Tag: Terrorism

Four meals from anarchy…(Updated)

On September 25, 2026

I first posted this article a couple of years back and it’s probably the one that generated the most conversations from friends and colleagues after they read it and put themselves in the shoes of my protagonist. All of them agreed that it is a realistic and horrifying scenario which most of us don’t even pay lip service to thinking about. But when we do, it soon becomes apparent how ill prepared we are to deal with such a situation. And how quickly our comfortable existence would be degraded.

The reason I’ve updated and reposted here is the recent increase we’ve seen in attacks against subsea communication and power cables. Earlier this week, the underwater cables that connect Australia to the wider world were targeted. A tanker’s suspicious movements showing a dedicated interest in the area of the cables before 2 of 18 were broken. An attack against the very digital lifeblood of the antipodean nation. Nearer to home, Russia consistently targets European power and communications cables and have only been unsuccessful due to the intelligence and security agencies vigilance and defences.

But they won’t always be successful in this defence.

So what happens when an adversary succeeds in destroying critical infrastructure for even a relatively short period of time? Well, we now know from the experiences of Ukraine exactly how this scenario pans out. But should the same situation occur in the UK, could we cope? Have a read below and see what you think . . .

I’m often asked where I get the ideas for my books from and how realistic they actually are. The broad answer is that I employ a combination of personal experiences and real world events. With over three decades in front-line counter terrorism and military operational experience, I’m rarely short of ideas or plots.

Take the title of this article for example. Four meals from anarchy. That term comes from an MI5 threat matrix carried out some years back and refers to the timeframe in which the UK would descend into anarchy after a comprehensive cyber attack taking out our power supply for an extended period. It took into account how reliant our nation is on electricity, digital communication platforms, and how little resilience is built into the system to cope with large-scale, prolonged outages. It also identified how fragile our food supply chain is and again, how even the smallest disruption to it would have a disproportionate effect. Think about Tesco and other major retailers ‘Just in Time’ model of supply. This is where the resupply to major supermarkets takes place just before stock is depleted to a certain level. It’s why and how Tesco et al can save money by not having massive storage sites at their locations. But it is extremely vulnerable to any transport or communications disruption.

The thing is, MI5 don’t have to imagine or attempt to predict the effects that such a cyber attack and power outage would have. They have had the opportunity to study several events where this very thing has happened. The biggest one obviously being when Russia carried out an operation of this type against Ukraine. Banks, food supply and storage, Internet, mobile phones, fuel supplies, traffic lights, air travel, train travel, trams, heating and hot water. It would take too long to list every element affected by the attack but it’s sobering to see the immediacy and depth of impact this type of hybrid warfare has.

And Ukraine was far more resilient than we in the UK would be. Ukraine as a country is accustomed to Russian attacks and intimidation and the Ukrainian people stoic and resolute in coping with the associated effects and hardships. We as a nation have not been exposed to the same misfortunes and suffering and consequently not invested in mitigation and coping strategies.

One of the largest increases in crime in the UK in the past year has been that of shoplifting, up 25% from the year before. 25%. By any measure, and for any crime, that’s an eye-watering statistic. And it’s not being carried out by poor people who can’t afford food. The type of offender ranges across the class spectrum as steaks, cheese, wine and other alcohol top the stolen items list. Organised criminal gangs have also jumped on the bandwagon, recognising the minimal possibility of arrest and prosecution as a very low risk/high reward criminal enterprise.

I bring this up to highlight the fact that this stealing of food is occurring when there is no threat to our food supply and availability. It takes very little imagination to picture the increase in stealing food on the second day our country has no power. Those who already steal carrying on as normal, the newcomers justifying their actions as self-preservation. The criminal gangs would expand the scope of their thefts to a wholesale level, stealing in bulk now to sell for maximum profit later as food supplies become more scarce. The competition for the securing of food also leading to increased violence at every level.

And that’s just food. Think about our reliance on petrol and diesel for transport and goods delivery and the impact of having none. No electricity for EVs. Ambulances, fire engines, police cars, all affected from the off. Rail and air travel stopped. The mobility we rely on every day for every aspect of our lives suddenly ended.

Communication blackouts, initially from cyber attack then from no power availability. No internet or phone connectivity. Isolation from family and friends as the situation deteriorates further. Information available only as rumour and speculation, the void of news reporting filled by conspiracy theories and fearmongering.

Water supply and sewage control. This was one of the key areas the Russian’s targeted in Ukraine as it has a twofold effect in terms of impact. When citizens lose their water supply it has immediate effects on health and hygiene. The secondary impact is on mental health and morale, a deep rooted panic setting in as it becomes apparent that things are getting far worse than could ever have been imagined.

When the Soviet Union, then Russia, employed their deep-cover ‘sleeper’ agents in countries abroad, attacks against key infrastructure were planned and rehearsed due to the immediate and very public effects they had on a nation. A government dealing with a population turning upon each other and their leaders has few remaining resources with which to combat the external threat.

In 2013, a series of power outages in the USA assessed to be a fault in the system, turned out to be something far more nefarious. When the outages were investigated, it was found that fibre-optic cables and electricity transformers had been targeted in what was described by investigators as ‘military level’ in planning and execution. Where the elements of the transformers had been disabled, it was found that they had been shot, from distance and with accuracy, indicating training and proficiency by whoever had carried it out. CCTV caught a puzzling series of small flashes away from the target area and this was later identified as signals which initiated and ended the attack. Again, an indication of complexity and coordination. On the shell casings found at the firing points, no prints or identifying forensic evidence was recovered, pointing to operational discipline and experience. And the thing is, this case has never been solved. A rehearsal by a Russian ‘sleeper’ team? Anti-government militia flexing their muscles?

Repairs to electrical substation after sabotage attack

In truth, the ‘who’ doesn’t really matter. The fact is that there is a group out there somewhere with the confidence, knowledge, capability, and who have now executed their concept successfully. Several counter terrorist investigators used the term ‘frightening’ when describing their assessment of the attack, referring to both the soft, relatively unguarded nature of the target and the coordinated element of the operation.

Just a few weeks ago, a Chinese vessel in the Baltic Sea dragged its anchor for over 20 miles along the seabed, rupturing communication and energy-provison cables that serve Finland. Absolutely impossible that it was an accident. And coincidence that it occurred at the same time refugees turning up at Finland’s border with Russia increased from 1 a day to over 1,000? Unlikely. A typical page from the playbook of overwhelming a country’s government while disrupting energy supplies and communications. There’s no doubt that this was a Russian retaliation for Finland joining NATO, the bigger surprise being the joint venture with China.

So, back to my initial point of ideas for books and stories. I keep a small log of interesting bits and pieces such as this one you are reading about now for future writing projects. The information I’ve mentioned in this piece for example, is being woven into a shorter work for my Patreon and paying subscribers.

