by Vance Huxley
Sandman just laughed about the stripes. “You’ve been giving me orders all day, it’s about time you made it official.” Bobby worried because a Sarge had to have more men, at least a dozen, and he didn’t want to look after more than Bells, Hood and Siflis. Then he cheered up when he realised they’d probably all be dead by tonight so it didn’t matter. Bells produced a thin knife to cut the stitches on the surplus stars, and also a sewing kit. A sewing kit? For fixing new sheaths and pockets Bells claimed, but the needle and thread also fastened on stripes well enough.
When he called Bobby back to talk, the Super looked worse. “Sit, Beebi. You pair, go and work on someone who’ll make it.” The two medics left. “I’d offer you a drink, but I’m not allowed one so you can suffer as well.” Bobby grimaced; that meant really gut-shot not a hole in the belly.
“I don’t drink anyway.”
“Shut it and listen. First off, you get the stripes because you might get the men out and Corporal Ellis won’t. He’ll make a competent defence, and die bravely, but he won’t pull some crazy stunt and give them a chance.” The Super raised a hand to stop Bobby replying while he took three very careful breaths. “Your squad are all nutcases, but the good sort and it’s why I’ve left you alone.” The Super took another couple of breaths. “Now the dick in Control has pooched you well and truly.”
“Er...”
The Super gave a short laugh and winced. “Yes, we know what you call us though he really is a dick. He put you on the Gaza Taxi to cover his ass. You are supposed to die trying to get in, and then he doesn’t have to send an expensive armoured column into that shitefest out there.” The Super did the short laugh and wince thing again. “But you pooched the little toad, because you got here.”
Bobby smirked. “I always obey orders sir.”
The Super smiled and actually seemed happy. “You get it done, which isn’t the same. Now I’ve pooched the basted in return. I’ve told him I’m fine, and to get the bledrin armour rolling, soonest.” That sunny smile shouldn’t be on a man who was so obviously dying. “Bump wrist maps and I’ll give you the route the armour will use.”
“But...”
“But I won’t make it. But you can’t break out.” The Super wagged a finger at Bobby. “But I can make it happen. I will, just so you know that a Super can be a bledrin maniac as well.” His face sobered. “They’ll stop the armour once I die but if you’ve broken clear, keep going and get as many men out as possible. The armour might wait, and if not they’ll have blown a hole through the Plebs because they’re rolling now.”
“Can’t we dig in and wait if they’re coming?”
“No, because I won’t last. Then when I cark it the armour will stop, and you’ll all die because hell will be unleashed.”
Bobby stared, shocked. “You’d do that to us?”
“No. Control will. You know all the stories about last defences, and the Super unleashing hell as the basteds closed in?” Bobby nodded. There were never any survivors from those. “The Supers didn’t do it. The Supers died.” He tapped his chest. “If I die this signal stops, and another goes off. It’s an aiming point. Since they know I’m in trouble there’ll be at least two real warplanes way up high just in case. The Plebs have never had a Super’s body as a trophy, and never will.”
Bobby stared, stunned. “But what about the men?”
“Do you think the upper management actually care about them, compared to the embarrassment of a Supervisor’s head on someone’s wall?” The Super shook his head. “Not this time, Beebi. This time there will be survivors.”
“How? Why?”
“Why is because I’ve been a Supervisor too long. I like my Troopers so I don’t fit and don’t get promoted. You assholes do a shite job, and do it well.” The Super took a few more careful breaths. “Now I’ll explain how we’ll manage that. When you break out, I’ll stay. The plebs will storm the place because you’ll leave me a couple of carbins. I’ll bet you’ve got plenty of spares.” The Super looked quizzically at Bobby but he didn’t answer.
“Yes you have, you always have. The Plebs will charge in here, and as they come through the door I’m going to eat a bullet. You understand eat a bullet?” Bobby nodded. “It’s a Supervisor or Manager thing, if we really pooch it. In this case it will send the signal.” He smiled. “Then hundreds of the Plebs chasing you will disappear in a cloud of smoke and body parts. Once you break contact, my creds are on you keeping the men going and getting them out.”
