Incident Report: Black Vicar

Incident Report: ‘Black Vicar’

Author/Log Entrant: Corporal Fox, Christian

Callsign: Alpha-24

SMU/Unit: 22nd Special Air Service (United Kingdom)

Date: 17APR2014

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I, Corporal Christian Fox, confirm myself as a patrol lead of 24th troop, Kilo Squadron of the 22nd Special Air Service. The following is an account of my awareness leading up to the incident. I do swear the contents of this document contain my credible and true accounts of the house raid in Hounslow, London, codenamed “Black Vicar”. I promise to, per orders, give a debrief on myself for “credible psyche evaluation of actions made on target”, and promise to be as forthcoming as possible within the investigation addressed by her Majesty’s MI5. Likewise I am also aware that per my “disclosure of professional silence” upon entry into special air, I will never speak about this incident and any publication will be done per the discretion of the United Kingdom’s ministry of defense- likely when I am dead.

I cannot however promise to exclude my homeland language, so if I am to receive a disciplinary action for such conduct… all investigating parties may send such paperwork at [christian.fox@mod.uk](mailto:christian.fox@mod.uk).

That is professional speak for go away and fuck off, because for all intents and purposes, we were sent into a fuckin’ carfuffle, and I suspect our majesty’s finest intel feartie’s hung us out to dry…

To make my career summary up until the last 40 hours short: I’m from Skye, Scotland. I joined the kingdom’s army in 2007 because I wanted to “fight the good fight”, or more specifically my nan ragged about me staying out of trouble and enlisting was the only way to put my few skills to good use. After braving the training and earning the title of Infantry, I was sent on temporary stationing to Panjshir, a regular old tour to Afghanistan from late ‘07 to ‘08. I was a member of a gun team, I was good at it- fuckin’ loved it, if I could keep the pay, I’d stay behind an L7A2 for the rest of my life. Sadly that wasn’t in the cards, when I got back, I sneakily submitted a selection packet for special air. It was cheeky and my command didn’t like it…. to be honest I was an ARAB (Arrogant Regular Army Bastard).

To hell with them… with recent experience and youth, I was brought in. Nearly every member of my class creamed in like a bunch of bines through assessment, but I didn’t. Scots are durable like worn mallets. Towards the end of ‘08 I ended up passing and returned to good old Afghan’ as a blade for the 22nd SAS. Thank mother mary for that, no more fuckin’ about with blunties, I would invest the next 5 years from then on as an operator within the regiment and a few more tours to that god forsaken sandbox. There were some mishaps, a few birl trips on the gold coast, but one thing you need to learn about special air’s lineage is we’re a bunch of fucked bastards… but when it’s time to lock in? We lock in.

There’s a century of recent history to prove this.

I made corporal shortly last year, traded my heavy gun for a patrol lead position, which… I’ll be truthful it was disappointing, it quickly became my new drug of choice. “New” is just joking, for the special investigators reading this. SAS are highly mobile, highly operating machines that not only need to be able to make sound, absolute judgement but do so in split second decisions at high speeds. That’s not an exaggeration… the train up saw me have to make dime sized shots over a hostage’s shoulder. Shit’s fuckin’ mental but eventually it became ordinary, welcome to the regiment, there’s a reason we helped birth what the Americans now call “Delta”.

Alright enough feeding me own vanity.

Heading into this raid was a little tuckin’ in period, we get them after rotating back from theater. Even then it’s all about getting out, range time, prep time, I mean shit some days it’s a big old drag but we learned to enjoy it and I dragged my patrol mates out every time. We have fun, especially when it comes to close quarter battle. There’s nae a fighting man likes more than a bit of CQB. A lot of times on back rotate we end up training with the grey boys, “CTSFO”, they’re the anti terror unit that ends up being the muscle when it comes to things here at home. On occasion we assist them with operations, well… fair enough, more than an occasion; “a regular occurrence” as the badge would say. Policing here is some numpty shit, much of law enforcement is unarmed. When shit kicks off? Armed units come in, meaning it’s a regular occurrence to be relaxing, suddenly get text, toss your kit on and hop in a cramped van.

Such as with this shit, though a little more deliberate… like, there I was a few short nights ago attempting some clean press at patch gym. Suddenly? Entire fuckin’ troop is being called in for a huddle up… pissed me off, was about to get 3 plates aside. Anyways the rise of terror lead to many planned operations, not a regular thing but it’s not uncommon for the UK. We get out asses back to our unit AO, got our shit right, and we were set in for a debrief… our Troop Commander, Captain Kaleb Stirling, front and center. Clean cut, hair like a fuckin’ war hero, like braw glass, pure dead brilliant officer. Point of this sit down is to lay out the intent of the hit, and the events leading up to it for more clarity. Something you learn coming from cannon fodder to trooper is 22nd members aren’t just skilled pipehitters, we’re artisans of this, critical thinkers, all that shit.

Presentation began on a fancy old touch screen on the wall, laying out all the information… if only we knew this was barely the fuckin’ surface of this shit. Anyways… Intent of the mission was to help spearhead a raid on a house, theorized to be the hub of a human trafficking network nestled all nice in the beautiful slum of Hounslow, west London. I’ll be frank… I’ve shot at a lot of gawdy fuckheads throughout my career, islamists, pirates, traffickers are the scum of this earth. No, legitimately, shit is modern slavery… boils my blood everytime, contains some cathartic release when it’s all said and the rounds are let loose.

Speculation of this cells existence came from when shady wire transfers were tracked bouncing from a bank account located in Switzerland to a priest registered for Western London. The name of the roach was Joseph Newman and truth be told, he lived a pretty unsuspecting life. He was born and raised in the London area, barely ever left with only a few trips to Manchester. Imagine… anyways, devout catholic, been a priest for the same chapel for 30 years. The kirk he works at also has some extensive programs to help places spiking on the crime index, like Hounslow itself, where Newman lives. It includes what Americans would consider “AA”, drug rehabilitation that seems them work with the infrastructure based out of Portugal, even sending people off on anti-narcan vacays, religious spiritualism and mindfulness. It wasn’t until a few weeks prior to this that Newman appeared as any regular individual…

Why? No idea, maybe it was slightly too larger than normal, maybe it crossed a European visa or some shit. That was beyond us, what is pertinent is the investigation goes further by backtracking the source. The Swiss will never bend or break, so MI5 gets involved and heads the case. Eventually they find a series of one off phones used by Newman to contact individuals from the original sender company based out of eastern Europe and one west Europe: Romania, Netherlands, Latvia, Hungary. All holding companies that deal in international shipping, transit, church coordination and communication- all of which have ties that deal with the Euro human cattle scene, you wouldn’t notice unless you know where to look, and Interpol is too busy gnawing their own ass. The all expense paid for trips to portugal, which has Europe’s best rehab system? Donations and grants from a biomed firm in Latvia, which has one of the dirtiest police admins in the baltics. Often times the planes end up going through Amsterdam or sometimes companies based out of Romania that provides a sizable amount of short range cargo vessels for Europe.

