A car speeding across an upcoming bridge we are approaching soon bursts my illusions and my mind returns to the here and now.
“How are you feeling today?” Josh asks from beside me.
“I’m good thanks. Sorry about yesterday, I was a bit down because I was leaving the girls again and it got a bit on top of me,” I explain.
“That’s okay, I understand. I count myself lucky that I haven’t got your responsibilities in these unbelievable times.”
“You say that, but I need to ask you something.” I look at Josh.
“I know what you’re going to say but go on,” Josh says.
“If anything happens to me, I need you to go back and take on that responsibility. Promise me you’ll do that and there won’t be any going back to your unit, your sister will be your priority.”
“Of course, Emily would be my priority, Dad. But don’t think like that, she needs you back, not her big brother,” Josh tells me.
“I would disagree with you there; she needs both of us. I know you’ve got to tread your own path, but you’d have to put that aside if anything happens.”
“Yes Dad, I know, and it wouldn’t be a sacrifice to look after Emily,” Josh says earnestly.
“I know Son, you’re a good lad.”
“Turn it in Dad,” Josh smiles.
Alice begins to navigate her way down the river without us having to direct her as often when the sun begins to win its fight with the darkness. The riverbank takes on a completely different character in the daylight. It becomes obvious that we aren’t on any deserted Borneo jungle river, this is the Thames, and it is flowing into London.
Cars begin to appear at regular intervals on roads that join the riverbank before they turn and disappear again. We even see some brave souls out walking their dogs or cycling in the early morning light, probably before they head off to work. We get some strange looks from the riverbank, and not just from the dog walkers. We keep our weapons hidden, but people wonder nevertheless where we could be going in our small boat so early in the morning.
Our nice, quiet boat ride comes to an end quicker than expected. We make good progress and as the daylight increases, it shows us Kew Bridge directly ahead.
“Pass me the binoculars,” I tell Josh.
I was right, even from a distance away and in the dim light, I can see that the bridge isn’t as it should be. The wide three arches of the low slung, stone bridge are blocked, but I can’t see by what from this distance, but there is barely any light coming from under the bridge. Scaffolding bars are visible, however, jutting up in a disorderly fashion above the bridge’s side and the roadway.
My biggest concern though, is the sudden movement of figures I see through the binoculars as our little boat floats closer. On each side of the riverbank, soldiers are moving into what I know will be defensive positions, as they are on the roadway spanning the river above.
A bright light suddenly bursts across the river, twinkling in the rippling water. The light is coming from a spotlight mounted on top of the wheelhouse of a military patrol boat. Smoke drifting into the air tells me that the engine has just come to life and the boat will be heading our way at any moment.
“Pass me that bag,” I tell Josh.
He swings the bag to me by its strap and I quickly unzip it to retrieve its contents.
“Where did you get that?” Josh asks me.
“Bill kindly lent it to me,” I tell him, taking the old fashioned long lensed camera out of the bag and hanging it around my neck.
“Doing a bit of sightseeing on the way?” he asks confused.
“In the army, we call it reconnaissance,” I tell him sarcastically. “And in the Special Forces, we call it mind your own bloody business. You catch my drift?”
“Yes, Sir,” Josh replies but looking unsure.
“Just follow my lead,” I tell him grinning.
The small patrol boat is soon making waves to our position, its wake telling me it is motoring at speed. As it approaches, I stand up in the boat ready to greet them, the camera hanging down across my chest as if I am off on a trip to the zoo.
As the patrol boat closes in, its nose sinks back into the water as its engines are powered down. There are four personnel aboard, all of them, apart from the pilot are pointing assault rifles directly at us and their aim focuses as the boat pulls up alongside ours.
“This is a restricted area, turn the boat around and leave or you will be fired upon,” a man shouts from behind his rifle.
“Who’s in command of your craft?” I shout back.
“I am. Sergeant Jennings. You have been warned, turn your boat around.”