“They’ll shoot me. The management.” Bobby knew that as soon as management realised Acting-Sergeant Bobby B had left the Super, they’d be picking a firing squad.
The Super waved a little disc in a plastic sleeve. “You’ll have Sandman’s radio to contact your own Control, because I’ve given them the right frequency now. When we’re ready to go I’ll transmit your orders. Orders, Beebi, and they’re also on this disc. In return I want a favour.”
“A favour sir?” Now Bobby had really lost track. How did a temporary Sergeant One do favours for a dying Super?
The Super pulled out a small package with writing on the front, encased in plastic. “Post this for me. It’s postage paid and won’t be opened by anyone because of who it’s going to. This contains a last message to my family and it is important, Beebi.”
“No problem sir. I’ll tell Bells and Siflis about it, in case.” Bobby shouldn’t post anything without giving it to the office, but thought that more than fair exchange to get anyone out of here. Shite! A Super with balls! And brains! It was a bledrin pity he was going to cark it.
“Right, good idea. Get the Troopers sorted, Beebi, and I’ll get the hole opened.”
“Where, sir?”
“Shite. I’m starting to lose it so we’d better hurry. When you’re ready a Copter will drop HE on a concentration of Plebs. He’s got plenty to choose from but it’ll be between here and the engine sheds. The second drop will hang and land just outside the end of this building and on top of the nearest Plebs. Oops.” The Super gave a short laugh and winced again. “I must stop that. Anyway, the Plebs won’t expect property destruction, and while they’re recovering you’ll take the men straight through the wreckage. The two HE drops will have badly disrupted the cordon just there and you’ll only have a short dash to the engine sheds. The doors should be blown in by the HE and there’s lots of big iron to hide behind in there. The rest of the Plebs will storm this place before they follow and then, boom.”
Bobby thought it through. There were a lot of problems after that, but none that would be worrying the Super. “Thank you, sir. For the men. I’ll be ready as soon as possible.” Bobby did what he’d always sworn not to do; he gave a Super his very best attempt at a parade ground salute.
“That was still a crap salute, Beebi. Now sod off before I start crying or you try to kiss me goodbye.” Bobby did as he was told, because he’d got something in his bledrin eye that needed rubbing. It didn’t take long to get organised. Most of that came down to persuading everyone the Super would do it. Even a Homer could understand this battle plan, charge as soon as the explosions stopped and kill anything in the way. Bobby took two carbins and an extra clip for each to the Super.
“Time already?”
“Whenever you like, sir.”
“Give me a hand over to the window, Beebi, so I can shoot lumps off the trams.”
Bobby did his best to smile. “That’s deliberate destruction of corporate property sir.”
“I won’t tell if you don’t. Ghhnhu.”
“Sorry sir.” Bobby surprised himself by meaning that.
The Super tried for a smile, though it didn’t have much humour in it. “It’s all right. A spare clip for each? Long clips? Will I have time?”
“Fire triple shots at the paintwork. When they charge, go full auto. You’ll get them off all right.” Bobby tucked a notsi revolver into the Super’s jacket front. “In case none of them can shoot.”
“A notsi? It might jam.”
> “It might misfire, but just pull again. Revolvers don’t jam. Certainly not that one because it came from Bells.” A real smile tugged at Bobby’s lips.
A real smile came through the pain to answer him. “Ha. Got you! I’ll report it when we get back.”
“See you at the hearing sir.” Bobby waited while the Super called the Copter, then collected the radio.
* * *
The Super’s plan worked and there really were warplanes lurking on high. Unleash hell went well past spectacular, and Bobby could see why there were usually no survivors. By the time the debris and body parts stopped flying about the surviving Troopers were already a good distance from the other side of the engine sheds, opening a gap. Under forty of them now because although only five died in the actual breakout, another four were hit too hard to move far. They volunteered to stay and slow up any pursuit as long as they could. The men promised it would be long enough to bunch the basteds up right around where the Super’s body was.