But here’s something for you to think about:

Day One:

You wake up. Late, because your phone didn’t charge and ran out of power through the night. You get up, flick the bedroom light switch and frown when the light doesn’t work. You carry on into the kitchen and check the time on a battery operated clock and swear under your breath because you’re really late for work. You flick the light switch in the bathroom but nothing happens. You swear again but don’t stop as you need to get ready quickly. Pushing the button on the electric shower, you slap your forehead when you realise it won’t work in a power cut. Okay, bird bath it is. When you turn on the taps, the water sputters for a few seconds then nothing more comes out. You try this again and again, unable to fathom why water isn’t coming out. Mmm . . . better call your friend who lives a few streets away and ask if . . . but you’ve no power in your phone. You run to your laptop and give a ‘hah’ of victory as the screen comes to life and you note there’s still some battery power. But no internet. Because the power’s down, your router isn’t working, and you can’t hot-spot from your dead phone. You’re now running very late and decide deodorant, a brush through your hair, and a quick clean of your teeth will have to suffice. As you grab your keys and the last banana from the bowl on the table, your only concern is getting to work and not on how long what little food you have in your fridge will last without electricity. Slamming the door behind you, you rush down the communal stairway, darker than usual because the lights are out, and bustle your way out into the street.

The first thing that strikes you is the amount of people stabbing at the screens on their mobile phones in frustration, or holding the devices up in the air, deep frowns on their foreheads as they try to get a signal. As you arrive at the bus stop a woman informs you that she’s been waiting nearly an hour and none have turned up. You ask if the drivers are on strike again but the woman shakes her head and says she doesn’t know. A man beside her picks up his bag and announces he’s going home as he’s tried his best but can’t get into work. He doesn’t seem too displeased about this. The traffic on the road is static, nose to tail and every few yards a driver leans on his horn in frustration. You’ve never seen a traffic jam on this road and wonder what could be causing it. A commotion across the street catches everyone’s attention and you watch as a group of youths explode out of the convenience store, arms full of food and drink, laughing as the aged shopkeeper tries to chase them. You join those around you in condemnation of the youths’ actions with a chorus of tutting and shaking of heads. You decide to walk a few streets over to another bus stop as, even if the buses are running on this line, they won’t get through until the traffic clears on the road.

As you walk the ten minutes or so to the next route, you are approached three times by strangers asking if you have a phone they could use. You explain politely that it’s dead and they move on quickly. But this makes you uneasy. Something about so many strangers in such a short period of time desperate for a phone unsettles you. At the corner of the street you groan when you see the traffic here is as bad as the street you left and you sigh in resignation, turn around and begin walking home. On reflex, you reach into your pocket for your phone, intending to call in and let work know you won’t make it, but stop short of pulling the device out when you remember. You realise you are thirsty and could also do with a coffee so cross the road and head towards the new Costa at the next junction. As you push the door to enter the shop, it doesn’t budge and looking in, you see four or five of the staff sitting at a table. One of them catches your eye and points to the window further down from the door. Following the guidance, you notice the improvised sign, ‘Closed. No electricity.’ Okay, you’ll just pick up some water from the convenience store. When you arrive at the store, their door is also locked. You shake your head as you knock, guessing that it’s a security measure after the youths’ stealing spree earlier. The face of the shopkeeper appears and waves you away. You explain that you just want to buy some water and he shouts through the glass barrier that they sold out of water earlier. You knock again to stop him turning away and yell that you will take some juice instead. He regards you for a second and tells you it’s cash only. You reach for your phone to show him your Apple Pay and groan when you realise the futility of your actions. Determination kicks in and you remember there is a cash machine nearby. With a rather dramatic ‘I’ll be back’, you stride out the small distance to the ATM. Which isn’t working because, of course, there’s no power. That uneasy feeling you experienced earlier comes back with a bit more force as the cumulative effect of the morning’s events starts to take hold. You turn around and head straight for home, allowing yourself a small grin when you think about how foolish you’ll feel in a couple of hours when the power comes back on.

Except it doesn’t. That afternoon, after rebooting your laptop over and over trying to get the internet restored, you drained the battery. No Netflix, Amazon Prime Video or YouTube to relieve the boredom. You eventually resorted to reading a book, sitting in a chair by the window where there was enough light. As the light died, you decided to have something to eat and, upon looking at the meagre contents in the fridge, reached for your phone to access the JustEat App before remembering it had more use as a coaster in its current state. Fine. You grab your coat and head towards the door, stomach rumbling in anticipation of the fish and chips to come. A memory from this morning comes back and you realise you will probably need cash but you haven’t used cash for so long you have none at hand. You do have a debit card and put this into your pocket, lock the door behind you then pause as you enter the dark stairwell. In all your years living here you’ve never seen it so dark. You hurry out into the street and register how dark it is here also, with no streetlights pooling their sodium glow onto the pavements and no shops with any light showing whatsoever. There’s also very few people around and those that are seem to be hurrying along, heads down and determined not to make eye contact. The traffic on the street remains the same as earlier today and you realise with a start that the cars have been abandoned, the drivers clearly unable to progress any further. You walk another couple of minutes before it hits you that there’s no point heading for fish and chips, or any kind of takeaway food for that matter. Nothing’s open. Nothing’s working. You think about it for a moment and decide to walk the mile or so to your friend’s house, see if they know when the power will be coming back on. This seems like a good idea until you notice the three men further along the road, leaning against the wall. They are stopping everyone walking past them, moving in close and clearly taking things from them. Your adrenaline spikes and mouth goes dry as you witness your first robberies, the raised voices of the criminals and powerlessness of the victims striking a deep fear within you. You turn and run for home.

Day Two:

You sleep late again but waken suddenly, thirsty and a little confused. Your face feels cold and you realise the heating hasn’t kicked in which in turn reminds you that the power still hasn’t come back on. A loud noise outside catches your attention and you shuffle to the window, pulling the curtain aside and looking out. A group of individuals in hoods and face masks are attacking the convenience store with baseball bats and lengths of metal pipes, smashing the door and windows. You raise your hand to your mouth as the old shopkeeper comes out of the door with a bat of his own and is beaten to the pavement where he lies unmoving and ignored as his attackers enter the shop. Instinctively, you turn to grab your phone to call the police but remember you can’t. The hooded individuals leave the store after several minutes, arms laden with boxes and bags. Several people you recognise as your neighbours walk across the street and you feel a flush of shame that you aren’t among them, heading over to check on the old shopkeeper. You raise your eyebrows in surprise when you see them glance at the old man before stepping around him and entering the shop. One by one they exit the store, quicker than they entered, furtive glances up and down the street as they juggle the food and drink in their arms. Your stomach rumbles in reaction and a second thought hits you; should I be doing that? You begin mentally justifying such an alien action. You don’t know how long this will last. You’re practically starving. You drank the small amount of water left in the kettle and don’t have any more. And besides, you’ll make a note of everything you take and pay the shop back later – more or less an IOU. Another group of people arrive at the store, this lot not even bothering to glance at the prone figure on the pavement before rushing into the building. The next sensation you feel comes from a deeper, primordial place; fear. A fear of missing the opportunity for food and drink to sustain you. You’ve never done anything like this in your life before but find yourself throwing on your coat and rushing out the door, blood pounding in your ears as you take the stairs three at a time. As you enter the store you deliberately avoid looking down at the shopkeeper, straining your eyes to take in the details of the dim interior. People are stripping the shelves and fridges and you are shocked at how little stock is left. For a brief moment you second guess yourself, appalled at how you ended up here, but when your eyes alight on a can of tomato soup all doubts disappear. Stuffing cans of soup, beans, and tuna into your coat pockets, you scan the store for further items. A lone packet of bacon on the floor by the fridge prompts a saliva deluge in your mouth and you start towards it before you realise you can’t cook it. You turn your attention back to the cans. With pockets full, you look around you and spy an empty bag lying by the magazine rack. Bending to pick it up you glance outside and notice some men across the road looking over. Your heart beats faster when you recognise them as the robbers you saw last night. You’re up and out the door, heading away from the shop before the conscious thought to do so has even entered your head. Back in your flat you lock the door and dump the cans onto the table before rushing to the window and looking outside. The three men are standing outside the shop, one of them prodding the unconscious shopkeeper with his foot while the others stop people leaving the shop, taking the goods from them. The first few people hand over their looted items after only token arguments. A man in a football top carrying several bags however, chooses to stand his ground. The robbers are upon him with a speed and ferocity of violence that shocks you and in seconds, there are two unconscious people on the pavement. The three thugs collect their spoils and distribute them among the bags and boxes for ease of carriage before setting off. When you raise your hand to close the curtain, you notice the tremors in your fingers. Rumbling in your stomach reminds you that you need to eat and you return to the kitchen, ready for a bowl of cold soup. You’re scared today. Really scared. You think a lot about your sister in Manchester and wonder if it’s the same there. Why has the power been off for so long? What’s happening? Why is nobody fixing this? Where are the police? It’s a long afternoon and night, boredom punctuated with small trips to the window, looking out on the world below as the shop gets emptier and the streets darker. Before bed, you head to the bathroom to relieve yourself and realise that it smells, there being no way to flush or dispose of the waste. When you climb into bed, the fear grows as you wonder what you are going to do tomorrow if the power is still not on. You need water; much more than you ever thought you would. You also need more food but from your observations today you know the shop has been stripped bare. So you’ll have to travel further afield, a prospect that fills you with dread as the memory of the robbers outside the shop and their swift, decisive application of violence returns. Pulling the duvet over your cold head, you do your best to sleep.

Day Three:

You wake to a raging thirst, trying to recall the crazy dreams you had through the night. It’s daylight and cold. Very cold. The sound of voices from the stairwell of your building motivates you to move and wrapping the duvet around you, you make your way to the door and place your ear against it. An authoritative voice is shouting and there is a lot of movement; doors opening and closing and people passing your flat. The booming voice repeats itself and the keywords spur you into action: Military. Water resupply. Bring containers. You haul open cupboard doors in a frenzy, determined to find the biggest receptacles you have but in the end all you can manage is a soup pot and several water bottles you pull from the recycling. Clothes donned and containers grabbed, you rush from the flat, almost colliding with the old man from the floor above as you run down the stairwell. When you burst into the street the noise hits you as you take in the scene around you. Several olive-green tankers are parked on the pavement across the road but there’s a densely packed crowd between you and the soldiers delivering the water. People are yelling. Some in fear, others in anger, most in frustration. A soldier with a loudhailer warns people not to push in, to hold back until it is their turn. You’re jostled and barged into as people try to get to the tankers and you realise if you don’t fight back you will never make it there yourself. Dropping your eyes, you drive yourself forward ignoring the angry responses as you gain ground, your maddening thirst fuelling your uncharacteristic aggression. After an hour or so, you reach the back of the queue, bruised, exhausted, and panting for breath. For the first time you can see the soldiers clearly and note how tense and frightened they look. And that they’re armed. Rifles at the ready. They control the queue from this point, cajoling and shepherding the mob into an orderly, snaking line that leads to the rear of the tankers where other soldiers are rationing out the water. As you progress, you see people begging for more water, arguing with the soldiers but being given short thrift. Those who don’t move on manhandled away from the tankers. When it comes to your turn, a soldier directs you to the second tanker where one soldier takes your pot and bottles as another activates the hose from the rear of the vehicle. For a brief instant, you fantasise about gulping down the entire pot of water and asking for a refill but you remember what happened to those who wouldn’t move on when ordered. You stuff your bottles into your pockets, jam the lid on the pot and follow the soldiers’ indication to the exit point. All you want to do is drink but the mood of the crowd has turned and a group tries to rush the tanker you just left. Shouted warnings from the soldiers, screams from those being trampled in the crowd, then an authoritative command comes over the loudhailer. ‘Engage. Engage.’ Dull pops followed by howls of agony inform you that the army has fired some form of crowd control weapon. You have no idea that these are rubber bullets, relics from the distant Northern Ireland conflict and that one of the men hit will die from the trauma that the projectile caused when it struck his chest. Chaos ensues as people try in vain to flee, the wails of those being crushed and trampled mingling with the rage of those focussing their ire on the military. But you have other things to worry about. Well, one thing really: How to get back to your flat without spilling your precious water. An animal cunning kicks in and you head away from both the crowd and your flat, taking a long, circuitous route devoid of people that takes you to the back entrance of your building. The back door is open and you waste no time in climbing the stairs and entering your flat, heeling the door behind you and placing your precious cargo on the kitchen table. You immediately lock the door then jump back in fright as someone pounds on it from outside. Heart hammering in your chest, you listen as a woman begs for water, crying as she explains the army has gone and she didn’t get her share. Pleading for help as she has two small children. She pounds the door again and you clench your fists and screw your eyes shut. You want to help but you can’t. You need the water as much as she does. The woman continues with her plea for several minutes then there is a moment’s quiet before she pounds on your neighbour’s door and begins anew. You pick up one of the water bottles and take a long drink, moaning with pleasure as the cool liquid slakes your thirst. The water has a chlorinated taste but this doesn’t bother you in the slightest. While all you want to do is down the entire contents, you stop yourself, put the top back on the bottle and place it with the others on the table. You wander to the window and look out, shaking your head at the remnants of the crowd, the injured and lame clutching varying parts of their bodies. Some aren’t moving at all, either dead or unconscious. A yell goes up from further along the street and you crane your neck to see what the commotion there is all about. A big orange flame erupts from an overturned vehicle as a crowd cheers. You step back and sit on the edge of your bed, suddenly overwhelmed with tiredness. A small nap, perhaps, would do you the world of good. It’s dark when you awaken, heart racing and blood pounding in your ears. A loud bang echoes around your flat and you realise someone is kicking your door. The boot is followed by a voice demanding you open the door. That they know you have water. That they only want a little from you. Your eyes are wide and hands shaking as you tiptoe into the dark kitchen where you stared at the door as it is booted again. It rattles in its frame but you can see it will hold. The voice shouts again, all pretence at reason now gone. Open the door or we’ll break it down and kill you. I’m warning you. You slide down the wall and sit on the cold floor, shivering and shaking until after another few minutes, there is silence and you hear pounding on your neighbour’s door followed by the shouts. Open up mate, we need you to share that water you got today. There’s people here really need it, women and kids and that. Open up now, we only need a little bit from everybody. Like before, the lack of response prompts an escalation in anger and threats from the unseen individuals until, once again, they move along and repeat their performance at the next door. Tears roll down your face as you realise that, unless something changes soon, these threats are going to become reality. You finally acknowledge the fact that you’re freezing and shuffle to your bed, cocooning yourself in the duvet for both warmth and retreat from grim reality.

