Capital Falling Trilogy Box Set [Books 1-3]

by Winkless, Lance

  Josh and Alice immediately get up from their chairs to come and form up, and the eight Special Forces men thankfully all break from their small circles and form a line in front of the Lieutenant and me. The green berets on the left, the sand berets in the middle and Josh and Alice on the right, Dan comes over and takes a position behind me, on my right shoulder.

  When everyone is formed up and stood to attention, Lieutenant Winters addresses them. “This is Captain Richards and he will be leading today's mission on the direct orders of Colonel Reed.” The Lieutenant then takes a step back, leaving the floor to me, and I’m suddenly a bit self-conscious that I am the only one in here not in uniform.

  “Thank you, Lieutenant. At ease, men,” I start. “You don’t need me to tell you about the horrific events that have unfolded over the last couple of days. Today could determine certainly the fate of London and possibly the whole country. I know some of us at least have had contact with these infected Zombies, or Rabids as we will call them, but everyone needs to listen up to what I am about to say.

  “The Rabids are quicker, stronger and fiercer than you will expect. You must anticipate them, as they have no fear and they are vicious. You can shoot them or even blow them up but there is only one thing that will stop them, and that is by taking their brains out, so that means headshots or if you can’t make a headshot, take their legs out, and that will slow them down. Is that clear?”

  “Yes, Sir,” all of them say in unison.

  “I have two more observations from my contacts with the Rabids. The first is that they are not trying to kill you. They are trying to turn you into one of them; they may feed on you for a while, but believe me, their aim is to turn you. That is bad enough when there is one of them but from what I have seen, they like to hunt as a pack and they work as one too, so don’t be fooled into thinking they are just brain-dead creatures. Because that is not what I’ve seen, in fact, I think there is a hierarchy between them, so be aware, okay?”

  Another, “Yes Sir,” sounds off.

  “I will brief you on the mission in due course, but right now, I want to know who we have here. Who are the team leaders?” I ask.

  Two men, one from the SBS and one from the SAS patrols stand forward, snapping to attention again. The SBS man is on the far left of me at the end of the line and the SAS man is on the left of his men too, in the middle of the line.

  I approach the SBS team leader first, moving in front of him. He is a tall muscled man of about six-foot-two inches, and he has a hardened face enhanced by a long scar that moves diagonally down the side of his right cheek. I would put his age as early thirties.

  “Name and rank?” I ask the burly operator.

  “Sergeant Dixon, Sir.”

  “Speciality?”

  “Demolitions, Sir.”

  “And your team?”

  “Corporal Downey, Medic, Lance Corporal Kim, Signals, and Trooper Collins, Sir.” Each man stands to attention when his name is called before reverting back to ease.

  “Thank you, Sergeant, fall in,” I tell him and he immediately steps back, falling back in line.

  The SAS team leader is slightly smaller than the SBS leader but is still quite a unit of at least six foot. He is also slightly younger and doesn’t have the hardened look of Sergeant Dixon but is rugged nevertheless.

  “Name, rank and troop?”

  “Corporal Simms, Air Troop, Sir.”

  “Speciality?”

  “Linguist, Sir.”

  “And your team?”

  “Lance Corporal Watts, Demolitions, Trooper O’Brian, Signals, and Trooper Thomas medic, Sir.”

  Again, each man lets me know who they are by standing to attention when their name is announced, and Corporal Simms falls back in when I’m finished with him.

  “Okay, men, fall out, and get you kit out of the vehicles, get it checked and await further instructions.” They obviously arrived just before the Lieutenant and me because none of their kit is in the hangar yet. “Sergeant Dixon, join me when you’re finished.”

  “Yes, Sir,” he replies.

  My watch tells me it’s 0947, only thirteen minutes remaining until Operation Denial starts.

  “Lieutenant Winters, can we get a feed of Operation Denial on those monitors?” I ask, pointing towards the tables.

