by Vance Huxley
This block had the same layout as most Pleb housing blocks, each floor having a corridor down the middle with a row of flats either side. Bobby shot the Frog Timer at the bottom of the stairs, using the Frog carbin. “Keep using the Frog weapons so they don’t know we’re inside.” The gleam of three sets of teeth smiling in the gloom answered Bobby so he beckoned to Fenton and they charged up the stairs, shotguns raised. Upstairs the Frog running out of the rear flat wearing a set of headphones flew down the corridor shedding blood and bits. Bobby spat in disgust because he’d wasted a shotgun shell. He switched back to carbin, the Frog one, to save the other barrel. Fenton still had one shell in his shotgun as well if a crowd turned up.
Inside the room they found a radio transmitter! That should please the Supervisor since it had to be worth as much as the redecorating so far. The pair looked into the two front flats with badly damaged doors and quickly put bursts into anyone moving. Both of them grabbed another Frog carbin and more clips, before heading towards the door at the end of the passage. That one led into the next block of flats, built at an angle away from the refinery so it didn’t have to be captured right now. According to Sarge, the Frogs couldn’t hold that one if the UKs forces took this block.
Or maybe they could since the door had a sheet of iron fastened to it. Bobby peeked through the small grill set in the metal. Shite! Frog Timers, still pulling on their belts and boots as they came, were running up the corridor straight at him led by a Supervisor. That basted had to be a Super with all the fancy braid and such and Bobby smiled. “You know how much I like Supers?”
“Ha! Yeah. So?” Fenton looked puzzled as Bobby put the shotgun up to the grill so the loaded barrel aimed through a gap, and let fly. Then he stuck the Frog carbin through the grill and emptied the clip.
“Just got one!” A loud boom from behind wiped the smile from his face and Fenton’s, and they both jumped and then crouched. That had sounded like a shotgun, but behind them and upstairs! A few seconds later it boomed again.
Fenton leant over to whisper. “There’s a live Frog in one of the flats! A bledrin Super or Sarge at least!” Fenton gripped his shotgun tighter and aimed it back along the corridor. The hidden weapon boomed again.
“Then one of us had better go back and kill him. Can you hold this door?” They both took a quick look through the grill. The glance showed no standing Frogs and the flapping doors said where some had gone. The jumble of bodies on the floor showed where the buckshot and the flechettes had ended up. Bobby quickly put bursts into some that still looked fairly lively, then ducked back as barrels came round several of the doorways.
A light hail of flechettes rattled on the other side of the door and some definitely came through the grill, but the plate held the rest. “So who does what?” Fenton obviously didn’t fancy Frog hunting when the other basted had a shotgun.
“Give me the shotgun.” Bobby held out his hand.
Fenton moved the weapon away. “Get pooched, you used yours up.”
“No you eedjit, not for here. You keep sticking a carbin through the grill and spraying a clip down the corridor. We’ve got four Frog carbins and six ammo belts if I leave you mine so you’ll have plenty. I’ll take the shotgun and my own carbin and deal with whoever that is. He’s shooting at the attack, so he’ll not even hear me ‘til it’s too late.” Bobby laughed quietly. “They’ll know we’re inside after hearing my carbin but I reckon they’ve noticed anyway.”
“What about the noise out here? He’ll know you’re coming.”
“It’s all been Frog carbins and shotguns so far so he’ll think those were defenders. Now give!” Fenton thought a moment and handed the shotgun over, then reached up one-handed and stuck a carbin barrel through the grill to let a clip go. Fenton rotated the stock as he did, to spread the happiness. “Smartarse.” True, but sleek as well, there weren’t three others in the Mob who could do that one-handed.
Fenton smirked. “Skill, now scat.” Bobby headed towards the regular booms. The flat wasn’t hard to find and Bobby wondered how much shotgun ammo the Frog had in there! More than enough to shoot any eedjit coming through the door. Bobby felt his nuts try and crawl up inside him because if he tried the handle of a locked door…? There had to be another way. The firing resumed after a pause and Bobby tried not to think of his mates coming forward into the buckshot. A burst of fire down below followed by a cheer meant the first of the Mob were in and shooting the dead sentries. Bobby made a decision and acted before he could double guess himself.
