Chapter 19 – Operation Éire Rising
Dublin Docklands – Horizon HQ, 05:14
The cold sea breeze cut through the smashed windows of Horizon HQ as dawn broke pale over the Liffey. Tactical trucks idled outside, exhaust mist curling into the still air. Inside, Salty stood at the centre of the command floor, watching multiple screens flicker with live drone feeds.
Karen worked quickly at the Horizon control console, fingers flying across virtual keyboards. The glowing Irish tricolour patch on her tactical vest shifted with every movement.
“Blackout holding,” she confirmed. “Horizon kill drones offline. EU sat feeds blinded by our orbital scramblers. We own their sky for another eight minutes.”
Salty nodded calmly, eyes narrowed. “Plenty of time.”
🎥 Livestream Room
Sarah stood before a battered camera tripod. Rahman Patel knelt on the concrete floor, wrists zip-tied behind his back, blood crusting his upper lip. Two masked fighters flanked him, carbines raised.
The feed went live to RTÉ, Sky News, BBC, Al Jazeera, and every social media platform from Cork to Karachi. Sarah’s voice cut through the global morning news cycle:
“This is Ireland speaking. You are about to hear the truth from one of Brussels’ own scum.”
She tilted the camera down to Patel, who trembled, sweat glistening on his forehead.
“Name,” she ordered coldly.
“Rahman Patel,” he gasped, voice shaking.
“Occupation.”
“Horizon Network regional integration coordinator.”
Sarah leaned in, eyes blazing. “Tell them what you do.”
Patel broke down in tears. “I… I process the migrant shipments. I negotiate quotas with EU agencies. I bribe Irish officials to approve the docks and tunnel routes. I… I get €2,000 per head. Sometimes €4,000 if they’re minors.”
A stunned silence fell across social media as the confession spread like wildfire. Twitter and TikTok feeds exploded with furious comments. Dockers in Limerick, hauliers in Cork, and farmers in Mayo began calling local radio shows, voices shaking with rage.
🔥 Operations Floor
Karen turned from the console. “Upload complete. Every Horizon archive decrypted and sent to global media outlets, WikiLeaks, and direct to Brussels Parliament channels. They can’t bury this.”
Salty’s jaw clenched as he watched Patel sob on-screen. He keyed his encrypted comms mic.
“This is Salty to all units. Phase Three begins now. Secure the tunnels. Establish checkpoints. And for God’s sake, keep it peaceful. The world is watching.”
🛰️ Brussels – Horizon EU Operations Command, 06:17 CET
In a darkened underground command centre, an emergency board meeting flickered onto giant plasma screens. EU commissioners shouted in a dozen languages as Horizon executives stared in horror at Patel’s live confession.
“Shut it down!” screamed Commissioner Voight, sweat dripping down his thin face.
“We can’t!” roared a Horizon IT director. “The Irish networks have fully decentralised data storage. We can’t erase anything without direct access to their local servers.”
🦅 Back in Dublin
Salty watched the confusion play out in real-time on their hacked Horizon satellite feed. He turned to Karen and Sarah, his deep voice quiet but electric with resolve.
“Brussels just lost control. Horizon’s empire ends today.”
Sarah wiped tears from her cheeks, nodding fiercely. “What about Patel?”
Salty glanced at the trembling man on the monitor. “We hand him over to the people. To the dock workers, the nurses, the mothers who lost their jobs to Horizon’s quotas. Let him face real justice.”
Karen smirked coldly. “That’s better than he deserves.”
⚔️ Outside
Hundreds of marchers were gathering along the docks, many carrying Irish flags on poles and makeshift banners reading:
“NO MORE BRUSSELS CHAINS.”
“IRELAND FOR THE IRISH.”
“WE STAND WITH SALTY.”
Salty stepped out onto the shattered balcony overlooking the river. The crowd roared as he raised his fist skyward. Behind him, the tricolour fluttered from Horizon’s broken flagpoles for the first time in years.
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