See the trails? We did, psychotic little parasite veins.

There’s a surveillance camera or drone for every 11 people in the UK. Fuck big brother, but in this case, thank big brother. This allowed the ministry to immediately start to track not only those frequenting the chapel now but all those who have. The address officially listed to the donations and charity is “Manchester health”, a nonprofit that no one’s heard off and has been registered for 7 years. The address being a side building next to the chapel; it’s a shack, power running 24/7, with the only purpose being a group meeting every sunday at 2100 hours.

Afterwards they all disperse… you wouldn’t know unless you were tracking every single little fucker coming out of those, but they all end up back at the residence of Joseph Newman within 32 hours. Different patterns, sleep schedules, life events, yet it all ends the same, front or back entrance like insects to a hive. The kicker? The same people never leave the house at the same time, digital tracking has a total of 71 persons having entered the premises with only 19 having left. Only registered occupants being Joseph Newman and 2 others that also work at the church who have less on them.

Even more so was the kicker: “Last attempt at a quiet approach ended with an infiltrator embedded by the MI5 and police ministry was making good headway. Upon her entry into the building… she disappeared. Complete radio silence despite it being a very literal change as soon as she seemingly entered the house….” the captain would go on to show the exact moment on surveillance, along with showing the dead cut in transmissions and cellular links.

Somehow one of those spooks just drops off the map? This meant the house had some mad fuckin’ electronic warfare jamming going on, years above what we had, or… I don’t fucking know.

Paranoia boiled at the bottom of my stomach like toxic broth.

3 floors, shitty blue color with white roof tiles, tucked between several other multiflats on any old street. Like any little old house… You ever wonder why these trafficking scandals happen all at once? This shit… entire vertebrae of networks being pulled out like you deroot a motherfucker of a weed? This is what it looks like: Hidden, professionally so- layered with monotony so you’re only focused on the mad shit. Embedded in an area with plenty of other suspect individuals, but in such a way you wouldn’t suspect it… Why were the transfers different? A miscalculation? Luck.

Doesn’t matter, we were being tasked the fuck out.

Captain Stirling took a step back, sculpted jaw bastard immediately digging into his can of dip and feeding himself a log. “Lucky bastard” is all I thought, mine ran out earlier that morning. The MI5 lass who was providing the information stepped front and center; “Are there any questions at this time? Any clarification for the task ahead?”. I looked around, troop-head was eyeing us like a hawk, other senior-ish lad tasked to handle this with me was Corporal Rowan Knight. Welsh fuck, sitting on the other side sipping a can of goth juice. He asked; “Expected resistance on target? We know if they’ve sourced any weapons?”.

She half turned back to the aerial display of Black Vicar; “We’ve estimated that at the very least 3 armed suspects on target, Joseph Newman himself, along with his two other leading occupants Katie Foster and Sarah Booth…”. To this Stirling took the lead for a second and tapped the stack of papers on his desk, we all looked to the ones passed around intermittently. “Sarah Booth was a case worker for the Camden Town public schools district for 8 years before dropping her career without ceremony and taking up nonprofit religious philanthropy…” he said that last few words like they were a terminal disease. I noticed something though, something about the other lass that had my eyebrows raising like the fuckin’ Glasgow debt ceiling right as he spoke: “Katie Foster is former MI5 intelligence…”.

There was a pause in silence, he stared daggers at all of us as I took a small check around the room and inquired; “Is… there anything else on that front? Why’s a former agent in a cult?”. That’s when that fuckin’ briefing lady stepped up again; “-Her records are sealed, the information contained within is not pertinent to this operations. All you need to know is she is no longer with the organization. We have no definite clarification on amount of weapons sourced, all we can say is proceeding with caution is a must”.

Wow. Very fucking enlightening.

My only inquiry into the intel side of things was, “Do we have any information on what the inside is like? Layout, positioning, where Newman might be posted up at when we make entry”. Usually for raids we would train extensively on the geometry of the house, remember how I said we’re artisans at this? Not an exaggeration, some movies that showcase it are pretty spot on, a little watered down if I’m being honest. That being said, with more hasty ventures… all we can do is absorb what we know.

She switched a tab, giving us an idea: It was a rectangular design, northside was the entrance, southside included the large open back lot they have with those blocks with a basement entry. East side of the house had stairs that ran all the way up, rooms circled around each stairwell… that meant every single flight would be zeroed in on if they were more than “three weapons”.

Terrific.

Initial surveillance of the building showed curtains were always drawn, done so with old world blinds and decorations to where you’d think it’s any other place. This also presented the risk that we didn’t know who exactly was in there, what was immediately inside, and what we were walking into. Though we were also a couple of months fresh out of the box, the 22nd’s lineage were a bunch of absolute rowdy fucks.

Though on ops like this… an air of caution, though the blood in our veins was pure fury.

The CTSFO mates pulled their weight as they ensured all the roads going in and out were cordoned, they’d also be providing some overwatch from a few commandeered rooftops and helping with rear security- that just left us as the hammer against the steel wall. Though to be honest it also meant they were going to handle all the riff raff, if and when rounds were let loose someone needed to keep those fuckers indoors instead of sticking their gumdrops out into the cold morning. Due to the expedited approach, we hoped in a couple of our 4x4s, kit strapped with shooters between our legs as we rolled through nighttime London in tinted windows.

With some of our troopers tasked out, advising, on leave, that left Captain Stirling himself overseeing the operation; Knight would be leading Charlie-element and would handle the front of the building and making entry there, I would be manning Alpha-element and approaching from the rear garden. With our vehicles staged we all climbed in, I checked the ATAK mounted to the front of my desk as we got coordinates and a live feed of the drone. Black world with a white ISR glow as they looked for any peekers, the amount of fuckin’ strobes around told me CTSFO had every centimeter of that AO locked down.

