by Vance Huxley
“But surely, when they come back home to the housing complexes, meet the Plebs again?” Magpie barely whispered that, then looked up in sudden understanding. “You never meet us, the Plebs.”
“Not properly because you avoid us, curse or spit behind us, or outright try to kill us. A Pleb, an ordinary peaceful citizen, becomes no different to a Frog Timer or a Kraut Timer. They’re just someone we might have to kill so we can go back to barracks alive and get a beer and a woman.” Bobby sighed. “The only reason I didn’t kill you at first was to flick Ellis, because he tried to rape you. Then you helped Hood, so I owed you, we owed you. Now we’ve got to know you.” Bobby’s chuckle and smile had no humour at all. “You are the first woman I’ve known since my sixteenth birthday, apart from visits to a Divas.”
“I thought you four were friends, you know, from a long time ago?”
“We’ve been together from our first days at Timers, which makes us freaks. Right from the first days we stuck together and we’ve all four survived which is why it meant something, you helping Hood.” Bobby explained the whole thing, from that first fight with Snowman down to a Pleb women helping Hood home instead of him dying as rearguard. “We are closer than brothers now even if Bells reckons he’d cut our throats if we touch his notsi, and Siflis won’t talk half the time, and Hood would rather sleep with a rifle than a woman.”
Magpie sighed, a long, sad sound. “Now you have a sister. My parents are dead, my own sister won’t face me, and if any of my neighbours knew what I did, I’d be a long time dying.” She sat quietly for a while, thinking about it. “I’m Oke with shooting a drug dealer, anyone to do with drugs.” Her smile looked almost whimsical, with just a bit of steel in it. “I might like that. I might even enjoy knifing one. If someone shoots at me, I suppose I’ll shoot back. If not, shoot me clean so I don’t end up in the spam palace, all right?” Bobby nodded, too shocked to answer. “I really don’t know if I can shoot a woman coming out of an alley with what might be a bomb, but I will shout?”
“Fair enough, all of us except Bells had trouble with that. Even after five years Hood had a shock on this last trip because he killed a granny, one who’d shot him in the leg first. We, the squad, will cover you the first time out and give you a bit of space after your first kills. If you can’t handle it, we’ll steal some women’s clothes and you can slip back in among the Plebs.” Bobby shrugged “We owe you that.”
“Thanks for the option but I’d rather not go back. You’ve no idea what it’s like for a single woman without family, just trying to make a living. Some arse always thinks he should be her protector.” Magpie sounded bitter now. “Even if they start off nice, eventually they think they own you, like that ex who fixed my locks. That was the only good thing he ever did, and then it turned out he just wanted a bit of, well, you know, on the side. Here I get good food and clothing, nobody gives me shite, and you’re making sure if I ever meet some oik of a Pleb he’ll be in trouble not me. Even while Bells flicks me he teaches me to fight, really fight.” Magpie laughed, and meant it. “If I ever went back after this training some youth in a gang would grab my arse and I’d break his arm and cut his throat. That might take a bit of explaining!”
That made Bobby smile. “As long as you’re sure?”
Magpie’s answering smile was bitter-sweet. “Hard luck. Did you ever have a little sister, Beebi?”
“No, nor a brother. I’m an only one.” Bobby looked up the room to where the rest were keeping well out of this. “Though now I suppose I’ve got both. We’re a bit screwed up but welcome to the family, Magpie.”
“Don’t worry, I won’t let you down.” After that talk Magpie seemed more determined and spent more time on the ranges and practicing dry-shooting or loading notsi in the barracks. Hood swore she’d be all right. Both Siflis and Bobby agreed the sniper had got a bit of a thing for her, though Magpie didn’t seem interested in men at all. Attic and Sandman knew about Magpie of course, but kept quiet. They thought the whole thing a huge joke and were waiting to see if the squad could turn her into a real Beebi’s Basted, and what would happen when she actually went out on patrol.