“Sergeant Jennings, you will address me as Sir, and you will escort us through that cordon. That is an order,” I bark back.
“Identify yourself, Sir.”
“Captain Richards.”
“And what is your business, Sir?”
“We are on a reconnaissance mission for Military Intelligence. That is all I am at liberty to say. Now, you have your orders Sergeant,” I insist.
“Sir, only authorised personnel are to be let through the cordon,” Jennings replies.
“As you say, Sergeant. I am authorising you to escort us through.”
“Please show me your papers, Sir,” Jennings requests.
I retrieve my Military ID card and hand it to Josh. Alice gives the motor a burst to take us closer so that Josh can stretch out and hand over my card. The Sergeant takes the card from one of his crew to inspect, before handing it back.
“This is very irregular, Sir,” the Sergeant says as Josh reaches to get the card back.
“Nevertheless, you have your orders, Sergeant,” I tell him.
“Very well, Sir.”
“Thank you, Sergeant. Oh, and Sergeant, we will be two or three hours gaining out intel, from our boat. Please inform your men to watch for our return.”
“Yes, Sir,” Jennings agrees.
The men on the patrol boat pull in their weapons as the boat turns to lead us towards to bridge. Alice opens up the throttle on the small motor and she just about manages to keep pace with the boat in front.
As we close in on the bridge, the patrol boat peels away to the side slightly and I tell Alice to keep going, straight ahead. I can see, now that we are closer, that the bridge is covered with a thick meshed material, hung over the scaffolding. The mesh makes perfect sense, I suppose, it will let the rivers waters flow through whilst forming a barrier to any ‘unauthorised’ river traffic.
Alice keeps the boat going in a forward trajectory and we all pray that the thick black mesh will begin to open to allow us through. As we get nearer the point of no return Alice throttles back slightly, but as we glide past the patrol boat, the mesh begins to raise. With the mesh opening, Alice applies the throttle back to full so that we can pass through the cordon before any of the personnel guarding the bridge can change their minds.
Young looking squaddies look down on us from on top of the bridge as we float through the opening and into the darkness of the underbelly of the bridge. I only hope we can blag our way back through, on our return, I think as we emerge from beneath the bridge and into London’s quarantine zone.
“That was butt-clenching,” Alice says from the back of the boat as we emerge.
“All in a day’s work,” I say playing it cool.
“Dad’s an expert in the art of the blag,” Josh tells Alice. “How do you think he used to make me eat my vegetables when I was a kid and he came back off tour.”
“You used to be an easy mark,” I say laughing.
Josh and Alice laugh along with me. Jokes somehow seem funnier after a stressful event.
“Stay away from the riverbank,” I tell Alice. “We’re in bandit country now.”
“You got it, Andy,” she replies.
Kew Bridge marks a change in the scenery on the riverbank. The greenery begins to give way to brick and concrete as the buildings become more substantial and tightly pac
ked. We find ourselves passing under bridges on a more regular basis, but none of them has traffic, or pedestrians passing over them. Josh and I point our rifles up towards the roadways as we approach each bridge and we have swivelled to cover the rear as we emerge from the other side. Rabids could be waiting to pounce on any of the bridges in the quarantine zone and we know all too well that they wouldn’t think twice about jumping off to attack.
Alice works the motor behind her to eat up the long winding river. The Thames meanders around to the left in a large semi-circle and then decides to roll right in another large semi-circle before the river has barely had a chance to straighten. Progress is slow, but the waters are calm and apart from some tension when we pass under a bridge, I find the journey quite relaxing. The three of us chat intermittently, keeping the conversation light-hearted. We don’t try and tackle the glaringly obvious bigger issues that could ruin our chilled morning boat ride. Those issues will get their chance to be discussed, but for the moment, we all resist their growing pull.