  “Yes Captain, I will be able to link us into the feed, I’ll get on it immediately.”

  “Good, and while you’re doing that, I’ll get changed.”

  “Your gear is over here Boss,” Dan tells me, “I got changed in that small office at the back.”

  “Okay, thanks mate,” I tell him. “How are you doing, Alice?” I ask on my way over to collect my gear.

  “I’m good thanks, Andy, I was a bit confused when they plucked me out of my new unit. We were gearing up to move out, back into London,” she says.

  “Sorry if I ruined your plans, Alice.”

  “Oh, don’t worry, I was in no rush to get back into that rodeo, our whole Platoon looks nervous as shit, including me. Dan and Josh have filled me in as to why I’m here and it’s a much better bet. Thanks, Andy.”

  “No thanks needed, and I do hope it is the better bet; this isn’t going to be the main event but it’s still high risk,” I tell her seriously.

  “Yes, it is, but I’d rather be doing my part with this team than the nervous-looking bunch of freshmen I’ve just left.”

  “You may be a Yank but you’re one of us now,” Dan interjects.

  “Who you calling a Yank?” Alice asks Dan, smiling.

  “How did Em take your news, Dad? Josh asks, then looks around looking sheepish, in the hope that none of the Special Forces were in earshot of him calling me Dad.

  “Well, I was a bit sparing with the truth. I told her I had work and meetings around here and didn’t mention what we really are doing, so she was fine. She had a grump because she is bored, but that was all.”

  “Definitely for the best,” Josh says in agreement.

  “Right I had better get changed,” I say as the new men start to bring their gear in and Lieutenant Winters gets the computer screens on. “Would you like to join me, Dan?”

  “How could I refuse such a tempting offer, Boss?”

  “Keep calm mate, I just want your take on the new arrivals.”

  “How disappointing, but come on then,” Dan jokes as he starts towards the small office, he got changed in.

  The office is small, with one desk squeezed at the far end that leaves just enough space on one side to get around to the chair. Dan goes around the side of the desk sideways on, to get to the chair and he sits heavily down into it, then swivels to the side and looks out of the one window that looks out into the hangar. I close the door and stand behind it to get changed which gives me at least some privacy, putting the holdall with my gear in onto the floor.

  I bend down to unzip the dark green holdall and inside, I immediately see the sand-coloured beret synonymous with the SAS, with its famous winged dagger insignia and the motto ‘Who Dares Wins’ running across the dagger, placed on top. Bittersweet feelings run through me when I see my new beret, having given so much to ‘The Regiment’. I could never have imagined I would ever contemplate wearing the beret again, but contemplate I do. Is there any need for me to wear the beret, and do I even want to? Technically I’m not even in the SAS and will it rub the four SBS members of our team up the wrong way? I pick up the beret and look at it for a moment before reaching over to the desk and putting it down until I decide.

  “Bet you never thought you’d be putting that on again?” Dan says with a hint of concern.

  Dan knows all too well what effect being in the SAS has had on my life, it has come up several times when the two of us have been drinking and putting the ‘world to rights’. He shares many of the same issues from his time serving as a Royal Marine Commando, the waste and horror of the battlefield, friends and comrades lost and the effect it all has on you and your loved ones back home.

  “
You’re not wrong there, it’s a bit of a head fuck mate, to say the least,” I tell him.

  “They just keep coming lately and something tells me we’re not finished yet. Look on the bright side; at least you won’t have to write up a report after this mission,” Dan jokes.

  “Are you sure about that?”

  “Err, no,” Dan says and we both laugh.

  While I put on my new combat uniform, Dan and I discuss our upcoming mission. Our discussion firstly centres on Colonel Reed’s initial plan that he mentioned back in the command tent. To fly in when Operation Denial is advancing, using it as a diversion, fast-roping onto the roof of the Orion Building, re-entering the building through the hole we blasted into the roof to retrieve the safe, then we fall back to the roof to be picked up by the waiting helicopters. This mission plan, on the face of it, does seem like a favourable option and neither Dan nor I have thought of a better plan in the time we have had to think about it since the command tent.

