27 Serialisation of the book 'Uprising' 1st book in the 'Corpalism' series - by Arun D Ellis

Liberty Valance


In the part of this universe that we know
there is great injustice,
And often the good suffer, and often the wicked prosper,
And one hardly knows which of those is the more annoying.

Bertrand Russell


Jimmy waited opposite the ‘Lord Nelson’, a pub frequented by local coppers and their informants; he’d been waiting 20 minutes and was already fairly ticked off when Paddy and Brendan finally appeared at the end of the street with about twenty other blokes.

“About time,” said Jimmy when they reached him, “where the fuck you been?”

“It took a little longer than we thought,” said Paddy.

“Where’s Sean?” asked Jimmy.

“Well, that’s why it took a little longer,” said Paddy, “he’s gone and got himself arrested.”

“What the fuck?” moaned Jimmy, “how? I thought you were looking after him, Brendan.”

“It wasn’t my fault,” said Brendan.

“You know what he’s like, Jimmy,” said Paddy, “he got wound up, saw a couple of coppers, went berserk and attacked ‘em.”

“An’ you just left him?”

“Nothin’ we could do,” said Paddy, “there were two van loads of pigs round the corner, they were on him in seconds, and if we’d tangled with them then we wouldn’t be here now.”

“Oh fuck it, he’ll have to sweat it inside for a couple of days then… come on, let’s get this thing started.” As they strode across the street pick axe handles and strong sticks appeared from nowhere. “Come on lads!” screamed Jimmy as he burst in the door and started swinging left and right. Within 10 minutes they’d trashed the place and run off, leaving a few battered coppers behind; disappointingly the pub had been virtually empty.

Later that night they smashed up 3 mini-markets and a pawn shop.

∞

The following day ten police vans pulled up around the ‘Lord Nelson’ depositing a hundred coppers on the streets. They went from door to door looking for witnesses but none were forthcoming.

Back at the station Sgt Smith pored over several hours of CCTV footage finally identifying unequivocally Jimmy, Brendan and Paddy O’Connell. Five minutes later thirty police piled into three of the vans and shot round to where the O’Connells lived.

“They’re here,” said Brendan.

“Good,” said Terry, “Everyone in place and tooled up?”

“Oh, we’re ready,” said Jimmy, “we’re ready alright.”

“Pay back,” said Paddy, “you gotta love payback.”

The police abandoned their vans and bee lined for the O’Connell house. As soon as they stepped onto his path Jimmy opened the front door, he had a fog horn in his right hand.

“Right,” said the lead copper, “you come along now.”

“Fuck you!” shouted Jimmy as he blasted on the horn.

At the signal scores of young men, all wearing some form of makeshift helmet appeared from surrounding houses, from alleyways, from behind hedges and parked cars, materializing like ants from a disturbed nest. They all carried improvised weapons; 2 ft lengths of wood, the ubiquitous pick axe handles, a few old baseball bats and they were all shouting.

The coppers froze not knowing which way to turn.

The youths smashed into the police and started to beat them mercilessly whilst others trashed the vans. One particularly enterprising youth smashed off a petrol cap and shoved in a length of material. The struck match produced an instant ribbon of flame indicating an accelerant and an unprecedented level of planning. The cops tried to fight back but they were easily overwhelmed. The vans were sacrificed in their flight; a headlong race back the way they had come, followed at a safe distance by their baying attackers.

∞

Sgt Smith banged on the Superintendent’s door and entered without waiting for permission.

“What the bloody hell do you think you’re doing Sergeant?”

“There’s a riot in one of the sinks sir,” said Sgt. Smith.

“Where?” demanded the Super.

“Sector 155,” said Sgt. Smith.

The Super examined his wall map, “Whose sector is that?”

“Donald Coogan’s sir,”

“Didn’t we get a warning?” demanded the Super.

“No sir.”

“Well, where is he?”

“He’s been off the map for months, now sir,” said Smith, “we’ve searched high and low.”

“Don’t be facetious, Smith,” said the Super.

“Seriously sir,” said Sgt. Smith, “he hasn’t been seen since those specials took him away.”

“Well, that shouldn’t have been a problem, should it?”

“Not that we can think of sir,” said Smith, “Donald’s always been reliable in the past, one of our best, I’d say.”

“Well he’s not now,” said the Super, “Do we have any numbers?”

“Maybe as many as 100; it’s hard to get definite Intel”.

“Okay,” said the Super, “well break out the riot squad and close this thing down now.”

“Sir,” said Sgt. Smith, “do you want any of the uniform boys in on this?”

“Not yet,” said the Super, “hopefully we can keep it contained.”

∞

Jimmy peered out of the window; he counted three Guardian Armoureds and six vans which meant there was probably something in the region of a hundred coppers out there, heavily kitted out in full riot gear.

