Invasion (46 page)

Dearest Brother,

I hope you and the family are well. At last we have been given a few days leave, so I thought I would write and tell you of some of the things I have seen during my time here in England. No doubt you’ve seen much of it on the news back home but I know you’d want to see it from a soldier’s eye.

I should start by
saying that the months
of training, the secrecy and
the enforced absences were all worth it; the drop over London
was one of the most exciting things I have ever done. The jump
itself lasted only a few seconds because we came in so low, but to drift down
over one of the most famous cities in the world, to see it blacked out from horizon to horizon, was a surreal experience. My platoon was the first into Downing
Street, into the heart of the enemy, and the destruction was unbelievable; praise to the martyrs for their sacrifice. We exchanged fire with some British troops later that night but suffered no losses, as their numbers were few and they had little ammunition. We took many prisoners in the first twenty-four
hours.

You know of General Mousa, of course. Soon after we arrived in London he ordered us west, in helicopters this time, to attack a strong point in a place called the Mendip Hills. There
was much fighting in the area and we lost several of our company. You remember my friend Rashid, from Mosul? He was killed by a British mortar round during the fighting and
his
loss was a real blow to us all. Such a funny
guy, always joking. We’ve missed him
a lot since then. To make
things worse we later discovered that
the operation was an unauthorised one and the General has been relieved of his command, which was regrettable because we’d all grown to respect him.
He was a tough man, but fair.

Since that operation the fighting has more or less stopped. We’ve been told the British have fled to the north and have dug in all along the Scottish border. They’re preparing for a fight, which is good. Maybe
we’ll get to jump
again, into Scotland, behind their lines. As for our own forces, we’ve pushed as far north as Newcastle and Carlisle, which is about twenty
kilometres from the border (funny
names, I know. Look them up on a map). For now we’re keeping our distance, which is a mistake in my opinion. In the meantime, we’ve been ordered to hold and secure our positions. No one knows why, but the only thing we do know
is that we’ve turned from soldiers into policemen.

The
daytime
curfew in London
has been lifted and people are now venturing out onto the streets. Many
of our Brothers and Sisters have turned out to greet us and there has been much
celebration across the city. Arabian
flags are flying from buildings and rooftops and it is a wonderful sight. I hear this is going on around other parts of the country and across Europe
too. Have you seen much of it? The only thing being transmitted on the TV
stations
here are information
messages, and all internet and telecoms links
are still shut down
so we’re in the dark most of the time.

As for
the Infidels, they are sullen
and
angry. You
can see it in their faces, when they queue at the standpipes for water, or when they pass us on the street. Their
eyes are downcast, but I do not believe they
have accepted defeat yet. There
have been one or two violent
incidents
and
several rebels were publicly
hanged
in Hyde Park just last week, although I think
these punishments may only strengthen their resolve. I’ll be glad when we go operational again, get us off these dirty streets.

The
good news is many
British Brothers have joined our ranks as auxiliaries, manning
roadblocks
and policing their own communities, which has taken the burden off us a little. Many
more have been helping to put out the fires around the city, some of which
have been burning
for weeks. A huge building near St. Pauls collapsed a few days ago, killing over a hundred
people, and
we’ve
seen a couple of plane
crash sites too, the biggest one in Trafalgar Square, an airbus. The square was obliterated and Nelson’s Column
was lying across the
street in pieces. Someone had already taken off the head, a souvenir no doubt. But don’t worry, little brother, I’ve kept a couple of things for you too.

Bodies
are a real problem. When
we find a Muslim
victim they’re handed over to the burial teams for internment
according to custom. All the rest are loaded into
trucks and dumped in pits outside the city. I’ve also heard there’s an incinerator working around the clock somewhere in east London
which wouldn’t
surprise me, considering the amount
of corpses we’ve seen.

We were posted for a week
to Wembley Stadium where a reception centre had been
set up. It really is a magnificent
sight and it reminded me of all the matches we watched together at home. Couldn’t
see the pitch though, as the grass had been covered with
crates of supplies and other equipment. We used loudspeakers and leaflets in the area and the local population turned out in their thousands, queuing right around the outside of the stadium. In exchange for personal registration and an Arabian
ID card they
were given
access to food stamps and medical care. Many
of them
were a real mess, while others had brought their dead with them, wrapped in sheets and plastic rubbish bags. Things must’ve been desperate in the early days. Still, no desperate than those in Baghdad or Kabul, when the Crusaders invaded, am I right little brother? In any case, I had little sympathy
for them.

Gas and
electricity supplies are still scarce, but the water’s back on line and repairs are being carried out by forced labour gangs, Infidel prisoners and suchlike. From what I’ve heard they’re the lucky ones, but I’ll get to that in a minute.