My lead patrol was climbing in, a bunch of meathead scots and south country fucks all squeezing into an undersized car bought with someone’s first pension. I felt really bad for my shield guy, sitting just behind me I could feel his knees being squeezed. “Fox… this is fuckin’ rubbish” is what I heard behind the 50lb wall. “Yeah, glaze it and suck on it-” I said, silencing them as radio checks came in.

[“Alpha-24, this is main, radio check”] Stirling came through the radio, I squeezed my push to talk; [“Alpha-24, *Lima Charlie*”].

Soon after Knight answered; [“-Main this is Charlie-24, *Lima Charlie*”].

I made sure my shit was square, I remember changing the little bad keeping my radio’s push to talk snug to my front plate. Strapped on my little wrist planner, it’s this laminated thing that goes just below one of your gloves, keeps information on hand without having to dig out a book or shine the ATAK’s light everywhere. I’d had it since my first days in regiment, it was worn to fuck but still held up. Came in useful that night…

A few minutes of us settling in, engine of that shitty vic rumbling as all we could see were the tail lights in front. Stirling’s orders cracked my headset to life; [“Main to 24-Elements, SP to staging point, time now”]. I knocked the underside of my fist on the top of the car, looking to my driver “time to go”.

We kicked off, before I knew it one of my rat fuck patrol members secured the radio and “*Call Me Maybe” by Carly Rae Jepsen* was playing. There was a pause, caught between managing all of the variables and then that shit… I turned my head back; “Fuckin’ really?”.

The cavalier humor we shared was short lived as before I knew it, we were pulled up alongside a line of dead houses. All of us dismounting, flipping our night vision down as the dual tubes illuminated the world around in a blue and white hue. Per unit guidelines since we were out in public, all of us were running some sort of face cover or scar. I ran a one hole balaclava, dress for tonight was a dark navy blue, our Troop’s fit for raid operations was a call back to our lineal brothers from the century prior.

We got ourselves oriented and maneuvered; [“Alpha-24 to main, approaching back gangway and maneuvering on Black Vicar”]. My two patrols passed CTSFO as they secured the roads and the mouth of the alley, the night was clear, apart from the sounds of some dogs barking, not a fuckin’ sound which was odd for London on a weekend.

I mean shit it was only fuckin *2250 hours.*

Regardless we moved in a staggered column keeping eyes on our front, the gates we passed, the void like windows of each and every structure as we carefully moved through. It all felt too much like the box, maybe we were just high strung… then again, what awaited us proved all of our paranoia right- even if I hid it deep down below my pride and anger.

Apart from the periodic lamp overhead, our night vision carried us through the patches of darkness as we approached the target building. The wall was a combination of towering old brick layered with hedge and vines, meaning peeking over wasn’t an option. An old slat gate greeted us, one of my patrols pushed forward as the second hung back, we covered down on both sides as our lasers kept watch of every possible angle.

My tone was hushed and clear; [“Alpha-24 to Main, reached back entry point, preppin’ for breach”].

Knight kept us updated; [“Charlie-24 to Main, nearing front entrance…”].

I inspected the lock; turn bolt on the other side at the top, simple pull bar… a padlock on the outside facing us. That tripped me up… why the fuck did they lock it from the outside? This is their safehouse, why the fuck were they installing locks on their rear that an outside component would need to-... I shook it off, whatever it was, it was a job for intelligence later. Maybe if I was a little wiser… at the time, it didn’t matter. I signaled for one of the troopers to prep their cutters, I saw to using an old tool to flip up the bolt on the other side…

A single cut, the lock snaps and fall to the paved stone of the ground, one patrol pulls the door open as the other and myself flows in; [“Alpha-24 to Main, moving on the rear garden, approaching south side of the structure”].

The thing was like a damn nature preserve, garden plants and bushes grown so high they were like walls, forcing us to awkwardly pie around and clear through dead space areas. The fuckin’ ominous nature of this shit was being nagged at by my brain, but tactical instincts took precedent. All around statues of mother mary, crosses, symbols of Christianity dotted that shit to a level of saturation, I could genuinely believe this shit was run by a priest… hell I thought this put most churches to shame. Though I guess in this case, demons cloak themselves in cloth of divinity. -Or some shit like that.

We carefully and quietly cleared the shed, with the rear garden clear we maneuvered on the building itself. Large windows lined the entire ground floor back wall, a single door to the right, a stairwell down for a basement. I motioned one of the patrols to sweep down the steps and inspect the basement door while myself and the other kept watch on the ground floor. I flipped one of my tubes to the side ever so slightly, allowing myself to get a bit of natural light… through all of the curtains and cloth, I could see it: bright yellow light coming from within.

[“Alpha-24 to Main, signs of life spotted, light coming from the southside windows”]. Stirling responded: [“Roger Alpha-24, what is the status of the cellar entry point?”].

I gazed down at the shadowy silhouettes of my boys as they stood in that cramped stone stairwell: [“Alpha-24 to Main, wait one, over”].

I squeezed through, the gunner painfully aiming upwards to help scan the windows above, and came upon the door and… what the fuck. The basement door was this large metal thing, possibly steel or otherwise, that’s not a common thing in Hounslow. Likewise the entire edge of the room was packed shut with quikrete, even had some signs of welding done. My jaw tensed looking at this, first the exterior padlock, and now the basement door was shut with some shut we’d only seen back in east africa. Under a garden of Christ love, we stood there as my lads tried to find any weak points; “We could put a charge-” one suggested.

“Fuck no…” I said in a low whisper; “-No go for this op…”. Traffick individuals being held hostage mandated we approach with as low of a casualty producing rule set as possible. This was to save lives… plus with the state of that door, the amount of C4 we’d need would bring down the damn building anyways. In a different region, I would’ve just dropped a damn one ton bomb on it and called it a day… but this was our home.

Once we were back topside, I conferred with Stirling; [“Alpha-24 to Main, cellar entry point shows signs of deliberate reinforcement, unable to breach”]. We stood there in silence, watching the building as we waited for guidance, after a long minute: [“Main to Alpha-24, copy, move in on ground level and secure…”].

As we approached the door, Knight chimed in; [“Charlie-24 to Alpha, working on making silent entry through front door, joint movement?”]. He was asking if he wanted to breach at the same time, all the while the anticipation was killing me… that being said we’d be opening into a kitchen area, he would have the stairwell and loft looking at him, we did him a solid; [“Negative Charlie-24, work on securing a clean entry, we will secure foothold to the south”].

