When There's No More Room in Hell 2

by Luke Duffy

  WHEN THERE’S NO MORE ROOM IN HELL:

  PART II

  Copyright©2012 Luke Duffy

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced or copied

  without the permission

  of the registered Author and Owner.

  1

  The waves of the choppy North Sea crashed against the flimsy hull of the small fishing boat. Its faded lime green and blue paintwork contrasted harshly against the mottled brown of the water in the English Channel.

  The old engines coughed and sputtered as the boat fought against the never-ending tide that tried to force it back towards the French coast. The boat battled to maintain the forward momentum, ploughing headlong into the waves that threatened to capsize its rickety superstructure. The bow of the vessel dipped and crested as it rode out the heavy seas. One moment it plunged headlong into the bubbling troughs of the rough Channel waters, and the next it would ride high on the white-tipped waves that never ceased to threaten to topple the decrepit craft as its delicate fibreglass and wooden hull toiled to stay afloat.

  Stu stood at the helm, straining hard with the wheel, trying to keep the bow aiming in the direction of the English coast. His forearms screamed at him for a release as he clutched tighter to maintain heading as another breaker crashed against the hull, trying to force them off course.

  Marcus crouched beside him, attempting to keep his balance as he thumbed the handset of the fishing boat's radio with one hand and adjusted the frequency dials with the other.

  "For fuck sake, Stu, try to keep this tub steady will you?" he shouted over the sound of the roaring engines and the howling wind.

  "Marcus," Stu screamed in reply, "it's a bag of shit, mate. I'm surprised we've made it this far. This dinghy wasn't cut out for the rough seas of the Channel. I'm almost breaking my arms trying to keep her on course. Any luck with the radio?"

  "I'm not sure." Marcus shook his head as he looked at the handset. "If there was anyone answering, I wouldn't be able to hear them anyway. I've tuned it as best I can, but I'm not sure my messages are getting through, or if it's even working."

  Stu shook his head, bracing himself at the wheel as another wave struck the hull side on. "Marcus, whether we get comms or not, it doesn't matter. We're in the shit and there's no one to pull us out of it at the other end if we make it. We're on our own. How's Ian doing?"

  Marcus looked toward the stern of the boat at the limp figure of his friend, laid out on the wooden deck. Sandra and Sini crouched over him, applying dressings and doing their best to stem the flow of blood from the wounds that he had sustained during the battle in France.

  Marcus could see the look of frustration on Sini's face as he tried in vain to stabilise him. Ian lay slumped against the side of the boat, the colour drained from his face. Multiple injuries forced his life sustaining blood from his body, causing a large pool of dark claret to form around him, which swished and bubbled as it mixed with the seawater that spewed in over the side. His lungs and liver were perforated as well as the numerous other injuries he had received to his limbs. He coughed, his head lolling onto his chest as the boat swayed beneath him. Frothy and bright red bloody spittle seeped from his lips as he fought to hang on to life.

  Sini, the combat-hardened Serbian who wore battle-scars like medals, turned to Marcus, shaking his head gravely as he realised there was nothing they could do. Dropping the handset to the floor, Marcus scrambled to Ian's side, wincing with his own pain from the injuries caused by the blast that had thrown him through the air during the fight through near the French coast.

  "Hey, buddy," he said, staring down into the glazed eyes of Ian, "you made it this far, don't be jacking on me now."

  Ian managed a half smile. "Sorry, mate, but I'm done." He reached out and gripped Marcus' sleeve and, with all his effort, he managed to focus on Marcus' eyes. "Listen to me, there's nothing you can do for me. I'm fucked and I'm not going to see dry land." His voice was weak and strained. "Do me one favour, bury me in England? Don't be throwing me overboard; I was never in the Marines." He forced another weak smile.

  Marcus could feel the tears flooding his eyes, but still he tried to smile in return. "Don't be daft, you stupid shit. We’ll get you sorted soon enough. Just hang on, mate. Once we...."