“Now what?” asked Eric.

“Now we go fuck with ‘em,” said Paddy.

Eric nodded but he was clearly shaken by it all.

Five minutes later 200 youths were parading in front of the police, screaming abuse, hurling rocks, sticks and bottles at the police line.

“Is this it?” said Sgt. Dick Carter, “we’ll turn the hoses on these little shit heads and have the whole deal wrapped up by lunch.” He signaled the water cannon forward.

“Time to bring in the others,” said Terry.

Jimmy nodded and Paddy lit a flare, handmade with Terry’s help, surprised when it shot into the air and exploded.

Three streets away, behind the police line Brendan gave the signal and 300 hundred more youths ran forward, silent save for thudding feet, weaving through this alleyway and that street until they came out right behind the police. Ten minutes later the riot squad was retreating in disorder, minus three Guardians, six vans and one water cannon .

∞

Sgt Smith knocked quickly on Superintendent Travers’ door and entered, again without waiting.

“What is it?”

“The riot squad is in retreat sir,” said Sgt. Smith.

“What do you mean ‘in retreat’?”

“They’ve been overrun,” said Sgt. Smith, “and they’ve lost ‘Nellie 1’, the water cannon, sir.”

“Shit,” said the Super rubbing his brow with his palm, “okay sergeant; get as many uniforms as you can out there ASAP.

“Sir,” said Sgt. Smith,” Full riot gear sir?”

“Yes.”

Smith turned to leave, and then remembered, “Ah sir,”

“Yes?”

“We’re getting reports of similar disturbances in other sectors.”

“Anything official?” asked the Super.

“Nothing as yet sir,” said Sgt. Smith.

“Okay, well find out, I want to know how big this thing really is.”

∞

“Well, do we think this is real?” asked Bill.

He, Ken, John, Mark, and Gary were seated round the table in the station canteen.

“I don’t know,” said Gary, “they all seemed pretty intense about it to me, but whether it’s something they can do or not, I don’t know.”

“I feel the same,” said John, “I just don’t think there’s enough of them or that they can have any effect on things.”

“You’re right,” said Ken, “we’re better off just ignoring them, let things play out.”

“Right, then, if they achieve what they claim, we can always switch sides,” said Gary.

“Switching sides isn’t always easy,” said Mark, “besides I don’t like to do that sort of thing.”

“Well it’s not going to happen, is it?” said Gary.

“No way,” said Ken, “these fuckers couldn’t even organize a piss up in a...”

“Brewery,” said John, “I bloody hope not, that’s all.”

“They can’t,” said Mark.

Just then the station alarm went off and the Duty sergeant ran into the canteen, “ALL RIGHT EVERYONE!” he shouted, “RIOTING IN THE SINKS, GET YOUR GEAR ON AND GET YOUR ARSES OUT INTO THE PARKING LOT ASAP…MOVE!”

“Shit,” said John.

“Fuckin’ ‘ell,” hissed Gary, “what do we do?”

“We get into our kit and go down there;” said Bill, “a few twats rioting aren’t going to change the world.”

∞

Four hours later fifteen districts in Boro were in uproar, rioters running amok with random fires everywhere, smashed police vans and police cars; Boro was now a mini war zone.

The Chief Constable sat at the head of the emergency meeting. It took them just 15 minutes to agree that the situation was now out of their control and that it should be escalated to the Home Office.

∞

Ken sat in the curb and held a fist full of bandages to his bleeding head, around him were twenty of his comrades, sitting, crouching, all shocked, their riot gear scattered everywhere. It was getting dark and the burning vehicles gave off a warm red and yellow flame. Bill staggered over to where Ken sat and collapsed next to him.

“You alright?” he asked.

Ken nodded, slowly.

“I don’t know how big it's going to get but they look bloody well organized.”

“You can say that again,” said Ken, “I wouldn’t have thought it possible.”

“You seen any of the others?”

“Yeah, Gary was taken to hospital half hour ago,” said Ken, moving the mass of blood soaked bandages, “shit, I need more of these.”

“What’s up with him?” asked Bill.

“Burns,” said Ken, “he got hit full on by a Molotov.”

“Shit… and John, Mark?”

“Nothin’ on either of them.” said Ken, “Dunno, Bill… these fuckers ain’t messing around, they’re playing for keeps.”

“Wait until the army gets here,” said Bill, “then we’ll see some heads crack.”

Ken leant over, “Word is… there’s a unit just 30 miles down the road.”

“What?”

“Yeah, apparently they’ve been there training for the past 6 months,” said Ken, “for just such an event.”

“How’d they know?” asked Bill.

“How’d they ever know,” said Ken, “the informers?”

“Yeah,” said Bill, “bet they’re all in on it.”

“Well, maybe not all of them,” said Ken.




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