Battle

September 2020

The killings have continued. We remain holed up at the head of the valley. Hardly anybody knows that this cavern is here. It isn't even marked on Ordnance Survey maps.

We have only had intermittent internet access but enough to learn that  Brexiteers have been taking their revenge on True Patriots everywhere - with public hangings in Green Park, London and on the streets of York, Birmingham and Bristol. It is difficult to calculate how many have fallen. Certainly more than ten thousand.

They call we True Patriots Remoaners. It seems like a lifetime ago when back in 2016 we voted to stay in The European Union. But the Brexiteers won the day with money and false promises and insidious social media tactics driven by an army of Russian bots.

When finally the country cut its ties from The European Union under the leadership of the The Great Clown, chaos ensued. The pound plummeted like a peregrine falcon, there was fighting in supermarkets, ferry services to Europe were suspended and many workplaces shut down.

Banking services were also in chaos and I learnt that my teacher's pension would no longer be paid into our account each month. Someone sprayed the word "Remoana"(sic) on Clint - my silver automobile and a brick was thrown through our front window.

I personally witnessed gangs of Brexiteers pulling True Patriot supporters out of their homes and beating them up. It was very scary. That was when we decided to keep our lights off at night.

Two weeks later - when the Brexiteers had blown up local power stations and had taken over the BBC - we decided to flee. We put on red white and blue clothing like the Brexiteers and I painted over the word "Remoana" on Clint's rear end.

Clint had a full tank of petrol so I knew we could reach anywhere in England. There were road blocks and identity checks. Cars were searched but I had anticipated this. There was nothing incriminating on board. We saw a family being dropped mercilessly from the top of The Ouse Bridge near Goole. The children were screaming desperately for their lives as The Brexiteers guffawed with callous delight. It was truly horrible.

And so here we are now, holed up in the cavern with fifty or so other True Patriots. I cannot tell you our exact location for obvious reasons. We are in touch with other cells of Remoaners scattered around the country and we are preparing to do battle with The Brexiteers somewhere in The Vale of York. We have guns sequestered from the garrison at Catterick.

Their army is gathering. We can see their vape smoke in the distance. Big BoJo has been on the radio stirring his troops with Churchillian war phrases that make my blood curdle. But we are not afraid. We will fight The Brexiteers to the death and secure our rightful place in Europe once more. This is not the end. Just the end of the beginning.