  Ian sputtered what sounded between a cough and a laugh. "Don't try and sugar-coat it, dick head. Just look after me when I'm done. That's all I ask from you. I don't want to be walking around like that when I'm gone, Marcus." He glanced in disgust over Marcus' shoulder, at an image that only he seemed able to see as he said it, as though an apparition of a walking corpse stood before him.

  Bowing his head, Marcus nodded slowly, trying hard not to allow the floodgates to open on the wall of emotion that threatened to burst forth.

  With a crack in his voice, he replied, "No worries, mate. I'll see to it that that doesn't happen, Ian. I'll take care of it myself."

  "Good good." Ian nodded with a strained smile in appreciation, knowing that he would be dealt with when the time came.

  "I know I asked just one favour, Marcus, but there's another. You need to make it home, mate. You have to make it home to your family. Take what’s left of this fucked up world and live. We've all come too far to fail at the last hurdle, mate. I'll be dead soon, but you can live for me." His eyes were watery with tears as he spoke. "I'm not scared of dying, Marcus. I'm actually looking forward to the peace and quiet. I think," his breath became shallow and rapid, his grip weakened and his eyes lost focus, "I think it's been a long time coming, mate."

  "Ian…Ian stay with me." Marcus' throat tightened and a knot twisted inside his stomach as he saw the change in his friend. From being the robust hard man that he had always known, he could see that Ian was losing his battle by the second. It was like watching an opaque/grey blanket being pulled across Ian's face as his clutch on life became weaker and death grasped him even harder, dragging him away from this world.

  Ian's breath gave out and his grip on Marcus' arm was lost as the life ebbed from his body. His eyes glazed over and slowly closed, and his body slumped as Ian, the stocky little tyrant who had never backed down from anything in his life, lost his fight to survive.

  Marcus slowly raised himself to his feet and looked around at the expectant faces around him. His eyes met each of theirs, and then he looked back down at the lifeless body of Ian. The howling wind seemed to subside at that moment, and the noise of the sea and the engines of the boat became distant. As the reality of Ian's death settled over him, Marcus felt detached from the world around him. It was as though he had walked through a door. Memories of Ian and their experiences together flitted through his mind at a thousand miles per hour. Images of them both, and the places they had been, vividly sprang up in front of him as though he was leafing through an old photo album. Everything came back to him in an instant: even the sounds and the smells of the places, both good and bad, that they had known together.

  Suddenly, the air around him came to life again. The wind screamed in his ears and the boat pitched below his feet. The ocean’s spray hit his face and its coldness seemed to snap him back to reality.

  Another good friend was gone.

  There was no need for an announcement; the boat was small and the look on Marcus' face was plain enough to tell them that Ian was gone.

  Sini placed a canvas sheet over the body and nodded to Marcus. "We can wait till we hit the mainland, then we can take care of him."

  Marcus nodded in return. The idea of doing what needed to be done with Ian aboard the boat did not seem dignified to him.

  The fight on the French mainland had cost them three of their friends. Yan and
Ahmed had both been killed during the battle, and Marcus regretted that he could not take care of them in the same way that he could with Ian. Yan had been shot through the head, and Ahmed had been killed in the truck when it was riddled with holes in the ambush. Marcus silently hoped that one of those bullets had hit the ex-Islamic Jihadist in the head, leaving him dead for good. As brutal as it seemed to him, he knew it would be a mercy in the new order of things.

  It had been their aggression and complete resignation at an imminent death that had carried them through the battle. They were trapped in a fearsome ambush and none of them had expected to make it out. The team had turned and faced the enemy and charged the positions, screaming and roaring as they ran, encouraging each other and pouring all their firepower onto their ambushers.

  Sini, Jim, Hussein, Stu and even Sandra had all fought through, killing as they went and surprisingly, winning the day as their attackers had abandoned their positions and fled.