The back door was locked, although a little persuasion in the form of a steel lock tool, and the thing was busted as a fuckhead. We carefully opened the door, minimizing the creek as the bright kitchen light forced us to flip away our nods and… god the fucking stench. It was suffocating, not of anything specific but it was putrid. I had to close my damn throat to keep from gagging as we moved in, the rest of my boys were doing the same as I could tell we all felt it: the squint in our eyes, the tight movements. The kitchen however is completely square, nothing amiss, yet my strangled breathing felt like someone sundried a dead dog.

We quickly and damn near silently secured the kitchen, open area, a single pantry, stocked like anything else. “Clear?” I asked, trying not to dry heave from the shit. My men nodded in silence… a single door leading to the loft area, another leading to the stairs, both to our front. We could hear talking coming from the front loft, one female at least, possibly four in total, nothing audible at the time.

I carefully called in; [“Alpha-24 to… Main. Foothold secured in kitchen, occupants audible to our front in loft… be advised, smell of cadavers potent.”].

Knight quipped [“noted-”]. Per him, he cut off as when he finally got that old, rusted front door lock free… the opened it up slowly… and was greeted by further measures. A dark stairwell and 4 chain locks holding the door shut, he communicated; [“-working to cut through them now, standby”]. My head physically hung back, anticipation, adrenaline in my veins, frustration from whatever the fuck that smell was… it was making me irritable as fuck, angry, but I needed to keep my shit.

If I cracked? All of Alpha was aswell. Keep the fucking course.

I scanned around waiting, strangely…. No Christianity symbols in the kitchen, not a cross, a picture, zip. The display in the garden made this shit visible but not surprising…. What was surprising was the thing above the oven. It was painted directly onto the wall in some black ink; A large black dot in the center with 3 circles surrounding it, lines that were dashed through all of them at random intervals, some skipping gaps. It was… I dunno, off, complete contrast, it had no place and yet the longer I looked… that sigil was just… hade me in a bit of a stupor.

My adrenaline spiked me out of it as Knight keyed in; [“Alpha-24, be advised you have one individual moving towards the kitchen area from the stairwell…”]. Supposedly out of a door just under it, a shadow quickly turned and headed towards the kitchen. 9 Special Air Service troopers decked in full kit, ballistic rods, the works, one patrol kept watch on the loft door as the stair door opened up…

A kid walked in, a boy… maybe 9 at most, no taller than 152cms opens the door as the back patrol and myself were prepared for…. I don’t know what. There’s a slight pause, anything could happen, no one expected it. Despite this… he just stared blankly, one of our lads quickly and carefully pulled him in, the patrol scanning the stairwell area… all the way on the other side we saw IR strobes as Knight and his team cut the chains. No wonder it took him so long, at least 6 fuckin’ deadbolts was on the front door. Not surprising in the slums, but did nothing giving the context of this shit. I focused back on the kid, kneeling down I motioned for him to remain quiet… he did but gave no physical reaction, just kept staring… pupils were dilated as well.

[“Alpha-24 to Main, secured individual Charlie-24 made note of. One male, child, being exfiled…”].

[“Understood Alpha-24, egress individual to rear and keep moving”].

Gently as I could, I moved him to the door where a few of the CTSFO clearing through behind us scooped him up and got him down the stairs. Finally… the last one is cut and the door is pulled open, Charlie scans the stairwell and moves on the door.

[“Alpha-24, Charlie is in position"]. [“This is Alpha, move after our breach”]

The smell fuckin’ grew as I moved to creek open the door, several of my men covering with barrels raised as I peeked through. The smell got worse, so much worse and yet a normal living area was all that was inside. Four individuals; three males and 1 female, specifically Sarah Booth, gathered around the table and eating. The conversation wasn’t outlandish, some shit about gardening, yet I couldn’t figure out how they could stomach that slop with that smell.

What the fuck was going on.

I pulled back, squeezing my point man’s shoulder… we pushed in. Within seconds all of us had breached the threshold, an entire patrol with another behind were The dim lighting over the table illuminated them all, the world stops, trying to keep the advantage of surprise we all say in hushed yet harsh tones: “Hands! Hands fuckers!!”. I could’ve been nicer, but I didn’t give two shits in a sack. All of them stood up, slowly and methodically, staring around at us like we had five eyes… Raid team? Strange yes, but shit was off… Sarah Booth, that lass, she didn’t even flinch, even when my M4 was pointing right at her fuckin’ face. The three lads with her as well stared around, scanning us… I had the secondary patrol prep zip cuffs, each of us motioning with our barrels to whom we are gonna apprehend.

Right as Charlie opened through their door, Knight and his pointman peeking in… she grabbed a fucking knife. The scream she let out… full lunged, thought her diaphragm was gonna tear from her chest cavity, shook our fuckin’ peltors as she did. Her face though it didn’t even move, not much… blank stare, she damn near closed that few yards distance in seconds. I squeezed the trigger and a series of thundering shots pierced her, all of them straight through her sternum and collar area. I know… Fuck, I get it, we needed her for information but we had fuck all for time, and she had means and opportunity. My point man and another quickly laid into her, it felt like minutes but it was really seconds… a thunderous dozen shots tore through her.

She dropped instantly to the floor, the knife hit the ground and my boot kept it pinned. She was that close. Fucked part? She didn’t even react… even the most drugged up fucks have a death rattle, the lungs and body letting out one desperate cry as the entire thing shuts down. She was as plain as the face she had when she grabbed that blade to kill me, me specifically… maybe I was just the closest, the one she locked eyes with… but something felt personal. Her mouth closed… with, I don’t know, something tugging at the ends of her dead lips.

Immediately Charlie secures the stairwell, rushing into the room as Alpha quickly moves on the remaining individuals; “Hands!! On the ground, now!!” I could hear Knight in his welsh tone. One of the screams, the taller of them, 6’6, brawny man… his hands went to his throat and tried to tear his fucking larynx out. It was maybe a second and he got far into it too, I saw blood rushing from his jugular as our troopers put him on the ground. I kneeled and secured Sarah’s dead wrists, unable to shake that look of hers off my brain.

I checked my wrist planner… cursed under my breathe as I called it in.

[“Main this is Charlie-24, we have one suspect KIA, Priority-3, three suspects detained, moving them to egress”].

I could almost feel Stirling punching whatever shitty wooden desk the TOC was set up at.

