New Tales of the Great Wall
Bosco Wong,
he President’s was utterly amazed by the Great Wall of China. As he walked over the steep,
rather oversized steps of the massive construction, he took a quick glance over at the short,
stubby man at his side, jet black but graying hair combed in a traditional Chinese style. He
was a friendly man, the Chinese President Huang Chenfung, and they met for the fifth time at
Beijing Capital International Airport two days ago. Now they were, after 32 hours of
conference, the two most powerful men in the world were walking through the war fortification that
slithered like a snake for miles over the mountainous terrain. It was built around the 7
th
century BCE, to
defend the Empire from Mongolian invaders, yet President Stevenson inwardly doubted it was any use
against the US Army. He was sure the Chinese planned to use the latest model of a Tomahawk
missile-the Precision Guided Shoulder Launched Missile, that the Yanks had sold to them for 8 billion
dollars, to customize it and reproduce tons of cheaper models, with a few already copied versions
carried by the guard at the rear. The Buddy Missiles, as everyone calls it that, was for testing
somewhere safe in a hidden laboratory up in the mountains. It was a danger to carry it hand-held, but
worse if taken by army trucks. The mountains were obviously not a safe place, especially in the prying
eyes of the Russians, eager to get the technology.
Group 2: Fiction, Diocesan Boys' School Primary Division
T
The sky was clear and Stevenson smiled as he surprisingly saw a star even though it was bright and
the rays were burning his pale skin. He commented on the great height the ancient people could built
for their country and how noble they were, which the translator at his side repeated in Chinese and
Huang acknowledged with a nod. He turned his gaze back on the star and gasped: the star was
increasing rapidly in size and brightness. And to his horror, he saw a metallic glint of the “star’s”body
and recognized a long range missile. In a moment, as if in slow motion, the President ducked low as the
missile smacked the tower in the nose a 100 meters ahead. The sound was deafening, like Zeus had cast
his thunder bolt. The concussion of the blast picked him up into the air and sent him somersaulting
backwards. It was pure luck that he wasn’t too close to the front or he would have been blasted off to
kingdom come. Searing heat washed over his body and he laid down, paralyzed. What on earth was
that? Agonizingly, he sat up and his cloudy eyes glanced horrified at the men that were supposed to be
protecting him,
useless against a missile, all sprawled on the pavements .As smoke and flames
bellowed into his painful eyes, Huang and some of his men emerged from the smoke and gathered
around him. “ Any survivors more you saw?” asked the translator, speaking for Huang. “ None other
than myself,” Stevenson replied. “Then we must gather all that are able to fight.” The translator
sounded solemn. Noticing the American’s puzzled look, Huang raised his finger and pointed over at the
towers in front of them. Stevenson heart sank in dismay as he took in an army of vigilant terrorists,
judging by the black clad suits and illegal weapons, marching steadily towards them. He quickly
gathered the commandants, FBI agents and men assigned to him as the survivors panicked while
hatching a defensive plan against the intruders. “We’ll run to the next two towers over there, and lure
them a bit close. Then we’ll fire our buddy missiles and wait for the casualties. I’m sorry, but if they
aren’t finished off then we’ll have to charge headlong,” said Commander “Thor” Thornston to the
remaining 12 men ready to fight, including the presidents. Their boots thumped heavily on the bricks as
they ran up the steep fortress to the parallel towers, constantly aware that the enemy were closing in,
fast. When they finally reached their defense base, two of them were already setting up the missile
launchers. “Wait for my word,” said Thor. Meanwhile, the Chinese were handing out assault rifles,
grenades and handguns. Expected to help, Stevenson received an ACR assault rifle and a military
Kar-bar knife. A nanosecond after he heard the shout “Fire!” he glanced up and saw two missiles
weaving their merry way towards the enemy. A few seconds later, the missiles blasted into the black
charging wave, and bombed away a horrifying chunk of ancient brickworks. “Great modification on
warfare,” he said to Huang, happy that the enemies were demolished to shambles. Huang looked rather
irresolute, and true to his thought, another wave of enemies were charging towards them. Stevenson felt
a surge of adrenaline, and leading a group of seven, they leaped off the ramparts and into the
battlements below, howling “Move it Commandos!” They charged the on-coming terrorists, bullets
hissing from both sides. Snipers from the towers above were picking off the enemies one by one. Years
of military training paid off as the Americans’ rounds found their mark, and the thugs were decreasing
from manpower. Just as they thought they had won, a hooded figure emerged from the thugs, dressed
all in black and carrying two swords that looked like Japanese katanas. “I’m Ruto Khan, descendant of
Zhengis Khan, the almighty Mongolian emperor. You, the Chinese had humiliated us, and now we want
revenge!” His swords spun in a deadly arc as he crashed into the Americans, somersaulting as the
shocked and blood-stained men dropped to the ground. He landed lightly metres away from Thor and