by Paul Kane
She nodded. "Yeah, I think so.
"Shit!"
"What? I don't understand."
Dale ignored her, flipping switches and attempting to dial up a signal. "Please be out there, Jack," he said.
Now he really did have something to report, but he wished with all his heart he didn't.
He really wished he'd never sent the kid in there.
Jack ground his teeth as he sat in the remains of what was left of the Welsh Ranger headquarters. He and his squad had arrived too late to do anything to help the troops stationed there, and as Jack had looked over the devastation - the bodies of Rangers, men and women alike - his guts tied themselves in knots. It was these people who'd alerted them to the problem in the first place, but they hadn't described anything on this scale. Another wannabe dictator maybe who was still building up his forces, but with nowhere near the capability to do something like this. These were trained fighters, damned well trained. He knew because he'd trained some of them himself back at Nottingham Castle.
Now they were dead.
Jack had felt his hands tightening around the staff he always carried as he took in the blood, the glassy eyes, the expressionless faces.
"Sir!" one of his squad had alerted him to the approach of a vehicle. A jeep, travelling at speed on the horizon. He didn't need to order his Rangers to hunker down and find cover, because they were already doing it. If this was a clean-up crew of the Dragon's men, coming to pick off any survivors they'd missed, then they'd chosen the wrong day.
As the jeep came closer, however, it was clear that they had other intentions. The vehicle skidded, doing a handbrake turn as it reached the former HQ. Then two men threw a bundle out of the back... a living bundle, though it was a poor excuse for a human being. In fact the body they tossed out looked in worse shape than some of the corpses surrounding Jack. But he could tell from the hood and dark green garb, it was another one of his Rangers. Where he'd been and what had happened to him, Jack had no idea, but he was guessing it hadn't been pleasant.
As the jeep began to drive off again, Jack broke cover and ordered those behind him to see to their fallen comrade. Jack had a score to settle.
He began to run. Although he wasn't as young as he had been when he'd done the circuits as a professional wrestler, he'd kept himself in good shape with exercise and training. Not to mention actual combat. In the last couple of years he'd been in more scrapes than he ever had in the ring, been in more danger than he had been against Big Bud McCardle or The Terror from Tallahassee. There still wasn't an ounce of fat on Jack 'The Hammer' Finlayson's frame, and it meant that before too long he was catching up with that accelerating jeep. He had also attracted the attention of those in the back. Those within reach of a pretty lethal looking mounted machine-gun.
He saw one of the men pointing, then the other spinning the weapon around before firing. Jack dodged sideways, only just avoiding the bullets which raked the road.
The gunman aimed, but again fired wide - Jack leaping just in time to avoid the deadly stream of lead. Bending, he ran even faster at the vehicle, so fast that his baseball cap flew off. He ignored this, pressing on until he was almost level with the jeep. Before either the gunman or his partner could react, Jack was using his staff to pole-vault into the back. He lost his grip on the wooden stick, but didn't need it now. When the man closest tried to draw his pistol, Jack clipped it out of his hands and grabbed hold of him by the collar.
"Let's see how you like it, pal!" he roared, picking the man up and heaving him from the vehicle. There was an audible crack as one of his legs broke, then he tumbled head over heels. The other man yelped when he saw this, and scrabbled to get away. But a huge hand on his shoulder prevented this, twisting him around so that Jack could take hold of his head with both hands. Then Jack brought it down onto his raised knee. The man toppled backwards, over the side. He must have fallen under the wheels, though, because the whole vehicle rose up in the air momentarily, then fell back down again. When Jack looked behind him, he saw the man's body flattened against the road.
Jack clambered around on the outside of the jeep as it continued to speed up, the lone driver perhaps thinking - bizarrely - that he could escape that way. Jack reached in through the open window and grabbed at the wheel, pulling it towards himself: pulling them off the road and towards a nearby house. The driver attempted to wrestle the wheel back, but there was only one wrestler present. The man just wasn't strong enough and when Jack was satisfied they were on a collision course, he let go and jumped free.
