5 in Custody, let out on bail, Security incident near RAF Fairford in Gloucestershire, England
The rain was hammering off the tarmac outside the station like a drum solo gone horribly wrong, but inside, the atmosphere in the tactical ops room—a drafty prefab shed behind the local Spar—was even heavier. Govna adjusted his tweed jacket, took a long drag off his lukewarm tea, and leaned over the whiteboard. Marked out in red marker were three suspiciously drawn white vans. "Right, lads and ladies," Govna said, tapping his pen against the board. "I’ve called this emergency briefing of the Misfits because the internet is losing its absolute mind over this Fairford business." Sgt. Salty, sitting cross-legged on an upturned crate of Barry's Tea, didn't look up from polishing his trusty combat boots. "Three white vans parked up late at night near a military strip, five lads in balaclavas running into the bushes, and not a single stick of TNT in the back? Sounds like a right circus." "That’s what the headlines said!" Dannyboy pi...