  We both agree that any other option would involve substantially more troops to execute. If we were to try and make the Orion building safe and clear of Rabids, for example, air support and troops would be needed to firstly secure the grounds of the building and form a perimeter, and then more troops would be needed to clear the building. Such a plan would require troops in the hundreds to be on the ground in addition to aircover. Even if we had that number of troops at our disposal, it would take extensive planning, timing and air transport to fly the troops in. And even then, the risks would be colossal and unpredictable. Colonel Reed and his cronies must have discounted this type of plan as quickly as we have.

  We both agree that the mission will be based on and planned around the one touted by the Colonel and we start to delve deeper into it.

  Now kitted out in my new combat uniform, including body armour, I feel more like I belong in the team, never mind commanding it. I don’t use the new boots that were in the holdall though, I stick with my worn-in and comfortable hiking boots. I have used the new hip gun holster that was in there, even though my old shoulder holster is also in place with my Sig inserted, as I intend to take one of the Glocks that I saw with the equipment in the hangar with me, as well as the Sig.

  As Dan and I are delving further into our plan for the mission, there is a knock at the door. I assume it is Sergeant Dixon reporting to me as ordered, but the door opens and Josh sticks his head in.

  “It looks like Denial is underway, the Apaches are all starting to taking off,” Josh tells us.

  Both Dan and I check our watches which tell us it’s 1010 hours.

  “I’ve got to see this,” Dan says excitedly as he gets up from his chair and bashes his way out from behind the desk.

  “You and me both,” I tell him as I quickly head for the door Josh has already vacated.

  As Dan and I exit the small office, I realise I have inadvertently picked up the sand-coloured SAS beret that I had put onto the desk, whether this was a force of habit or something else, I can’t say. Deciding I am overthinking it, I lift the beret and fit it to the top of my head, and mould it around my head with my hands until it is snugly in place and pointing down the right side of my head.

  Everybody else from the hangar is already standing in a group on the sun-drenched tarmac outside, looking at the awesome sight in front of us. I go and stand with them next to Josh, to watch as one after another, legions of Apache Attack helicopters lift off and take to the air.

  There must be twenty Apaches or so in the air already by the time I have joined the others, but these don’t fly off into the distance; they move forward slowly, allowing others to take off behind them and join the expanding formation. The noise is deafening from our relatively close distance and only gets louder as more take to the air. There is a definite strong breeze, buffering us from the downdrafts of the accumulated rotors.

  Away to our left, ground crew choreograph this flying dance, making the pilots of the Apaches due to take off next wait until the ones they have just released have flown off to a predetermined safe distance. When the next ones are released, the ground crew duck down, in some futile attempt to escape the serious buffering they must still receive from the rising helicopters.

  I look around at my newly assembled team and they are all looking up and taking in the fascinating sight. Even the hardened Special Forces members of the team can’t take their eyes off the sight and they talk to each other with their heads still lifted, moving to the side slightly when they have something to say. The different Regiments are also talking together, which is a very good sign. I definitely haven’t seen such a large swarm of helicopters in the sky at one time, and I doubt if any of us have. And by the time all of the helicopters are in the air, I would doubt if anybody else ever has.

  “Incredible isn’t it?” I say nudging Josh at my side.

  “You can say that again, I’ve never seen anything on this scale, have you?” Josh almost shouts in reply.

  “No, this is the most I have seen in the sky at any one time, there must be forty or fifty, up there.”

  I assume the reason none of the Apaches is flying off is that command has decided they all need to arrive at the same time at an agreed point as the troops on the ground. This will allow for the troops to get into position before the noise of the helicopters starts to ‘wake up’ the Rabids and they get into a frenzied state; the value of the element of surprise cannot be overstated on the battlefield.

