ACV's 1 Operation Black Gold

ACV’s 1

Operation Black Gold

J W Murison

Copyright © 2013 J W Murison

All rights reserved.

ISBN
:
1492361704

ISBN-13
:
978-1492361701

DEDICATION

This book is dedicated to friendship; to the men I met when I was in the Army serving with the 1
st
Battalion The Gordon Highlanders.  From Junior Soldiers to my last years of service in the TA.  It was these men more than any other that helped form the person I am today.  The Tears of laughter that used to run down my face on a daily basis is now a long lost friend.  Yes, I still laugh, I still have friends, yet those who made me laugh the hardest and for the longest time are all scattered far and wide.

Almost every man who has ever served and reading this will be sitting nodding his head in understanding.  The rest of you will not understand but will most likely be aware of all the old sayings about soldiers and camaraderie.  Some may even be sick of hearing it and I am aware that not all of the men and women who served enjoyed the experience. 

The reasons men and women join the armed forces of their countries are as varied as the people themselves.  Throw all those personalities into the mixing bowl of service life, toss in a little discipline, a little or even a lot of danger and you are going to get a very potent cocktail.  Chances are it will be a very colourful one as well.  

Years after leaving the army it was with dismay I realised I had lost touch with many of my old friends.  Some due to geography, but most likely because I have a rather insular type of personality.  Put me on a desert island and it would probably take me the better part of a year to realise that I was alone. 

I do on occasion stick my head up for a look around, and it was during one of those moments that I realised how much I missed those friends that I had made while serving in the armed forces.  I still thought about them on a regular basis, of the good times, the laughs, the drunken brawls and the pursuit of the fairer sex.  I was at a loss however; I had no idea how to get in touch with any other than the odd one or two.

I wanted to let them know that I had not and would never forget them.  To that end, I embarked upon this book.  Through this novel, I would prove how much I cared for them when we served together and how much I still cared.  Through those I was still in touch with, I would get the manuscript typed up and copied; then I would distribute copies through them.  It didn’t quite work out that way.  For those I was able reach their words of encouragement set me on a new adventure.  Don’t understand; check out the next page.

OTHER BOOKS BY J W MURISON

ACV’s 1 Operation Black Gold

ACV’s 2 Operation Island Green

Gareth Ogilvie The Highland War Chieftain

Gareth Ogilvie The Great sea King

Carn Mór

Teardrops In The Night Sky

The Black Planet

Death Rises

1st Battalion The Gordon Highlanders (Space Division)

The Kilted Cowboy

Embers

The J W Murison Short Stories Collection

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

When I was first contacted by Davie Pirie, it was as a fan.  I soon discovered that we had both served in the same regiment together, although I served a little earlier.  We communicated on a number of occasions and I quickly realised that Davie had a really good eye for picking up errors in my novels, even if it didn’t stop him enjoying them.  He offered his help and I accepted.  This edition is Davies edit of ACV’s.  Also with this edition comes a new cover from Jeannie Michaud; Jeannie you shall always have my undying gratitude for the effort you put into these novels.  Of course as always my gratitude to my wife Myra for putting up with me as I slog through edit after never ending edit. 

CHAPTER 1

They came out of the fog of war, rank upon rank of the living dead.  The machine gun hammered against my shoulder, shredding pieces from the walking corpses, but still they advanced screaming their hatred.  I was forced to retreat as they reached the sand bagged parapet.  I fired from the hip as one climbed on top.  Flesh disintegrated under the concentrated fire.  His legs separated from the rest of his body but still the torso crawled after me.

I turned seeking help but my friends had already left.  I faced my assailants alone.  Rounds hammered into their rotting corpses, slowing them but not stopping them.  I retreated towards the cliff path, to safety and sanity.  As the last ten rounds whipped over my forearm into the breach, I heard them scream my name.  There they were lined up along the cliff top waiting for me.

‘Run, run.’

