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God’s Knaves & Scoundrels

By

Stephen Maybery

Synopsis.

The year is 2050 and Iraq has invaded England to save the people from the tyranny of Prime Minister Leo Blair, well, at least that is the excuse they gave to the World; but, as everyone knew from the outset, all the Iraqis really wanted, and were determine to get their hands on at all costs, was the vast deposits of oil recently discovered under the Cambrian Mountains of Wales.

   The World had changed for the Western powers since the heady, early days of the century. Economic profligacy and a lack of their own oil supplies had consigned them to financial purdah, whereas the Arab World, led by a resurgent Iraq, dominated the planet. From Moscow to Milwaukee, people ate MacSaddam burgers or Kirkuk Fried Chicken and drank Cokakerbala. This was all very well, but the Arabs knew their oil was a finite resource, and if their financial dominance of the World was to continue, they had to secure large fresh reserves. The Welsh find suited the bill nicely.

  The Iraqi President sends two of his henchmen to Wales, to lay the ground for an invasion, which meant bribing the members of the Welsh assembly with the only currency in the World which mattered, the Iraqi Dinar. The expedition did not get off to the best of starts; the trip had been organized by the presidential travel office, which was staffed by the President’s in-laws who did not know the difference between Cardiff and Carracas. The predictable result was that the Presidents representatives were dispatched to Paris. Speaking no French and having been warned that the Welsh spoke a heathen language known only to themselves, al Assaf and al Oumi naturally assumed they had landed in Cardiff. It was some time before they learnt the error of their ways and found their way to Wales via a ferry from Roscoff.

  The outcome of the mission to Wales was that the Principality declared UDI. The British Government, having signed up a lucrative royalty scheme with British Petroleum, which would secure it’s revenues, was inclined to let the matter pass, but the President of France, leader of the European Praesidium, decreed otherwise, and the English were forced to invade Wales. The President of France was also King William of England, HM had taken advantage of the EU electoral rules and stood for the French Presidency, from which vantage point he regularly gave the British Government a good kicking.

  England invaded Wales. Iraq threatened invasion if the English did not withdraw, France threatened to cut off al EU subsidies if they did, and the Americans jumped in on the side of the Iraqis, they were also broke and needed to curry favour with the super power.; besides which, the Clinton dynasty had a few scores to settle with the blairs for their support of the long defunct Bush clan

  The invasion was a success, what few regiments that were left to the Brits after decades of military cuts were routed. Leo Blair was discovered hiding in the former Whitechapel workhouse. Along with his ministers he was tried then incarcerated in a prison to the north of Baghdad, which local wags had dubbed Guantanamo Spa.

  The invasion was only supposed to topple the Blair regime, and then return home, naturally nobody believed that, either then or later. Puppet governments came and went, but the Iraqis stayed, and the Brits accepted the situation. The natives did not even demur when the Sunnis got Westminster Abbey and the Shia St Paul’s. The Welsh of course, obstinate souls that they were, did not accept the status quo, they took to burning down the holiday cottages of Iraqi officialdom, but then, what more could you expect of that lot.

 

Copyright @ 2005 Stephen Maybery.

 

CHAPTER II.

When folk in Blighty, conditioned as they are from birth, to regard half a day of sunshine as summer, think of Baghdad, which admittedly, they do not do very often, they imagine balmy days and palm trees, nights under the stars nibbling dates. Not in February. The only thing you are likely to nibble during that particular passage of the calendar, is your tongue, as you attempt to prevent your teeth from chattering from the cold and prey none of your extremities fall off as a result of frostbite. Baghdad in February is demonstrably cold, the ground white with frost, and long johns the most popular fashion accessory amongst the general populace. The excesses of the thermometer were bearable in this neck of the woods, they still had plenty of oil for all their needs, and it was cheap. They had the wherewithal to heat their homes. Within the protection afforded by four walls and a roof, nobody shivered through the winter here, and the government was determined that nobody would for many a long year to come.

   The oil stocks of Iraq were still plentiful, but the end of this bounty could be forecast with reasonable accuracy and forward planning was required. The discovery of oil in Wales was seen as a guarantee of Iraq’s continuing and long term prosperity. Provided Iraq could get it’s hands on the stuff, which should not be a problem of any significance. Also, if Iraq was prosperous then the Arab Federation would be prosperous and everyone would be happy, well in the Middle East they would, where concern for the Nizrani ranged from the minimal to the non existent.

  President Osmanli of the Arab Federation looked at his diamond encrusted watch, an artefact executed in cloisonné enamel, an impossibly vulgar time piece, the dial of which sported an image of a naked strumpet being screwed by a midget. The President indicated to his servant to refill his cup, he had plenty of time before the scheduled meeting with the heads of the departments which constituted his government. Osmanli lit a cigarette, chuckling at the thought of all those benighted souls in the West who were gasping for a drag on the weed; an activity denied them by their rulers. He never ceased to be amazed at how intolerant the democracies were. There was much to be said for a good old fashioned dictatorship, he thought to himself. No dictator had banned a man for having a fag, or told him what he could or could not eat; and no dictator had ever thrown a man into jail for giving his kids a clip around the ear when they deserved it.

  “Westerners” The President barked. “Who’d have them” The coffee maker went white with fear, he had not caught his masters drift and thought the liquid he had served was too hot. Men had been put up against the wall and shot for lesser misdemeanours than that.

…………………………

Long ago, Osmanli Pasha, had come to be known, behind his back, naturally, as “Oh my beloveds” This was a consequence of his having seen the film Khartoum, staring Sir Lawrence Olivier as the Mahdi. Sir L, in the course of the film frequently used the phrase “OH my beloveds” As Osmanli was late for the performance, he had missed the opening credits. Osmanli assumed that Sir Lawrence, suitably covered in khaki coloured slap, was the genuine article, an Arab nobleman, and that upper-class Arabs went around addressing all and sundry as, “Oh my beloveds” In such ways and misconceptions are the reputations of men cemented.

 By the time the Americans had decided to do a runner from Iraq, Murad Osamli Pasha was strategically positioned to take over the country. Both the army and the security services were answerable to him; it was as if all his Eid al Fitres had come at once. America naturally announced it was leaving because democracy had now been secured, to whom it had been secured had not been spelt out with any discernable clarity. As the general of the occupation boarded the last helicopter to leave the city for the aircraft carrier anchored off Basra, he looked Osmanli in the eye, then with a sweeping gesture that would go down in history alongside Nicholae Ceausescu’s farewell wave to his adoring subjects, said with a conviction born of complete ignorance of any given situation, including the one pertaining to Iraq, belted out in a rasping bass baritone.

 “It’s all yours son” Those words and Osmanlis ecstatic reaction to them were captured by CNN and sent ricocheting around the World. The World was not tremendously interested. They had seen it all before.