“Funny thing ‘Life’, though I’m sure it’s not what God intended”, mused Stefan. The team crouched waiting for the punch line. None came.

Gregor’s delay fuse ignited: “God ain’t doing this to us!” Stefan mustered a response plus a stare down, “Really? You might be surprised.”

Eight mercenaries, hardened survivors of a failed coup, now huddled up in an oil refinery, awaiting their demise from a vengeful enemy.

“For Chrissakes, look at us! All that money in our accounts and we need it right now… for a few guns and a helicopter out of this shithole”

“Yeah well, shops are closed and I didn’t see a Wal Mart near here so it’d be by mail order. Take weeks to get to this dump!”

Guffaws broke out. But it couldn’t erase the fact that this was the end. Iran. Serbia. Chechnya. Now death would come in Whangarei.

They'd been promised an easy win, but met a population fuelled on P, heavily - and illegally - armed, and the horror of the ultimate weapon.

Suicide Sheep! The place had millions of them expertly marshalled into the invaders by men in Noromectin trench coats.

Yip, life was funny. An army defeated by quadrupedal ruminants. Then, cutting through the black stain of night, the mercenaries heard it.

It had become the soundtrack for the death of the coup: “C’mon. Keep ‘em moving. Over there. The bastards are in there.” BAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!

By Paul