A Town Called Discovery

by R. R. Haywood

  The missile soars through the sky at over one thousand feet a second to cover the two miles to the front line where it swooshes over the trenches filled with thousands of men who stare up with fear etched on their faces.

  That last shells drops over the heads of Bear, Thomas and Corporal Simmonds. Landing metres beyond the first German trenches, detonating with yet another ear-splitting explosion of mud and screaming metal that flies out to embed in tree trunks that set to flame from the super-charged fragments.

  After that comes the silence. The awful, terrible drawn-out silence as the senior officers check watches and pass word that the attack is to go as planned.

  ‘UP…GET UP…’ the sergeant with the cudgel booms, striding up and down his section, heaving men to their feet. ‘MAKE READY…’

  Officers emerge from dugouts, dry and clean after a night under cover while around them the freezing men shiver from the cold and terror, gripping their rifles and trying to kick the clinging mud from their boots.

  Bear grabs Thomas, pulling him in close. ‘Soon as the attack starts, I’ll shoot him in the leg…you react and scream out…call me a cunt or…’

  ‘I don’t think they use cunt here…’ Thomas says.

  ‘Whatever then, whatever they use…’

  ‘Okay, want me to shoot him?’

  ‘No. You’re an awful shot…’

  ‘Hey, fuck you man,’ Thomas says. ‘What if they make us go over?’

  ‘LADDERS…’ the sergeant screams. Wooden ladders are grabbed and propped against the trench wall. Pushed into place with a weird, bizarre action of men not wanting to go first but not wanting to be seen as holding back. A pushing starts with people trying to look like they are going for it while letting others push ahead.

  ‘GET ON THEM FUCKING LADDERS…’ a whack into a leg from the cudgel, a smack in the head from a big hand.

  ‘Sir…’ Corporal Simmonds calls out for a pale faced officer emerging from a dugout. ‘Medics Sir, we don’t go with the first wave…’

  The officer blinks, confusion in his eyes. He’s only been here for three days and has no clue what he is doing. A murmur sounds down the trenches with some men grumbling at the medics trying to hold back while others agree the medics don’t go first.

  ‘FACE THAT WAY…’ the sergeant moves fast, pushing at Simmonds to get him back into position.

  ‘I’M A MEDIC,’ Simmonds shouts back, pointing at his armband. ‘HOW DO I GIVE TREATMENT IF I’M THE FIRST OVER?’

  ‘DO NOT EYEBALL ME…’ the sergeant marches off, either unable or unwilling to hear reason.

  ‘Okay chaps…make ready now,’ the officer calls out weakly, trying to work out how to hold his pistol and pocket watch and put the whistle in his mouth all at the same time. ‘When the call comes…we’ll go over what? Up and at them I say…every man do his duty now…’

  ‘FOR QUEEN AND COUNTRY,’ the deaf sergeant roars, thinking the officer has finished speaking.

  ‘Queen and country,’ a wan, weak response ripples down the line from soldiers with bleeding ears rendered deaf and dumb from the onslaught of shelling.

  ‘QUEEN AND COUNTRY,’ the sergeant roars again, stamping his feet and slamming his cudgel into a plank of wood. ‘WE’LL HAVE AT ‘EM…FILTHY KRAUTS…FILTHY BASTARDS…FILTHY FUCKING BASTARDS…’ spittle flies from his lips, his face reddening from the strain of yelling.

  ‘I say sergeant,’ the officer says primly, ‘won’t have that language here you know…’

  ‘FILTHY CUNTS…’ the deaf sergeant screams.

  ‘They do use cunt then,’ Thomas tells Bear.

  ‘Jesus,’ Zara says in her office, shaking her head at the monitor. ‘I don’t think I can watch.’

  ‘Don’t then,’ Allie says. ‘Sit here and I’ll keep an eye.’

  ‘Is Prisha coming?’ Sally asks.

  ‘Said she was,’ Jennifer replies, pulling the lid from a carton.

  ‘This feels wrong,’ Zara says. ‘We’re eating takeaway just before witnessing mass murder…’

  ‘Don’t overthink it,’ Allie says. ‘Come on, swap seats.’

  ‘ZARA!’ Prisha’s voice shouting through the office as the deputy bursts through the door from the stairwell.