Unlike the two men from the back of the jeep, Jack did know how to fall. So, as he rolled to a halt, he watched with satisfaction as the jeep rammed headlong into the house, pitching the driver through its windscreen.
"You have just been Jack Hammered," he uttered in a low tone, but there was none of the usual glibness. This had been revenge, pure and simple, for the Rangers killed back at the base, and for the one they'd dumped by the roadside. Jack only hoped he got a chance to explain how he felt to their boss.
He picked himself up and began his walk back along the road, retrieving his staff and his cap along the way. The man who'd been run over was dead. The other was alive, but badly injured. Jack quizzed him about what had happened at the HQ, and back at the stadium, standing on the damaged leg whenever the man refused to answer. Robert probably wouldn't have approved, but their leader wasn't here. Hadn't seen what these men had done. The injured man told Jack how the Rangers they'd captured had died. "You sick sons of bitches," Jack said. Then he thought about Dale. "Have you seen a young guy back at the stadium? About yay high, good looking? You know if he's still alive?" The man shook his head. "Okay," said Jack, and began walking off.
"Wait, you can't just leave me here," screamed the soldier.
"Our man comes first. Then maybe I'll send someone back for you." Or maybe he would just clean forget. Things slip your mind sometimes, Jack said to himself. For now, all he wanted to know was how the fallen Ranger was doing, and if Dale was all right.
His squad were attempting to patch up their colleague, who Jack could now see was suffering from a bullet wound to the leg. "He'll be lucky if it doesn't get infected," a Ranger called Chadwick told him, out of earshot of the patient, "even with antibiotics. And he'll never be able to walk properly again."
All the battles, all the fights he'd been in; nothing compared to this. Slaughtering his Rangers in their home, promising freedom then blowing them up, leaving just one alive but crippled for life. And he'd sent Dale into that maniac's domain. Sure, the kid could handle himself, but Jack still felt as though he'd signed his death warrant. This wasn't the movies. Bad things happened to good people and there were never any guarantees of a happy ending.
So in the time since then he'd sat by the radio. Waiting for a sign that Dale was still alive, that he hadn't simply been shot in the head for the Dragon's amusement. Once or twice he'd heard a crackle of static, but it had only been ghosts whispering down the line.
Then Dale's voice actually came down the line. "Green Three Leader, come in. Green Three, are you out there? Please respond. Jack, answer the radio, will you? Over."
Jack picked up the receiver and spoke. "This is Green Three Leader. Dale, is that you little buddy? Over."
There was another crackle of static, then: "Well it's not bloody Bono, is it. Over." Jack smiled, but could hear the panic in Dale's voice.
"Are you okay? Over."
"Yeah - for now. But I don't have much time. Listen, there's been a development. The Dragon's working with a guy you might have heard of. Big fella, olive skinned. Likes crossbows. Over."
Jack couldn't believe his ears. "Tanek?" The last time Jack had seen that man, it had been as his torture victim, while De Falaise's daughter, Adele, cheered him on. Robert said that he'd escaped after they'd taken down the Tsar in Sherwood, but nobody had seen or heard about him since. Like that proverbial bad penny, he just always seemed to show up - especially when there was something b
ig going down. But what was his connection to the Welsh Dragon? Whatever it turned out to be, this wasn't good news at all. "Do you know what he's doing there, Dale? Over."
"Not yet. But stuff's been arriving all the time I've been here. Weapons, vehicles, most of it kept in Cardiff Arms Park. I think he might be involved in supplying it. Over."
Jack rubbed his chin. That would make sense; first Tanek allied himself with De Falaise, then the Tsar, now the Dragon. Anyone he thought might be able to seize power. But there must be a third party involved if that pond scum's the go-between, he reasoned.
"Listen Dale, I want you to get out of there. You've done all you can, now I want you to report back to-"
"What's that? You're breaking up."
"I said get your ass out of there, Dale, and that's an order!" The radio died. Whether it was just a loss of signal, someone had found Dale, or he'd just run out of time, Jack had no way of knowing. But it made him more aware than ever that if something happened to the youth it would be on his head. Jack slammed his fist against the wall, swearing. When one of the Rangers came in, he barked at them that he wanted to be left alone.