  Marcus had been caught in the blast wave of what he suspected was an RPG or even a mortar round. It sent him hurtling through the air, knocking him out cold as he hit the ground hard. The rest of the team had taken the first positions and Stu ordered Marcus and Ian to be recovered as the enemy fire ebbed and became sporadic. From there, the remaining members of the team had pushed through into dead ground and made their way toward the coast as quickly as possible before the enemy regained their confidence. They grabbed the first thing they thought would stay afloat, which was the decaying hulk of an old fishing boat, and headed for home.

  Marcus stood and turned away from the body of Ian. Grimacing with pain as he felt a sharp stab run up his ribs, he fought even harder to control his emotions. He picked up his weapon and began checking it over. He was down to his last magazine.

  "I'm in the same boat, Marcus. Excuse the pun, of course," Jim said as he stepped across to him on uneasy legs while the boat took another side on beating from the sea. "I think we're all pretty much out of ammo."

  "Yeah, me too, I had to ditch the machine gun at the embankment when it ran dry. All I have is this piece of shit and half a magazine." Sini was clutching a French made sub-machine gun. "I picked it up off one of them bastards as he lay dying and finished him off with it." It was small consolation for the deaths of three of his friends, but Sini always gained some form of satisfaction from killing someone he felt was even remotely responsible for any wrongdoing towards him.

  "What are we going to do, boss?" Jim was hoping that Marcus had formed some sort of plan, or at the very least, knew where to head.

  Marcus stood, staring out into the Channel as he chewed his lower lip. He struggled to focus his thoughts and he feared that his composure was slipping away from him. The men needed him to lead them now more than ever. His head hurt. His body ached and all the time, he could not stop thinking of the men he had lost. Ian had been as close to him as anyone else had. The loss pulled at him and clouded his thoughts.

  He glanced back over his shoulder. Everyone stood watching him expectantly. He looked to the bow of the boat as they crested another wave and recognised the distinct white cliffs of the Southern English coast.

  "Marcus..." Stu began to speak, but he was cut off.

  "Head to the east of the main harbour," Marcus ordered as he turned to face them. "We need to avoid any trouble from the town." He nodded to Sini who had taken over the helm from Stu. "Jim, get me a full ammunition count and redistribute if necessary. We need as many guns firing as possible in case we have any trouble when we get ashore."

  Jim grunted, and busied himself with checking everybody's ammunition and making a tally of their overall strength.

  "Once we hit land, what then?" Stu was standing beside Marcus, watching him intently. As always, he saw that the team leader was putting the immediate tactical considerations to the forefront of his mind, leaving all other matters such as grief and fear to be dealt with later. He knew that his friend would be hurting, as they all were, but Stu also knew that Marcus was a born soldier.

  Marcus snorted and spat into the bubbling sea swirling around the hull of the boat. "We'll deal with Ian on the beach once we know we're out of immediate danger. After that, I say we should head up the hill toward the army barracks. Do you know it?"

  Stu shrugged, "Can't say I do, mate. I didn't even know there were troops based in Dover."

  "Yeah, I was based here for a couple of years. It's a complete shit hole and probably a lot worse now, but we're short on options. We'll have a look anyway and see if we can get into the armoury. We won't be able to find more ammunition for the AK's so we'll have to ditch them for British rifles, and maybe even snatch some vehicles and food. If it's still secure, we could even get some rest."

  Stu looked concerned. "If it's still secure, then that'll mean that there are probably people still there. You think it's wise going there in that case? There could be trouble, Marcus."

  "You mean like France?"

  "Well," Stu shifted his feet and looked Marcus in the eye, "well yeah. We don’t have the ammunition even to take on the dead, never mind a barracks full of soldiers. People don’t seem very hospitable these days and they want to hold onto what they have, even if it means killing for it. Plus, I don't like the idea of fighting my own countrymen anyway."

  Marcus bit his lip again and hummed as he considered Stu's point. "Then we had better be on our best behaviour, hadn't we? We will have a look all the same, Stu, but we'll keep our distance to start with. I'll leave the recce to you even, and then you can give me your judgment on it."

  "Fair enough," Stu replied.