Knight took the lead, we rushed the two stable ones to the grey boys as CTSFO pulled them out the back door and to rear custody, the one with the knackered throat was bleeding all over, a trail of crimson as he just stared forward like it was any other thing.

One of the things they kept repeating was; “no war, no war, no war”.

I don’t know the meaning, still don’t but it fucked with me. As we did, the upper floors livened the fuck up as we could hear multiple doors opening and slamming, footfalls like a fuckin’ stampede shaking the structure as the Charlie patrol securing the bottom of the stairs quickly moved into better cover all around it. Worst is that I could hear that kid laughing… laughing as they moved him through the rear garden, only audible thing he said was: “He’s here”.

[“Overwatch to entry element, we’ve got visible movement in windows. All elements, individuals on ISR and thermal peeking through curtains, be advised”] the CTSFO marksman lead reported.

We quickly moved to the stairwell, the basement door was just as locked tight, a CTSFO officer began to work on cutting the locks as Knight and I stacked our men up at the bottom of the stairs. Only thing out of the ordinary was this long table beside the door, a bowl on it was overflowing with shit… I took a moment to look closer; wallets, watches, some ID cards, pooling onto the floor as we trampled them. I maneuvered my guys ahead, one of the Charlie members that had been covering said they could see hands gripping the upper railings, eye shines of people peeking, the only face he said they saw was “-smiling at us”.

My blood was cold after that one. We moved up, stacked along the hard wall as Alpha took the lead, our barrels out as we scanned any and all entrances. As we got around halfway, doors immediately slamming shut could be heard and footfalls on the second floor ceased. We reached the floor, nothing, two of my men hooked around and scanned the next stairwell up covering our ass, multiple doors all around.

We got to work.

One of our troopers mule kicks the nearest door in, a short room, barely big enough to store boxes had six fuckers standing directly inside. A little girl, some teens, an adult, all of them laughing hysterically, some doubled over on the floor, others leaning against the wall. “Hands!! Show your hands!!” I shouted, no longer having to low tone it, but they didn’t respond even with suppressors in their fuckin’ faces. We drag them out, carefully, we have to hurry and push in as a younger boy begins to slam his head into the wall while cackling, blood beginning to pour from a deep gash he made against the sheetrock.

What the fuck did Newman do to these people?

A charlie member each grabbed one by the shoulder, rushing them to the backdoor where the boys in grey took care of them: [“Alpha-24 to Main, 6 suspects detained, moving them to egress”].

Next one was a larger one, my second patrol leapfrogged and took the lead, the door is kicked open as a flash is thrown in. Soon as it was- a fuckin old man ran out, even as the shake and loud thunder was just to his heels. In nothing but some skivies and a fuckin’ jacket, he tackled one of my men so hard, they went back into the wooden railing over the stairs and I could hear it crack. “Get the fuck down!!! Now!!!” we shouted, I reached for his shoulder and tried to pull him off, but he wasn’t budging.

Fucker was like 60 and his grip was that of a python, is lips pulled back into… a smile.

I saw him reach for the bloke’s side arm, hand gripping the glock 17. I made a judgement call, drew my own and put one through his skull. He immediately dropped, slumped to the floor, his eyes looked up at me… he died with a smile.

[“Alpha-24 to Main, one suspect down”].

Fuck this.

Remember that symbol from the kitchen? It was all over… the floor, the walls, the ceiling, smeared onto one of the mirrors, haunting candle light flickered as we pushed forward. Next room I stacked up with some lads at, kicking it open, another flashbang for a large room. We moved in and the candles were now all over, the damn area looked like it had been a cattles den. Trash and cloth torn and piled into corners, a strange series of candles had been placed down in the dozens making the room bright as fuck.

The only person visible in the room was an old lady, Katie Foster, the flashbang hadn’t affected her even as it hand landed right god damn next to her. I could see the stains on her clothes, burn marks on her hands and feet as she was cross legged, yet she stood right up… she began to yell at us for disturbing the candles, her eyes dilated to the point I barely saw any white in them. Teeth bared like a fuckin’ animal, she foamed at the mouth as we moved through, kicking over more candles…

A trooper and I grabbed her, slamming her into the wooden floor, forcing her gaunt hands into zip cuffs. She completely switched up… a gleeful tone kicked in right as her head made contact with the floorboards. Usually it’s detainees realizing their position, but with her it wasn’t anything logical. I’m glad I was wearing gloves because she was fucking slimey, her clothes were damn near damp… I don’t want to know from what. Teeth were missing from her grin as she looked at me, eyes reflecting in night vision, singing: “You will carry us out, like seeds to the farm”.

We dragged her up and shoved her to Charlie-Element, Only thing I said was “Shut the fuck up”.

[“Alpha-24 to Main, One priority suspect; Priority-2, detained, moving to egress”].

Myself and the patrol quickly left the room, next door was encircled by some others. However a gunshot immediately rung out, straight through the door and hit one of our men in the front plate of his kit. He dropped with a yell; “Motherfucker!!!” Knight shouted, his carbine snapping to the door and he let loose with a fuckin’ burst. All of us reset to basic instincts and shot through the door, the thin wood quickly ripping apart as the walls became punched through. It’s kicked open, damn near breaking in half… a flashbang is thrown in, the area shakes with a concussive blast as we push in.

A lanky young fucker, greasy hair, in a stained t shirt and shorts was standing front and center. He was hit, I don’t know what he was on but he had taken serious shots…. One to the gut, his leg shook from a quad hit, white t shirt becoming crimson filled. His weapon jammed, I knew what it was…. AKM, I’d seen it a thousand times, somehow he fucked that redundant communist shit stick into a double feed. He tried to unfuck it, robotically so… he looked up at us, we aimed… he aimed his dead weapon… A few quick shots, his head was struck by multiple troopers.

[“Charlie-24 to Main, one suspect killed on second floor”].

We began to clear the room and from under the bed, gunfire erupted… someone was hiding in that thin ass fuckin’ space, momentary paralysis hit as my hands clammed to my weapon, I could see muzzle flashes that shook the room. Hot streaks of death peppered the entire immediate space, I’ve got to have Christ himself on my side because I don’t know how I didn’t get hit. One of our men did, straight through his calf, his scream echoed but he tumbled out of the way to not be an obstacle- tactical to the end.

We fired into the bed, stuffing was thrown around, one of us flipped it up as I confirmed the death of that bastard with 3 shots to their cranium.