After a few minutes, he nodded to himself, then muttered, "Okay, so you're not coming out. Maybe it's about time we came in."
Dale clicked the radio off. He'd heard Jack's orders, but there was no way he was going to pull out just yet.
"Green Three..." Sian said. "You're a Ranger, aren't you? One of Robin Hood's men?"
Back before the virus that would have sounded so stupid, but Sian said it with complete seriousness. Robert's reputation as the new Hooded Man, and that of his Rangers, had spread so far. No-one was laughing at him, least of all his enemies. Dale shrugged, then nodded, feeling slightly embarrassed; what was wrong with him? He wasn't usually this shy about blowing his own trumpet. But with Sian it was different. He wasn't out to impress.
"God, why didn't you say something?"
"Didn't really seem the time or place."
The radio operator moaned. There wasn't much danger of him waking up yet, but it was time they made themselves scarce.
"I think we'd probably better get out of here." Dale said.
Sian nodded, but touched his arm as he made to leave. "Why did you do that just then?"
"What?"
"Cut off... what was his name, Jack? Cut him off when he was ordering you to get out of here."
Once more, Dale felt the blood rushing to his cheeks. He looked down as he answered. "Because I didn't want to leave you here. And you won't leave until you've found your aunty... So..."
Sian looked at him, then, suddenly, kissed him on the cheek. "Thank you, Dale."
He shrugged a final time, feeling as though his cheeks were on fire. Then, as much to hide this as anything else, he nodded towards the door, gesturing for them both to leave.
There was still much to do before either of them could get out of this madhouse.
Chapter Nine
The captive's head rocked to one side with the sheer force of the blow.
"Come on, talk, damn you!" Gwen brought her hand back and hit the man again, almost tipping over the chair he was tied to.
The prisoner - his features pinched, hair closely cropped - spat blood and grinned, teeth stained crimson. Gwen punched him in the side, where her bullet had winged him, and Dr Jeffreys gave a wail of protest.
"You'll pull out the stitches!"
Gwen took no notice, striking the man again. He gritted his teeth, bubbles of red saliva bursting as they escaped his lips.
"I said talk!" she screamed into his face. "Who sent you? Who do you work for?"
The man smirked again, even laughed.
Gwen brought her hand back once more, but felt someone grab it. She turned and saw Andy holding her wrist. "Take it easy, Gwen. The guy's obviously not going to play ball."
She looked at Andy, then back at their prisoner. Play ball? This wasn't a game. Gwen pulled her arm away. After all they'd risked to get this dickhead here, she wasn't about to ask nicely. The guy had been shooting at them, for Christ's sake. He'd put her son at risk, why did he deserve any kind of compassion?
The answer was, he didn't - and she proved that by smacking him again, perhaps just to spite Andy. He might be okay with waiting for New Hope to be overrun by armed men, but she wasn't going to just sit here and let it happen.
Andy had been against going out there to fetch the prisoner in the first place. "You're joking," he'd said when he heard Gwen's plan. "You're going to get yourself killed, and then what'll happen to little Clive?"
That hadn't been the smartest thing he'd ever said. Clive Jr was the reason for everything she did. It was precisely because of him she'd risk venturing out to get the fallen gunman, even though more of his friends were still in the woods. "It's almost dark, if we use the warren then-"
"What if those nuts have night-vision or whatever? Have you thought of that? Hell, I can't be a part of this madness," Andy had said, holding up his hands and walking off.
"Okay," Gwen had said after him. Thankfully, there had been others willing to go with her. Darryl for instance, who they had to thank for the warren in the first place. When designing the wall, he'd had the foresight to include a back door in case of just such an emergency. The warren was exactly what it sounded like, an underground tunnel which led from the back of New Hope up and out into the woods; the exit covered over with foliage and bracken stuck to the outside of the trapdoor. If Graham had been fit enough, he'd have volunteered as well, if only to pay back the sods who'd shot him, but he was nowhere near. In fact, Jeffreys had reported earlier that his situation was deteriorating, in spite of the drugs they were giving him.