Day Four:

You wake, cold again and still tired but desperate for the toilet. The bathroom really stinks now and you realise you should have thought of another way of getting rid of your waste. As you head back to the bedroom, you stagger and grasp at the doorframe for support as a wave of lightheadedness assails you. When it passes you take a look out the window and see a thick pall of smoke further along the street. The car you saw alight the previous evening still smouldering in the street while another vehicle belches thick black smoke into the air. There are several bodies lying on the road where the water tankers had been yesterday and you don’t even register how detached you’ve become that this only prompts a mild curiosity in you. Some movement catches your eye and you watch as a family leaves one of the houses opposite, a man, a woman and two girls, each individual laden with bags and rucksacks. Their white, pinched faces showing the fear they feel as they hurry along the pavement and turn the corner, out of sight and mind to you. A brief moment later, some more movement catches your attention and a small group of individuals make their way to the door of the house the family has just left. One of them tries the handle but the door doesn’t open. Several of them take turns at kicking the door down but this doesn’t work either. Large stones are gathered from the side of the road and hurled through the window, glass shattering and an entry point gained. Sticks and lengths of pipe are used to sweep the shards of glass from the frames and the individuals climb into the house. After several minutes, the front door is opened from the inside and the intruders begin trooping out, arms laden with duvets, blankets, and anonymous, misshapen bundles. But no food or water. You notice that. Because you’re starving. You know you need to go out and find more food but the thought terrifies you. Where the hell is the military? Will they come back today? Surely if they’re bringing water to people, they will bring food? Surely . . . Before you’re aware of it, you’ve been staring out the window for over an hour, staring but not seeing. There’s something familiar about the figures coming around the corner and you realise with a start it’s the family you saw leaving earlier that morning. But they look different. And there’s less of them. The man isn’t among them and the woman and girls no longer have any bags or rucksacks. They’ve been beaten and robbed of their coats, their clothing torn and dirty from whatever attack they’ve endured. The same stunned expression on their faces, they make their way to the home they vacated only hours earlier and stop, staring at the shattered window and open door. The woman collapses to her knees and drops her face in her hands as the two girls throw their arms around her and bury their faces into her shoulders. Any thoughts you have of venturing out to look for food now gone in wake of what you imagine this family to have experienced. Sounds in the stairwell draw your attention and you head to the door where you listen and interpret the noises. A door is forced open against the occupant’s will, screams then pleas for help. You vaguely recognise the voice but can’t put a face to it. The pleas are cut short and a silence, troubling in its immediacy and totality, ensues. You wonder if, like you, the rest of the block are listening at their doors, terrified to intervene and shameful in their gratitude at not being the victim. Yet . . . You jump as a loud voice yells up the stairwell that anybody who is caught not sharing their food and water will be punished harshly. For a moment you are confused. Was there some arrangement to do this that you were unaware of? And who are these people taking charge and punishing others? Your question remains unanswered when the voice orders all occupants to open their doors when asked to and allow their homes to be searched. Those who don’t comply will have their doors broken down and face harsh punishment. Again with that word; punishment. But you have no further time to dwell on this as the voice booms louder, fists thumping on your neighbour’s door as they demand entry. You have no time because you’re next and these are not good people. Panic sets in as you try in desperation to think where you can hide what remaining water you have. How thorough will the search be? Should you just drink all of the water now because they’ll take it anyway? The clear sounds of violence and suffering next door leave you in no doubt that these people will stop at nothing to get what they want. When the first fist pounds on your door, your heart is hammering in your chest and adrenaline flooding your veins as you stand on shaking legs, starved of both energy and willpower after 4 days without enough food and water . . .

Okay. I’ve kept our protagonist here a very simple one. Single, lives alone, no dependents, no pets, town or small city dweller. I’ve also shied away from ‘Hollywood’ scenes of mass violence and rioting. At least early on in a crisis. In reality it is the incremental advance of suffering and hardship that takes time for people to realise just how bad a situation really is. So, put yourself in our protagonist’s situation. Have a think about where you live and how you live and try to imagine the chain of events over 4 days of no power or communication. Where and how would you source food and water? How would you communicate with loved ones? Would your community come together or splinter apart and how could you be sure? Would it be different for people living in rural areas? I love the process of the imaginary ‘what would I do?’ Putting myself into these scenarios and wondering what I would do or how I would cope.

So, with 4 dinners being the timeframe from how you live right now until the country descends into anarchy, what would you do?

Hot New Release!

By James

On September 28, 2022

In Military Matters, Terrorism and Counter Terrorism

A Day Ahead of the Devil now available in Ebook, Paperback and Audiobook

Afghanistan 2021. The Taliban takeover.

Surrounded and outnumbered by their Taliban attackers, a small group of Afghan special forces fights their way out of their base and races towards Kabul and the last of the flights leaving the country.

A team of seasoned SAS soldiers is deployed to Kabul to assist in extracting intelligence Assets for the MI6 Station there. But as the Taliban tighten their deadly noose around the city, the simple locate and recovery task soon becomes a lot more complicated.

And when a legendary Taliban commander arrives in Kabul and learns that there are special forces operating in his city, he knows there is only one thing to do: Hunt them down and kill them.