  Land was approaching fast now. Everyone had prepared himself and was ready to launch on to the beach. Marcus couldn't help but feel as though he was about to go into one hell of a fucked up D-Day as they watched the cliffs tower above them and the shingle of the beach draw near.

  "Looks pretty clear up ahead," Sini called over his shoulder from behind the wheel. "I can’t see any movement on the beach."

  "Roger that," Marcus replied and turned to the rest of the team. Jim, Hussein and Sandra stood by the body of Ian, ready to carry him ashore once that the rest had checked to make sure they were clear.

  Hussein gave a faint smile, concern in his eyes. "Be careful, Mr. Marcus."

  Sini forced the throttle forward, straining the engines and gaining as much power as possible in order to drive the bow of the boat on and up the beach. The sound seemed deafening in Marcus' ears and he involuntarily ducked his head into his shoulders as he imagined someone on the cliff top hearing them and taking an interest.

  They were vulnerable on the beach and open to attack from both the dead and the living. For all they knew, Dover might have been turned into a fortress. With the castle and barracks on the high ground, the large harbour at the seafront and the natural lay of the land; it would not have been hard to do for an experienced commander with tactical thinking and enough men and assets.

  A jolt and the sound of crunching pebbles beneath the hull as the craft beached itself and came to a shuddering halt, informed them that they had arrived in England.

  Sini cut the engine and a moment later, an eerie silence fell over them. All they could hear was the slapping of the waves and the screech of the odd seagull overhead. The shore party stepped onto the bow and the three of them sprang forward and on to the gravel.

  Marcus felt the shift of the beach pebbles below his heavy boots as he landed and regained his balance. Bringing his weapon up to his shoulder, he peered over the sight and along the length of the weapon as he moved forward. Everywhere his eyes went, his weapon pointed in the same place. Sini and Stu were doing the exact same thing as they fanned out to cover the immediate area.

  Five minutes later, Marcus had the thumbs up from his left and right, as Stu and Sini informed him that the beach was clear.

  "Okay, Jim, bring the others in," Marcus hissed into his radio and waved for them to move from the boat. Soon they were all in the shadow of the high cliffs, providing them
with a degree of protection.

  They remained silent and still for a few minutes as they tuned into their new surroundings. A blur to their left, followed by a thud and loud crunch, accompanied by the sound of pebbles being scattered into the air and clattering against each other as they landed again, forced them all to turn, their weapons raised and ready for the attack.

  Just a few metres away, a bulky form lay embedded in a shallow crater in the disturbed sand and pebbles. It moved very slightly and the faint sound of groans and grunts drifted to the team on the wind.

  "What the fuck was that?" Stu whispered and he tentatively took a step closer.

  Marcus was on his left, also creeping forward. "Careful, Stu,"

  It lay there. Its limbs mangled and twisted with the bones protruding and grotesquely pointing out at impossible angles. Its stomach burst open, spilling its contents that now filled the impact crater around it. Its fingers continued to twitch and a hoarse murmur escaped from its shattered face as the one remaining eye focused on Stu.

  "Where did it come from?" Jim asked, as he stepped up and peered down at the pitiful sight.

  Stu craned his neck and peered up at the cliff top before answering, "Must've taken a nose dive from up there."

  Marcus also looked up, squinting at the contrast in light as the sun strained to penetrate the blanket of grey clouds above them. "I didn't see anything up there when we came ashore."

  Stu shook his head. "Me neither, but I think this bag of pus certainly saw us and decided to try an overhead assault. Poor bugger. It must've pretty much exploded on impact."

  Marcus felt a shudder run down his back at the thought of the thing having a better aim and landing on top of one of them instead of smashing into the shingle. He wiped his face on the back of his sleeve and took a step back.

  "Finish it off will you, Stu?"

  Stu drew the machete from his assault vest and stepped over the shattered remains of the once human being. A moment later and it was over. He stepped away, wiping the blade of his machete against the moss that clung to a rock, considering how indifferent he had become to the whole thing and some of the things they had seen and done.