"All the more reason to go and fetch one of them, bring him inside," Gwen told the doctor.
So, she and Darryl had climbed into the warren and made their way up and out into the woods. Rifles primed, they'd crawled along on their bellies as silently as they could to where Gwen judged the man had fallen. She'd posted a watch on him and not one of his friends had come to get him or see how he was. Loyalty obviously wasn't part of their agenda.
Just when they thought they weren't going to find him, Gwen spotted a boot in the undergrowth and tugged on Darryl's arm. He nodded, following as they drew closer to the gunman. Jeffreys had given Gwen a tranquiliser to subdue the guy, but as it turned out he'd lost so much blood that he barely put up a fight. As they started dragging him away, however, bullets splintered the trees surrounding them. The fuckers had been using him as bait. "Quick, move!" Gwen ordered; they didn't have time for messing about. She and Darryl hauled the man back and it was only now he started to cry out, risking giving away their location. Gwen put her hand over his mouth as they pulled him along, racing towards the hole in the ground. They reached it ahead of their pursuers and scrambled back down inside the warren, yanking the trapdoor shut and locking it from inside. They heard boots, but the shooters trampled overhead, running past; oblivious to what was hidden under their feet.
Darryl emerged first at the New Hope end, greeted by the sight of Karen Shipley pointing a pistol at him. As instructed, she'd been keeping it trained on the open black square since they'd entered, just in case they had any unwanted visitors. When she saw Darryl poke his head through, she let out a whoop of joy, hugging and kissing him on the cheek, much to his surprise.
"Oh, thank God!"
Yes, she'd been pleased to see the man she was clearly sweet on. But Karen had also never shot anyone before. Gwen knew the woman might have to if things carried on the way they were going, but felt only a small twinge of sadness about the loss of her innocence. After all, Gwen's had been snatched away a long time ago.
They'd taken the prisoner to Jeffreys who'd patched up the wound and given the man a transfusion. At first no-one had volunteered, but when the doctor pointed out he'd die without one and they'd get nothing from him at all, Darryl once again stepped into the breach. Who'd have thought she'd come to rely on him so much? He was the very
essence of lost innocence, yet Gwen couldn't have done all this without him. "Hook me up, doc," Darryl had said. "Least we know we're the same group."
Unbelievably, that had been four hours ago, and as the prisoner had recovered steadily, Gwen sat studying him. When she judged he was fit enough to be questioned, she'd taken him at gunpoint - virtually carrying him to the Red Lion - ignoring all of Jeffreys' and Andy's complaints. She was still ignoring them.
"What's happened to you, Gwen?" Andy asked after the last blow.
She gaped at him. "Do I really have to answer that?"
"You're killing him."
"Hopefully not until we get what we want."
"This isn't the way to treat anyone. He's still a human being."
"A human being who's been shooting at our home, Andy. Who wants us dead. Those were your words, not mine. Weren't you the one who greeted me holding a rifle when I came back here with Tate? Why was that exactly? Because you thought men like Javier had returned, right?"
Andy said nothing.
"Well, he's a man like Javier, like De Falaise. His lot don't understand kindness, Andy. All they understand is this." She held up a fist in front of his face. "And this!" She grabbed her pistol and waved it under his nose. "They see anything else as weakness, do you understand?"
"Oh, I think I'm starting to. Have you ever thought that maybe by doing all this, we attract men like him?"
"You've got it backwards. All we wanted to do here was live in peace and then... Everything changed."
Andy was silent for a moment: "This isn't what Clive would've wanted. He would've-"
Gwen struck Andy with the same hand she'd been using to hit the prisoner. And with just as much force. She hadn't meant to do that. It was the mention of her dead lover's name that provoked her. How dare Andy tell her what Clive would or wouldn't have wanted? Clive was dead, and they would be too if they listened to Andy.
He stepped back, his fingers touching the cheek she'd slapped, which was reddening nicely. Andy said nothing more, just glared at her before storming out of the pub. Gwen looked at the others present - at Jeffreys, at Karen - waiting for them to say something. They didn't, and she knew why. They were scared of her. And were probably right to be.