All the survivors were wondering what would happen to them, and when they’d be back in action. They had just been given over six weeks leave, a rare occurrence. Few Troopers ever got more than a three-day pass. Pay kept coming in so they could drink and visit the Divas, but no resupply of ammunition. The last of the wounded came back making them up to twenty-two again, and some started to call themselves BIB, Beebi’s Invisible Basteds.
* * *
Then nine new Troopers arrived with a request for Sergeant Bobby B’s recommendations, because his file of Troopers should have four more Corporals. That didn’t add up either, a sergeant had a four or five squad file of twenty men, not thirty with six corporals. Though as usual with orders, nobody wanted to discuss them. Bobby hadn’t a clue how to sort the new men out, so he treated this order the same as any other orders. He discussed the whole thing with his squad. They looked at the files on the new men and so did Sandman. Bells grinned. “They’ll fit right in.”
Siflis sniggered while Bobby privately had to admit that Bells could be right. Every one of the men had a string of suspected transgressions but nothing proved that would warrant more than a few stripes with the strap. Better still, every man had earned plenty of metal so they could fight. Magpie laughed when she finished reading. “These look a lot like your record, or how you described it.”
“Not really, Magpie. I’m sure mine has a lot more hints about dead Supers though yes, all those insubordinations and notsi violations look familiar.” Bobby glanced round. “I would bet we’ve all got files like mine.”
“Nothing about Supers on mine.” Sandman grinned. “I stayed innocent until I ran into bad company.”
“There’ll be no Supers on mine. Not yet?” Magpie grinned. She could relax a bit because everyone present knew about her. “Maybe you could arrange for me to get one, the one who stitched you, Beebi? Just so Nathaniel fits in?” She frowned. “I reckon I could do that, top a Trooper Supervisor, because that’s a Pleb dream.”
“Why would our records have anything about Supers? We only lost three before this mess, four if you count the one when we were Timers, and then this last one but that obviously had nothing to do with us.” Bells looked round at them all. “What? I’ve not said we did anything. Beebi had lots of witnesses for the jumper. And the first one, everyone knows that had to be a loose pin on his grenade.”
Bobby waved a finger around the walls. He’d become more paranoid about electronic bugs since that Duchess really seemed to think a Super’s private room had been wired for sound. “You’d better stop sniffing the stuff the Divas use, Bells. Either that or I’m taking all your weapons away until the fantasies stop.”
“If they let us see our files we wouldn’t make stuff up.” Bells retired into a sulk, pulling out a short, fat blade and a small stone to sharpen it.
“What about these, and who gets to be a Corporal? We’ve only got Sandman and Sudden now Elli has been Funted.” Siflis pulled one record across. “Oy, Hood, we’ve got another shooter.” He sniggered. “One who varies between deadly accurate and very nearly killing a Super a couple of times.”
Bobby looked at the record. “Very, very nearly but he didn’t, so accurate and smart. Have we got another scout, someone like Siflis?”
“Doubtful, but we might have a decent scout.” Hood ducked as Siflis slapped his head and they settled down to get the job done.
Attic made Corporal both because they all trusted him after he helped cover for Maggie. Hood didn’t much like being made Corporal but as the others put it, he’d been bossing them about anyway. Two of the new men were put into Sudden’s squad and then the files revealed that one of the new Troopers had already been a Corporal and been busted. For insubordination, almost a qualification in this company, so when they’d finished laughing Corporal Beddard got his stripes back. Reaper, the new sniper,
ended up the Corporal for another scout and sniper squad.
The recommendations were accepted and resupply authorised in a sudden outbreak of efficiency, more worrying than the usual apathy or obstruction. The survivors, now Sergeant One Bobby B’s new file, were being kitted out for something but there seemed to be no attempt to bring the 3914 ST back up to strength. More than that, Sandman and the rest of the armoured had been amalgamated, not sent back to their unit. Bobby tried asking and written orders told him to make sure the men were fully equipped and sharp so he did. The orders were sodin frustrating, because he couldn’t ask a written message any questions.
