Cody felt compelled to help, but moved further away.

WIND’s transmission continued. If you don’t want to be responsible for the death of approximately 70 million people, then we request your immediate surrender.”

There was a pause in the transmission, before what seemed like a screensaver, filled every viewing platform. There was a sharp intake of breath as several small identical silver objects appeared within a mass of black.  The Russian president gave the order. Yassarevitch obeyed. It was over in the blink of an eye; all Western SSAD’s exploded instantly. Many at the Allied Command Centre gasped in horror, some collapsed to their knees. Major Navin Singha clutched at his chest, a deathly pale grey washed down his face. Admiral John Stark, visibly shaken, retired to his office, locking his door behind him. He opened a desk drawer and loaded his Beretta 92SB.

Cody ran. She ran for her life, as Craig lay motionless in the dirt. A huge bio-lab relocation vehicle pulled up alongside him and four men jumped out, kitted with full biological protective suits and breathing apparatus. A robotic stretcher, guided by one of the soldiers, moved swiftly over the ground as a hydraulic boom winch positioned itself for the lift. Cody watched from the safety of the woods as Craig’s body was dropped onto the stretcher and into an isolation chamber at the rear of the lorry. She held her hand over her mouth to muffle her scream, the tears flowing uncontrollably.

In a moment, he was gone. She fell to her knees and sobbed. She was alone. After a few minutes, she wiped her nose on her sleeve and blinked back the tears.  She had no one to turn to and almost jumped out of her skin when the phone vibrated in her pocket. KC had left a message:

“MAKE YOUR WAY TO GOATSMOOR LANE, BRENTWOOD.

STOP BY THE OLD WHITE TREE STUMP. I WILL COME AND GET YOU.

IT’S NOT OVER, KC.”

Cody relaxed slightly. Although the future looked very bleak, KC’s presence gave her hope. She moved further into the woods. The sun was almost directly above her, so she knew which direction to take through the mass of dense woodland and scrub; just a few miles more.

Her stomach began to rumble. The cramps were getting worse. She felt a twinge in her gut and unzipped her HV suit. She felt a slight burning sensation and looked down at her stomach. A small gastropod like lens extruded from her umbilicus, surrounded by a black rash which appeared, bubbled up and then vanished.

Copyright Phillip Miller

Flamingo Podnyalsya Ch 12a

Flamingo Podnyalsya Ch 12a

By Phil Miller

The lower ranks of the Okhrana, the military wing of the New Russian Imperialists, were dragged from their beds, grabbed as they left local bars and restaurants, or torn from their families.  Some were shot where they stood, along with their kin, or knifed to death the old fashioned way, with a bayonet, then shot, just for good measure.  The higher echelons of the unlucky political revolutionaries, however, were taken to the old dungeons located below the new Government Building in the old town of Aksay, Rostov Oblast, where further interrogation would be needed to filter out any more disciples of democracy, well away from the Capital; away from the Kremlin.

The R.D.D.C was full. The president of Russia was in conference with the leader of the Central Committee of the Communist Party of China. The wait had been long and often humiliating, for both countries, but now the Bear and the Dragon were fully prepared. This was going to be a different kind of war; a war without attrition; a war they must win.

Colonel Yassarevitch sat and waited for the order. He thought about his top secret-service agent’s that had fallen, and those yet to fall, in the line of duty. They would all be remembered and honoured. Their family names would go down in the history books of the Motherland for a millennium. It was time for a new world order.

The huge advancement of S.W.A.R.M through the Asia Pacific meant that, effectively, China was trapped. Any launch towards the West would be suicide. There was room for only one superpower on this beautiful blue planet. The United States of America was, and always will be, that superpower, thought Admiral John Stark, as he sat, along with his joint chiefs of staff, his fingers tapping gently to Whistling Dixy; he didn’t much like music but this old song popped into his head. He received a call via WEBCON; all systems go! All eyes were on him.

“Gentlemen! Okhrana has been lost. You know what to do. We are at strike phase. I want Trojans one and two activated immediately. Be ready to initiate Trojan three. We have lost Flamingo for the moment, but we are in pursuit. Let us hope we find him before our enemy does. The annexation of Estonia and Latvia are underway with reports of mercenary activity along the Polish and Lithuanian borders. The Chinese are primed to attack Taiwan. ICBM’s are imminent. The Iranian threat will diminish within the next thirty minutes. The President of the United States of America is to address congress and the world. We are at war gentlemen, so, to your stations. Major Singha! Come with me please”, said the Admiral as he swiftly moved towards Control Observation Room 1.

The bomb proof unit was almost insignificant at a mere ten square metres. A small photo of a regular-sized family unit sat on the desk with two large star-spangled banners hung from poles that were fixed to the wall, directly behind. The Admiral sat down and offered a seat to Major Singha, who promptly accepted.    

“Our networks and all communication systems are back online, up and running, along with S.S.A.D’s. All systems have now been switched and are good to go. We are back on track Navin,” he said as he placed his hand's palms down on his desk. A small spectrogram flipped up in front of him, with the heads of each allied country in conference. Countdown had begun; in thirty minutes, the world would be set on fire.

The Major looked bewildered. He knew that this day would come but he was hoping that Russia would implode first, with the help of Flamingo. At least then, they would have a chance. Fighting on two fronts had proved to be the downfall of many an empire. Alas, that was not to be. He looked sternly at John Stark. “Sir! If they find him before we do, then….” he swallowed hard, blinking at the thought.

“I know!” said the Admiral, “I think we both need a stiff drink. Do the honours, my friend.”    

