Sgt. Salty and the Misfits: The Belfast Siege (Chapters 6 & 7)

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Sgt. Salty and the Misfits: The Belfast Siege (Chapters 6 & 7)

Belfast – a city built on shipyards, steel, and stubborn resilience. The twin Harland & Wolff cranes, Samson and Goliath, tower above the skyline like guardians of industry. But now, Ron Beefmaster wanted to turn them into his personal Beef Oil siphons, draining the River Lagan to fuel his greasy empire.

“This city will be my refinery,” Beefmaster bellowed from the docks, oil splattering as he slammed a barrel. “From here, the Beef Oil tides will rise, and Ireland will sink into sludge!”

His henchmen cackled:

  • Whining Cole moaned, “Do we have to stay in Belfast? It’s raining sideways.”

  • Woodie Wood carved “BEEF 4 LYF” into the dock gates.

  • Candle of Spices danced on a flaming barge, chanting, “Saffron! Nutmeg! FIRE!”

Locals muttered: “Not this clown again. Someone call the misfits.”

Misfits on the March

From Cork to Belfast, the misfits rolled north in a caravan of chaos.

  • Ye Olde Large Lad devoured two family-sized Ulster fries before even reaching the city.

  • WhizzAir Winky flew his drone over the Mourne Mountains, dropping sausage parcels like humanitarian aid.

  • Funji Squallshy whispered, “The moss up here… it speaks,” unsettling everyone.

  • The Govna practiced shouting “This is my city!” though he had no idea where he was.

  • Sarah and Susan had packed enough blankets and tea for the whole crew, determined to keep spirits up.

Sgt. Salty looked over Belfast from Cave Hill and muttered, “This city’s tough. We’ll need wit, guts, and probably a BBQ.”

The Siege Begins

Beefmaster’s army had seized the docks, chaining the cranes with pipes pumping oil into barges. The River Lagan bubbled black, and a greasy stench spread across the city.

When the misfits arrived, locals cheered. “Go on lads, run them back to England—or wherever they came from!”

Salty raised his megaphone. “Beefmaster! Belfast doesn’t bow to oil! Release the cranes or face the Rebels of the North!”

Beefmaster sneered. “You? And your circus of clowns? Belfast will drown in grease before you stop me!”

The clash began.

BBQ Chaos on the Docks

  • Ye Olde Large Lad hurled barrels of Beef Oil into the sea, shouting, “Catch of the day!” before slipping on black ice of grease.

  • WhizzAir Winky’s drone dropped flaming sausages onto Beefmaster’s barge. Half the henchmen fled, half tried to eat them mid-fire.

  • Funji Squallshy unleashed Belfast moss spores that glued henchmen’s boots to the dock.

  • The Govna challenged Woodie Wood to a swearing contest—Govna won by inventing new Belfast slang on the spot.

Sarah and Susan led locals in a BBQ uprising: grills popped up along the docks, burgers and sausages flying as weapons. Belfast’s first ever siege-cookout was underway.

Candle of Spices Unleashed

But then Candle of Spices revealed his masterwork: a barge of flames drifting down the Lagan, fireworks of cinnamon and chilli exploding over the water.

“LET THE CITY BURN!” he howled.

Salty, covered in burger grease, shouted, “Not on my watch!” He grabbed Sarah and Susan, using a sausage skewer like a harpoon to cut the barge’s ropes. It drifted harmlessly out to sea, where it exploded like a flaming Christmas pudding.

The Grease Leviathan

Beefmaster, desperate, poured every last drop of Beef Oil into the river. From the black froth rose a monstrous Grease Leviathan, a sea-serpent of sludge with jaws like cranes and eyes like headlights.

The docks shook as it lunged for the cranes. Locals screamed.

Salty stood firm. “This isn’t just Belfast’s fight—it’s Ireland’s!”

Romance in the Firestorm

As chaos raged, Sarah grabbed Salty’s hand. “You don’t have to do this alone.”
Susan added, “We’re with you—always.”

Salty, torn between love and leadership, smiled. “Then let’s finish this together.”

With the three united, they rallied the misfits and locals in one last push.

The Final Push

  • WhizzAir Winky crashed his drone directly into the Leviathan’s eye, blinding it in a burst of sausage grease.

  • Ye Olde Large Lad hurled a full BBQ grill into its mouth. Smoke poured from its throat.

  • Funji Squallshy’s moss spores hardened the sludge, freezing the monster mid-roar.

  • The Govna, standing atop a crate of Murphy’s, yelled, “Belfast says NO!” so loudly the Leviathan shuddered.

Finally, Salty, Sarah, and Susan together jammed a spiced beef skewer into its heart. With a greasy groan, the Leviathan collapsed back into the Lagan, dissolving into harmless bubbles.

Beefmaster’s Humiliation

Beefmaster staggered, covered in soot and sausage fat. “How… how did clowns and Cork women beat me again?”

Locals pelted him with soda bread until he fled, dragging his henchmen away into the night.

Peace at the Docks

As dawn broke over Belfast, the cranes stood tall, golden in the morning light. Locals and misfits gathered for one last BBQ by the water.

  • The Govna passed out in the potato salad.

  • Winky tried to roast marshmallows on drone propellers (he failed).

  • Funji Squallshy sang to moss on the dock posts.

  • Ye Olde Large Lad ate three chickens in a row.

Salty sat between Sarah and Susan, arms around them both, gazing at Belfast reborn. “Together,” he said softly, “we’ve beaten Beefmaster in every corner of Ireland. But something tells me… this isn’t his end.”

The cranes loomed above, guardians of Belfast, as the misfits laughed, feasted, and planned for whatever madness lay ahead.


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