If I could reach them, I would be safe.  I smashed the white-hot barrel across the face of the nearest corpse.  It fell screaming clawing at its sightless eyes, but I had taken one-step back too many.  My ankle caught on the edge of an empty ammo crate and I tripped.  The crawling corpse caught my foot.  I lashed out smashing a heel into the decomposing face.  The skull gave way with a dull crack.  I screamed as my foot disappeared inside, gore splattered up my legs, but I broke free. 

I never made it to my feet; the sergeant fell on top of me, the stench of his rotting flesh choking.  I tried to push his face away but his skin disintegrated in my hands.  An eye fell onto my chest and the socket filled with maggots.  His dead weight was crushing and I could feel the maggots squirm on my cheek as they dropped onto my screaming upturned face.

I woke with a jolt, the colossal weight was still crushing me and the maggots were still crawling along my cheek.  I was paralysed with fear.

‘Rowell.’  BOY!  My eyes focused to find him grinning down at me.

‘Oh piss off boy.’  He started purring, I fell for it, instead of going with my initial instinct, and pushing him off, I started to scratch him behind the ear.  With the other hand, I scratched my cheek where his whiskers had tickled.  He raised his head to have his chin scratched but as soon as he’d had enough, he took a chunk out of me and legged it.

I took a deep breath and let it out slowly.  The weak winter light shining through the window indicated it must be near midday.  I leaned over Cath to check the clock.  She stirred turning to cuddle into me.

‘High yah.’  She stretched her naked body against mine.

‘High yah’

‘What are you doing?’

‘Getting up.’

‘That sounds interesting.’  She cocked a leg over mine and a hand caressed my chest quickly dropping lower.

‘Oh no you don’t.’  I gave her playful slap on the arse, slid over the top of her and out of bed, trying to ignore the reaction she’d set off.

‘Spoil sport, why not?’

‘Have you any idea how difficult it is to piss with a hardon.’

‘Beast.’  She slapped me back.

‘Would you like a coffee?’

‘Not yet, I’d like a shower first.’

I had a piss then put the kettle on.  I made two cups but only put the water into my own.  I settled down to watch the lunchtime news and lit my first cigarette of the day; I wanted to see how the latest battle of the oil fields was shaping up.  Things were beginning to get a bit messy; the arguments more and more bitter every day.  The whole thing was beginning to frighten the shit out of me.  If I knew then what I know now I would have emigrated, but then hindsight is a wonderful thing.

The news started with its normal flourish and as usual, it was top story of the day.  America was once again contesting Scotland’s right to the immense oil fields discovered 10 years ago off the West of the Shetlands.  Although it started in Scottish waters, it extended well into the Atlantic.  The way they were carrying on you would think they had discovered it.

Since Scotland had first gained its independence almost 30 years ago, the Government had poured billions of pounds into the technology of discovering and extracting deep-sea oil.  While on land, it had fought to perfect the extraction of natural oils to provide power for industry and the home environment.  Now almost all our cars, lorry’s, buses and electrical power stations were using fuel derived from natural renewable resources or as it had been nick named, Homeopathic power.  As you can imagine Scotland’s non-dependency and America’s total dependency on fossil fuels was one of America’s key arguments in the long fought debate.  It was estimated that the new oil fields, only now coming into full production could supply America’s complete oil needs for the next 300 years.

Most people blamed the oil barons and her last few Presidents for this continued dependency.  Their greed and power had kept America’s research on renewable power sources down to a minimum and their hold on the global market ensured that no other country got the bug, except that is, yes you’ve got it hard headed Scotland.

At the beginning of the century, the American electoral system was in chaos.  None of the political parties could sustain the billion dollar advertising costs.  So they turned to the powerhouses for help.  It didn’t take long for them to gain control and start fielding their own candidates.  Politics became Buisnessnatics and very soon after that, the top businessmen put themselves forward for election and won.  Now no country could ever hope to match Americas industrial might and her economy was the strongest across the globe.

However, this new political system had taken its toll.  No longer did mighty America protect the weak, unless of course it was financially rewarding.  So now, with America’s biggest Oil Baron in the White House, things were beginning to look very grim for Scotland indeed. 