  We really need to get back into the hangar to carry on with preparations for our mission, I think to myself, but it is hard to pull my eyes away from the sky. The time is 1025 hours and just as I decide to give myself another ten minutes, Josh nudges me to bring my attention to where he is pointing to, at the front of the swarm.

  The lead Apaches have tilted forward and are now moving off at greater speed. And as they do, the ones behind them follow suit, tilting and picking up speed, to follow. The ripple flows down the waiting Apaches as the ones in front of them move off, so they tilt forward to pursue. The view could almost be a scene from Apocalypse Now, the swarm of helicopters flying off into the sun, but it would have been impossible for the budget of that film to produce anything like the scene we are witnessing now. It is on a totally different scale.

  I count the Apaches as they go. Eleven lines of five have moved off and then the ones now in the air and still here revert to the holding pattern as previously. As I suspected, the Apaches are moving off in different squadrons so they can give air cover to the troops on the ground at their different insertion points into the city. The ones that have left and flown off were heading due North East, and that tells me they are heading towards the North of London, I expect the next squadron will go further East, more towards North West London, a shorter distance. This pattern will carry on until all the Apache squadrons are on their way to their designated rendezvous and I expect them all to arrive there at the same time, to coincide with the ground troops.

  Deciding the ten minutes are up when the first squadron of Apaches is disappearing in the sky, I pull my eyes from the next squadron preparing to go.

  “Okay people, let’s get moving; we have a mission to prepare for in less than five hours!” I shout over the din.

  Everybody averts their eyes too and moves off to carry on with their tasks at hand, while the Special Forces men go to their vehicles to grab more of their kit. I, Dan, Josh and Alice head back towards the hangar, and it’s only then I notice Lieutenant Winters isn’t out here.

  We find the Lieutenant sitting in front of a computer monitor inside the hangar, typing away at the computer’s keyboard and clicking its mouse. He seems to have several different tabs open on the screen but it doesn’t look like he has a feed of the unfolding mission up yet.

  “Any luck?” I ask him.

  “Not yet, the IT guys were supposed to have set these up ready, but as usual, they have done half a job, I’m just downloading a couple of programmes to get us on; give me ten minutes please, Captain,” the Lieuten
ant says, frustrated.

  “No problem, you seem to know what you’re doing so I’ll leave you to it,” I say, teasing him.

  “Thank you, Captain,” he replies, not rising to me in the slightest.

  Behind the tables and the Lieutenant, leaning against the wall is a flip chart easel with a big A1-sized paper pad attached to the front of it. The Lieutenant seems to have thought of everything we are going to need for our mission.

  “Josh, get the pad off that will you?” I ask, pointing.

  Leaving the Lieutenant to play with his computer, I move down to the other end of the two long tables, where conveniently there is a new box of black markers sitting.

  “You ready, Dan?” I ask.

  “Always ready for some drawing and mission planning, Boss.”

  While we wait for the feed to come through on the Lieutenant’s screen, Dan and I pick up from where we left off in the office. Under normal circumstances, a mission like the one we are about to carry out could take days or weeks to prepare for, if time allowed.

  Firstly, every scrap of intelligence available would be studied over and over, which could include, maps, aerial reconnaissance, relevant reports and statements and interviews with anybody who might have intel, anything that might give us insight into the objective or an advantage.

  Different options and methods to carry out the mission would be studied, before the final overall plan to successfully execute the mission objective was decided on. That plan would then be dissected piece by piece until every possible detail and scenario was understood and planned for, and every risk was identified and mitigated against. When that was done, we would do it again from the start, and again, until we were satisfied, we hadn’t missed anything, and all eventualities were accounted for.

  A detailed plan then had to be drawn up for the mission, one everybody could clearly understand. This plan gives minute-by-minute, step-by-step detail of every aspect of what is required from every team member to carry out the mission. If the objective was in a building, for example, floor plans would be printed off or drawn up by hand, aerial pictures are blown up, timings listed, and so it went on and on.