We realise that we have reached the outskirts of London proper when the river widens out considerably and when we pass a towering football stadium perched on the riverbank. Fulham Football Club’s stadium is only small by comparison to some stadiums in London, but in our small boat on the wide river, it appears overbearing.
“Contact, directly ahead,” Alice announces, professionally and without panic.
My attention is quickly drawn away from the changing scenery and I curse myself for letting my concentration wander.
“I see it,” I confirm, my concentration back to where it should be.
Ahead, coming into view from around another long bend in the river, another boat is heading upriver and towards us. The boat is larger than ours and is moving quicker, but not by much. I pick up the binoculars to get a better look and am soon focused on the front of the boat.
“What can you see?” Josh asks.
“It’s hard to make out with the lights shining on it, but it looks like a medical relief boat or something. It looks like there is a red cross on the side of its hull,” I reply.
As the boat draws nearer, the red cross becomes clearer until there is no doubt of the boat's purpose. Refocusing the binoculars, I see that the craft has a pilot in the wheel room and there are shadowy figures in an open area at the stern of the boat. The people back there seem to be blurred though, as if I was looking at them through glass smeared with dirt.
“Give them a wide berth,” I tell Alice, suddenly worried that there might be infected on the boat.
Alice does as I ask and steers us away from the path of the oncoming boat—there is ample room on the river to do that. We all watch in silence as the boat draws level with our position on the river and we can see more clearly its layout.
Behind the wheelhouse, there appears to be a large Perspex screen retrofitted to the craft. The screen is obviously there to separate the pilot from his passengers and there is only one logical reason for that. None of the passengers in the stern, of which I only count three, pay any attention to us. The shadowy figures keep their heads down as if they have seen enough of the world for a whole lifetime.
With the boat behind us, Alice adjusts her course again and takes up a more central position on the river.
“That was strange,” Josh finally says, breaking the silence.
“It looks like they were being evacuated.” I guess.
“They didn’t look in good shape,” Alice adds from the rear.
“And there wasn’t many of them, especially considering how many troops have been drafted into London,” Josh says.
“No there wasn’t, was there,” Alice agrees.
“Let’s not second guess it. They could have been on a specific mission,” I tell them.
“What, like us?” Josh says with a hint of sarcasm.
“Something like that,” I reply, not wanting to delve any deeper. “Let’s concentrate on our task, instead of guessing what’s what with them.”
Josh and Alice go quiet, and we all let the motor at the back of our boat do the talking for a while.
Following each bend in the river, London grows taller on both sides of the river and the Thames becomes more congested. The congestion isn’t in the form of other river traffic, but rather pontoons jutting out into the river from the bank, most of which are packed with idle flat barges, river taxis and large sightseeing boats, all of which would normally be plying their trade up and down London’s main artery. More long and wide barges, some of which are piled high with stagnating refuse are anchored off the riverbank in various positions in the waterway. None of the obstacles poses Alice a problem, the river is amply wide enough for her to give them plenty of room.
None of us can bring ourselves to speak as we begin to drift past the prime waterfront developments that tower over us on each side of the river. While it may be incredibly early in the morning, residents of the once much sought-after apartments, with views over the river, are visible in their windows or on their balconies. The people watch us, from a distance, go past their part of the river. Their haunting looks or upsetting cries of desperation that carry across to our boat are chilling, especially from the north riverbank.
“There are so many people trapped, it’s heartbreaking,” Alice finally says.
“It’s terrible, you don’t realise how many there are,” Josh agrees. “What is going to happen to them?”
“God knows, but if something isn’t done soon, they will probably starve or be forced to try and escape,” Alice says.
“They’d have no chance if they are forced to try and escape,” Josh points out.
“Desperate people do desperate things,” Alice replies.
“The best they can hope for is that the army takes back control or at least begins to turn the tide,” I tell them.
“There doesn’t seem to be any sign of that happening any time soon,” Josh says.
