by Fiona Field
Seb studied his toecaps while he got his face under control.
‘I have just received a communication from Brigade,’ continued the CO, ‘requiring us to terminate this exercise immediately—’
‘Thank fuck for that, there is a God,’ whispered Will.
‘—and to proceed to the river Bavant which is in danger of bursting its banks. The local flood defences are inadequate and the blue light services are already stretched to capacity so 1 Herts is being deployed to help out. To this end we are moving to grid six-seven-nine, five-three-seven, where we are to RV with the bronze commander at the scene.’
‘Well, at least we’ll be doing something useful,’ muttered Will, ‘instead of being toy soldiers being pushed around by a spoilt brat who doesn’t know how to play nicely.’
Seb’s toecaps got interesting again.
‘So everyone is to move out of here as soon as possible, normal convoy regulations as per standard operating procedures are to be observed at all times when travelling on the public highways. To avoid congestion at the RV, drivers are to debus their troops on arrival at the scene and then follow the directions given to them by the emergency services as to where to park up. I will appraise the situation on arrival and then I’ll hold another O group at the RV at...’ the CO looked at his watch, ‘...oh-four-hundred hours. Is that all perfectly clear?’
‘Sir,’ assented his officers before they moved off back to their company lines.
Seb collected his promised cuppa and then asked Mr Riley to gather together his platoon and section commanders. Ten minutes later, he was repeating the CO’s orders to them and almost no time after that his soldiers were racing around, backfilling their trenches, dismantling the recently erected bashers and forming chain gangs to get as much kit, as fast as possible, back on the trucks. However, as everyone was wet, cold and tired and it was pitch dark as well, things didn’t go as efficiently as they might have and removing all traces of their occupancy of that bit of Salisbury Plain ranges took longer than Seb, mindful that the CO was feeling liberal with the extra-duty punishments, was entirely happy with. Finally, though, everything was loaded up, all weapons accounted for, all soldiers present and correct and the convoy of B Company vehicles began to move off, along the range roads to the main metalled road and relative civilisation.
Seb jumped into his vehicle followed by Mr Riley. The cab of the Land Rover was wonderfully warm as his driver had had the engine running and the heater on. Instantly the windscreen began to fog up as the steam from two damp bodies condensed on it. Seb leaned forwards and increased the heat and the fan speed to counteract it and the extra warmth made him yawn hugely.
‘Tired, sir?’ asked his driver.
‘Knackered.’
‘Should’ve done what I did, boss.’
‘Which was?’
‘Grab a bunch of zeds in the back of my Rover instead of going out on that stupid map-reading exercise.’
Seb looked at his driver. ‘And the order was for every soldier to take part.’
‘You didn’t notice...’ there was a slight pause, ‘...boss,’ added the driver, giving Seb a broad grin.
Seb had to suck in his cheeks. ‘I could have you on a charge for that.’
‘You could. But given that if I can’t map-read, given my trade and years of experience, things have come to a pretty pass. And besides which, I reckoned I’d be more use rested than in the sort of shag-order you’re in now – with all due respect, sir.’
Seb nodded. The insubordination was epic – but so was the level of logic. Besides, he was too knackered to take the matter further.
He sighed. ‘No, you’re right and I’m too tired to argue.’
‘Good. So I suggest you and Mr Riley get in some shut-eye while I get us all to the destination.’
Seb nodded. ‘Good idea.’ He pulled his beret forwards to cover his eyes and fell asleep before they’d gone another half-mile. Mr Riley followed suit almost as quickly.
Chapter 40
Mike was beginning to feel the effects of sleeplessness and went to the urn in the corner to grab yet another cup of coffee. His brain was jangling with caffeine but every other bit of him was bone weary – weary and cold. A tipper truck of sand had been delivered to the village of Upper Bavant along with a load of sacks and he’d been helping, like every other available able-bodied person, to fill sandbags and load them onto trailers being dragged by local farmers’ tractors and taken to the most threatened sites along the river bank. And it wasn’t just shoring up the banks that they were doing. Never had the old naval cry of ‘man the pumps’ been more appropriate, only now the pumps were diesel driven.
