Intel: 'Mac' McKeith

Name: Unknown

Alias: Mac, McKeith

Age: 32

Occupation: Armed Robber

Notes: Intelligence has no record of his actual name, but recordings of conversations have revealed an Alias (see above), may be high ranking member of the Sunderland Republican Movement (SRM). No photos have been taken that were suitable for the portfolio, to be updated.

Bloody Hell

Frankie looked down the road before him. It was soaked with rain, and soggy newspapers. Right at the end of the road stood a straight line of bobbies, riot shields at the ready.

So far, he'd distanced himself from the violence that had plagued the city, however, now he'd had enough of the excessive force used by Her Majesty's Police Force. He reached into his pocket and produced a small lighter. With it, he lit the oily rag that was stuck into the bottle and chucked it down the road towards the police. People scattered as the ignited liquid spread out before the policemen. 

One brave soul, standing around five foot nine, wearing a leather jacket and light jeans, kicked out at the riot shield closest to him. The policeman braced himself against the kick but still took a step back. He was shaken by the violence and pushed against the extended leg of the lad.

The boy felt a strong forearm wrap around his neck from behind. Then a hand lock around the wrist and tightened the grip. 'You little shit' a voice said 'think you're big and clever do you? I'll break your neck you little twat.'

Frankie saw this, annoyed, and ran over to the scuffle. He swung at the aggressors head, hitting him at the bad of the skull. Just hard enough for him to release his grip. He fell to one knee, holding the back of his head.

They pounced on him like lions. Punching and kicking at the policeman laying before them. Savages, at best. Once the dust had settled, the protestors disbanded, the officers helped their wounded comrade. Dragging him behind the line of shields.

News: Backlane Bloodshed

'Three men have been charged with aggravated assault following what has been described as an "unapologetic" attack on a group of bystanders who were misidentified as members of a rival group.'

'The group were playing football in the backlane mid-afternoon when the men, described as drunk and aggressive, approached the group hurling abuse and insults their way.'

'One man, identified as Patrick O'Brien, pleaded guilty without incident. He is waiting for a further court appearance.'

News: Soldiers Injured

'Soldiers have clashed with Republicans today as tensions rise between the two waring sides. Soldiers were sent in to assist the police against both Loyalist and Republican attacks that have increased in the past few days.'

'One particular soldier, Private Capaldi, was struck over the head with a bat, drawing blood. The injury required stitches as no protective headgear was worn. Another soldier, Private Dickenson, was struck by a projectile, possibly a brick or some form of rock, knocking him to the ground.'

'A spokesman said that these attacks will not go unpunished as the lives of soldiers were at risk.'

What's All This, Then?

They came in swarms, Republicans and Loyalists, wearing balaclavas, stockings, and hoods to hide their identity. They threw bricks and bottles at the police, and each other, and lit fires mere metres away from residential houses.

'Fuck the Queen' on youth said, 'Hang the bastards.'

'Get outta here you rebel bastards.' A young loyalist said, throwing a brick.

The policeman closest to the group of youths swung his truncheon, cracking one of them on the back of the head. 'Get home lads, it's past curfew for you lot.' He said.

'Fuck the curfew,' a young rebel said 'you're just trying to keep us opressed, fuck you mister.' 

'I'll tell your ma, you little brat, get going.'

'My mam thinks your a tosser anyways.'

The loyalist youths mocked the young Rebels as they sauntered off down the road. One of the rebels, about 14, turned and threw a bottle at the policeman. It hit him and he turned around, sticking his fingers up, triumphant.

The crowd dispersed as quickly as it appeared, and that was that. All quiet on the North Eastern front once again.

News: Policeman Attacked

'PC Allan Whitman, 40, has been attacked in the Chester Road area of Sunderland today after clashes between armed police and republican protestors. Eye witnesses said that Whitman, a well respected man amongst Loyalist communities, was struck by a brick thrown at him from over a fence.'

'The fence in question was erected by a joint agreement between the police force and the British Armed Forces. This was to keep the warring communities apart, acting as a deterant. However, in the past months, there have been several cases in which members of both communities have scaled the fence in order to attack each other. Warning shots have failed to act as a deterant and the fence has garnered criticism from leaders on both sides.'

'Plans have been put into action to have the 10 foot security fence taken down, however many members of the acting council have declined any further action other than to increase security forces at the checkpoint.'

A Spot of Bother

LCpl. Johnson, Private Wilkinson, and Private Malone, walked down the empty street. It had been raining and the ground was sodden with water. 'FUCK THE SLA' was painted on the wall in big white letters. Johnson looked at it, frowned, and shook his head.

'Bastards,' he said 'Bloody bastards the lot of them.'

'You're not wrong there.' Malone said.

'Fuck off you royalist scum.' A voice said from a nearby second floor window, followed by a pint glass.