When we got our independence just after the turn of the new century and fearing a drain on their own resources, we were dumped from the powers that be on both sides of the Atlantic.  Our new Prime Minister as he was then had known there was only about 50 years’ worth of oil left in the North Sea wells.  Luckily for us he was a visionary and had no inclination of ending up dependent on anybody for anything had and started our country along this long stony path.

It took about 15 years to really feel the benefits of our new power sources, but with the ‘long haul’ as it was now called over; Scotland had gone from strength to strength.  I was distracted from the telly by the sound of footsteps in the kitchen. 

‘Will I put your coffee on now?’  I asked her.

‘Yes please.’

I got up and put the kettle back on catching a glimpse of Cathy’s shapely legs as she disappeared into the bathroom.

‘What time is it?’  She raised her voice to be heard over the sound of running water, which within the thin walls of the caravan wasn’t really necessary.

‘Just coming off of 12.00 o’clock.’

‘Ah, plenty time.’

Something in the way she said it brought a grin to my face.  I filled her cup and took it through to the sitting room, and settled back down to the news.  There were a lot of questions being asked about American Naval activity.  It was being passed off as exercises, but looked more like some kind of mobilization to me.

The news shifted onto another satellite launch.  Since Scot’s scientists had found a way to launch objects into space using opposing magnetic fields, we had almost cornered the complete market.  We could launch a satellite into earth’s orbit at a fraction of the price of conventional means, mind you, customers didn’t quite get it at a fraction of the price, well you’ve got to make a wee profit somewhere.

I watched as the satellite in its cradle hovered 20 meters above the Stonehenge like structure.  The legs began to open like the petals on an ugly flower.  Somehow, scientists had worked out the frequency of the earth’s magnetic field.  The cradle the satellite sat in was some kind of electronic magnet tuned in to repel it.  The structure somehow amplified the Earth’s magnetic field and literally blew the whole kit and caboodle into space.  Once in orbit small rocket motors on the cradle would fire it to its desired co-ordinates.  The cradle would then split into pieces and the satellite would deploy.

The polarity in the cradle would be changed and it was pulled back into the atmosphere to burn up completely.  Handy that when every nation in the world was screaming to get their hands on the technology.  There were rumours going about that within 20 years or so, they would be able to reverse the process so they could build some form of vessel that could repel the earth.  When that happened, well, who knows?  I watched in fascination again as it was launched, shaking my head in wonder.  The news moved onto more domestic matters.

I heard Cathy coming out of the shower, ‘coffee’s ready.’

‘OK, where are your spare towels?’

‘Clean ones are on a shelf in the wardrobe.’  I could hear the wardrobe door click open and shut, then the quiet pad of her feet across the kitchen floor.

‘This floor’s cold, where’s your slippers?’

‘On my feet.’

‘You could have left them for me.’

‘Ah, but I’m a cruel beast remember,’ I smiled at her.

‘True,’ she smiled back standing for a second wrapping the pink hand towel around her hair.  The movement of her raised hands winked open and closed the towel she had wrapped round her giving me the occasional flash of pubic hair.  Seeing the direction my eyes had taken, her face broke into a seductive grin.  ‘What are you looking at?’

‘You, you’re right bonny when you’re wet.’

‘How do you know I’m wet?’

Her reply caught me a bit off guard; I burst out laughing and felt an immediate rush of blood to the nether regions.  ‘You are, are you?’

‘Want to find out?’

‘Aye, I wouldn’t mind.’  My voice dropped at least a couple of octaves.  A phenomenon I had never truly been able to understand.  Her warm hands pushed me back against the settee.  She opened my robe and straddled me.  I opened her towel, let it fall, and was rewarded by the sight of a rapidly hardening pair of nipples, something that never failed to set my hormones racing.  I bent my head forward and took them one at a time, gently licking, sucking and teasing them to full hardness.  I was rewarded with rapidly increasing gasps as she rubbed her clitoris up and down the outside of my hard shaft. 

‘You are wet aren’t you?’

‘Yeah.’  She pushed my head back with one hand kissing me full on the mouth, her tongue searching, while her other hand reached down gently guiding.  As she sank down onto me, the last thing I heard before being transferred into a totally different world was the newscaster saying something about a special at one o’clock