The walls in Pleb housing were made of thin plasterboard so Bobby moved away from it a bit and knelt, aiming the shotgun at the noise of shooting inside. As soon as the basted inside fired, so did Bobby, then dropped the shotgun and brought up his carbin to point through the hole. He put the full clip of thirty into the movement inside, though some would have gone wide when Bobby flinched from the boom and the chunk of plaster that blew out and covered him in dust. The flechettes must have done the job because the figure laid still as Bobby rammed in another clip with trembling hands. That came too close.
He tried the door and found it locked, so that had been a good call. With a big smile Bobby kicked it in, causing more damage for the Super to justify. Then he forgot the Super as he saw who he’d shot. This Frog had a different uniform to their Timers! It had patterns all over, and fitted properly where it wasn’t tattered and red. A cold chill went up Bobby’s back when he saw the flat-topped hat. Legion? There weren’t supposed to be any Legion here, that wasn’t allowed, not against Timers! Then Bobby really looked at the rifle, or single barrelled shotgun, or small cannon?
Bobby picked up the heavy weapon. It had a barrel a lot longer than a shotgun with a big fat clip underneath, and a box nearby held more clips. More firing echoed from the corridor so he slung his carbin before picking up the heavy box full of big square clips. Bobby hesitated then took the ration packs as well, because real soldiers got better rats according to the rumours. Carbins were hammering away downstairs, then a shotgun, and a grenade boomed as Bobby headed back towards Fenton.
There were eight empty clips on the floor and even as Bobby came up Fenton did his one-handed trick again. There wasn’t a lot of reply but most of it came through the grill so the surviving Frogs were aiming now. Fenton turned and did a double-take. “Stone me, what’s that?”
“Legion rifle. Look at the size of these.” Fenton whistled at the length of the fat shiny rounds. Then he reached out his hand.
“Give me that.”
“Why?”
“Because I gave you the shotgun?” Fenton grinned. “More to the point because I can shoot.”
“How come you’re here then?”
“Because I knock about with you three and according to Sarge that means I’m sneaky. Shite!” He spat. “That’s it! I thought I saw Sarge the last time in Rotterdam, when we nipped through the wire for some unofficial R&R. He must have spotted us all.” Fenton put his hand out again. “Come on Beebi, I can shoot straight through the walls the Frogs are using for cover with that.” Bobby handed the weapon over. Put like that letting Fenton play sounded like a good idea.
Fenton checked the weapon over as if he knew what he was doing, and put it up to his eye twice. Then he took off the telescope thing. “I’ve not used one of those.” He tried again. “Better.” Fenton put the stock into his shoulder and the barrel just through one of the grill squares.
Fenton waited as several flechettes came through, harmlessly since the Timer still stood to the side. Then he stepped sideways, swinging the gun round, hesitated, and fired before stepping to the side again. Someone screamed as Fenton worked a lever at the side and a gleaming cylinder jumped out. Bobby realised where he’d seen something like that weapon, in those old war films!
A hail of flechettes hit the door but only some came through the grille so the basteds were rattled again. The two Timers grinned happily at each other. Not for long because the firing downstairs intensified and unless Siflis and Be
lls had found a bandolier of ammo, Sarge and his shotgun had arrived. What was taking so long because there shouldn’t be anyone left down there to resist? Bobby listened and felt sure some of the firing came from outside, out the back. Meanwhile Fenton had repeated his step and boom, before ducking under the grill to the other side. “Got to spread the happiness.”
“Yeah, well be careful because there might be another one of those through there. I’m going to see what the noise is at the back.”
“Have fun, I will. Do you reckon I could keep this?” Bobby spun round to be met by a big smile. For a moment he’d thought the eedjit meant it. “Gotcha.” Bobby snorted, hefted a Frog carbin and went into the first door leading to a back room.
Bobby found another small square room with a bedroom and shower room off to the side, typical of Pleb flats. He carefully peered around the window frame and the noise must have come from a Frog counter-attack. Bobby raised his carbin and then thought a moment, because from here he could see the whole lot. The attack had been beaten back looking at all the Frog bodies, but the Frogs were creeping forward again, massing for another assault. There were several Frogs further back, in a row of houses, shooting to keep heads down. Bobby could see them clearly, and there were more Supervisors. Three of the basteds! Though the Supers were too far for Bobby to hit even if the carbin would cause any damage through a Super’s jacket. Bobby carefully moved back to the door and called through.