Hood should have been left with them, but Bells and Siflis put a shoulder under each of his arms and more or less carried him. That medic shot to sort the pain worked like magic because he didn’t scream once. In fact, when they paused in the sheds, Hood started using his rifle. It wobbled a bit so maybe Hood wasn’t hitting much but probably kept heads down. Then he passed out again as the whole group moved as fast as possible away from the fire and the fury.
Hood didn’t slow the group up because another three were being held upright, others were limping and at least five were working one-handed. Bells had Hood’s arm lashed around his neck and one arm bound up but could still use a hand to shoot. He now had seven notsi pistols as well as the Kraut. Initially the whole group just went straight forward, away from the tram station, then cut sharply towards the armoured column if the basteds were still there. During the first pause Bobby called HQ to let them know there were survivors.
Bobby didn’t answer the radio questions after confirming that some Troopers were still alive and heading to meet the armour. He didn’t want to argue just now, especially if he got the wrong dick on the radio because then when Bobby got back they’d need two firing squads and a Taxi, just for him. The route ahead seemed clear without a single armed Pleb, and at first they all thought that was blind luck. Then the group ran over a dozen armed Plebs heading away from them.
That cost another Trooper dead and two collected extra wounds but the Plebs were more surprised or training counted because all twelve died. The prisoner answered the questions first time, quickly, without holding them up or needing severe persuasion so Sandman cut his throat nice and clean as a thank you. According to the man, every Pleb with a weapon had been told to get to the armour. Some Pleb had cracked the radio codes so mines were waiting for the vehicles. Everyone had been asked to bring petrol bombs, for when the armour had been stopped.
“Beebi to Armour. Beebi to Armour.” He hadn’t any call signs but the radio had picked up what had to be the armour on this channel.
“Call signs, dickhead.”
“Not got any, tindick.”
“Yeah, that’s you. Why are you calling us?”
“You’re supposed to be heading to the tram station to pick us up.” Bobby had everything crossed, but that superstition was obviously bulsh because…
“Not you. Our passenger cancelled so we’re heading home again.”
“According to our prisoner, you should mind where you step. Might be an idea not to park under anything tall as well.” Bobby didn’t bother crossing anything this time.
“What?”
“Mines and Molotovs. We saw a homemade mine at work and it flipped an armoured car.” Bobby smiled to himself. “Here, I’ve got one of the passengers.” He passed the radio to Sandman.
“Corporal Sandman, 659th Armoured.”
“Shite! I thought you were dead.” The radio shut up, and then a few moments later a different voice came on. “Who is this?”
“Corporal Sandman of the 659th with Sergeant One Bobby B and the remains of the unit trapped in the tram station, 3914 SSAB-Tata. Sir.” Sandman shrugged at Bobby, the radio sounded like a sir.
“Yes, we heard about Beebi.” The voice didn’t like what it had heard. “We thought you all died when the Super unleashed hell. Why did you get out?”
“The Super sent us out first because he’d been hit. He said it would give us a chance to get clear and gave Beebi his map. Where are you?”
“Heading home. What?” The “what” wasn’t aimed at Sandman and faint muttering followed before the radio went dead. Beebi’s enlarged Basteds kept going while waiting for a reply and Bobby passed the word that he wanted another prisoner.
“Put Beebi on.”
“Beebi. Er, Sergeant Bobby B.”
The voice didn’t care about rank. “Whatever. What’s this about mines?”
“We’ve been having a good run, with no real opposition. A prisoner said that’s because they’ve dug in mines to catch you lot. Every Pleb is heading your way with a bottle of petrol and a bad attitude.” Bobby didn’t need to cross anything because this voice was already interested enough to wait to talk.
“Shite! Where are the mines?”
“He didn’t know.” Nobody had asked since right then it didn’t matter. “We’re looking for someone to ask. Don’t go into any narrow places.”