He wriggled his toes in his damp socks; what he would give to be dry. His clothes, damp and clammy, stuck to him and chafed his crotch and armpits. Mike told himself to man up. At least he was somewhere warm and dry and had a warm dry house to go home to – when he did finally get to go home. The people in the Bavant valley, whose houses were flooded, were looking at months and months of dealing with sodden furniture, soaked carpets and ruined plaster and electrics. And furthermore, he had access to hot coffee, he thought as he took a slurp. Things could be so much worse.
Outside he heard the sound of engines and the shouts of men. He tramped over to the windows and peered out. The cavalry had arrived! Well, maybe not the cavalry but the army at any rate, and not a moment too soon. Mike hadn’t realised quite how much pressure he’d been under, trying to juggle everything with too few volunteers, until the sense of utter relief swept through him at the sight of several hundred more pairs of hands arriving.
He took another swig of coffee before padding across the stone floor to the door, thrusting his feet into his rubber boots and heading back out into the filthy weather. On the road below the pub, soldiers were jumping out of the backs of trucks and Land Rovers into the now ankle-deep water. As the vehicles emptied the trucks were driven away to the village rugby club car park, the largest area of hardstanding in the immediate area, and the soldiers milled around outside looking for direction and someone to tell them where they were wanted most.
Mike ran halfway down the steps and hollered. ‘Listen up!’ The chat began to subside. ‘Oi! Silence,’ he roared, using his old parade square voice.
Silence fell, apart from the background thunder of the river.
‘Mike?’
Mike peered at the figure pushing his way through the throng of soldiers and recognised the approaching figure. ‘Seb?’
‘Hi, buddy,’ said Seb as he reached Mike and shook him warmly by the hand.
‘Hey, am I glad to see you and B Company.’
‘Glad to be of assistance. You tell us what you want us to do and we’re ready and willing.’
‘Seb, it’s filling and moving sandbags. We’ve volunteers doing their best but it’s not enough. The sand and the sacks have been delivered; they’re at the farm up the lane there.’ Mike gestured to the small road that ran off the main road about twenty yards further along. ‘We’ve got the local farmers to take them on trailers to the worst affected places but there are dozens of other places at risk. Honestly, Seb, we’re talking about fighting losing battles here.’
‘Mike, 1 Herts doesn’t lose battles. If we can turn the tide we will.’ Seb turned to his troops. ‘OK men, I want 1 and 2 Platoons to fill the sandbags and the rest of you are to remain here to be deployed by Major Collins as he sees fit. Over to you, Mike.’
Mike shouted instructions as to where the soldiers were to report and then watched as half of his ex-company marched off to the farm.
He turned back to the remaining troops and began to address them. ‘I need chain gangs at a number of locations. I want section commanders to report to bronze HQ, which is here in the pub, for the grid references where we need you the most and then each section is to report to one of those hotspots. I’ll leave it to section commanders to sort out who is going where.’
Another Land Rover drew up near the steps, sending a
bow wave of water over the soldiers’ boots. They muttered amongst themselves in irritation. Mike watched as his old adversary, Rayner, opened the door and stood on the sill – keeping his feet dry. Seb and Mike exchanged a look.
‘You – you there.’ Rayner beckoned to Mike imperiously.
‘Colonel Rayner,’ said Mike, coldly. ‘You’ve managed to get here...’ The unsaid word ‘finally’ hung in the air.
‘Ah,’ said Rayner, obviously recognising to whom he was speaking. ‘Mr Collins.’
The two glared at each other.
‘Right,’ continued Rayner, ‘thank you for what you’ve done, Collins. If you bring me up to speed I’ll take over.’
Mike felt his eyes widen at the audacity of Rayner’s statement. ‘With all due respect, Colonel, that isn’t how it works,’ he said.
‘Don’t be ridiculous.’
