Black Flag Rising: Angel Force-Volume Two

By Greg Hibbins

A swarm of devastation rocks Europe.

A valued leader is struck down.

The ‘Black Flag’ is rising!

So who will stand against

 

Vicious attacks are happening across Europe, and the   United Kingdom is not exempt. Innocent civilians are being targeted. The death toll is rising. And t

• Language: English
• Publisher: Caracal Books
• Release date: Sep 28, 2016
• ISBN: 9780993488757

Greg Hibbins

Greg has worked with children and young people for most of his life. Greg is an experienced educationalist, and has the ability to take almost any concept and make it age related. For more than three decades Greg has held students enthralled with his fast moving stories. For years, past students have been pestering him to put the stories into print, so finally he has. Greg is a gifted speaker who has spoken at many different types of events. Greg has a passion to see people develop to their full potential. Greg runs a number of developmental programmes to assist people to discover who they, are and then develops their natural strengths. Greg has been a soldier, pastor, head-teacher, honourary ranger and developmental consultant.This wide range of life skills, gives him the ability to speak on a broad range of subjects and issues. Greg's hobbies are his family, people, shooting, fishing, history and growing roses. After living in Africa for many years, Greg now lives in the UK. Greg has been married for thirty three years to the most amazing woman, Glenys, and has two adult children and four grand children, who keep him young and busy.

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Black Flag Rising

© 2016 by Gregory Hibbins

ISBN 978-0-9934887-0-2

Published by Caracal Books

United Kingdom

www.caracalent.uk

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means – for example, electronic, photocopy, recording – without the prior written permission of the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, incidents and dialogues are products of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

The internet addresses, email addresses, and phone numbers in this book are accurate at the time of publication.

Cover photography – Helicopter at sunset ©shutterstock.com/NADA GIRL

Cover photography – Black Flag ©shutterstock.com/mills21

Cover photography – Drone vector ©shutterstock.com/Bolkins

Cover photography – Soldier ©shutterstock.com/Sheikoevgeniya

Photos used for illustrative purposes only.

This book is dedicated to

my Family

PROLOGUE

Mazowe Valley, Zimbabwe

February 2014

The African sun beat down upon the land, its heat shimmering across the Savannah and warming all before it. Two men, standing on the parapet of a man-made amphitheatre, felt its warmth seeping into their bones. One of them, a man of ethnic Arab blood, turned and looked across at the three black limousines making their way through the dancing, shimmering heatwaves. The cars looked like the fat Matabele ants that were endemic to the area, as they slowly made their way up the tarmac road towards the amphitheatre.

Omar Bin Ladin - for that was what he now called himself – the last remaining son of Ishmael Bin Quin, the mastermind of the attacks in Europe who had perished at the hands of Angel Force, turned to his cousin, Hussain, who had escaped with him from England months before. Reaching across, he grabbed his cousin by the shoulder and said, Today we begin again to get our revenge; today we begin again to seek to bring our people to their rightful place in the world.

Hussain took his cousin's hand, clenched it tightly, and said, We will indeed, Cousin. Today begins our new conquest of the Western world.

The three limousines arrived and began to disgorge their cosmopolitan mix of passengers – some of Arab origin, some of African origin, and others of Caucasian origin. They were united by one common thread, their love of Islam, and were joined together for a common cause, to see Islam sweep right across the world.

There were some amongst them who were not Muslim. They served a different god, the god of greed and money. Their objective was to use this extremist religious crusade to their benefit, thereby padding out their bank accounts. Zimbabwe had become a hotbed of extremist groups for those with pockets deep enough to be able to bribe the officials – officials so desperate to live the lifestyle they craved that no thought was given to what was right. 

The men slowly made their way up to the parapet where Omar waited. He greeted each one of them with a traditional Arab greeting, and then he moved across to the edge of the parapet, looking down over the wall into what was almost a replica of the ancient Roman Colosseum. As the men looked over the edge, they saw the bones of humans scattered all over the floor of the mini Colosseum. This was the place where Robert Mudabe brought his enemies, those who stood in his way. Here they disappeared, never to be seen again.