[“Alpha-24 to Main, we have one Alpha-Element down, urgent!!! Prep CCP-”].

Clearing the large closet, we found a girl, probably no older than 20- probably, crouched with a dim flashlight. She had her shirt town open, and with a pocket knife was trying to carve that fucking circular symbol into her chest. As soon as she saw us, her face grew enraged and she shouted; “DON’T touch me!!! You’ll ruin it!!! I saved them, I saved them!!!”. I grabbed the knife hand, forcing it out of her grip as me and another got her onto the ground and into a set of zip cuffs. This one however didn’t switch up, no she was pissed… girl looked like she hadn’t eaten in a small millennia and yet she was writhing enough to give us trouble. All the while her voice boomed with; “You’re making a mistake!! You pulled us from the dream… they’ll remember”. The kind of strained screaming, gasping to the point of gagging that just activates some human anxiety we got in our DNA.

Not like it fuckin’ mattered, we pressed on.

Towards the stairwell, Charlie kicked in the door of what appeared to be a children’s room…. Completely clean, pristine even, unlike the rest of the shithole, lighting was even good… Then I saw…. Her.

The missing MI5 plant.

What was left of her was sat up in the chair in the corner, most of her head was gone, stuck to that chair with all kinds of copper wire and steel cable you’d get at any hardware store. The sweater and jeans she was wearing were coated, my guess is there wasn’t a drop of blood left in her and that explained the advanced decay she showed. She was somehow also staring straight at the door, dunno why but that fucked with me the most considering her condition. 

“Shit…” my point man said as he scanned the room, eyes drifting back to her. My hand took it’s time getting to my push to talk; [“Alpha-24 to Main… located priority missing: “CENTER”... second floor, kids room”]. 

[“Main to Alpha-24, send photo of confirmation through ATAK, over”]. 

You’ve gotta be fucking shitting me… the other trooper did it, prepping his little unit as I covered him. The circular symbol was in the wallpaper, looking like the design… No suspects, nothing, only a baby monitor that had some fucker droning on and on through it. Only ones I remember were; “04-05-20-18….. 15-03-15…..”.

He sent it through and we got a confirmation; [“Copy Alpha-24, proceed with mission…”].

The little hell box was still droning on as we headed out. One of our boys knocked it off the table with his elbow, a kick from another sent it shattering against the wall with a “whoops”.

We prepared to move up to the third floor… from the door immediately facing the stairwell at the top, gunfire erupted. Something like the AKM, you can tell by the type of snap and pop it makes, especially at close range. Our shield bearer took the lead, the rest of us keeping watch at the other doors and corners as we forced our way up. That fuckin mad bastard never waivered as gunfire kept coming through that door, sparks of spalling from the rounds hitting the shield flashing over and over. 

We push up and surround that door, watching the others as we kick it open, this fuckin’ lass no heavier than 44 kilograms is standing there with this romanian rifle. She continued to pull the trigger, standing, facing this fuckin’ death squad, still firing even as her rifle went dry. We didn’t know it was dry, in the moment we couldn’t take chances… a few shots, from the shield man and the lad stacked up behind him. She drops dead onto the floor… I kicked the weapon away as we secured her body, calling it in. 

Then I see it…. On her palm, that fucking symbol is tattooed onto her flesh… all around the room it was drawn. 

Further resistance greets us as we kick open another room, a nasty flash as we push in just behind it. Several of them… all ages, clothing stained and torn even more than the floor below, in their hands are knives, hooks… weapons. We’re screaming: “Drop the fucking knife!!!.

“Drop the weapon!!!”. “Show me your hands!!!”. 

These were our fucking countrymen, I didn’t like shooting them- fuck this shit was fucking me up, it still does, my hands contorting. I could feel my hands betraying me as they tensed up, heart at its cold blooded baseline somehow though. Their faces were wolfish, black expressions as their eyes were stern and wide. Those few seconds took an eternity, blood went slow. 

A single twitch is all it took… suppressors snapped, we let loose with absolute authorization under the threat of death. Maybe a dozen shots all together, their bodies hitting the floor, one of the men surrendered as the girl did as well, dropping her knife. We moved to secure, that’s when she sperged the fuck out, that strength they keep possessing- meth or some fuckin’ shit, probably. She took a fucking bite out of one of the Charlie-Element’s faces, straight through his balaclava and nearly through his chinstrap. 

We pulled her off and I’ll be honest, I square kicked her zip cuffed mug.  Still even with blood pouring from his balaclava, the room was secured, 4 warm bodies… fuckin’ shit, I could see his throat through his torn mask. 

We kept going as we stacked on another door…. Door is kicked open, we’re about to throw a flashbang but Knight stops him. Why, why the fuck would you do that?! I saw why… only person in the room was an old man… in his fucking eighties, beard longer than a lorrie. He was on his knees in that dark room, on the floor a gigantic version of that sigil was painted in his own blood. Just… his old blood, because his fucking stomach was bleeding. Two of our guys aimed from the outside, Knight had his pistol aimed over the shoulder of another as he shouted; “Hands!! Sir, show me your hands!! Don’t fuckin’ do it!”. 

I could feel the strained agony in that flanders accent of his. The man took a blade… instead of charging… he ripped open the rest of his stomach as his intestines dropped out. The sound of which I can only, honest-to-fucking-god, describe as a “meaty wet mop” hitting the floor. My neck seized up as I looked to his eyes… dilated, like the old lady… except he instead went and began to cut his fucking face off. That was enough, we rushed in and even as we got him secured on the ground, he still managed to have half his fuckin’ mug flapping off like a piece of meat. I very gently pushed it back onto his skull, we kept him on his side as Knight’s voice quivered. [“Charlie-24 to… Main. One critically injured suspect detained, unable to egress, requiring immediate medical assistance on the third floor when able”]. I motioned for a few troopers to fall back off the movement, one of them popped open his CLS kit on his back panel, the silent kneel he did… trying to figure out what he could do for this poor bastard. The stare the old man gave me when I stood up, silent… but it screamed like I just fucking killed his son. 

Stress and hate; that’s all we were running off of heading to the top floor. Most of the shit was wide empty rooms, that symbol was drawn every now. Literally… I couldn’t tell you a singular spot that it wasn't. Sometimes properly painted, other times with a marker, some with blood a few with what I learned was fecal matter. The smell was damn near overwhelming, growing ever since we slow crawled up this structure but with our barrels aimed… 

Cleared the dead space of the open rooms. 