With hundreds of Taliban searching the city for them, the SAS team’s mission becomes one of survival and staying a step ahead of their hunters. And with the planned evacuation of Kabul descending into chaos, the team knows that if they don’t make it back to the airport fast, they won’t make it out at all.

Based around true events, A Day Ahead of the Devil is the latest action-packed thriller from the bestselling author of Asset Seven.

Last chopper out of Kabul…

By James

On August 12, 2021

In Uncategorized

In an article I wrote almost 18 months ago, (https://www.jamesemack.com/have-the-taliban-won/) I covered what I thought a strategic withdrawal from Afghanistan would look like. Back then, the United States was talking about troop reductions in order to return control of the country back to the people of Afghanistan whose Security Forces were now deemed capable of this task. I wrote then that I considered this the beginning of an exit strategy and nothing else. Twenty years, trillions of dollars and thousands of deaths bringing the world’s superpowers to the line in the powder-fine, Afghan sand. I described how I thought the Afghan Security Forces would fail to hold ground, surrender and abandon their positions. How with no Air support, Intelligence provision and joint-mission hand-holding, there was no hope of the Afghans holding back the Taliban advance.

Sadly, all this has come to pass. Even as I write this piece, last week’s Pentagon assessment that the Taliban could take Kabul in a year has been hastily revised to the more realistic timeframe of 3 weeks. With most key provincial cities under or about to be under Taliban control, this is not just a pessimistic, worst-case scenario: It is a very real possibility. The city of Pol e Khomri, a mere 140 miles north of Kabul, was taken by the Taliban the evening before I began writing this. Afghan news footage of soldiers and police abandoning bases and stripping off uniforms in anticipation of Taliban victories showing the sad reality of life on the ground.

The Taliban have capitalised on our withdrawal from Afghanistan with a speed and ferocity that has surprised many. For me, I’m just surprised they’re surprised. Since the Taliban regrouped and re-entered the conflict in the early 2000s, they have consistently displayed tenacity for the long game and the capacity to launch fast, large-scale operations resulting in successes and gains beyond which they were deemed capable. The capture of the city of Kunduz in 2015 a good example of this. The largest city in the north-east of the country with a population of around 400,000. Despite being defended by Afghan and American Special Forces, the city fell quickly and had to be retaken with considerable effort and a major allocation US military assets.

There is also surprise stated at the poor performance of the Afghan Security Forces and their unwillingness or inability to fight the Taliban. There shouldn’t be. In the twenty or so years I have had involvement with the country, I’ve never seen a completely autonomous, Afghan security initiative of any significance make a considerable achievement. It had been tried, and probably many times, but, in my experience and observations at least, there was always a coalition command, control or support element involved. Where handovers of certain elements such as specialist training courses were conducted under capacity-building initiatives, these also failed quickly. We tried, as usual, to emboss our Western democratic template on a third-world fiefdom of warlord states and tribal domains. Took our military and law-enforcement models and applied them to a patriarchal society where for centuries nepotism and familial loyalty determined positions of command and influence.

We tried hard to cut the head off the snake of corruption but found that it was so endemic and accepted as the cultural norm that it was the entire body of the snake we were dealing with. From Ministers to Generals, Colonels to Corporals, it was accepted that an integral benefit of your position was to feather your own nest. Senior military officers created ‘ghost’ units; military bodies that existed only on paper, drawing millions in dollars for base infrastructure, food, fuel, uniforms, weapons, vehicles, training and equipment for entities that didn’t exist in the physical world. Ministers squirrelled away funds intended for government initiatives to offshore accounts in the Middle East in preparation for their exodus once the Coalition cut and run. Which they were absolutely convinced we would eventually do. And in which they have been proved right. And the poor soldiers and policemen at the bottom of the pile? Often not receiving their salaries, or sometimes just a tiny portion of them as the hierarchal rank pyramid above them siphoned off their ‘cut’ before the pittance reached the rank and file? Based in Provinces and towns where it takes them days to return to their home villages? No commonality with the populations of these towns other than a very general nationality?

Demoralised and dejected, it’s little wonder they have no motivation to fight. Our model doesn’t work for them. They needed a completely different system that aligned with their cultures, ethos and identities. Plural. There is no one Afghanistan in terms of population identity. Hazaras, Pashtuns, Baluch, Tajik, Uzbek make up just some of the disparate demographics we tried to mould together under a unified national security infrastructure. When we saw that this wasn’t working particularly well, we came up with other, localised initiatives: Afghan Local Police, Khost Protection Force, Counter Terrorist Pursuit Teams. But still, our best laid plans to replicate our Western models always fell short of our aspirations. I once mooted to a senior coalition officer that we were effectively creating the best-trained militias in the world that would soon just be absorbed into their presiding warlord’s arsenal. He didn’t disagree.

The Taliban don’t fight for a pittance of a salary they might or might not receive. They don’t fight on behalf of a national concept they don’t really believe in. They don’t fight for a government that has no real influence beyond the surreal bubble of Kabul. They fight for their beliefs, twisted and abhorrent as they may be. They fight for their absolute conviction that they are returning Afghanistan to the Islamic Republic it was always meant to be. They have a unified goal, driven by their unshakable faith in their ideology and motivated daily by their successes. Which in turn gives them the affirmation that their god supports their struggle, wants them to win.

The Afghan Security Forces have none of this. And the government knows it. In desperation, President Ghani has formally requested assistance from regional warlords to defend and hold their lands against the Taliban advance; a clear acknowledgement that his Army is defeated. But it appears that even this request is too late to achieve anything more than small pockets of resistance as the Taliban sweep through the country conquering villages, towns and cities.

So as the Taliban look set to return Afghanistan to the Stone Age, the people of the country will once again, suffer horrifically. As our Western superpowers pull away from the sinking ship, other nations are considering their response. Russia, always keen to meddle and exploit an opportunity to needle the West, is taking a cautionary approach, bolstering troop numbers in former Soviet satellite states on the border with Afghanistan to monitor and intercept any potential Islamic fundamentalism from seeping through to Russia’s borders. China has already made clear its intention to have a major involvement in what happens in Afghanistan. The Taliban have confirmed they will engage with the Chinese which seems jarringly hypocritical when one considers the treatment of the Uighur Muslims at the hand of the Chinese State. But that’s part and parcel of the realpolitik that China deploys around the globe in its current advancement of influence.

Inevitably, our withdrawal from Afghanistan and the instant gains made by the Taliban draw comparisons with Vietnam. And not completely without merit: A prolonged, unpopular military campaign in a far-off country. A mission creep with ill-defined, shifting objectives. A determined enemy unconcerned by time constraints, budget, political appetites and changes in administrations. A ‘nation’ whose central government has little impact on much of the country beyond the capital. The deaths of of our bright and best young men and women.The deaths of thousands of innocent civilians.