The Troopers complained but soon buckled down to hard exercise and training with their weapons, because that made sense to any Trooper. Magpie had found an aptitude for knives and pistols and became a lot faster, though the exercise made her wiry rather than build her up to look more masculine as hoped. The squad pitched in to add more padding here and there to disguise her with even Bells volunteering his sewing skills. She dropped into a role as close support for Hood to free up the other two so Bells could stay rearguard with Siflis out front. Magpie still weighed in a bit light for hand to hand but good enough since Bells should be there by the time anyone closed. Being average with a carbin made her better with it than Bells, so they complemented each other.
Not knowing what would be happening to them made everyone nervous, so they tried to prepare for anything. Everyone shared around the notsi, to let the new men have a few bits of this and that. Bobby worried that if the whole lot were shipped off somewhere else entirely the Supers would search the baggage to stop any booze or drugs being smuggled, and the notsi would be impounded. Bells became almost paranoid about finding a way to keep his Kraut automatic even if he’d only got two clips left. Tension rose as the time dragged on. The Troopers were honed, toned and fighting fit, but nobody would give them somebody to work it off on.
* * *
A call to report to the HQ building came more as a relief than a surprise to Bobby though being asked to bring the Corporals seemed unusual. The seven of them dumped their weaponry because that wasn’t allowed in HQ, smartened up and headed over at the double, then sat and waited. The room they were finally shown into contained a fully armed squad of Troopers and an Area Manager.
They all saluted. The Area Manager returned the salute, and his might possibly be as bad as Bobby’s. “Sit down, all of you.” The officer scowled at them all. “You are a problem.” Bobby opened his mouth but the look didn’t want a reply. “The 3914 SSAB-Tata has been reformed using mostly Troopers fresh from Timer training, and a few veterans from elsewhere to get them started. That means you have no unit.”
Sandman moved in his seat and opened his mouth but the scowl pinned him. “The 659th Armoured have been brought up to strength. Nobody wants you.” The scowl moved across them all. “Thirty-one veteran Troopers who have enough metal between them to give a troop carrier a hernia, and not a single Super wants to take you on.” Just for a moment Bobby thought the Manager would spit. “Wimps and pussies. I’ve looked at the records and there’s not a single solid fact to say any of you killed a Super. Not one of ours anyway.”
One of the Troopers came forward and handed out files. The manager waved at him. “No, he isn’t armed because you scare me. He’s here because some pussy higher up insists that whoever gives you the news is protected.”
“Gaza Taxi.” Bobby said it without any thought.
The Manager laughed. “Not a chance, Beebi. All of you just went for a spin in one and came back laughing, with a new paint job and souvenirs. Nothing so simple this time though you’ll need everything you ever learned to stay alive. If you open those files you will find the new organisational structure and purpose of the Trooper Rapid Reaction Force. Or maybe I should call it Beebi’s even Bigger Basteds. I am Area Manager Gunnar Erikson and I have the dubious honour of being your officer.”
Nobody opened the file because every one of them wondered why thirty-one Troopers had an Area Manager in charge. “Don’t stare. I’m not getting my hands dirty in the field but I will decide if you are the right people for the job and arrange your missions. Read the files and then I’ll answer questions. Make sure you read the files all the way through because they stay right here, and you never tell anyone outside this room what they say. Just to get that through your heads, these men will leave before the questions so I don’t have to shoot them to preserve security.” The startled Troopers stared at him while seven pairs of eyes got busy reading.
They read and paid real attention because the first part turned out to be a copy of their own records, and Bobby found out his steel umbrella from the Duchess had gone on there. There wasn’t a mention of her, just warnings about possibly consequences for anyone making unwarranted accusations, and that his demise would attract attention from outside the army. An armour plated umbrella though it didn’t stop anyone putting him in harm’s way as part of the job. There were also plenty of statements that said he hadn’t killed various Supers, phrased to say he might have, so no wonder Supers were edgy round the squad. Bobby did feel a bit pissed he’d got the blame for the first one because he felt sure Sarge did that.