  ‘In here,’ Jennifer shouts, leaning out the door. ‘We started…what’s up with you?’ she asks, seeing the deputy’s wild eyes.

  ‘Something’s wrong,’ Prisha says, pushing into the office. ‘All of your RLI’s have been undone…get them back now!’

  ‘What?’ Zara asks, midway through standing from her chair.

  ‘Your RLI’s…Hank Peterson…he was stopped from suicide…’

  ‘Yeah, Bear and Thomas called his sister,’ Zara says, glancing at Allie.

  ‘He died the next day,’ Prisha blurts.

  ‘That does happen,’ Allie says. ‘I mean it’s rare but…’

  ‘Jean Stoll? She was knifed in a robbery a few days after they stopped her being run over…that one in the restaurant…Colin?’

  ‘Jenson,’ Zara says calmly, her eyes fixed on Prisha.

  ‘Him. He ate the same thing he is allergic to at home on his own. Kills him…and Mary Lieber? The battered wife? Beaten to death while on trial. I checked the flow. They’re all connected, but none of them live or do the things they were meant to do, and it all means a climate change scientist doesn’t tell the governments to use batteries. Listen, none of the other RLI’s have been touched. You’ve been targeted. Get them back. They’re being tracked.’

  Zara nods, her mind running clear. ‘Sally send a message to Thomas’s bleeper to get out now…’ they all freeze as the lights go off with the computers, monitors and electrical systems all shutting down, plunging the room into darkness and silence. ‘What the fuck just happened?’ Zara whispers into the silence.

  ‘Thirty seconds chaps!’ the officer shouts, lifting his whistle to his lips.

  The call is repeated down the line as men mutter last minute prayers, trapped between being killed for cowardice and being shot by German machine guns.

  ‘Ah, man…this is gonna hurt,’ Thomas grumbles. ‘You ready?’

  ‘Yeah,’ Bear looks at his friend, and starts positioning to shoot Simmonds, thinking to wait until the man is on the ladder and hoping he can get the bullet clean through the thigh without hitting bone.

  ‘Good luck,’ Simmonds says, nodding at Bear and Thomas and looking wretched to the core.

  ‘NOW!’

  Whistles sound for miles along the trenches as thousands of men give voice and start moving for the ladders while the sergeants and corporals scream at them to get going. The fear and tension so thick you could spoon it from the very air, and as Simmonds shuffles towards the ladder so Bear glances down the trench to see Todd from Carpe Diem restaurant staring back at him. His heart lurches. His stomach flips and he blinks to look again. It’s him and he’s staring right over.

  Bear looks about, casting his gaze over the terrified faces of the soldiers and seeing more Freedom operatives spread through the trench, some he recognises, others he marks for looking cleaner, healthier and from the fact they are all staring at him with serious intent.

  Freedom are here. They’re in the trench. They’ve been tracked and targeted.

  Everything on instinct now. The whistles blowing. The climb to go over the top already underway. There are too many to fight here in the trench, and if Bear shoots Simmonds in the leg those Freedom operatives will be on them instantly. They have to go over. He counts quickly, seeing more than a dozen spread through the trench. They spot him looking with eye-contact held as they all shuffle for the ladders while above them the German guns start firing.

  Bear moves closer to Thomas, watching the sides and all around. ‘Freedom are here…don’t react…go over the top and get Simmonds down.’

  ‘Jesus, dude,’ Thomas says, staring ahead. ‘How many?’

  ‘Lots…’

  ‘Fucking job is getting worse by the minute,’ Thomas mutters, pla
cing a hand on the corporal’s shoulder.

  A scream above them cuts off as a private reaches the top of the ladder only to fly back with his brains spraying out.

  ‘GET OVER…GET OVER…’ the deaf sergeant roars, pushing men at the ladders, whacking legs with his cudgel to get them moving while his colleagues do the same.

  Simmonds gains the ladder, gripping to rise with Thomas pressing as close as he can behind. A wet feeling on Bear’s face. He frowns, touching his cheek to feel mud then spots a tuft of an explosion a few inches in front of him and turns to see one of the men from the restaurant sliding the bolt on his rifle to take another pot-shot in Bear’s general direction. Bear twitches his own rifle, keeping it low at his waist and plucking the trigger to send an unheard and unseen shot back at the man. It strikes the base of the ladder as the man fires back while still they shuffle forwards.