There is an image that, for me at least, summarises the humiliating end game of the Vietnam War. It is the picture of the last helicopter evacuating the US Embassy in Saigon, a chain of figures on the roof of the building urgently boarding. the final flight as the city fell to the Viet Cong. With the latest Pentagon assessment that Kabul could fall within 3 weeks, is this something we can expect to see in Afghanistan? A Black Hawk helicopter evacuating the last few Embassy personnel as Taliban gunfire and mortars wreak havoc on the city?

I hope not. I would hope that with our UAVs, satellites and network of intelligence assets, advanced warning would enable rapid evacuation before the threat was so close. Which is all well and good for our deployed personnel. But for the Afghans in Kabul there is no last chopper. No Black Hawk to spirit them away from advancing hordes of black-turbaned fanatics. No sitting back in the aircraft seat, eyes closed, the smell of AvGas a comforting reminder they are being transported to safety.

For the Afghans, they are going back in time. Back to a time of brutality and repression that they believed had been consigned to history. Human, Gender, and Equal Rights progression not just halted but reversed. The one lifeline open to them would be that of a power-sharing initiative between the Taliban and an Afghan Government. And the country is in a desperate enough position where such an appeasement may be preferable to the government than the wholesale loss of the country to these fanatics. The problem with this though is that the Taliban don’t need to negotiate. They are in the dominant position, winning every battle and fight as they advance through the country. Why would they negotiate for a part of something that they know they will own completely in the near future?

But maybe that won’t happen. Maybe by some miracle and foreign intervention the siege of Kabul can be avoided. Maybe a coalition of warlords can stave off the worst until international assistance can be marshalled into place. Such assistance probably not being led by the West, our withdrawal commitment leaving no political face-saving possibilities for an about turn.

When all is said and done, I wouldn’t want to see a ‘last chopper out of Kabul’ scenario. Wouldn’t like to imagine the panic and fear of the Afghans in Kabul as our last people flew overhead on their way to safety as the enemy was at the gates. The Afghan’s rage as they felt abandoned by a superpower who hadn’t stayed the course they’d committed to. Or the sight of Taliban flags flying above the very institutions that the deaths of thousands of people, trillions of dollars spent, and twenty years of fighting had been invested to protect.

A real problem to come…

By James

On October 24, 2017

In Terrorism and Counter Terrorism, Topical

In a very rare example of a politician raising their head above the parapet of conformity and non-confrontational policy statements, Rory Stewart, an MP, has called for returning ISIS members and supporters to be killed as traitors as a result of the threat that they pose to the United Kingdom’s national security. Mr Stewart, as well as being an MP for a seat in Cumbria, is also an International Development Minister for the FCO and DfID, and a former diplomat.

Such a bold, hard-line statement from any individual holding office is rare, particularly in the era of the career politician, whose mantra seems to be ‘if we do nothing, then we can do nothing wrong.’ But Mr Stewart is not a conventional politician by any measure. No stranger to the Middle East or the conflicts there, he also walked across Afghanistan in 2002, a remarkable feat captured in his book The Places in Between. What I enjoyed about the book was the fact that Mr Stewart did not fall for or espouse the usual guff about welcoming villagers giving him their last slivers of bread as befitted their customary obligations. Because he could speak the language (and because the majority assumption was that he couldn’t) Mr Stewart could hear first-hand the real conversations behind the duplicitous welcoming grins and invites. He did encounter some genuine hosts along the way, but I really respected his decision to balance his account with the reality on the ground so to speak.

Rory was also the youngest ever Chair of the Defence Select Committee and a Senior Coalition Official in Iraq in 2003 – 2004. It would be very easy for the liberal media to stamp on Mr Stewart’s comments as right-wing, hard-line and anti-islamic, as they tend to do. But it is a little difficult to do that with Mr Stewart as he is also the executive chairman of The Turquoise Mountain Foundation; a NGO charity aimed at reviving traditional arts and crafts and urban regeneration in Afghanistan. So; no muslim hater.

His comments regarding killing returning ISIS members and supporters stand out because of their complete transparency. There is no hidden message here. No softening up pre-statement for advisers to analyse the public response before moving forward. No. This was a clear statement with the justification included just in case there was any confusion.

Brett McGurk, the Special Presidential Envoy to Counter ISIS has made no bones about his aspiration and intention to kill all foreign ISIS fighters on the battlefield. This negates the requirement for messy legal quagmires and political hand-wringing over what stance to take on returning ISIS members. This solution would be the optimum one for all governments facing this quandary; ending the problem on the battlefield in the theatre of conflict. But not all will die there. In the UK, many have returned already, causing a nightmare scenario for our security and intelligence services.

With over 850 British citizens having fled to ISIS-controlled territories, around 150 having been killed and approximately 400 returning to the UK in the past 18 months (as of July 2017), it doesn’t take a mathematical genius to see that we have a significant problem. The Director General of MI5, Andrew Parker stated recently that MI5 is now foiling one major terrorist plot a month. The key word in this phrase is major; likely to result in significant loss of lives. This does not even take into account the hundreds of other plots in their infancy or struggling to get off the ground.

Add to this mix those returning ISIS personnel, dejected and defeated, the dream of the caliphate a hazy memory. Do we really believe that these individuals are going to reintegrate into normal society? Sit back on their sofas in Luton with a digestive and a cup of tea to watch Eastenders? Slot back into the Friday night treat of a KFC while watching TV in Kenilworth? Look back on their days in black as nothing more than a misguided gap year never to be repeated?

Max Hill QC, the Independent Reviewer of Terrorism, would appear to be of the opinion that yes, many of those returning from Iraq and Syria should be allowed to settle back into normal life. Should be given ‘space’ to readjust rather than being prosecuted. That they were ‘naive teenagers’ embarking upon a great adventure. Mr Hill’s comments are directly opposed to Rory Stewart’s and highlight the growing gulf in how our political masters will address the situation.

So, should we treat returning ISIS members and supporters as traitors, affording them the full measure of the state’s wrath? Or should we view them more in line with Mr Hill’s assessment?