“Oy, Fenton, how good are you with that thing?”
“I can shoot the nuts off a bat with a carbin, so I can probably shoot the head off a Frog with this. Why?”
“How about blow the brains out of a Supervisor or two? Frog ones unfortunately, but you take what you can get.” Dead silence followed for a few moments, then another boom.
“Are you serious, or is it payback? For the gotcha.”
Bobby grinned. “Dead serious. There’s three Supers and a dozen Frogs who think they can shoot, and I could probably hit some of them. I can certainly shoot the shite out of the Timers creeping up for the counterattack.”
“What about this door?”
“We can leave it a couple of minutes and then I can do it, though I’ll need two hands to do the twirly thing. Wait a minute and I’ll get more clips for the Frog carbins.” Bobby sniggered. “I bet the Frog Supers are really pissed off. We’re using their ammo so not only are we killing Frogs, we’re costing them to do it!” Laughter followed him up the corridor. A head showed at the top of the stairs and then ducked back.
“It’s me!”
“No, I’m me. Come on up Bells. Are you done down there?”
“Not likely. Too many Frogs and the Super’s had to send for more clips. I’ve come to see if you’ve got enough.” Bells looked a bit wide-eyed but undamaged except for a bandaged hand.
“Plenty, we haven’t been using ours.” Bobby waved the Frog carbin.
“Shite, well start using them! The Super’s already been asking how come the Frogs all shot themselves and Sarge is trying to cover! At least the Frogs are keeping the dick occupied.” Bells looked down the corridor. “What the hell is Fenton using?”
“A Legion cannon. Tell Sarge we had a Legionnaire up here using that damn great thing. Now since the other half of the Frog army is through that door I’m going to get more Frog clips.” He paused. “Tell Sarge about the Legion, and that a shitload of Frogs are massing to attack. We’re going to interfere.”
“Didn’t you listen?”
“Just send Sarge up.” Bobby ran off to get the clips. The big gun boomed another four times while he did, and Fenton had a line of red across one cheek when he got back.
“Nearly, they’re getting smarter.” Though Fenton still wore a happy grin as he said it.
“Not to worry since I’m not sticking my head up at all. Now come on, let’s see just how good you are with that bledrin thing.” Fenton smirked and picked up the ammo box. “How come you’re slower than the Frog with it?”
“That’ll get better in a minute, or until they start shooting back.” Fenton followed Bobby into the room, peeked and whistled. “One of those might be a bit more than a Super going by the braid.”
“So shoot him first, before they notice you. Then I’ll empty both these carbins into the Timers and you shoot the other Supers.” Bobby sighed. “You get all the luck.” Fenton didn’t answer, just sniggered and knelt by the window, and moments later the Legion weapon bellowed. Bobby stepped to the window, emptying both carbins as fast as possible into the Timers massing for the attack. Accuracy didn’t matter aiming at a crowd like that. Then he ran back into the corridor and scooped up another Frog carbin from the floor. Bobby sent a clip through the grille, humming a tune softly to himself and grinning as he heard screams. Some Frog thought they’d got Fenton and started sneaking up. The big booms started up and Fenton definitely fired faster now, though not as fast as the Legionnaire had been shooting which seemed reasonable.
Bobby wondered how many years the Legion man had trained and had a little wobble as he realised. The Frogs used Timers, so they probably had the same training system. Up to ten years as a Timer, then up to ten years as a Trooper before becoming Legion, then however many years the Frog had survived after that. All those years and a lucky shite had stuffed the Frog full of flechettes as sure as if he’d been a Timer. Bobby had just repeated the twirling process with the carbin when a familiar voice came from behind. “What did I tell you bledrin idjeets about Frog weapons?”
Bobby turned and put on his innocent smile, the one that fooled nobody. “You said to chuck the grenades and empty shotguns so we did.”
“Cheeky shite. What’s this about Legion?”