  Bear glances up to see Simmonds and Thomas breach the top to go over. His turn now, but that means leaving himself exposed to the guy shooting him. He looks across, the two poised as though waiting to see what the other will do. Bear goes for it, surging up the ladder one handed while holding his rifle as the guy does the same. Both racing up, staring at each other.

  ‘THAT’S IT…LIKE THEM…GET UP THERE…’ the deaf sergeant roars as they race with eyes-locked to clamber from the trench to a whole other world and the second they gain the top the second they both dive to roll and aim with rifles. The guy misses. Bear doesn’t and gets the round through his shoulder, sending him flying off then he’s up, running forward and feeling the jolt from the view that greets him.

  Thousands of men pouring from the trenches into the brutal barrenness no man’s land. Churned mud and deep craters filled with debris and corpses. Dead tree trunks here and there and banks of fog and smoke roll thick across the ground as bullets whip by his body. Men drop either side of him, torn apart from machine guns lacerating their flesh while others are cut down from single shot rifles fired by German snipers.

  He spots Thomas running up behind Simmonds, slamming into his back to drive the man down out of sight into a deep crater. Bear runs for them, shouting out when a round hits the ground in front of him. He runs fast, diving headfirst into the crater to see Thomas fighting to keep Simmonds down.

  ‘GET OFF ME MAN!’ Simmonds roars, trying to break free.

  Bear lands on his stomach, sliding down the steep sides headfirst into the wet gloopy mud at the bottom and sinking deeper than he anticipated. He struggles to get out, his head submerged as thick mud fills his mouth, blotting his hearing and eyesight. Floundering, flapping his arms and legs and finally feeling something to grip to drag himself out, pawing at the corpse of a German soldier. He sucks air, shaking his head to clear his eyes and spotting a man leaping over the edge of the crater and sliding down the steep sides towards the pool at the bottom.

  Gunfire and smoke. Chaos everywhere and Bear flashes a hand out to grip the soldier sliding down the crater wall, trying to stop him landing in the pool. The soldier grabs Bear’s arm then twists and pulls a knife from his belt, screaming out as he tries to stab Bear in the chest. He blocks the stab, sliding on his back as both men go down into the thick gloop. Another one launches over the side of the crater, sliding down towards the fight while pulling his own knife.

  Without grip or purchase, with eyes stinging from the mud, with airways clogged Bear fights the first, disarming and shoving his head into the mud then leaning back from the knife of the second man, fending him off while another one comes over the lip of the crater. Another and more pouring down with knives drawn.

  ‘What the hell is wrong with you?’ Simmonds demands. ‘We’ll be shot…’

  Bear stabs and slashes, drowning one second then breaking free to suck air and stick the blade into legs and chests, into throats and bodies. They become unrecognisable. Each coated with mud so thick they can’t tell each other apart. Bear presses that advantage, screaming out not me, not me to make two attackers falter long enough to kill them both.

  One of them breaks free from the gloop to go for Thomas and Simmonds, his bayonet gripped and ready.

  ‘FUCK OFF,’ Thomas screams at him, desperately looking for his rifle but seeing it yards away. The man keeps coming, murder in his eyes that show white through the thick mud on his face. ‘Oh, hell…’ Thomas steps back, sliding in the mud then tripping over Simmonds but as he goes down he gets a foot up into the attacker’s groin, crunching his testicles and making the man drop with a scream of utter agony. Thomas starts scrabbling away, his instinct and experience telling him to leave the fighting to Bear but this isn’t a normal job, this is beyond normal, this is way beyond normal. He yells out, grabs his rifle and charges at the man writhing on the floor to drive the point of the bayonet deep into his heart. He wrenches it free, slams the bolt back and shoots the man through the head before staggering to launch himself once more at Simmonds still trying to get to his feet.

  Silence. Profound, deep and heavy. A silence born from a lack of machines humming, from a lack of fluorescent tube lights vibrating, from a lack of life in the devices around them. No emergency lights either, no lights at all save for the silver light of the moon shining through the windows.

  ‘Okay,’ Zara says, flicking through a dusty safety manual taken from a shelf in Martha’s office. ‘Each deployment portal has an emergency back-up power supply that will last approximately three hours, this time being deemed sufficient to allow a recall of the operatives…’ Zara trails off from reading. ‘How?’ she snaps. ‘How do we bloody recall without power? Where does the power even come from? Is there a generator?’

