League of Extraordinary Gentlemen
Fight for the Century
Location – Afghanistan . Date – 06/03/12
Shattered shells and empty bullets rain overhead as the convoy of dusty trucks comes into view of the safe haven of the military base, behind its sandy walls of earth and tin lies Camp Bastion, the British war zone village guarding over 21,000 men. Shouts of orders and commands fill the air as the heavy metal gates are heaved open to allow the trucks entry to the camp. Rattling and shaking the heavy four by fours plunder on into the base; following regulation several, burly soldiers approach the trucks; ready to unload supplies, mail and new ammunition; however, something seems amiss, not a single British soldier has left any of the trucks and every window is blacked out with jet black pint and the trucks are all coated with thick black metal. Soldiers, previously standing about downing litres of water, picked up their arms sensing something fishy about the strange trucks that had entered their sanctuary; one chisel faced commander finally approached the stationary trucks, bellowing in a beefy tone.
“Alright, open up, that’s an order,” there was a pause as the commander waited for a response, “I said open up in there!” he bellowed, now banging on the side of the nearest lorry; again no response followed his order.
Suddenly, small circular holes were uncovered in the sides of the trucks. Through each hole the barrel of a machine gun protruded. Anarchy erupted before the guns had a chance to fire, men scattered to corners of the courtyard, rocks being hurtled at the trucks in desperation. Then, just as it seemed the trucks were no threat after-all, it began. The courtyard was rapidly littered with bullets, you couldn’t see for flying metal; men, innocent, British soldiers gunned down without warning, walls of buildings perforated with bullet holes. Then, when the shower of ammo had cessed and all who had stood within a six metre radius of each truck was dead and sprawled across the ground, the unthinkable happened, one after the other, like a chain reaction each truck blew itself sky high, creating four enormous mushroom shaped clouds of fire and smoke.
Location – Taliban City, Pakistan . Date – 17/04/12
Muslims, peaceful and those with ill intent walk about their daily business in the dusty city, crates and crates of missiles, guns and all sorts of weaponry line the streets and back alleys; women dressed from head to toe in black, their faces hidden from the outside world, hurry past armed members of the Taliban who stand ready for attack or defence. Helicopters carrying supplies and arms fly overhead and sink down into the centre of the city, where they are received by extremely suspicious Taliban soldiers, weary of anyone gaining access to their city; on the horizon, one last helicopter comes into view, the soldiers on patrol atop the walls of the city, are curious: there were only three choppers scheduled for today.
They were right to be suspicious, instead of following the path of the previous copters this one, clad in thick armour and reflective black paint, bobbed along the wall of the city; suddenly the machine guns on its belly began to rotate, and the air between the chopper and the city burned with bullets. Soldiers, civilians, men and women killed without reason; uproar rose within the city and Taliban soldiers were quick to grab missiles and grenades in an attempt to bring down the murderous chopper; however their efforts were futile, the missiles seemed to simply bounce off of the thick black armour coating the helicopter and the insignificant grenades that had been launched merely ricochet back towards the city walls where they consequently exploded, taking large sections of the wall with them. Chaos and disorder ruled that day, but the cause was never seen again by the Taliban who, in their fury, assumed the British-American forces were to blame.
Location – London, MI16 Headquarters . Date – 25/06/12
Secretaries and smartly dressed office workers flit from here to there along the brightly lit corridor, ferrying papers, files and other such paraphernalia; behind closed doors on either side of the long corridor, conversations took place that ranged in importance from the key to the worlds future and the economic crisis, to advances in modern technology and as to who the Queen’s successor will be. At the far end of the corridor sat a lonely desk and behind it a stylishly dressed secretary wearing designer glasses and sporting a neat auburn bob; she taps away vigorously at her keyboard, taking infrequent glances at the passersby.
Suddenly the rather balanced, summery atmosphere disappears as a man exits the lift opposite the secretary’s desk at the end of the corridor. Conversations ceased, mail boys stopped in their tracks and an attractive young man who had been talking to a petit woman in a short grey skirt, near a water dispenser promptly dropped his plastic beaker of water down his front. The imposing figure now began to stride along the hall, his destination appearing to be the door opposite him; someone emerges from their office not sensing the tone outside but quickly turns around and darts straight to his phone; the daunting man reaches the secretary, who promptly stands in attempt to halt him.