Omar looked at a man standing at the other side of the parapet and nodded his head. The man reached down and pulled a lever that opened a thick wooden door down in the Colosseum. Out of the darkness leapt a magnificent specimen of Panthera leo leo, the African lion. Before their eyes was a huge male in his prime – muscles rippling beneath his tawny skin, yellow eyes filled with a steely gaze, looking left and right, up and down, spitting, tail flicking in agitation. He hadn't been fed for days; he was angry and hungry. He patrolled the base of the Colosseum like he owned it, which indeed he did; the bones scattered around gave testimony to that fact. This was a magnificent animal, able to throw a man 20 feet with one strike of his powerful paws, which were as large as dinner plates.

Omar turned to his guests. All had their eyes riveted on this magnificent beast’s tawny mane as it shimmered in the sun. He was a supreme example of power and aggression.

Omar smiled. His plan was working.

The lion let out a short barrage of angry roars, and the men in the watching group instinctively moved closer together. One of the men, a man of Caucasian origin who had never seen an African lion in all his glory, turned to Omar and said, There is no way he could get out of there; is there?

No, laughed Omar. Do not worry!

Omar turned again to address the group of waiting men and said, Look at that magnificent beast down there; look at its power. Not one of us would be willing to get into that arena with him; even as a group we would not do it. Such a magnificent beast would kill us all.

A poignant silence fell over the men as Omar’s words sunk in; their eyes were riveted on the beast below. Now that he had his audience’s attention, Omar continued, That beast down there represents the beast that stands against Islam. It represents the Western world. A world full of decadence, full of opulence. A world that stands against what we believe in. That beast down there represents the Western world, which corrupts our young women, corrupts our young men and leads them into paths that the Quran forbids. Brothers, how could we possibly overpower such a powerful beast?

A low rumble of conversation broke out as the men quickly discussed the question between them. One man of Arab ethnicity turned and said, We don't know, but we would need weapons of some sort.

Omar turned and once again gave a signal to the man who had operated the lever. The man bent down and picked up what appeared to be a balloon-shaped object from his feet; lifting it high above his head, he threw it down towards the lion. As it tumbled through the air, the golden liquid within caught the sun’s ray giving the illusion of liquid gold. As the object hit the lion on the back, it ruptured, and the thick golden liquid that was within started to spread across the lion’s back. The lion twisted in agitation, dragging his paws through the liquid and spreading it across his face as he sought to get this alien fluid off his back.

That, brothers, is purely honey and will not harm the lion or kill it, said Omar. He then looked again to the man who had operated the lever and gave another signal. This time the man reached down and started to open little doors set into the side of the Colosseum’s walls, and insects started to fly out. At first, just a few bees moved out, immediately picking up on the scent of the honey. Zeroing in on the molten fluid, they were quickly followed by more and more bees, drawn to the golden liquid which was so much a part of their DNA.

As the bees made their way towards the lion, his agitation level grew exponentially, and he crudely started to swat at them. One bee stung him, followed by another, and then another and another. Within a matter of seconds, the bees were swarming around the magnificent creature, who, muscles rippling, stood up on his hind legs roaring out in agitation and pain.

The bees, now a dark moving mass, attacked his eyes, nose, ears and mouth. Right before their eyes, the men saw a transformation start to take place as the swarm of bees descended onto the lion, forming a coating that grew thicker and thicker by the minute. His eyes started to swell and puff up; his nose, too, began to swell, followed by his lips and throat. Muted roars of anguish, pain and anger rattled out from the lion’s rapidly constricting airways. The mighty beast fell onto its side. The powerful chest heaved and shuddered as the lion tried to no avail to drag life-giving oxygen through its swollen airways. Within a few minutes the lion lay dead, starved of oxygen, its airways swollen shut under the assault of the bees.

The observers were astounded to see such a mighty beast reduced to a dead lump of meat in a matter of minutes. It was a shocking visual experience.