The glass smashed on Wilkinson's shoulder and he stumbled forwards 'Son of a bitch' he said holding onto the wound. 

The glass was followed by a table leg from another window, 'Fuck you lot.' The other voice said 'You oppressive bastards.' A brick came at the group from in front of them, it missed and landed a few feet ahead.

Malone and Wilkinson aimed their SLRs at the windows above in a hope to intimidate the aggressors. A red Ford Capri pulled up at the end of the road with the passenger window down. Johnson saw the familiar look of a rifle muzzle and he signalled his men to head for cover. Bang. A bullet caught Malone in the shin and he went down, half in cover behind a Ford Escort, his legs sticking out. Wilkinson pulled him fully behind the car.

'Shit, shit, shit' Malone said 'my fucking leg.'

'Don't worry mate, you'll be fine.' Wilkinson said 'I've got ya.'

Johnson raised his rifle over the top of the discarded rubbish bin and popped off a shot, it hit the passenger door of the Capri and spooked the shooter. The driver reversed and sped off around the corner.

'I think they're gone,' Johnson said 'everything alright over there?'

'Just a flesh wound.' Wilkinson said.

'A fucking flesh wound?' Malone said.

'You'll be fine mate.' Wilkinson said.

One In The Back

Paul knelt by the wall, his SMG at the ready, and looked down his sights. He closed his left eye and fingered the trigger lightly. Jimmy knelt behind him and acted as a look out. In his sights, Paul could see members of the SLA, standing, at a makeshift checkpoint. 

One member had his back to Paul and he, he had decided, would be his target. Paul licked his lips and trained the sights on the unfortunate chap.

'I'm gonna get that Queen loving fuck right in the back, just watch me.' Paul said.

'Aye?' Jimmy said 'I'll believe it when I see it mate.'

'Shut up, will you? Nobody asked for your opinion.'

A car pulled up at the checkpoint, it was red and rusty, and the target moved towards the passenger window. He reached in and took some documents off of the driver. Paul took advantage of the distraction and squeezed the trigger. Bang, bang, bang. The bullets hit the target and he fell forward against the car, bleeding. The passenger, a young lady, screamed and it pierced the air.

The man on the other side of the car rested his AK on the roof of the car and pulled the trigger. The bullet hit the brick in front of Paul and he ducked his head back around the corner. More shots hit the brick wall behind them, causing bits of brick and powder to shoot out onto the back lane.

'What now?' Jimmy said 'we're fucked.'

'As if, we've just gotta plan this out Jimma.' Paul said, creeping his head around the corner.

Another shot caused him to dart his head back around the corner. Shouting could be heard from the checkpoint and it appeared to get closer and closer: 'Come out now, we aren't fucking around, I'll give you one chance, that's it.' The voice had a distinct Belfast accent.

'We're gonna have to give up, Paul.'

'Nonsense Jimma.'

Jimmy got up and stepped out from the wall. Paul heard a shot. He heard it make contact with flesh. He saw Jimmy hit the floor, blood pooling at his head. He knew he was next. He dropped his gun and legged it along the backlane. Bullets wizzed past him, striking the red bricks on either side of him.

Sunderland Republicans

Above: Members of the Sunderland Republican Movement (SRM) armed with a variety of firearms (rifles and sidearms) as well as wearing a mix of military attire and casual wear.

The SRM are a fairly young militant group founded in 1980 by George Hamilton, along with his father Michael Hamilton. They were, at first, a peaceful political organisation set up as part of a wider Republican Movement based in Liverpool and London. They were never voted for thus never getting a seat on the council. 

The elder Hamilton couldn't accept this defeat and, contacting his wife's Uncle in Londonderry, asked for arms to be shipped over to them in Sunderland. The Uncle agreed and sent a handful of firearms including several AKs, two sterlings, and a number of SLRs. This shipment went unnoticed by authorities and strengthened the SRM.

Their first operation was against the occupying Loyalist forces. They shot and killed two Paras near a checkpoint in the town centre. This attracted large media attention and it wasn't long before they claimed responsibility for the attack. 

The Hamiltons remained unidentified, however, and a manhunt for supporters spread across the city. Similar attacks took place across the country, with police officers being killed in Newcastle, Liverpool, and London.

News: Loyalists Set Up Garrison In Sunderland

'Welcome, to the News at 10, since our last broadcast we have been informed that Loyalists, those loyal to the crown, have set up garrison in the town of Sunderland. Met with hostility from the working classes and the republican community, they have set up roadblocks along some of the towns main roads, enabling them to smoke out those suspected of Republican activity.'

'They have been backed, and trained, by Her Majesty's Armed Forces and have been supplied with ex-military equipment. These men have exchanged gunfire with Republicans in the town centre, no deaths have been reported but several Republicans have been injured in the struggle.'