I for one wholeheartedly subscribe to treating these returning dregs of humanity as traitors and I have several reasons for this:

We are at war with ISIS. Officially. They represent a real threat to the safety of the United Kingdom and its people either through direct action or their support and sponsorship of terrorist attacks here. Any support, involvement, or assistance to ISIS aids them in their effort to kill UK citizens.
This is not Germany during World War 2 where many citizens were co-opted to join and support the Nazi party because to do otherwise risked alienation, arrest and incarceration. Just getting to ISIS-controlled territories took real effort; months of preparation and planning, of covering one’s activities from friends and family, financing the journey. Then travelling through different countries and networks of people smugglers and facilitators just to get there. At any stage during this strained process, the individual could have stopped and returned home before crossing the rubicon. Indeed, this would have been easier to do. The fact that they chose not to demonstrated their commitment to the ISIS cause.
ISIS relies completely on recruitment to swell its ranks and boost its physical presence. While our news footage is filled with scenes of the black-clad, AK47-toting fighters, like any other war machine these fighters are supported by a cast of thousands of less glamorous but essential roles. Medical and First Aid helpers, IT experts, Cooks, Mechanics, Propaganda Writers, Shopkeepers, Communications, Tradesmen to look after and repair housing, Accountants, Couriers, Factory Workers etc, etc, etc. The list is almost endless but the point is that the murdering and killing could not have taken place without the infrastructure around it that kept ISIS functioning. So, no matter that those returning from Syria or Iraq claim that they were never fighters, to me their role was just as significant. An analogy would be sending British soldiers into Afghanistan with only their rifles and bullets and no other support whatsoever. Their war would be a very short one.

And lastly, because this is what they chose to support. This is just one example of the mindset and psychology of the people who flock to join ISIS regardless of how big or small their perceived role is. The burning alive of a Jordanian pilot, filmed and disseminated across the internet for the world to see. And it’s worth remembering that many of those who did see it nodded with satisfaction and agreed with the vile action. ISIS exploit the value of social media much better than many of its predecessors, provoking terror and outrage while aiding recruitment. And it is the fact that actions such as this encouraged British citizens to flock to the caliphate that should warn us against treating them as anything less than the fighters themselves. If you support the burning alive of a man in a cage or the throwing of suspected homosexuals from the roofs of buildings, your values are not those of the United Kingdom.

And this is why I believe that these returning creatures have to be labelled, processed and tried as traitors. They are not returning because they realised the error of their ways, came to their senses and said ‘ ..mmm…these guys are mental, this is not for me.’ Maybe for the odd individual that could be the case but not for the majority. They are returning because the dream is over. The caliphate is gone and the black flack burned with its ashes scattered in the wind. These people are not returning to the UK to assimilate back into society and in any case, should not be allowed to do so. No matter how hard they try to assure the authorities otherwise, in some part of their psyche there lingers the motivation that prompted them to make the considerable effort to follow the black flag and cheer as men burned in cages.

And it is nearly impossible to redirect this motivation. But it is very easy to reignite it, blow on the hot embers until the flames are seen once again, rousing dormancy to a state of action. This cannot be allowed to happen. Rory Stewart completely understands this, probably as a result of his significant exposure to conflict zones and their associated issues. Max Hill does not.

Our government is charged with the duty of care of our nation and its citizens. When the head of MI5 is telling us that we have a real problem keeping a lid on terrorist attacks, what we cannot have is a returning population of individuals who hate our country, our people and our way of life. And who can slip back unnoticed into our general population where they can be the most effective to ISIS-sponsored plots and attacks.

Yes, it is a very hard decision for a government to publicly pronounce, particularly in this risk-averse climate the majority of our politicians seem to thrive upon. But it is a decision that cannot be shirked or prevaricated over. Send the clear message; a traitor to our country will be treated in accordance with the full wrath of the state. To do otherwise is a betrayal of the trust of the people who voted you into office and charged you with the duty of keeping us safe. More importantly, it is a betrayal to the families who have lost loved ones to the vile actions of these reprehensible criminals and their supporters.

Top 10 Dumbest Terror Plots

By James

On August 20, 2017

In Terrorism and Counter Terrorism

After yet another terrorist atrocity, it’s quite easy to start thinking that these morons are getting the upper hand. I think it’s worth remembering that they are not the masterminds that they would have us believe and that luck, good and bad, plays a large part in the success or failure of their attacks. To lend a bit of perspective, I’ve put together a small list of some of the dumbest terror plots we’ve seen in recent years.

1. THE KANGAROO BOMB PLOT – Sevdet Ramadan Besim was an Islamic fundamentalist struggling for inspiration for an attack on his home soil of Australia. Besim was determined to kill Police officers and came up with an array of different methods with which he discussed carrying out his attacks. While looking at co-opting some locals into his plot, Besim discussed the use of kangaroos as delivery vehicles for his bombs. Besim planned to catch a roo, paint it with the Islamic State flag and stuff its pouch with C4 explosives then set it loose among Police officers. Admittedly there were some small flaws with this plan however hats off to Besim and his gang for taking terrorism to a whole new level; the radicalisation of native animals!

2. THE WANTED MAN WHO WANTED HIS REWARD – One of my favourites as I was in the region at the time and this was the talk of the FOBs for many weeks. In 2012 a man approached a military checkpoint in Afghanistan clutching a piece of paper in his hand. The Afghan security forces stopped the man and spoke to him, asking him what his business was. The man brandished the paper and began explaining his demand. The Afghans were confused and asked him to explain himself once again. The request still made no sense so he was asked again. And gave the same answer. The Afghan commander approached his American counterpart and explained the situation:

Afghan Commander (AC): Erm…this guy has arrived with one of the ‘wanted’ posters for a local Taliban IED maker.

US Commander (USC): Cool. He’s got information he wants to offer up for the reward?

AC: …not exactly. He is the IED maker.

USC: Wait; he’s the IED maker? So he’s surrendering?

AC: No. He wants the $100 reward that’s promised on the poster.

USC: Let me get this straight; he’s the IED maker on the poster and he’s turned up here demanding the $100 bounty that’s on his head?

AC: Yes. We’ve asked him many times and he is here to collect the $100 that it says we give for information leading to his capture.

USC: Yeah…but…it’s him? He wants the reward for his own capture?

AC: Apparently so.

USC: (scratches his head in puzzlement) I shouldn’t be surprised by anything in this country by now but what the actual f***?

Mohammad Ashan was duly arrested and his biometrics taken and matched to those found on IEDs used against American and Afghan forces. He was processed into American custody but even as he was made comfortable in his new quarters he was still pleading for the money owed to him for capturing himself.

3. DUMB AND DUMBERER… – Meet David Robert McMenemy, anti-abortionist and all-round eejit. McMenemy felt so strongly about abortion he decided that he was going to attack an abortion clinic, blow it up, and die as a martyr in the process. Not really knowing any abortion clinics, he drove around his local area for a month trying to identify targets. Eventually he settled on the Edgerton Women’s Health Centre in Davenport. He would teach those pesky abortionists a lesson that they’d never forget.