Pushed to the only closed door. 

Stacked up, split stack with 3 on either side. Charlie prepped a bang, peeling the tape off. One of my troopers kicked that door open. I watch the spoon fly off it as the cylinder hits the ground and rolls. The walls shake like a miniature earthquake, we maneuver. 

We found him, Joseph Newman. 

What was left of him anyways.

The entire room was empty, grooves carved into the floor displaying different symbols, a slight pain came over my eye as I couldn’t make out any correctly as I scanned my corners and we locked the room down. There he was… a white garb, looking like a cheap robe that was fashioned out of some dime store sheet. That symbol was painted on it, I could tell by the streaks it was done by hand…. He was on his knees, his chest cavity was open. 

Arms out as his damn ribs had been pulled back like some sort of husk, with my illuminator on my peq I could make out every single detail, and he was hollowed out. Not a drop of blood, a pinch of gore, not an organ… only his spine and the flesh holding his cadaver together still. His head was covered by some sort of taxidermied deer mask… the weight of the antlers was literally pulling him back, contorting his spine sickeningly. 

I sighed, whispering; “Cover me…” to one of the men as I approached. I needed confirmation and that thing was a right bitch to get off. Even when it did slide off, he must’ve been dead for some time because part of his neck skin peeled off with it. That being said… I dropped it to the ground and checked my information…. Sure enough; hazel eyes, grey hair cut short, swept to the side, mole just below his left eye, entire facial structure match. 

[“Alpha-24 to Main, Priority-1 located, deceased on arrival”]. 

It’s at this point ‘Main’ wasn’t Stirling but a different one, someone who seemed to have taken the reigns; [“Alpha-24, repeat that. The target is dead?”]. 

A few things here that boiled my blood… first, ‘repeat’, something the yanks and us absolutely do not say on the radio as it refers to the repeating of an artillery fire mission. That told me whoever was barking at me, wasn’t military, and didn’t know basic comms culture. Second, we use radio language for a reason… I don’t know who this is, but you can put this down for the record, if I found out who- I’m breaking their jaw. 

[“Alpha-24 to Main, priority-1 found dead on arrival, showing signs of mutilation… how copy, over?”]. 

There was a long minute as we waited, so much so Knight had entered the room and I could feel him shaking his head muttering; “What the fuck, Fox…”. 

Stirling was back on the net: [“Copy Alpha-24, apologies for the intrusion. Secure foundation cellar and end operations”].

The stench coming off Newman’s body told me he was at least one of the sources of that miasma, one of them anyways.  I took a long glance as one of our troopers secured his hands in zip cuffs, hollow body bending like rubber as we maneuvered down. By now Charlie-Element’s rear had successfully gotten through the basement door with the CTSFO, by that I mean they used everything from a hammer to a beach gun because the entire metal doorway was coming off with it as it took 6 of them to bend that thing back. As it did… the stench of rot could be smelled… 

Nods down, we slowly made our way through that cramped stairwell, just waiting for some lucky bastard to swing out and try to gun down the stack. Our worries were unnecessary, there was nothing alive down there. 

We found the hostages. 

How do I even describe it? Fuck, okay… the floor was this sticky, dry film… I noticed it because the darkness down there was so heavy our tubes were struggling to provide us good sight. This left our vision tunnel as there was no lumens being used, no moonlight to help us. We pushed through and I made the executive decision; “Fuck it, lights on”. 

We were deep down in the basement anyways, having just cut down the majority of their bastardized battalion, if there was one fucker left he already knew we were coming. Our fingers blindly moved to our helmet lights as we all switched them on, along with any attached on ur weapons and…. Fuck.

Bodies were lining the floor in the dozens, all of them stripped of clothes, sewn together in stitch patterns that made my stomach toss. My eyes followed every limb, hip, pec, and neck all the way through what seemed to be a spiral. I could hear my heart pounding in my ears, my blood pumping as in the center was this fuckin… this.. A pillar? Yeah, sure, a pillar. Some totem made out of bones, flesh, and rebar, drift wood too all shoved in to the point where fluids and blood were leaking. 

“Fuckin’.... Christ-” I heard the man next to me say, his hand going to his mouth.Knight was to the far side… he was just stone still, staring at it. The further I looked it got… worse, it was like some double helix thing, pitch black in the center. That’s what I noticed… like, a strange dark center that I wanted to look at…. The man to my right screamed, our weapons snapped around as he grabbed his eyes. I went over, pulling his hand back… they were filled with blood, 11 vessels popped simultaneously, and he had only barely glanced at the center. I didn’t know until much later when he was in medical, it’s by literal luck and God no one else did so. 

“Fox…” I could hear Knight say, my eyes went to the totem again, from little tricklings came this black substance from the center, inky, still, maneuvering over the bodies. “Fox!!” Knight said authoritatively; my head snapped and I followed his eyes and pointed fingers. 

One of the arms twitched… then one of the legs. 

Some of these people were still alive. [“Alpha-24 to Main, securing basement, located priority hostages, need immediate medical service…. Just- sending photo on ATAK”] is all I could muster out, right after that is when the TOC received that blurry fuckin’ photo from my side of things. I was careful to step over the cadavers… fuckin’ hell, I didn’t see one god damn head, how the fuck they were even remotely alive? I don’t know. I could imagine them stuck there in a pitch black, humidity filled hell. I needed to push that out of my mind… two of our guys pushed into the last room… small closet, nothing major but. As soon as they kicked in the door and were guns up, their lights illuminated pure pitch black. It was a matter of seconds, I thought it was just all of the lights and angles getting to me but I watched 1 from Alpha and 1 from Charlie, Stevens and Rich, they stepped through and hit their corners…. Then the door slammed shut. I sprinted over with some others, Knight included, we could hear them firing, around, screaming. It didn’t occur to me in the moment but not a single round came back through, I tried muscling the door open with our mountain of a shield man but no dice. One of the CTSFO breachers ran over, with one of our boys they just fired into all the hinges, made mincemeat of the lock… 

We pulled it open and they were gone. 

It was a plain brick room, maybe 6 meters by 6 meters, no pipes, no outlets, nothing. One of their helmets was laying in the center, nods flickering… the other one’s side arm was left, both suffering some sort of signs of advanced corrosion. 