The soldiers gathered caught the vibe of poisonous antipathy and began to eavesdrop openly at the exchange going on. Seb stepped in.
‘Colonel, Mike... I think we’d be better discussing this in your operations room, Mike.’ Mike understood what Seb meant. ‘And meanwhile,’ Seb said with a raised voice, ‘section commanders, you need to get the relevant grid references.’ He grabbed Mike’s arm and tugged him back up the steps.
‘Don’t let him wind you up. This is your show,’ advised Seb quietly, ‘not his.’
‘I hate that man,’ said Mike. ‘And just when I think I’ve see the back of him, he rocks up again. I don’t fucking believe it.’
They reached the door of the pub and Mike kicked off his boots as he went in. Seb, encumbered with complicated laces, just brushed his thoroughly but although he might have got the mud off, the fabric remained sodden. He squelched into the public bar.
A couple of seconds later the section commanders trooped in.
‘Over here, guys,’ called one of the police officers.
The NCOs did as they were bidden and gathered around the large-scale map of the area. Seb and Mike stood behind them to listen to the briefing.
‘OK,’ said the policeman, ‘the black pins mark the worst affected areas. This is where we need you guys as soon as the others have got a decent supply of sandbags ready for you to use.’
‘Just a moment,’ called Rayner from the door of the room. ‘Excuse me, this is now an army operation. I’ll do the briefing, thank you.’
The police officer looked at Rayner with incredulity before saying, ‘And you’re au fait with the situation, are you, sir?’
‘I will be when you’ve brought me up to speed. Once I know what’s what, I’ll pass the information on.’
‘Wasting valuable time,’ said Mike, no longer able to contain himself.
‘I beg your pardon.’ The colonel turned and gave Mike a basilisk stare.
‘You heard me. Let’s cut to the chase, we haven’t got the time to say this twice, we need boots on the ground and we need them now.’ Mike turned back to the police officer. ‘Carry on, Inspector McAlpine,’ he instructed.
‘As I was saying—’ said the colonel.
‘Colonel, I regret to tell you this, but you are not in command in this situation. I am.’ Mike couldn’t have been any clearer and his voice was steely.
‘You are junior to me, Collins, don’t you forget it.’
The last straw. The last fucking straw. Mike cracked. ‘I am not your subordinate, I am a civilian and emergency planning officer and you have no authority over me at all. If you don’t do as you are bloody told I will have the police remove you from the scene.’ His rage was partly driven by adrenalin because although he knew he was in the right there was a part of him that told him he couldn’t speak to a lieutenant colonel like this. Except that he was.
Beside him he heard Seb take a sharp intake of breath.
The colonel’s lips went white with rage. ‘I’ll have you remember who you are speaking to.’
Mike raised an eyebrow and then turned to the inspector. Keeping his voice as calm as possible to disguise an internal turmoil, he said, ‘Dave, can you get your officers to remove this man from the building? He is impeding operations.’
‘Certainly, Mike.’ The police inspector gestured to two of his men who began to approach the colonel.
Rayner glared about him as he backed away from the approaching policemen. ‘You’ll regret this, Collins,’ he snarled, before he headed towards the door. ‘I shall be making a full report to the district council, the county council and the brigade,’ he shot before he exited the pub, slamming the door behind him.
In the corner of the pub the policemen resumed their briefing of the section commanders. Mike shut his eyes and took a long breath, opening them again when Seb clapped him on the shoulder.
‘Well done,’ said Seb.
Mike shook his head. ‘Bang goes another job.’ He could feel his shoulders sagging with dejection. He really shouldn’t have done that. He gazed at the bottles behind the bar wistfully.
‘That’s not going to happen. I for one will stand up for you and so will the policemen here. Rayner was throwing his weight around with absolutely no authority.’
‘Maybe. I just wish I could be so certain. Susie and I don’t need any more bad luck.’
‘More bad luck?’ said Seb.
Mike nodded. ‘You have no idea. I’ll fill you in when this is over. That is, if you want to know.’