“Hang on, there’s half the Frog army behind here.” Bobby put the carbin to the grill again and sent a clip to follow the rest. Sarge eyed the litter of empty clips.
“Having fun? Just how many is half an army?” Sarge moved up along the side of the corridor and took a quick peek through the grill. “That’s not right. There’s too many, and too many out the back. We’re running out of flechettes.”
“If you’ve got a couple more grenades we could clear that corridor. There’s plenty of clips laid about out there.” Bobby shrugged. “Frog clips but they seem to do the job.”
Sarge laughed. “You’ll die young, but it’ll be memorable. Don’t worry, there are plenty of clips on the way but we shouldn’t have needed them. Now what’s this about the Legion and what’s that noise?”
“The noise is Fenton and he’s pushing up the Supervisor score. All Frog ones, honest.”
Sarge stared. “All? How many so far?”
“One through that door at least, and Fenton might get three if he’s as good as he says. So four?”
“Five, you killed the radio Super. It’s always a Super on the transmitter and that’s wrong as well, that kit shouldn’t be right on the front. You’ll either get metal or an unmarked grave.” Sarge laughed at Bobby’s expression. “If you’ve killed enough Frog Timers as well it’ll be the metal, but the brass don’t like Timers who kill Supers instead of just Frogs. Now where’s this Legionnaire Bells reckons you topped.”
“I think he’s Legion. He’s got a flat hat.” The scathing look he received for that shut Bobby up.
The low whistle when Sarge looked at the body made Bobby feel better. “D’you know what that is, Beebi?”
“Legion?” Though Bobby wasn’t as certain now.
“That, Beebi, is a breach of contract. Flagrant. The Frogs have been caught with their panties round their ankles and it’s poochy time. Not that you or me will be concerned because this’ll be up to Director level so fast your head’ll spin.” Sarge looked around the room as he spoke, and peered at the hole Bobby had blown in the wall. “I knew you were the sneaky type, Beebi, and out-sneaking a Legionnaire proves it. Mind you, deliberate destruction of real estate?” Sarge laughed, “I reckon the Super will pay it out of his own salary if need be, considering the prize.” Sarge bent nearer the
corpse. “OK, hand them over.”
“What?”
“The rats, eedjit. Word is that the Squaddies get better rats than the Supers, so the dick will want the Legion grub.” Bobby sighed and handed the rations over, he should have eaten one straight away. “Nip into the radio room. The Frog Super’s rats will still be there and our Super won’t care.” Bobby stared, Sarge had just told him to loot a Super’s kit? He went off quickly, and came back with the rats tucked away out of sight but carrying a bandolier of shotgun shells.
“Since there’s more shotguns about than Supers, shouldn’t we sort of hide a few? Just in case there’s trouble?” Bobby meant just in case the dick really did count them and wanted to cause trouble. He also fancied hanging onto a shotgun.
“You looking for promotion, Beebi? Of course we can’t do that so you just throw the spares into that box there, along with the bandolier, before everyone starts adding up.” Bobby stared at the metal box wondering what difference that would make? Sarge waved a padlock with a key in it. “Nobody will want to break property, because that’s criminal.” He put the padlock through the hasp and left it hanging open, then stuck the key in his pocket. Sarge flipped up the top of another metal box and handed Bobby a dozen more Frog flechette clips before tossing a few in with the shotgun ammo. “Just in case. Clip the padlock shut when everything adds up. Now let’s go and check that door, then look at whatever Fenton’s playing with.”
All the way back down the corridor Bobby kept trying to remember, and yes, the rats by the Legionnaire were two short so Sarge had nicked them! Cheeky shite, but there again he’d let Bobby have the Super’s and there were six of those. Did everyone loot? There’d been so many lectures and threats Bobby had thought nobody dared. Maybe it depended who did it or when? On top of that, what did Sarge mean about promotion? Timers like Bobby didn’t have ranks so they didn’t get promotions, or metal. The booming had died down to the occasional shot and the patter of flechettes on the wall inside the room explained why. Somebody had started shooting back. Sarge picked up a Frog carbin, stuck it through the grill and did the whirly thing as he let the clip go. One handed, the sleek basted.
