Chapter 10 in the serialisation of the book 'Insurrection' 4th book in the 'Corpalism' series

10

The ultimate measure of a man is not where he stands in moments of comfort, but where he stands at times of challenge and controversy.
Martin Luther King Jr.

He heard the roar of rifle fire on his left and turning slowly, he searched the heaving black mass for the tiny clusters of red coats, men fighting their last ditch struggle for survival. Here and there he spotted desperate men before they were overwhelmed by the black tide.

"Over here, man!" shouted the officer, "be quick about it or you're dead."

He grabbed his rifle and ran over to join what looked like a company of men; he was surprised because it had been years since he'd been able to run anywhere.

"Where's your bloody uniform?" shouted the officer. Alb knew him at once as Captain Younghusband.

Alb looked down at his 'bra and suspenders' apron, his Prince of Wales slacks and comfy slippers, "I...I..." he stammered.

"Grab a rifle and get rid of that....that," started Younghusband, "what is that?"

Alb looked at what he was holding, "It's my DC 48; I was vacuuming."

"Well, get hold of a bloody rifle," snapped Younghusband, "and muck in."

Alb groaned, shaking himself awake. He was slumped in his chair, the Dyson roaring away in his hand.

∞

Mort and Frank had taken up position on one of the benches in the rose garden by the time Nobby and Lenny reached them. Mort had his head back, and was squinting at the sun, a beatific smile on his face.
Frank, one of the tallest inhabitants of the Village, always had a problem with the low benches and had been forced to fold himself stick insect like so that his knees were almost up to his chest. He’d given them a wave of encouragement as they approached.

"We want to talk," said Nobby, a bit breathless from hurrying.

"Who are you?" asked Mort, leaning back further and squinting, the better to see the new arrivals.

Lenny gave him a quick look and turned his attention to Frank, "it's about what Alb and Gerry were on about."

Mort continued to look confused. Nobby inclined his head at him, his face asking a silent question of Frank.

Frank shook his head, "Don’t worry about him; he’s having a senior moment. So, what’re you thinking?"

Nobby was still looking at Mort, not comfortable leaving him out.

"He'll be ok later," said Frank.

"Later's no good," said Lenny, irritated, "we want to talk about it now."

"Well, pull up a pew and we’ll just talk round him; he'll pick it up when he can."

Lenny grabbed hold of one of the other benches, trying unsuccessfully to drag it over. Nobby went over to help and together they half carried, half pushed it a few inches nearer then gave up and sank down gratefully, catching their breath. Frank waited patiently; Mort appeared completely unaware.

"We were just saying,” said Lenny, still puffing, red-faced after the exertion, “maybe Alb and Gerry are right about what this country will be like if someone doesn't do something."

"Is Albie here?" asked Mort.

"What if the Europeans are taking over and we end up speaking German or French?" said Nobby. He’d put his fingers on his wrist, checking his pulse, winded after that unexpected activity, so the question was not put very forcefully.

Mort was shocked out of his vagueness, "I hate the Germans; they killed my mum and sisters."

"That can't happen," Frank’s tone was dismissive, "it won't happen; too big an enterprise."

“What’s all this about the Germans?" snapped Mort, "we won the bloody war, didn’t we?”

"If you'd asked me ten years ago how this country would look today I wouldn't have said multi-cultural.
I’d have said British.” Lenny was surprised at how cross he was becoming.

"English," corrected Nobby.

"And another thing," Lenny continued, working up a lather, pipe forgotten, breakfast a distant memory, "everything on TV is American, their crap food, their bloody sitcoms...."

Frank was quiet, thinking, and then said, "It's changed a lot but it’s all the kids of today know. My grandkids don't know anything about this country or the empire, they just know about what's on TV, in fact I'm pretty sure that they just want to live in America or join the marine corp."

"I like American sitcoms," said Nobby, "and their cop shows." He was immediately on the defensive; his late father being half American.

"Not the point," said Lenny, "this is England, so why aren’t our kids learning about our history, about the things we did, and what our parents and grandparents and great-grandparents did? It's like they want to pretend we're another American state or another piece of Europe."

He fell silent, appalled by the magnitude of what he’d just said. His hand went automatically to his pockets then, pipe in one hand and tobacco in the other, he prepared his smoke.

“You have to ask, where it will all end," said Nobby, chastened. "We'll disappear like the rest of the Empire."

