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Our Enemies. The Secret War
Our Enemies. The Secret War
Our Enemies. The Secret War
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Our Enemies. The Secret War

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Germany, in a not too far away future: the system has finally collapsed; the banks have been burned to the ground; the philosophers of hate now are the hunters and no longer the hunted. The population is living in ghettos... either wealthy or violent ones – and TV sells the flowery wallpaper lies they call “news” 24/7... A girl from suburbia is dreaming a very dancerous dream... a dream of hope and finally of escaping the demons of her supernatural talent.
A soldier is seeking, after his fall from grace and imprisonment, wandering through the remains of his former life... forgiveness, halt and peace. A bishop is planning the largest firestorm of all times...

"This is exactly what hell must be looking like, on the far side of Armageddon. Desperate ones, wandering in a landscape of ruins; gloomy skies, nights full of violence and blood. The state is hunting religions of hate, its vigilantes in alliance with Satan and Death himself. And behind the flowery wallpaper of the TV news-broadcasts hides a reality filled with lies and conspiracy, ghastlier than any horror movie. No hope to be found at all, nowhere. Politics has failed, the war against terror and crisis is lost."

translated from the german newspaper "Mitteldeutsche Zeitung"

LanguageEnglish
Release dateSep 1, 2011
Our Enemies. The Secret War
Author

Stadtkrieger Kreativkonsortium

Born in the former German Democratic Republic to a German mother and an African father, who died on the day of his birth, Meffire makes his way from being a bricklayer in last days of socialist eastern Germany to being the first elite policeman of African descent in the recently reunified State of Saxony in the former GDR. Discontent with the limitations of his job in the police special task force and with being the governmental advertisement icon he quits and takes the wrong turn to the other side of the law. Running a security company first, he soon employs his knowledge and police education to the get the best of what society has to offer: money. Robbing people doesn’t take too long until things go wrong and Germany’s biggest tabloid takes to calling him “Public enemy #1”. Meffire finds himself on the run from an international warrant. His goal is South Africa, but Zaire will be the end of his road. Surrounded by civil war, violence and bloodshed he feels relieved when he is finally handed over to the German authorities. The verdict: 10 years, no probation. Solitary confinement makes him take up the pen and deal with his demons. After serving seven years he is released from prison and starts a new, more honorable, career as a street worker in prevention programs for juvenile delinquents and novelist. The result: A dialectic view on what is wrong and what is right and the wakeup call, that we can’t go on this way, that mankind has to escape the rat race of more-and-more and faster-and-faster.

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    Our Enemies. The Secret War - Stadtkrieger Kreativkonsortium

    Our Enemies. The secret War

    Written by Samuel Meffire. Translated by Christian Kern

    Copyright 2011: Samuel Meffire & Christian Kern

    Published by Stadtkrieger Kreativkonsortium – Smashwords Edition

    Dreams

    … my brother and I grew up in Beutenhagen, the municipal Concentration Camp for social waste. 1960's tower blocks and nothing more. And the nearby cemetery seemed like a well-meant suggestion. In this one-horse-town there was neither God nor country. All the boys wanted to become bouncers. Or gangsters, which boiled down to more or less the same in the end. And the girls there weren't crazy about anything like a model career. They fancied themselves with one of the young bosses. One of these sociopathic gifted ones that had chosen this neighbourhood as their Kingdom of Heaven. Their private self-service store. And hell to all the rest of us.

    I had a perverted dream, a stupid one. Past midnight, cable TV would show an infinite loop of faraway cities' postcard-views. One day I wanted to see these faraway cities myself… that's what I dreamed of, while the neighbourhood subsided into the lies of the radical wannabes, into their recently invented religions of hate. And into the violence of the gangs. And while those dreams became unattainable luxury.

