Gross Britain
Chapter 1
Hundreds of the Faithful made their way into the big new Watford Mosque for Friday afternoon prayers, minds set on paying homage to Allah the Almighty, the One and Only God.
There was a loud explosion in front of the main entrance. A hail of metal fragments tore through the fragile flesh of scores of men. Dozens fell to the ground mortally wounded; some killed instantly, others moaning with their last breath on earth. A severed head lay next to a lonely arm, as if conversing with it. A young boy's dead eyes stared at the sky, asking why?
As others rushed to the aid of their wounded fellow worshippers, a salvo of gunfire erupted from the top deck of a passing double decker bus, smiting those charitable souls. More bodies littered the mosque's forecourt; more screams and moans issued from the throats of the dying.
Not far from one of the wounded, Major Mike Jambu spoke into his lapel microphone.
"Thumbs, get after the bus, pick me up on the way."
Thumbs Green gunned the engine of the Range Rover, shot across the square, and slowed down momentarily to pick up Mike on the run. He aimed the vehicle up the quiet side street in pursuit of the bus. There was very little traffic in this street prior to the evening rush, and the Rover was soon doing 120kph, while weaving slightly to avoid what traffic there was.
The double decker had a few minutes start, and was no longer in sight. Thumbs hoped it had stayed on the curving street without turning off. His passengers checked the side streets as they shot past them. So far no sign of the bus.
"Okay everybody," said Mike Jambu. "You know the drill. Windows open, door catches off. Don't wait for the bastards to shoot first, fire at will."
There were four others in the Rover besides Mike and Thumbs, all of them heavily armed. They had been about to divest themselves of most of their weapons and join the Faithful, when the bomb had gone off. All except Thumbs could easily mingle with the mosque's devotees without attracting attention, and two of them were in fact practicing Moslems.
Chief Petty Officer Raja Jalana glanced at Sergeant Angie Patel.
"You're the sniper Angie, wing if possible, we want information, not corpses."
"Roger that," said the large well-built Indian in the left rear seat.
Sergeants Kandy Singh and Eddie Harkono crouched inside the open-windowed tailgate, ready to shoot or jump out as required.
The street curved to the left, so Thumbs could see less than 200 metres ahead. Traffic was light, and moved over for the speeding Range Rover's siren and flashing lights. He caught sight of the bus on a straighter section before it again disappeared round the next curve. By the time they sited it once more, the double decker was less than a hundred metres ahead. As the gap closed, a hail of smallarms fire erupted from the top deck. This was soon accompanied by the more solid sounds of a 0.5 inch machine gun, whose snout appeared through the glassless upper rear window.
Thumbs Green immediately zig-zagged the Rover in an irregular pattern across the street. This made accurate shooting more difficult for his passengers. But they didn't complain, because it also made it harder for the bandits to hit them.
Make Jambu had already called for armed police backup. As the range slowly closed, the smallarms fire from the bus stopped, leaving only the heavy machine gun spitting its messengers of death. Several of its bullets passed diagonally through the rear of the Rover's roof, but nobody was hurt - yet. Angie Patel promptly sat on the tailgate, aiming his rifle over the roof, on the doubtful premise that lightning seldom strikes the same place twice.
The bus screeched to a halt alongside a parked Ford Transit van. Six men wearing ski masks ran from bus to van, shooting wildly at the Rover as they went. At that moment the heavy machine-gunner stood up from his weapon in order to follow his mates. Wrong move; Angie was already aiming at his position, and he received a bullet in his right shoulder, shattering bone and muscle. Before the shock could set in, he was downstairs and onto the road; where he promptly collected another of Angie's bullets in his left thigh. This one knocked him down.
One of his companions jumped from the van to help, and was rewarded for his Good Samaritan act by another of Angie's bullets in his buttocks. The bandits pulled him back into the Transit, which immediately sped off, leaving their 2-bullet mate lying on the road. Angie managed to put another 3 rounds through the rear windows, before it disappeared up a side street.
Mike Jambu radioed the name of the side street to the armed police squad, which sped to intercept, as Thumbs stopped the Rover not too close to the casualty. He was barely conscious, and offered no resistance. A quick inspection of his wounds showed them to be serious, but not immediately life-threatening. This was promising, since Mike Jambu would like a word in this gentleman's ear before he was handed over to a doctor. On second thoughts he'd best leave that to the experts. The bandit's clothing was slit, antibiotic powder and pressure dressings applied, and a light dose of morphine administered on the back seat of the Range Rover.
A small crowd of spectators began to gather, and Mike told Thumbs to get moving before the cavalry arrived. With the back seat occupied by their prisoner, the seating arrangements became more intimate.
"I always fancied you anyway, Duckie," said Eddie Harkono, sitting on Kandy Singh's lap in the front passenger seat.
Angie Patel and Raja Jalana were behind the back seat, while Mike Jambu had one buttock perched on the cushion, next to the prisoner's feet. Mike gave Thumbs directions to the MI5 'Guest House' near Stanmore, and the Rover was there within half an hour.
At the gate in the high stone wall, the three security guards had been forewarned, and delayed them for no more than a couple of minutes. During this time they gave the vehicle and occupants a quick and efficient once over with some High Tech gear; and some not so High tech, in the shape of a shaving mirror on the end of a bent stick to check underneath.
The prisoner was left in the care of MI5's ex-police psychiatrists. These people were very good at penetrating suspects' defences - much better at it than any of the operatives. Mike Jambu therefore had no reservations about handing him over, before heading back to base. Mike's boss Iain Brodie would be informed as soon the gunman cracked.
Copyright (c)2002 Doug Remington. All rights reserved.