“Is it the end?” Mort asked with bright enthusiasm.
Nobby was in despair. "This chap I know, he's an Aussie...."

"Someone has to be," said Frank, trying to lighten the mood.

Nobby waved his hand, "At least he's not a Bokker... anyway, he says that Australia’s overrun with Asians, soon they'll be in the majority. There’ll be no monarchy, then eh?"

"Bloody hell," said Frank, “is that why they're always going on about being a republic?"

"No, that’s been going on for years, that's all the Irish bastards out there, they're the ones trying to get rid of the Queen," this from Lenny, roused again. He’d served three tours in Northern Ireland and hated the Irish Catholics as much as Mort hated the Germans.

“Anglo Saxons will no longer have a homeland," Nobby went on, "We'll end up like the Jews before they got Israel."

"An’ then there's the Americans," Lenny tossed in.

"What about the Americans?" Nobby was defending again.

"They gave their country away, didn't they," said Lenny, "just think about it, the revolutionaries, what were they called?"

"Patriots," offered Nobby.

"Oh, well, okay," said Lenny, "anyway, when they created the US most of them were British, you know, went over on the Mayflower or some such. But they're not now; it's mostly Germans over there now."

"Eh? How’d you know that?" asked Frank.

"Googled it," said Lenny, a hint of smug in his voice.

"Doodle bug!" said Mort, grabbing hold of Frank’s arm and pulling him, "it was a doodle bug that did for my old mum and sisters."

"Google," Lenny said loudly, passing his smart phone in front of Mort's face, "Google."

"Wow," said Frank, leaning across with his hand out, “do you know how to use it?"

"My son bought it for me," said Lenny, proudly, "I keep in touch with the grandkids, we text..."

"Text?" Frank’s outstretched fingers were twitching.

"Really?" said Nobby, "we could've used one of those in....."

"Never mind that," said Lenny, waving his arms, "look, let me get this up on Google." He fiddled a bit, fiddled some more then said, "Okay, talk amongst yourselves for a bit."

"Let me try," said Nobby reaching out to take it, "I'm really good with this sort of thing,” he added, flexing his hands in anticipation.

"There you go, Americans of British descent, on Wikipedia," said Lenny, he turned it to face them, indicating tiny text and a few photos, "see?"

"See what?" said Nobby peering at the phone, "I can't see anything; the print’s too small."

"I’ll read it to you," said Lenny.

"No, let me read it myself," said Nobby, grabbing the phone.

"Give it back, you don't know how to use it," said Lenny, anxiety levels going through the roof.

"Yes I do," said Nobby staring at the heading, "but it doesn't say anything about the population."

"Scroll down," said Lenny, arms folded, head turned away.

“Scroll on up, scroll on down,” Mort began to sing, discordantly.

"Let me," said Frank taking the phone, "Oh what’s happened? It's changed to something else."

"That's because you touched a link," said Lenny, triumphantly snatching it back, "you have to be careful, need to know what you're doing, here," he showed them the stats he had in mind, "See, US census taken in 2000, Americans of British descent - 36.5 million and Americans of German descent 42.8 million. Point made - if we fought WWII today we’d have no chance of them being on our side."

"That can't be right, surely," said Nobby grabbing the phone, he frowned, seeking but not finding anything to challenge what Lenny had said, "bloody hell, it says here that only 12% of Americans have a British ancestry."

"Exactly," said Lenny, "whereas when they founded America, what was the percentage?"

"I don't know," said Nobby.

"Scroll up, near the top," said Lenny.

"Here give it to me," said Frank, successfully re-capturing the prize, "There, 74% of Americans in 1776 were of British descent."

"So, in the course of two centuries they’ve given their country away to god only knows who. Where does America really stand? And is it the America of the patriots and their original ideals or has it been taken over by the Germans, on the sly?"

"Bloody Germans," snapped Mort, "we should've killed them all."

"They're taking over the whole of Europe," said Frank, "with this economic crisis they're virtually buying up the whole of Southern Europe."

"It's what they always wanted," said Lenny, "They weren't good enough to conquer us by force so they're taking over countries as their economies fail."

"Like with Greece."

"Like with Greece," agreed Lenny, although he didn't actually know what Germany was doing in Greece.

"And with Italy," said Frank.

"And Italy," agreed Lenny and Nobby.

"Bloody Germans," hissed Mort.
 
Cheers

Arun








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