  Silence from the others who shake heads, not knowing the answers.

  ‘The phones are dead,’ Prisha says, lifting a receiver. She moves across the corridor to the window. ‘It’s not just here…’

  Zara rushes over with the others to stare out to a town in darkness and not a light showing anywhere. ‘Jesus…the whole town…has this ever happened before?’

  They look to Allie, the oldest of them and the longest here. She shakes her head. ‘Never heard it, never seen it…it can’t happen…’

  ‘WE CAN’T STAY HERE…’ Bear reaches Thomas and Simmonds and screams to be heard. ‘THE SHELLING. WE HAVE TO GO…’

  Simmonds pushes Thomas away, thinking to flee then spots the bodies poking from the gloop in the base of the crater. ‘Help them…I have to help them…’ he sets off, lumbering and slipping as Bear grabs his arms and twists him round.

  ‘GO…UP…WE HAVE TO GO UP,’ Bear pushes them on, all three ducking down as another shell hits the far side of the crater, heaving the ground beneath them. ‘UP…’ he goes again, driving Thomas and Simmonds to get up into the horror of the wasteland where they run on past men screaming with limbs shorn off.

  ‘BEAR!’ Thomas screams the warning at a soldier taking aim with a rifle a dozen metres away. The three go down, diving into the mud to take cover as the round passes unheard above them.

  With their own weapons lost in the crater, they crawl to reach the body of a young British soldier still clutching his unfired rifle as another round hits the mud, adding to the chaos of the awful barrage. Bear grabs the body, rolling him on his side to use as a shield to protect Simmonds and Thomas before getting the bolt back on the rifle and rising up to aim and fire back, striking the soldier in the leg. Bear rises, sprinting hard to cover the distance before the other man can gather his wits to fire back.

  He dives the last few feet, slamming into him as the guy draws a standard issue Army revolver from a leather holster and tries getting a shot off before Bear headbutts down, breaking his nose.

  ‘Why are you here?’

  ‘Fuck you…’ the man bucks and heaves, fighting to get the pistol aimed at Bear who grabs the wrist, snaps the joint, wrenches the gun free and shoots the man through his kneecap.

  ‘WHY?’ Bear roars.

  ‘KILL ME…GO ON…’

  Bear kills him, firing into his head at po
int blank range. He grabs the rifle and pushes up, wedging the revolver into his belt as a shell lands too close, sending him flying off his feet from the pressure wave to a few seconds of ringing in his ears and his mind trying to grasp the now.

  When he comes to, he lumbers up to his feet with his sense of direction lost and the man he just shot now rendered to molecular form from the shell strike. He looks around, turning on the spot trying to find Thomas and Simmonds.

  ‘COWARDS…GET UP…’ a roaring voice. One he knows. He heads towards it, slipping and sliding through the choking smoke to see the deaf sergeant lifting his cudgel to whack into Thomas and Simmonds both unable to get to their feet from the slippery ground beneath them, both pleading for the man to stop, their arms raised in surrender and supplication. ‘FILTHY COWARDS…’ the sergeant hits Thomas in the arm, making him scream out in agony as Simmonds dives to protect him with his own body and still the sergeant lifts his cudgel to strike again.

  Bear fires the revolver. Sending a shot into the sergeant’s side. He spins round, incensed at being shot to see Bear running towards him. ‘COWARDS…’

  Bear fires again, hitting his chest but still the big man roars and lifts his cudgel. Bear shoots the last two bullets from the revolver then casts the weapon aside to bring his rifle up, aiming for the head that he blows out with a solid hit.

  ‘TRAITOR!’ another cry, Bear spins, seeing a line of British soldiers running from the smoke and mist towards him. All of them seeing him shoot the sergeant. ‘TRAITOR. SHOOT HIM!’

  ‘Fuck,’ he drops to rush on, scrabbling to reach Thomas and Simmonds, grabbing them up to run.

  ‘Okay,’ Zara says calmly, swallowing while thinking. ‘Jen, run down to the Old Lady…tell her what’s happening. Prish, go for Martha and Lars, get them back here…’

  She stops talking at the noise of a door slamming open. Their heads all turning from the window to the corridor leading down to the deployment rooms. Another noise. A soft thud.