The Mini-burger

FanFic in the Birmoverse

Again – A Without Warning Fanfic By sibeen (Joe Devlin)

He clambered out of the fog of sleep and glanced at the bedside clock.

“Shit, 3:14”, what the hell was he doing awake, especially after the strenuous activities earlier in the night. He rolled over and looked at his bed partner. “Coleen,” no wait, that was last week…Monica… Monica, yeah that was it. He grinned to himself and thought about giving Monica a quiet nudge; “for a short, balding lawyer of Greek and Irish extraction you don’t do too bad, do you old son?”

He’d picked her up down at the Arms two nights before. She was a tourist, from Scotland, who was now stuck on the island. The world been turned upside down three weeks before and she certainly wasn’t the only tourist scrambling to find somewhere to sleep every night. He probably wasn’t the only bachelor on the island who was renting out a room for an ‘in kind’ payment; although he comforted himself with the knowledge that he still did all right even before the Wave turned everyone’s life topsy turvy.

The sound of a diesel engine broke into his reverie. A truck or a tractor was making its way down the main street of the village. “Jesus, which of the in-bred, sheep shagging farmers is up at this bloody hour? You’ll wake half the town, ya daft prick.” No doubt there’d be a few harsh words spoken over the next few days. Probably some bloke who’d spent a ‘lock-in’ at one of the locals and was now wending his drunken way home in his bloody tractor.

He snuck another look at Monica and decided that that little bit of business could wait until the morrow. He lay back down and began to drift into a pleasant, amorous dream.

The sound of automatic gunfire sent him bolt upright. This time Monica had also woken.

“What is it”, she enquired groggily. “Buggered if I know, love. I’ll get up and have a look see”

A few large explosions then sounded in the distance and the sound of gunfire noticeably increased.

“What is it”, she repeated, this time with a tremor in her voice. This time he had a fair idea what was going on. “It’s not good, love, it’s not fooking good”, a hint of a brogue thickening his voice. He got up and crossed to the window. Looking down into the village he noticed that lights were coming on all along the main street.

“Christ, dickheads, bullets start flying around and you light up your house like a fucking Christmas tree.” He shook his head in disgust. The sound of gunfire and explosions intensified up the hill, towards the barracks. He could see that a few fires had started and the main buildings were well ablaze. Looking back down the hill he noticed a line of trucks was now snaking their way through the main street of the village and a few explosions were happening down at the dock area.

The main thoroughfare was now well lit up and armed men were disembarking from the trucks and taking up point at each intersection. Villagers were sticking their heads out of doorway, some leaving their houses and standing in the street before being forced back inside, at gunpoint, by the soldiers. Monica came and stood beside him, clasping his arm, and watched the goings on down the hill. “I may as well put the kettle on”, he grunted. She looked at him with some bemusement. “The bloody kettle. We’re getting invaded and you’re putting on the fucking kettle” “Not much more we can do, love. We can only bunker down, hope that the blokes down the hill aren’t too bloody malicious, and wait the damm thing out. Someone wants their island back and I don’t think they’re going to take no for an answer. We may as well make the best of a bad situation” Tears were now starting to well up in her eyes and he gave her a fierce hug. “We’ll get through this. I don’t think things will get too violent. They want to kick us out, but I don’t think they’ll want to rattle the cage too heavily. ”

He made his way into the small, neat kitchen, filled the kettle and fired up a burner on the stove. He then gathered the makings for a large breakfast. There was a fair chance that anything that was left in his larder was going to become communal property right bloody quickly. He and Monica were soon sated on the lashings of bacon, eggs, black pudding and thick cut toast. They then sat contemplatively, sipping from large mugs of tea, as dawn began to creep into the sky. The gunfire and explosions had stopped and even the sounds of the trucks down the road had quietened down. Eventually the expected banging came on the door. He heaved himself out of the chair and strode down the hall, opening the front door.

Facing him was three armed men, an officer with sidearm at the front, flanked by two soldiers holding assault rifles. “Paul Boylan, the lawyer, yes?” came the thickly accented question. “You’re well informed” he replied. He flicked his eyes up the hill, “the barracks?” “They’ve surrended and yes, we are very well informed. I’m major Valquez” “Do you want to come in? I’ve got no coffee but there’s plenty of tea”, Paul enquired. The officer nodded ascent and motioned at the two soldiers indicating that they should remain outside. Paul gestured and then led the major down the hallway and into the kitchen. Monica flinched as they entered and he made placating gestures towards her. He grabbed an extra mug, poured the major a cha and indicated for him to sit down.

“So, what’s the deal, major? Where do we go from here?” “We control the whole Island and I don’t think anyone is coming to save you this time; Mr Blair is no Margret Thatcher…no”, as he spoke he waved his hands about in a very latin manner. “We’ve been planning this for a very long time and this Wave has given us the perfect opportunity, and we won’t be making any mistakes this time. Argentina will not be losing the Falklands, Islas Malvinas, ever again. You’ll all be ‘asked’ to leave the island within the next month and my government will assist with the transfer, probably drop you all off in the Canary Islands and the Brits can pick you up from there. As one of the only lawyers on the island you will be asked to assist with the transitional phase of the handover and helping the civilian administration keep the peace.” Paul winked across the table, “cheer up, Monica, it looks like you’re getting a free ride home”. A wan smile was the only response he received. Valquez drained the last of his tea and gestured to Paul. “Mr Boylan, if we could please get a move on into town, we have a lot of work to do.” “Give me a few minutes and I’ll put some clothes on”, he replied and rose from the table.

As Paul went to the bedroom he could only think of one thing, “fuck it, I really don’t want to be practicing law in bloody London.”

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10 March, 2009 - Posted by | Without Warning

4 Comments »

  1. Good work.
    Good read.
    I guess they want a notary to witness the stripping of the quatermasters store.

    Comment by NowhereBob | 10 March, 2009 | Reply

  2. They have tourists in the Falklands? 🙂

    Good story I enjoyed it.

    MickH

    Comment by miniburger | 11 March, 2009 | Reply

  3. Good stuff!

    Comment by Nautilus | 13 March, 2009 | Reply

  4. I didn’t even know this was here until now. Love it, of course.

    Comment by paulboylan | 2 October, 2010 | Reply


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