Omar turned to them and said, "Brothers, we had a huge setback in Europe and in America. My father's master plan was devastated by the Armed Forces of the West – and the United Kingdom in particular – this Angel Force and the SAS, who moved so quickly to neutralise years and years of planning. Our personnel in Europe have been decimated; our numbers are way down.

"Brothers, the only way we will be able to recover all that we have lost is by bringing into place an operation that I have planned. It is called Operation Tawl. For those of you who don’t know, ‘tawl’ is the Arabic word for ‘swarm.’ One bee on its own could not overcome the lion. Two bees could not overcome the lion. But when they came as a swarm in great numbers, they were able to conquer – to extinguish – the lion in a matter of minutes.

"Brothers, that must be our tactic as we attack the Western world. We must come at them like a swarm. We must infiltrate the groups of refugees pouring across the sea into Europe. We must radicalise the youth and put them out in numbers. We must attack places where it's impossible for our enemies to guard against attack. And we must stir up hatred and fear toward the Muslim population in the West; this will drive our youth to our cause as they feel more and more marginalised. We will attack in groups, as individuals, and on many fronts simultaneously.

The Western world must fear. They must be scared to go to school, to the shops, and to entertainment areas. In fact, they must be scared to step out of their homes. By our sheer numbers and the magnitude of our attack, we will swarm over and destroy them.

Omar paused for breath; his voice had sped up and risen in volume as he had delivered his discourse; a thin veneer of spit forming on his lips gave testimony to his passionate feelings.

I have been appointed Strategic Director of Western Operations by our new caliph. Soon, we will announce our caliphate; our symbol will be the black flag. It is about to rise, and many will rally to our cause!

Having finished his speech, Omar’s voice quieted as he said, Come. Let us move indoors for some cool refreshments.

As a group the men turned and followed Omar, a fanatical gleam in their eyes as they realised the beginning of their dream of a caliphate and worldwide domination was being birthed this day.

The black flag was starting to rise.

CHAPTER ONE

Special Assault Force Base, Cornwall

February 2014

The parade ground at the Special Assault Force base was full. In the months since the August operations of 2013, the extremist threat had been very quiet. This had given the unit the opportunity to regroup, and the size of the unit had grown exponentially from 300 men and women to nearly 1,000 troops.

Today was a very special day in the life of the unit called the Angels. Those who had joined the unit had been required to run a selection course to gain entry, and today the successful recruits were to be awarded their colours and berets.

To celebrate the special day, the Cornish weather had come out in all its finery. The sky was crystal clear, there was a lovely cool breeze blowing, and the sun was shining brightly. Colonel Tom Flavell, the Earl of Perranporth and the Colonel in charge of the Angel Force group, made his way up to the podium. The young captain below called the parade to order, and Tom started to speak.

For all of you, the men and women of Angel Force, today is a special day. I'd like to congratulate you all on the marvellous work that you have done in the time since this unit has been formed. As you know, we came into being in June, 2012, and went operational in January, 2013. When we look back at how much has been achieved in such a short time, it is an absolutely amazing transformation, and we have had great success in keeping our country safe. That is not a coincidence! We believe God has had His hand on us, and we need to thank Him for what He's done for us here. Let's pray.

Every man and woman in the unit bowed their heads as Tom prayed a prayer of thanksgiving, commitment and dedication. He then continued, I would like to welcome to our parade ground the man who will be handing out the berets and colours to the troops who have passed the selection course. Please welcome Field Marshal Stuart Flavell, Duke of Perranporth, the founder of the Angels unit, and the supreme commander of the UK Defence Force. What Tom had failed to mention was that Stuart Flavell was also his father.

Stuart made his way up onto the platform and shook the hand of the young colonel, his son of whom he was incredibly proud. Taking his place on the podium, Stuart delivered a short speech to the men and women who had succeeded in joining the unit by passing a very complex selection course designed to test the candidates both mentally and physically.

"I thank each one of you for your dedication. It is no easy feat to pass our selection course; it is one of the toughest in the world! Today, we will be awarding your colours and berets, symbols of a unit that has become a legend in a very short space of time.  I am immensely proud of you for pushing through great pain and suffering – both physically and mentally.  You have shown your commitment not only to our