The only
other action we’ve seen was the riot in Brixton,
a slum
district in south London. Apparently the invasion triggered a huge uprising
there and the main
street was burned to the ground. By the
time
the
first Arabian
forces got there hundreds
had been killed,
and
gangs were still shooting
each other across the
whole
area. We were bussed in from central London
a few days later. By that time the gangs had been pushed back into a row of tower blocks and
surrounded
with
armour. We spent
a couple of days getting
civilians out of there and picking off the Kuffar with sniper fire, but they continued to fight, mostly with each other. We couldn’t believe it. Rashid
would’ve laughed at their stupidity. Anyway, the local commanders were keen to crush the uprising. They said it could sow the seeds of rebellion around the country and had to be stopped quickly. At that point we all thought we’d be tied up for days in house to house fighting, but the local command
wanted to end the stalemate quickly so they came up with another solution.

On day three, just before dawn, everyone was ordered to withdraw
from their positions. Me and a couple of other guys were manning
an observation post in an apartment block opposite the estate when we got word, so we bugged out very quietly and pulled back to a point five hundred metres from our original position. Then
we were told to take cover. A few minutes later, an air force transport flew
over and
dropped something. I must admit, when I first saw it floating down under a big white parachute I thought they were dropping supplies
or something. Then I realised, and we scrambled behind a tank
that had reversed behind
a row of garages. Have
you
ever seen a MOAB bomb
go off? Search
for it on ArabNet
and take a look. It’s a thirty thousand-pound
airburst
bomb.

The detonation was so loud, the ground shook so hard, that I thought the end had come. Even
the tank rattled like a toy. It seemed to last for ages, and when the noise finally died down
all you
could hear were dogs barking and car alarms going off (well, the ones that weren’t burned
out anyway). Then we
were ordered back
to our positions. Every window in our observation post had been blown out. In fact, every window
I could see. And the tower blocks? Gone, my brother. Vanished, vaporised, call it what you will. Just gone. When the dust settled, all that was left were huge mountains
of rubble, every building flattened like pita bread.

Some
survived the detonation, though. They looked like ghosts
because they were covered in head to toe in white
dust and they
staggered all over the place. It was funny to watch them. Only
a few made it out and that night the bulldozers came in. It took another two days but, by the time we got the order to withdraw, the roads had been cleared and the rubble piled high. The
smell was getting very bad though, so it was a relief to leave. Since then there’s been no trouble.

I guess that’s
because so many
men and
much
equipment
has
arrived since June. Civilian
transport is banned and the streets are busy with
trucks and jeeps, with APCs and tanks at some of the more sensitive locations. Every
plane and helicopter in the skies is one of ours, every ship at anchor offloading Arabian
supplies. If there was any doubt that England is now ours, that doubt has been laid to rest. The
rest of Europe, we are told, has already fallen.

Remember
the ‘lucky
ones’ I mentioned
earlier? I got talking
to a guy recently, a military
cop, just arrived
in London. He’d been
here in England
from the beginning and had seen quite a lot of action, mostly
around the city of Birmingham
to the north. Shortly after the British fled, his unit was tasked with administering to the prisoners, not POWs but the ones in England’s gaols. It was a tough and gruesome job by his account.

Some
prisons had been abandoned by the staff and many
prisoners had died of thirst and malnutrition.
Other
prisons were destroyed, the rioters making
off and leaving a trail of corpses in their wake. Those that
remained
were processed and formed into work groups to clear roads around the cities or remove bodies. As I said before, those were the lucky ones.

Of the thousands
of prisoners taken
into Arabian
custody, many had committed appalling crimes: murder, rape, child abuse,
drug
trafficking. A decision was taken at the highest level, the cop told me. These men – and some women – were separated from the common criminals
and bound in chains, along with the criminally
insane
from
secure hospitals. The cop was there when
they were transported to the east coast, thousands of them, and loaded onto a giant
freighter that
put to sea after dark. Thirty
kilometres off the coast, the engines were cut and the crew, plus the cop and
his escort team,
climbed down onto a waiting navy boat. Ten minutes
later and two kilometres away a button was pressed and an explosion ripped out the hull of the freighter.

He watched it go down. He said it sounded
awful,
the
screech of metal
as the
vessel nosed beneath the sea, but not as bad as the screams of those
still
aboard. He said he could
hear
them
as their
cries echoed
across the water. He said the sound would haunt him forever.

Anyway, it’s good to know
that we’ve rid ourselves of such animals. As for the other prisoners, the soldiers and policemen we’ve captured, they’re also being ferried to ports on the south coast. They’re headed back east to be processed, so I suppose you will see them before I do. Their fate will be a lot kinder, I’m sure.

So now we wait, little brother. The hope is we will head north soon, and prepare for the assault on Scotland that must surely come. Right
now the curfew sirens are sounding across the city, so I must
finish
up and prepare for tonight’s patrol. I will write you again, when time allows and I have more news. I hope this letter finds you well. Give my love to mother and father, tell them not to worry and tell them, Insha Allah, I will see them again.