Journalists around the globe waited with bated breath as the most powerful man in the world prepared himself. He stood, surrounded by American Secret Service agents, within The White House pre-briefing room. He never once dreamed that his ascension to office two years earlier would culminate with a call to arms, and declaration of war.

“Mr President, Sir! We are ready,” said a smartly dressed woman, iPad-Pro in hand, headset on.

As he took a deep breath, he read the twitter feed on the screen above the entry to the media room. Huge explosions had been reported at both Parchin and Beijing, with satellite pictures offering a glimpse of mushrooming white, grey-green clouds of gas in both arenas that were expanding exponentially. The President looked over at his vice president and nodded solemnly as he made his way to the teleprompter and the world’s press, who seemed to be salivating at the prospect of carnage and destruction.

“People of America, Our friends. To all those who cherish democracy and freedom. To those who love their country and their families and who believe in justice and the rule of law. To those who cherish our way of life. To those who want to protect our way of life. We face a tyranny from the East unlike any seen before. Prepare yourselves. Our forces have been attacked in the Pacific. We are at war.”

Kayse Matrix was sweating profusely. She was still extremely vexed after her fortress was breached by G-force and still found it hard to believe that Donyevsky could kill his own men in such a cold, calculated manner. She never knew when or how she would be able to repay him but she would think of something. The night was drawing in at The Old Bunker in Goats lane woods; her final refuge. KC was still unsure whether or not she could trust him, but they needed him, especially now the viral attack on the command centre had finally been thwarted, which meant two things; she had lost control of Craig Burnett, and the countdown had begun. The world needed to see the real threat; she could show them. Come on Craig! Where the hell are you?

She set up her mobile satcom and waited for a signal but needed a sugar fix, so made her way back up the wooden stairs of the concealed entrance. There was not much else in her backpack but half a dozen bars of fruit and nut, a litre of Tango and a large bag of Jelly Babies; should keep me going for about an hour, “Ok! Back to work”, she said to herself, the sweat from the exertion of five minutes physical activity obvious through her bright green XXXXL Nirvana T-shirt. 

There was no way she could hack into the United States DoD again. She could, however, still cause a few problems. She reached for her laptop and plugged in an external hard drive. Something had been niggling away at the back of her mind for days: the calculations for the Pico cells; her virus.

 She almost threw up on the spot, when her re-analysis of the data proved her theory.

Craig and Cody had made their way by foot to an industrial concrete mixing depot. The site was fully lit with warnings of guard dogs and 24-hour security; nothing they couldn’t handle.  He took out the Huawei phone they had retrieved from the dead body of Peter Donyevsky and dialled KC’s number, but no answer. He sat, staring at the phone, before trying again. Still no answer. He threw the phone to Cody.

“Keep trying. We have to get through to her. She is our only hope. I don’t know what else to do.” He sat down next to Cody who was protecting her broken thumb.

“Let me see that again.”

“I think it’s broke. I need to get a splint.”

“Let me see”, he grunted forcefully, “I think it’s just dislocated,” he held her hand gently.

“No, it’s broken. I can feel it,” she winced as Craig moved it very carefully.

“I’m going to re-set.”

“You try and I will bloody kill…..aaargh!” she screamed in agony as he pulled it back into place. Craig picked up the phone and dialled again. This time it connected.

“KC, I’m with Cody. I can’t believe you’re alive. Donyevsky told me you ……..”

KC spat out a mouthful of chocolate and bluey-0range goo onto a small metal plate. “Craig! Thank God! Where are you? Is he there with you? It’s Ok! I told him everything. He’s cool, he’s going to...”

Craig cut in abruptly, “he’s dead.”

There was a long pause before KC replied in a measured tone “Craig, listen to me, HADES is using you like a parasite.”

“What do you mean?” replied Craig, sharply.

“Are you still, itching? I mean has it gotten much worse?"

“Yeah! driving me nuts. I’ve started to come out in some kind of rash as well. Not sure I’m going mad or not, but I swear it’s almost like it is alive, moving around.”

“Listen Craig, you and Cody need to find a place. We don’t have long, put Cody on, quickly,” he turned to look at her, concern etched on his face and handed over the phone.

“I found an anomaly within the Synthgen data.  I think the picocells have the ability to mutate, learn and develop independently.  You have to find a deep hole somewhere.  Do you understand?”

KC raised her voice, which was unusual for her, “Listen. You need to bury him, Cody. You have to end it. I’m sorry,” the line went dead.

“Come on Cody, we need to get out of here,” he tugged at her arm.

“Wait, I need to…. think a minute,” her head was spinning.

“What did she say?” 

She put her arms around Craig and held him tight for a few minutes. It felt good, it felt real.

Copyright Phillip Miller

Adult Literacy ~ 2013

Adult Literacy  ~  2013

Comments by Len Morgan

   I had an idea to create a series of stories that could be read by both an adult and a young person.  These stories are all set in earlier times so that the adult could relate his/her experiences of that period and explain things that no longer exist - such as phone cards, film camera's, I Love Lucy, and Jodrell Bank Observatory etc.   The adult gets valuable reading experience, and interaction through various activities, whilst the young person gets a lesson in recent history, (within living memory) and a valuable opportunity to share in new activities with a parent or grandparent.

 The stories I've written so far are:

The Waxwell Rd Mob, Charlie’s Boys, Hikkaba, Spark'l, and Magic Granddad. 

The 1st part of Magic Granddad follows below.

Note:

I failed to sell the idea as a viable money-spinner.   But, if anybody would like to try the experience for themselves, feel free...

Len 2020