“Things can change very quickly in the field,” I tell him, even though I am not sure I believe that is possible in the current circumstances myself.
Chapter 12
We motor under Chelsea Bridge and close in on an uninviting low dark tunnel ahead. Our rifles are trained on the railway bridge, its wide expanse cutting off the light and making it appear extremely low in the water. My eyes stare into the dim light searching for any threats that might be lurking underneath its steel ribbed arches. Josh’s rifle suddenly explodes into life beside me, making my head jolt in search of what he is shooting at, shock tearing through me. A body tumbles down from the edge of the bridge just as the boat begins to pass under it. I see the drop late and before my rifle’s muzzle gets anywhere near a shooting position, a body slams into the water beside the boat.
My rifle trains on the water where the body hit, but the body disappears into the murk and a crescendo of frothing bubbles. The froth follows us under the bridge, carried by the tide, only the boats motor pulling us away from it. Every small sound echoes back at us under the low bridge and our rifles dart in every direction pointing into the darkness aimlessly.
I am sure I hear a low gargling moan vibrate into the tunnel, above the boat’s motor as we approach the light at the exit. “Cover the exit,” I snap at Josh as I turn back to where I think the sound emanated behind the boat. My move is a mistake, Josh’s rifle immediately bursts into action again as the front of the boat emerges from under the bridge. My rifle’s muzzle cuts through the air to find the targets Josh is firing at. The body in the water isn’t a threat and I was foolish to go looking for it. My finger squeezes the M4’s trigger as a silhouette jumps over the side of the bridge, its form black against the sky, its screech chilling. My bullets thud into the silhouette and send it into a spin as it drops through the air to splashes into the water, just missing the boat.
We gain distance from the low-slung bridge and we ceasefire, despite two more Rabids slinging themselves off the bridge as we move away.
“How many did you count?” I gasp at
Josh.
“I saw five, you?” he answers.
“I don’t know, about the same,” I reply.
“I think seven hit the water,” Alice offers breathlessly, and she was in the best position to tell.
I am angry at myself for my poor display. First, I got transfixed by the darkness under the bridge instead of concentrating my focus on the bigger threat from the top of the bridge. Then, to make matters worse I went looking for ghosts in the water, when again the threat was from above.
Josh’s reactions put mine to shame, he embarrassed me, but I don’t mention it to him or Alice. They will soon be dropping me off on the riverbank and I don’t want to sow any seeds of doubt in my ability, which so far has not been convincing.
Silence ensues for a minute as Battersea Power Station, the famous behemoth of a building, travels past on our righthand side, its four towering white chimney stacks surrounded by cranes. The building's transformation into a residential and business development brought to an abrupt halt by the outbreak.
I wonder what Josh and Alice are thinking to themselves as we pass it by. Did they recognise my shortcomings or are they just regathering themselves after the sudden call to action? One thing’s for sure, if I continue in this vein, our odds of reaching the drop-off point are slim. There must be ten or so bridges we still need to pass under before we arrive, never mind me actually succeeding in extracting Karen and Jim.
“You okay, Dad?” Josh asks.
“Yes, thanks. Well done back there, you did well,” I tell Josh.
“Oh, it was nothing,” he replies smiling.
“No, credit, where credit’s due.”
“Your dad’s right, Josh,” Alice agrees.
“Thanks, but we’ve still got a long way to go.” Josh points out.
“Very true,” I agree, telling myself that, I’d better up my game, at the same time.
We pass the newly built, cube-shaped American Embassy and the sights of London become more and more familiar as we travel farther down the Thames. We see ominous-looking figures moving on the north riverbank. Some of the creatures take a passing interest in our small boat but most just seem to stumble around aimlessly. I am not fooled by the subdued creatures, who only need a whiff of human flesh to re-energise. I keep my concentration focused, however, ignoring the sights on the riverbank, not wanting to be caught wanting in my performance again.
Capital Falling | Book 4 | Sever Page 13