    One should have the power to change the world, I thought. A playground would then be a playground again. And no longer a depot for junkies and run-down existence of other sorts. You would be able to go outside anytime without fear of whom you're getting in the way and why. If there was a why at all. One should have the power to enforce peace. On every corner. On every playground. One should force peace to return to mankind… little boy's dreams. Neither the wannabes wanted peace nor the gangs, because they made their biggest profit from fear. I was longing for a fearless army in the suburbs, friendly men and women. With big guns…

    On TV the windbags passed their weekly PHD with their inanities on the State of the Union. On the hairdos of B-rated celebrity starlets, the ex-chancellor's wife's dog… And on how to imagine the security deficiencies in the suburbs. One of them said, it wasn't possible to imagine it at all. These morons, what was there to imagine? The so-called deficiencies were in fact a complete absence of security. No one could feel safe at any time, not even those who had usurped the reign in these concrete castles…

    I escaped it all. The suburbs. The gangs. And the beating fists of my mother. Until the day of my escape, I pissed my bed every night out of fear and dreamed of the faraway paradise of the postcards…

    Finally I did as my brother and escaped that place.

    To serve and die

    … I did my apprenticeship at a travel business. They gave me a contract afterwards. Fixed income. A decent apartment. I could even afford a clean fitness temple, including subscription. That's where I met Nadja. Tall. Tall, blonde and with a sense of humour. We liked each other from the start. The months went by with ease. We spend the evenings doing workouts. The weekends were all bed and the box. And the rest of the time we squatted in our offices. Nadja was the senior account manager of her company, she had a career there. And I sold holiday trips to Bavaria and Dubai.

    After a short boom followed by disastrous assaults the travel business closed down. My nice job became collateral damage of Al Qaida. Fear was like a bull in a china shop. People just didn't want to go out see the world anymore. I needed a new job, which was a major problem. In these days pep talk was the only thing that ventured boldly from day to day. The politicians promised that after the crisis everyone would be allowed to fly around the world on a pink fucking cow. Then the DAX dropped about 3000 points into nowhere. And at the bookmakers' people were gambling on the washout of the next bank. Economic activity became stagnation and then economic slow-down. After that, the economic relief came, in packages. Soon their numbers became binary, until that very morning...

    Bleary-eyed, the chancellor explained on the morning show, that there was no reason for anxiety for the people of our country. Especially the private savings balances were save. She would give her word, personally. She implored the host. Then the camera. Tried to smile. The attempt became a grimace. It all sounded like one of these frontline-reports of success from somewhere, where our troops regrouped victoriously from the hard-fought territories. Leaving weapons, gear and fallen comrades behind. Territories, twice the size of Belgium...

    After the chancellor's address to the nation everything on two legs dashed for the banks. Around noon they ran out of money. The people in front of the counters became aware that they would never see the money in their accounts again. A bank without money, what is it good for? It’s like a magician without tricks. The banks burned down. And with them their magicians.

    Fires. Crisis. Deflation. Terror. Even more crisis.

    Inflation. I was sitting on Nadja’s couch, thumbing through the papers. The army was looking for new blood with giant ads. They promised regular service shifts, good money and deployment close to the place of residence. I was sitting on Nadja’s couch. The crisis got worse. The TV presenters ran out of adjectives in their special broadcasts... I was sitting on Nadja’s couch. Until I went to one of the recruiting offices. They showed me videos of cheerful people. All of them were young. And all of them wore fancy uniforms. They seemed so happy. They were the ones I had longed for, back then in the suburbs.

    I went to one of the recruiting offices and signed after the first interview. Together with my brother, who hadn’t found a job after graduating from university. My brother disappeared into a unit called Department of Military Intelligence, something classified. I was put in a riot squad of the military police right after my basic training. We hunted down those poor bastards who had breached their contracts and had gone undercover before being redeployed to places like Lebanon, Congo or Afghanistan. But it wasn’t before long before the theatres of war had names like Madrid, Paris, Hamburg or Weimar. And the Military Police Battalion North became a fire fighting brigade for occasions of all sorts.

    We were young. Too young for all of this. They redeployed us to the Eifel region. Intel had received a hint of some philosophers of hate hiding in the forests. An important group. Or a branch. Who was to know exactly? The new cells of insanity no longer came from Pakistan or Indonesia. They recruited their industrious foot soldiers from all races and social ranks in Dortmund, Frankfurt and Kiel. With

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