So we exfil, CTSFO takes over the operation with constabulary and intelligence, and the entire time I am just expecting the fuckin’ book to get thrown at us. There wasn’t a little bit of cordial attitude, not one, two of our boys were missing in action and what the hell were we supposed to do? I don’t know, my mind went back to their screams, echoing, begging us to get them out. Flashes from that entire raid kept playing over and over, front he kid, to the stench, to the blood, the insanity… I found myself with my head in my hands, rubbing my temples to alleviate some tension as we returned to our unit area. 

We stopped the vic, now down one man as the three of us took a moment to breath.. That was until a knock at the window came and the spooks from Army SIB were standing there, waiting to question us, flanked by others. We were all separated and from what I gathered, asked to give individual first accounts of what happened. Mine was some cocky fuckin’ dickhead, yes I don’t care- fuck that commissioned cunt. There I am giving details and I can just see him in his mind, playing off all the shit like manic episodes. Every single second I spent serving her Majesty’s regiment slipping away over… 

No so the annotated “incident” during questioning came when I looked him in the eyes and pressed: “You tell that MI5 cunt, she hung us out to dry”. His eyes furrowed at me as sat up “Corporal, you maintain an atmosphere of respect and discipline during this questioning. The results could decide your life for the next several decades”. My head cocked to the side, disbelieving; “You threatening me, you little bugger fuck?!”. 

He then went on some shit about: “I am an investigator for the Special Investigation Branch of the British Army. I earned my rank at Major for a reason, you will toe the like”. 

What got me my first ass chewing was my response of: “-You’re talking real crass, when I climb over this table and shove your foot up your own ass”. 

I didn’t see Captain Stirling after that, surprisingly I got let out and we were sent home. I didn’t turn the lights on, I didn’t sleep… shit I didn’t even touch my liquor and it’s a tradition for a shot of the hardest shit in town after a good op. I guess that’s why… this wasn’t “good” by any stretch of the word, what the fuck even was that? Black Vicar kept bouncing around my head for days until I was assigned to a shrink, one of those military behavioral health scants that you see after a fairly “traumatic” missionset. 

I got to arrive in civies, office was nice I guess, she sat down across from me; “Make yourself at home, Christian”. That caught me off guard, but I realized every single one of these was much more strict. I guess something was off about it…. I looked around; “Can I smoke in hear?”. What I did not expect was her to nod her head. 

She actually listened, not jeering or condescending, she also didn’t take a single note about what happened that night. Purposeful I guess but it was good to see someone after 36 hours that wasn’t treating me like a fuckin’ criminal. 

Later on Knight and I are asked to head to a building at upper command on base, big ol’ corps headquarters. I fuckin’ hated going there, nothing but stuffy higher ups and egos as far as there was polished, fake oak. We were led to the lower level and walked into a briefing room, where a younger lad with swept back hair in a suit greeted us. 

MI6 Agent, identifying himself only as “Montgomery”. 

His questions were thorough, he knew more than he was letting on and wanted us to know… I didn’t take that as a mocking way, more as…. I guess solidarity. He then asked us to draw how we saw the symbol, Knight and I weren’t allowed to look at each other's paper… I mean, strange but I get it. Black center, 3 circles, 11 long lines to the center, 3 short ones that broke up in the middle, 7 one lines that were sprinkled on the outer layer and towards the center. We passed them forward and… they were different. I say this with my late nan as my witness, on her name… every single symbol, that sigil in that house, was the same. Yet Knight’s was different than mine…. Montgomery then pulled a sketch from his folder; “-This was what Captain Stirling said he saw on those photos”. Stumped could not be a more underestimation of whatever I was feeling at that point. Completely and utter dumbfounding disarmament. “What’s going on?” Knight asked, breaking through the veil of joint confusion first. Montgomery took the sketches and placed them into his folder. “-A recurring phenomenon that isn’t just affecting the isles. Make no mistake… what you did was for the betterment of the country. Every action”. My mind immediately went back to my teammate’s bleeding cheek, the guts of that one old man and his face peeling off. What was happening? If there ever was any sort of meaning to this it was nothing short of psychotic. “Montgomery” (if that even is his name) let us go and we stopped by the company area to meet with Stirling. 

On the way Knight asked “So… think we’re getting court martialed?”. 

After the last week, and what that MI6 spook said? “No, I think they’re gonna need us”. 

The meeting with the captain was the best I’d had in dozens of hours, so pent up from being ridiculed and ignored that it felt good when us and some of the staff huddled up and broke out some cigars. He provided us with any information he could get… Shit immediately didn’t add up. First…. Those cell phones? The ones piled mountain level high by the door? Decrypting them showed they had photos, messages, and other shit that had time stamps and information from… well, the future. Such as one of them containing a photo of a newspaper… all the way in 2023. Another had a set of metadata saying it was from 2017, the images were of a burning building, ash, fire, and some strange blue light in the sky. Now granted it can be edited, but the thing was… there was no code that said it had been, likewise it was locked, physically unable to change the date. 

Even weirder? 

One of them had a screenshot from an article; September 8th, 2022, Queen Elizabeth II died in Aberdeenshire, Scotland of all places. Conspiracy theories and fake articles of death aren’t uncommon among crazies, but it was a picture of a printed magazine, Time for fuckin’ crying outloud. 

Adding to that, Sarah Booth’s autopsy showed… she died 4 weeks ago. “What?!” is all I could say, choking on cigar smoke as Stirling slid over the file. 

When CTSFO dragged her body outside and she got to the morgue?

Advanced necrosis was in her system.

That mad lass who came charging at me with a knife? 

The one that I drilled several rounds through her spinal cord killing her? 

Dead, long gone. 

Shit didn’t add up but even Captain Stirling himself had hit a stop gap, Squadron Command didn’t seem too interested in continuing to pursue the case as our “job was done”. Per their words, then again I remember what that Montgomery bloke said… “global phenomena”. Sometimes tells me even as I’m typing this, what we saw at Black Vicar wasn’t a unique occurance and it may still be ongoing. Apart from that I don’t know… I’m a senior patrol lead, I’m good at it too. I know what I saw in that place and… well, I’ve got a feeling we might have to get used to it. Or not.. And I’ll be charged with the deaths of 2 of my men for negligence. 

Speaking of, I’m ending it here. 

We’ve got a little vigil at a bar we’re hosting for Stevens and Rich, they were two good troopers… damn good. Their families deserve to know what happen, so whatever bureaucrat fuck that reads this better publish it or I will find you. 

Corporal Christian Fox

24th Troop, Kilo Squadron

22nd Special Air Service (SAS)