Only problem was the Women’s Centre he’d chosen didn’t actually carry out abortions. Blissfully unaware of this and taking his training from Wily Coyote cartoons, McMenemy drove his car as fast as he could into the building and waited for the inevitable explosion. All he got was an airbag in the face and a serious case of whiplash. Undeterred, the valiant martyr got out of his vehicle and poured petrol over it to get the party started. Unfortunately, the building’s very efficient sprinkler system kicked in and doused all the flames. When McMenemy was arrested he’d only managed to inflict some structural damage to the reception area and a slightly scorched suburban car. Goes to show the the Islamists don’t hold the monopoly on morons…

4. CHUBBS AND CO – A cunning plan that Baldrick would be proud of: Buy up hundreds of packs of sports ice-packs, extract the ammonium nitrate from them and use the substance to construct a devastating explosive device. Led by the 322 lb master-terrorist named ‘Chubbs’, the gang set about their plan. Needing money to buy the packs they set up charity collections and kept the funds for their nefarious intents.

When the charity money wasn’t enough, Chubbs came up with another cunning plan with which to increase their finances; online gambling. Unfortunately for him, his subordinates were no Vegas bank-breakers. Rashid Ahmed lost £3k when he left a bet running as he made a pot of tea and another member lost £6k on a bad day on the net.

Oh, and as angry as Chubbs might have been with their financial disasters, it probably paled into insignificance when he learned of one important flaw in their dastardly plan; sports ice packs had not contained ammonium nitrate in them for the past ten years. MENSA have stated that they will not be sending application forms out to the three this year…

5. IF IT WASN’T FOR THEM PESKY SWEATY-FEET… – No list could be complete without the addition of the legend-in-his-own-lunchtime, failed shoe-bomber Richard Reid. Reid is one of the main reasons that we suffer the indignity of removing our footwear at airport security, exposing odd socks and naked toes protruding from well-worn holes.

Prior to boarding a flight from Paris to Miami, Reid stuffed his shoes with explosives, intent on achieving martyrdom a few thousand feet above Fort Lauderdale. Alas, Reid was so nervous that he was sweating heavier than a sumo wrestler in a sauna and his socks became soaked. Which in turn dampened his improvised detonator rendering it absolutely useless. A small puff of smoke emitted from his shoes and he was soon subdued by passengers and crew, missing martyrdom through personal hygiene issues.

6. MUST PAY MORE ATTENTION IN SCIENCE CLASS… – Salman Al-Taezi and his good chum Walid Ashibi were not the sort to let a shortage of munitions halt their killing of people in Yemen. The pair decided to build an improvised missile and deploy it later that day. They sourced the components and had a chat about where to put their weapon together. The decision was made to build it in Salman’s house as it was comfortable with a particularly lovely deep-pile shag carpet.

The men assembled their missile quickly, having done this many times before. Very pleased with their progress they studied the fruits of their labour with the pride of new parents. Walid then began fetching the ignition components from another room, wearing his plastic sandals as he trotted to and fro. Unfortunately for Walid however, his journeys across the sumptuous carpet had built up a major charge of static electricity which leapt from his body and connected with the missile, detonating the weapon and pretty much vaporising the Laurel and Hardy of IED makers.

7. GO COMPARE… – When they heard of an English Defence League (EDL) rally in their local area, 6 Islamic extremists decided that no bunch of crazy extremists was going to get away with such a brazen display of crazy extremism. Not on their watch. The 6 men schemed, plotted, sourced and planned an attack on the rally involving guns and explosives. Weapons bought, bombs constructed and every eventuality planned for, the men jumped in their van, pumped up some Justin Bieber and drove to the rally where they arrived…3 hours too late.

They had cocked up the time completely and were at a loss with what to do next. As no one was hungry, they decided against a KFC and opted to drive home and carry out another attack at a different date. On the way up the M1 motorway, a traffic policeman thought their van looked a bit shady so pulled it over. On checking, he found that the vehicle had no insurance and so the van was eventually impounded. It was 2 days later that staff at the impound lot discovered the lethal contents of the van and an operation was mounted and the men arrested. All because of skimping on their insurance. Should have gone to Go Compare…

8. YOU’VE BEEN FRAMED… – A group of budding jihadists decided that the US military base of Fort Dix provided a perfect target for their attempt at martyrdom. Taking their lead from online forums, the men started with training and rehearsals for their imminent operation. A video camera was bought from the local Best Buy outlet and their sessions filmed for feedback and posterity. Not being particularly technically proficient however, the group could not transfer their footage from the camera to DVD.

Annoyed by this setback to their training routine, one of the group took the camera to another electrical retail outlet and outlined their problem to the retail assistant. The retail assistant assured our jihadi in-waiting that conversion to DVD was very basic and, in fact, if he was willing to wait, the assistant would do it then and there in the store. Yep, you know what’s coming. Our retail assistant obviously saw something unusual in men of middle-eastern appearance carrying out reconnaissance of Fort Dix while discussing what type of bomb would be most effective. Jeremy Beadle would have loved it…

9. TO OPT OUT OF ANY FURTHER MESSAGES… – Moscow, New Year’s Eve 2010/11. Crowds pack the area despite the freezing temperature. Thousands of litres of vodka being passed between well-wishers, red-cheeked in the frigid air.

In a small apartment nearby, a woman slips on a suicide vest rammed with explosives and a mixture of nails, nuts and bolts. Her two accomplices help make the vest comfortable, there being nothing worse than a poorly-fitting vest chafing at your boobs as you approach your moment of glory. The mobile-phone was connected to the device and the Black Widow nodded at her colleagues. She was ready to start the small meander across to Red Square where she would detonate the device in the midst of the crowds.

Just as she said her goodbyes, in giant, anonymous tech-suites across the world, mobile phone providers pushed the ‘send’ button on the traditional New Year spam message to all their customers. Which included our Black Widow. Her device detonated, killing her instantly and severely injuring her companions who were soon arrested limping and staggering from the burning apartment. Spam; no wonder everybody hates it!

10. MATE, YOU ARE JUST PANTS… – Umar Farouk Abdulmutallab or UFA to his mates. In the usual tradition of jihadists trying to outdo each other in explosive delivery methods, UFA stepped up to the plate. He boarded a plane for Detroit with his underpants stuffed with explosives…which he had apparently been wearing for almost three weeks! I mean, wear any pair of pants for three weeks and there’s all kinds of hygiene issues apparent but a plastic-explosive nappy? What the hell…

Anyway, as the plane descended for landing, Johnny Fartpants detonated the device…and was in immediate agony as the device only partly detonated, setting his entire nether regions on fire. Easily subdued by passengers and crew he was arrested on arrival and interrogated by the authorities.

In one of the interviews he admitted trying to join Al Qaeda but had been turned down. Like any aspiring job hunter, UFA requested feedback on his rejection and was told unequivocally that it was due to the fact that he was obviously…a moron. Pretty sad state of affairs when the world’s number one employer of suicide bombers doesn’t even want you!

So there you have it: Proof if any was needed that martyrdom isn’t for morons!!