“Bledrin comedian. We’re in a big square right now, reorganising to go home, and the Plebs are shooting from every window. Not that it’s having any effect on armour.” A note of alarm crept in. “Unless they’ve mined the square?”
“Not unless it’s already gone boom. Mining a square didn’t work so well last time and cost them hundreds at the least. I reckon they’ll have covered the roads forward and back at least.” Bobby didn’t want the armour to move so he laid it on a bit. “Those mines are big, and even a near miss will blow tracks at least.”
“Beebi. Search party coming this way. Fifty or sixty and forward scouts say they’re searching the buildings.” Bobby didn’t even know the man but that didn’t alter the news.
He glanced at those nearest, leaving the radio mic off. “That last group of Plebs we chopped must have got off a message or someone heard the fight. We’ll break sideways once I look at the map.” Bobby didn’t want contact with the enemy, not yet and not in those numbers. He keyed the radio to talk to the armour.
“We’ve got a big group coming this way, and one of them has to know more if we can snag a prisoner. We can’t just kill them all because there are too many and they’ll have time to call for help. We’d be buried in Plebs, so I’m going quiet for a bit.” Bobby waited for a reply, though he intended doing it anyway.
“Right sergeant. We’ll wait to hear from you before moving.” At least the use of sergeant sounded genuine this time.
* * *
Bobby looked at his map, at the state of the men, and pointed to an accommodation block before raising his voice. “In there lads.”
“Again? We’ll never get out.”
Siflis laughed. “We got out last time Bells. Someone try that door and break it if it’s locked.”
A voice raised in automatic protest, “We can’t do that! They’ll take it out of our pay.”
“The Super told me to kill anyone and break anything necessary. He didn’t confine it to Plebs.” Bobby glared and the Corp subsided. “What’s your name anyway?”
“Corporal Ellis.” Someone said ‘Elli the Funt’ just loud enough to be heard and the Corp whirled.
“Ellis.” He looked back at Bobby. “Break that bledrin door, and the next time you argue will be the last.” Ellis looked around at the glowering faces and the pistol in Bells’s hand and headed for the door.
Within moments the door swung open. “Inside you lot, and keep quiet.” Sandman produced a pistol and waved it at Bobby. “This won’t be as loud as a burst of carbin if someone’s waiting.”
“This is quieter.” Bobby waved the silenced one. “You take the rear
with Bells. Someone else help Hood.” He looked round to make sure it happened. “Can you still throw, Bells?”
“Yeah but slower with the second knife because I can’t hold it ready.” The notsi pistol disappeared and a knife appeared instead.
“Sandman, let Bells take his throw first if someone comes, to keep it quiet. Use the gun if he misses.” Bobby looked round the group. “We’re going to go down the corridor in here and we’ll pick a room on the opposite side to where we came in. With some luck we’ll go out of the window after they’ve gone past outside, and while they’re still going room to room in here.”
“If not?” A mystery voice, but fair enough.
“We kill this lot and head for the armour as fast as possible.” A ripple of laughter followed that, gallows humour because the shooting would attract more Plebs.
“I’ll hold them up.” Hood had a stubborn set to his jaw, and Bobby knew the sniper had it right. Hood couldn’t move quickly so he should be left as a sacrificial rearguard. He’d even volunteered to make it easy for Bobby.
“If that’s what happens, Bells will leave you the Kraut.” Bells didn’t complain, a bad sign. The group moved down the corridor and several men tried doors.
“They’re all locked!”
“Lockdown. This lot are on lockdown.”
“Break one in.”
“No!” Everyone went quiet while Bobby explained. “They’ll see the broken door and know it’s us, or at least they’ll check. We need an open door. Head for the stairway and if need be we’ll try the next floor.” The group headed on down the corridor and from well ahead came shouting and thumping.
“They’re at the door at the other end, so they’ll be trying the one by the stairs soon. What about the broken one behind? They’ll come straight in and then we’ll be caught between them.” Corporal Ellis hesitated, torn between going on and defending behind.