The next part seemed to be a bit vague about the actual job, but made it clear that Sergeant One Bobby B answered only to the Area Manager. Bobby had no idea who the Area Manager answered to, but the TRRF weren’t in any recognised Army organisation. They were in the Army, though that didn’t become clear until Bobby asked, as his first question. The armed Troopers really were sent away as soon as he opened his mouth. The next hour turned out to be livelier and more entertaining than expected, not least because Gunnar answered the questions without any bulsh. He set the tone by telling them he should be called Guns, and he’d kick the shit out the first one to say sluur.
* * *
The following day two buses carrying the TRRF or BBB, Beebi’s Bigger Basteds, stopped in the middle of their new home or at least Bobby’s wrist map said so. Two buses for thirty-one men because all their gear including notsi and the ammo came along without even a casual search, despite part of the trip being by plane. The Troopers disembarked and Bells put his hands on his hips and his nose in the air. “I ordered seven-star, and room service.”
“First find a room with a roof.” Sandman had a good point. Stretching away in each direction the derelict industrial buildings didn’t seem to have a single intact roof, let alone accommodation. At least half the construction consisted of massive concrete walls, while rusting steel or weathered brick made up the rest.
“Big nasty basteds like you should be right at home sleeping rough.” Area Manager Gunnar Eriksson walked out of a huge doorway in a concrete wall and ran his eyes over them.
“Speak for yourself.” Magpie barely breathed it but Siflis sniggered.
“Don’t bother standing to attention or getting in ranks.” The Area Manager paused and smiled. “Though since you haven’t even tried, that was a waste of breath. In that case the speech is short and sweet. I am Guns from now on. Don’t salute because I won’t reply, since mine is possibly worse than Beebi’s.” A ripple of laughter ran around the Troopers. “You are going to sweat like pigs running around in here training for your new job, while I have a beer and take the piss. I will keep you fed and clothed, and there’ll be a few Divas if you do well. I’ll replace your ammo including notsi because this will be live-fire, but if you take a pot at me I’ll shoot back.”
“Is there someplace weatherproof, Guns?” Bobby figured he’d see if their new officer meant the informal bit before someone got chopped down for it. He’d been informal in private, but out in public? “For the ammo, because it’s not used to roughing it.”
“Through here behind this thick concrete and safely away from prying eyes is a dinky little barracks, with all mod cons. By that I mean canteen, food, beds and showers. There are no cooks, and minor transgressions will lead to laundry duty. I’m confident someone will misbehave before your sh
orts turn green and rot off. You do not exist, or more to the point, nobody knows where you went.” Bobby turned to look at the buses and Guns continued. “The buses will not be collected and you’ll need them. Supplies will be dumped at random points near here. You will treat collecting them as a combat mission. Anyone watching the drop dies, though you can bring one back for a chat first.”
The Troopers weren’t smiling now and even if they weren’t at attention, they weren’t relaxed any more. “Anybody?”
Guns grinned at Bobby. “If you find a nosy Super, this one will be sanctioned. Is that clear enough?”
A ripple went through the Troopers, and some smiles and murmurs. “Shut it, this is serious.” Bobby scowled at them. “These buildings are derelict so we can shoot the shite out of them, and I’m guessing the Corporals can tell you all what the new job is now.” He waved his hands around. “We’ll be practicing targeted strikes on guarded Pleb criminal organisations, infiltration, assassination, and hostage rescue. One-off dirty jobs that the local Troopers haven’t got someone either hard enough or sneaky enough to get done.”
“How do we practice infiltration?” A Trooper looked around, baffled. “Who do we infiltrate?”
“More like sneak through and steal their favourite notsi, squad against squad. The losers will be cooks and laundry assistants unless they really pooch it and then I’ll get creative.” Bobby glared. “You will be watching over my fragile body when we do this for real in some steelworks or housing complex, so you will be trained or dead.” Bobby watched that sink in. This lot weren’t worried about the threats, they were interested in the new job. “Split up into your squads and find quarters in there. The one with gold taps and wall-to-wall Divas is mine. There’s cold food, sandwiches and sausage rolls, in the canteen. We’ll meet in there at fourteen hundred by which time your Corp will have explained everything properly. Now unload the buses and piss off.”