‘Of course I do. I didn’t know things had been so tough.’
Mike shrugged. ‘At least we’re better off than the folks hereabouts. And us gassing isn’t helping them. Come on, let’s get out there and lend a hand.’
Chapter 41
When Susie woke up the next morning the first thing she was aware of was the sound of rain still pattering against the windows. Then she remembered Mike was out dealing with flood defences – being OIC sandbags wasn’t such a joke any more – and finally she remembered about her daughters’ truancy the previous afternoon and evening. With a groan, as everything piled into her brain, she rolled onto her back and gazed at the ceiling. Why was life so utterly shit? she wondered.
In order to help blot out the vileness of her own circumstances she leaned over and hit the ‘on’ button on the bedside radio and switched on the light. The sound of a seventies pop classic filled the bedroom and as the chorus faded away the presenter from the local radio station announced that they were going live to a report from the Bavant valley. Susie pricked up her ears.
The report started off with a vivid description of the river and then narrowed down to stories of flooded houses, pensioners being rescued by the fire service, the centres where the locals were being given beds, shelter and food and the heroic work of locally based soldiers who were trying to stop the terrible situation getting worse.
‘And with that,’ said the female radio journalist, ‘back to Andy in the warmth of our studio.’
At least, thought Susie, there was no mention of any casualties which meant Mike might be wet, cold and miserable but he was still fine. And, given the terrible situation of some of the locals, she had precious little to bitch about. Yes, the twins were being a nightmare at the moment but they were nearly teenagers so probably no worse than many other girls of the same age, they could do with more money, she hankered after a nicer house and Mike certainly deserved a better paid job, but compared to what other people had going on... no, she needed to be grateful for what she had and stop moaning.
It might be only seven in the morning on a Sunday but she needed tea. Susie swung her legs out of bed and stood up, glancing out of the window as she did. Shit a brick! She could see from the light of a street lamp that half of the front garden was under water. The concrete bridge had water flowing over it and water was racing down their road, towards the fields at the end, in a flood that must have been almost a foot deep. Susie ran down the stairs and opened the front door. The water would have to rise another foot or two before things became really critical so the house was safe for the time being but for how long? She
slammed the door again, put the kettle on then went to the computer in the corner of the sitting room and switched it on. When she’d made her tea she returned to it and Googled ‘flood warnings’.
Thank God for the Internet, she thought as the Met Office flood-warning site filled the screen. Quickly she bunged in her postcode. Be prepared, warned the site. Susie flopped back in the office chair and took a sip of tea as she stared at the computer. Be prepared? What did that mean? Blow up the water wings? Leave? Move their possessions upstairs? Susie swivelled her chair around and looked at their furniture. Could she and the two girls get that lot upstairs? Some of it, obviously; the TV, the coffee table, the computer, the smaller stuff maybe, but the three-piece suite, the fridge freezer or the washing machine? No way. And there was another question Susie wanted answering – how much worse might it get?
She picked up her mobile. She knew Mike would be busy but hell, if he didn’t have the answer, who would? Besides, how long would it take him to answer her question? She dialled his number. She listened to it ring and ring before she got diverted to voicemail. Bum. She left a brief message and then sent a text and when she’d done that she went and woke up the twins.
Peremptorily she flicked on the light switches in both rooms and then entered each room in turn to shake her daughters by the shoulders, telling them that she didn’t care it was the weekend, there was an emergency.
‘Wha...’ said Katie, the first twin she woke, as she rubbed her eyes.
‘Gerroff,’ was Ella’s response.
‘The house is about to be flooded,’ snapped Susie from the landing where she had flicked back a curtain to see what the water level was doing.
That woke them up.
‘How, when?’ said Katie.
Ella jumped out of bed and looked out of her window at the view over the almost pitch-dark Downs to the rear of the house. ‘No, it isn’t,’ she said, frowning.
‘Check the stream at the front,’ said Susie.
Both girls padded out onto the landing and stood beside their mother. They froze when they saw what was happening outside.