“Sir I’m afraid you can’t go in without an appointment” her efforts are futile, he simply barges past the petit woman and flings open the door before him, entering the room beyond.
The room is a large office decorated with bulky pieces of modern art and enormous screens that line the longest wall in the room; at one end of the room the wall is made entirely of glass and beyond the thick panes lays the bustling city of London. In front of the impressive windows sits a heavy metal desk littered with papers, laptops and photo frames, depicting a family of five on various holidays in the four corners of the world; behind this desk a woman stands, seeming startled and outraged by the unannounced intrusion. The smartly dressed man reaches the desk in three strong strides, asserting his authority in the room; he slaps the file in his hand down onto the desk in front of the woman who promptly retakes her seat in the leather office chair beneath her.
She is by no means a small, timid woman like the one posted as her secretary, on the contrary her expression is strong and she holds herself as if she were a dignitary, after all the head of an MI division has a certain image to uphold, the grey designer suit she wears is perfectly fitted and almost matches the grey-blue of her eyes, her hair, black as night, is displayed in a knot above her head and small ringlets cascade over her shoulders and around her ears. She stares down, blankly at the folder that has been placed in front of her and then up at the man opposite, he gestures as if he is about to speak but she silences him and offers him a seat.
“Sit down Jeremy” He does as instructed, his daunting presence slightly lessened.
“M this is a matter of…” He trails off as M holds up a hand to stop him.
“I know what this is, what I want to know is why we didn’t receive this sooner?” She half whispered.
“I know it has taken a long time maim but, certain facts had to be verified and it was hard to find eyewitnesses.”
“And everything is in here?” She asked shaking the folder about.
“Yes, everything we know and everything we anticipated M”
“Then it is as we feared?” She continued, now flipping through the various pieces of paper within the file.
“I’m afraid so maim and I, we are also afraid this may require more than our standard agents are capable of”
“What are you suggesting Jeremy?” Once again she placed the file back on her desk and stared hard at Jeremy
“I believe it’s time M”
M let out a long sigh of disapproval before leaving her seat and strolling over the window and gazing out over London below her.
“Do you remember the good old days Jeremy?”
“I have heard that question so many times I’m not sure which are the good old days anymore maim”
“I mean when the treat came from beyond our shores, when we were fighting other countries not searching for enemies within our own walls.”
There was a long silence as they both contemplated what to say next.
“So you think it’s time then Jeremy?” She finally asked turning her head slightly away from the window before facing him straight on.
“I do maim, it’s the only thing that will put an end to this.”
“Very well, call in the League.”
“There is a slight problem.”
“And what pray tell is that?” She seemed to stare straight through him, rooting him to the spot.
“Well the last League was formed well over a century ago, and now its members are either dead or too old for service.”
“I see, so what do you propose we do Jeremy?” She strolled over to a cabinet by the door, from which she removed two small glasses and a bottle containing a golden liquid.
“I propose we form a new league of extraordinary gentlemen, with the best this century has to offer, my agents are picking them up as we speak.”
“Very good Jeremy,” she invited him to sit and have a drink and he obeyed, “if Hades wants a war, we’ll give it to him”
Location – Westchester, Washington DC USA . Date - 8/07/12
Two men clad in black suits walk into a bar, except this is no joke; they spot a man sitting at the counter, drink in one hand, cheep cigar in the other; they advance on the heavily built man and take a seat either side of him.
“You know they say smoking is bad for your heath” the man on the left begins.
“Oh year, go and tell someone who cares” The large man replies taking another puff from his cigar.
“Mr Wolverine?” The man on the right inquires.
“Who’s asking?” But before either of them can answer he inhales through his nose and glances either side of himself, “no let me guess, British government? Well I ain’t interested, so shove off.”
“I’m afraid you cannot refuse Mr Wolverine, you have been requested by the powers that govern our great nation”
“You mean your President.” He takes another swig from his glass.
“Prime Minister, and no in fact he has no knowledge of this meeting.”
“Then tell me who I’m getting on a plain to see you imbecile” he rises gaining frustration.
“Let’s just say you have been recruited by the true leaders of the British Empire.”
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