The Russians had inserted themselves into many far-right and far-left groups in Europe; the Algerians had worked hard to control the different Islamic groups. The combination was explosive as the first dominos fell, one by one; attack was repaid by attack and then a full-scale race war broke out. The police, seen as the enemy by all sides in the conflict, were forced back, often right out of the cities completely; more than a few policemen, their fortitude torn and broken by multiculturalism, tore off their uniforms and vanished into the night. The terror had taken on a life of its own; no one, not even the Algerians, could control it. It didn’t matter, or so the Russian planners had intended; the chaos could only work in the Russian favour.
The Netherlands, the capital of radical Islam in Europe, found itself sucked into darkness as the first bombs detonated. The Dutch had been growing ever more resentful of the population of Muslims within their ranks; no one would forget in a hurry the murder of Theo van Gogh by Mohammed Bouyeri, a Moroccan-Dutch Islamic extremist. Even as Muslim radicals asked the dreaded question — “are you with us or against us?” — to the other Muslims in the Netherlands, the far-right was already on the march. The streets ran with blood.
The civil network had broken down almost at once, first under the impact of Russian missiles, and then under the pressure from Russian commando groups. Unseen, unheard, the Russians moved silently through Europe, taking out targets that could become problems, later. Politicians who showed fortitude were targeted for elimination; weapons dumps and other military bases were targeted for destruction or capture. In some cases, groups of anarchists snatched weapons and used them on everyone, fighting for their own purposes, while the cities burnt around them. The Russians, untouched, carried on their grizzly work.
A dozen timers ticked down in a dozen ships. The tankers had been stalled in port because of a strike; an embarrassed Russian government had paid their tolls… and Europe had laughed at the Russians who hadn’t dared to strike outside free and liberal Europe. Now, the timers reached zero and ships loaded with Liquid Natural Gas exploded, devastating the surrounding areas and forcing the remains of the European emergency services to concentrate on a very different disaster. Isolated, cut off from their superiors, they did what they could, unaware of the real threat.
In the south of France, the explosions were a sign to the Algerian Special Forces units that had been inserted into France two weeks before the war began. Five thousand Algerians had gone to Russia to be trained; seven hundred had returned, each one a lethal killer and a ruthless operative. They moved now as the sky lit up with unholy fire, driving towards the massive refugee camps that had been set up to house the immigrants from Algeria, Morocco and further south in Africa. The French had wanted to return them, but the European Courts had said no; they had remained there, day after day, under guard…
The guards disliked their job and the people they watched over. Some of them did the best they could, some of them abused the refugees, or traded food for sexual purposes. They were hardly the cream of the French armed forces… and there was no reason to expect that they would be attacked in the heart of France. The sudden assault overwhelmed them; the guards killed before they could sound an alarm, and the commandos looked upon those who had fled their country, months ago. Many of them had allowed themselves to be caught.
Weapons had been provided and limited plans made; the makeshift army surged out of the camp, already forming up into groups. The commandos knew how to control brute troops; they had gained respect by killing the guards and they used that mercilessly. Under their leadership, the refugees would take part in the violence, intended to establish the Islamic State of France. None of them knew, nor would they have cared, that the Russian plans were very different. Doubt was not in their mindset; the few dissenters among the male population, those who had been in the camps and had escaped being radicalised, were rapidly dispatched with quick shots to the head. Howling, the army set off towards the burning city on the horizon, the Promised Land that had turned its back on them.
In Britain, the situation was different. In the light of burning cities, far-right groups launched attacks; Muslim groups fought back, the situation made worse by the sight of aircraft crashing and wild rumours spreading across the country. As in Europe, police stations and TA bases found themselves under attack; a string of accidents to gladden the heart of Muhammad Saeed al-Sahhaf occurred on the streets. Manchester, Bradford, Luton, Liverpool, Birmingham and even some parts of London fell into civil disorder and chaos; both sides, once again, were targeting the police as well as any other part of the national government. The chaos seemed unending…
No one knew that, in Poland, it had only just begun.
Chapter Eighteen: A Day That Will Live In Infamy, Take One
There are four hundred neatly marked graves somewhere in Sicily. All because one man went to sleep on the job. But they are German graves, because we caught the bastard asleep before they did.
Near Warsaw, Poland
“Regarding your response to my request for another infantry regiment, I must say that it is most inconvenient,” General Konrad Trautman dictated to his assistant. “I have the task, it seems, of defending the borders of Poland without either a clear mission statement or sufficient force to deter a cross-border raid. As the Polish President has made clear to Parliament, the Russians can rush a force into the border, complete their mission and withdraw, all the while being fairly safe from our interference. Two heavy armoured units are valuable, but they are not suited to the role of rapid reaction force, while for political reasons Polish units are held back.”
He took a breath. “I must say that this is not improving the reputation of EUROFOR in the Polish military,” he continued. It was one of his less serious problems… the serious problems were potentially disastrous. “The Poles are fast running out of patience with us and only their dependence upon energy supplies from Russia have prevented them from defying us and moving up their own infantry, counting on them to deter any raids. If this happens, Commissioner, I must question the value of both the security guarantee and the Parliament’s commitment to Poland. EUROFOR must be reinforced effectively or heads will roll.”
He smiled tiredly at his assistant. “Sign it and have it sent by courier back to Brussels, marked for the attention of Commissioner Henri Guichy,” he ordered. His opinion of Guichy wasn’t high; odd, given that most of the German Army regarded him as Guichy’s closest German ally. “Have the courier issued with all of the special permits that he will require to gain admittance into the headquarters.”
“Yes, sir,” his assistant said.
She saluted and left the room. Trautman watched her go, wishing that he shared her problems; his problems seemed almost insolvable. The EUROFOR organisation had managed to deploy the rough equivalent of two divisions to Poland, backing up the forces the Poles kept ready for action, but they were hardly prepared for the role of securing the borders. The chaos that broke out, from time to time, in Belarus sent thousands of refugees fleeing across the border, some of them with bad intentions towards Russia. The Russians launched raids to capture them… and the Poles were prevented by the European Parliament from securing their own borders, just to avoid provocation. Instead, they had…