‘As soon as it’s safe,’ Charles called back, ‘you should go to one of the medical units and get that seen to.’
The reporter looked as if he might be about to try and ask Charles a question as he looked up, despite the fact they were all lying flat on the floor and that his partner was now sans camera. Charles decided his best move was to ignore him while he analyzed his situation.
He might be less of a target to the sniper lying here, but he was still a target, and although the weather was cutting visibility to a minimum, the assailant might still try another shot in the same area as the first. After all, the assailant had obviously been able to see him clearly enough to make the first attempt…or was it just luck that the sniper had fired close to where he was standing? Then it occurred to him. All the assailant would need was a rudimentary knowledge of the layout of the green and a newspaper set to the channel of those two behind him. The sniper probably hadn’t seen him, but had known roughly where he was from the report. They were probably safe now that the camera had shattered, but there was no point taking chances. He decided to get to the relative safety of the tanks.
Keeping as flat as he could and staying on the relatively dry duckboards, he moved the last ten yards to the edge of the road where the nearest of the tanks was parked. Then he crouched behind it and surveyed the rest of the green.
Although his range of vision was limited, he could see that a number of civilians and soldiers alike were all cowering or taking cover as best they could. There were quite a number lying flat to the ground. A couple of the civilians seemed to be praying, and Charles wondered if they might decide they had had enough excitement for one day. A number of other soldiers were moving slowly in sections towards the Houses of Parliament Museum and the large clock tower.
Charles didn’t think the sniper would be in the clock tower. It might be the largest building and the one closest to the green, but it was also an obvious vantage point for a sniper, and there were many buildings nearby that might serve a sniper nearly as well that weren’t so obvious.
A few other thoughts occurred to Charles as he was planning his next move. Was the sniper alone, or were there several others with him? There could be quite a battle to fight once the sniper’s nest was located. Charles had expected to meet a lot of resistance today just getting to Sou’nd. He had known there was a very good chance of being attacked before they left the green because it had been so heavily advertised on the newspaper. In a way, the appearance of just one sniper was a bit of an anti-climax. Perhaps it was just the prelude of what was to come, an opportunity to take out the leader of the assault group that they couldn’t resist.
He heard a soft click and at first thought it was the sound of a rifle being reloaded. It would’ve had to be very close if that was the case, though. As he looked round to find the source, he saw that the turret of the tank he was crouching behind was turning slowly. No doubt they were using their infrared scanners to locate the would-be assassin. A few other tanks seemed to be doing the same thing. A cat would have an almost identical heat signature to a human, but the weapon they carried would also be a little warm, having just been fired. If they saw anyone with a weapon they would probably send the soldiers in to investigate. But the turrets kept turning; they weren’t finding anything.
He waited.
Time passed slowly and awkwardly. The sniper wasn’t located, nor did he or she try another shot. Slowly the activity on the green returned to normal. The general consensus seemed to be that the sniper, having failed to hit his or her target, had decided to leave the area before being captured. Nevertheless, as the rest of the convoy continued its preparations for the attack, the tanks kept scanning for anything out of the usual, and three twenty-one man patrols waited for the word to move in on a target at a moment’s notice.
In the few minutes he had crouched by the tank, the rain had seemed to ease a little. He could now see the check-in desk from his current position, and though it wasn’t a lot more than a blur, he could see that a queue of civilians had re-gathered on the other side. He couldn’t see much detail, but he assumed they were being processed again.
This he took as the final signal that the sniper had definitely left the area and that it was relatively safe to climb to his feet. The photographer and reporter who had been on his tail up until the shot was fired had also climbed to their feet and left, heading towards the rear of the convoy where the medical trucks were parked. The photographer was holding his shoulder where the camera had been as they left. Although the photographer was obviously finished for the day, Charles couldn’t help wondering if the reporter would be sent a replacement, and if so, if he would be willing to continue.
Charles walked alongside the line of tanks until he found the fourth from the front. He would be comfortable in there. The sniper wouldn’t be able to penetrate the armor, and he would be out of this rain. His clothes might still be wet, but they would soon dry off in the tank.
Just like virtually every tank since their original invention back in the early twentieth century, this one ran on caterpillar tracks. The armor was inches thick and made of an alloy too strong for even the tank’s own weapon systems. Only the very biggest gun could penetrate the armor, and it would need to use a sustained burst to do so. Not that there weren’t weapons that could penetrate the armor, but at least the cats weren’t thought to possess any. This should be a very one-sided battle. Although each tank was armed with one large gun, the power of which was adjustable and the highest setting being capable of destroying a building, they also had a fair number of other weapons. Every aspect of the tank was covered with smaller laser weapons that could be removed from their mountings if necessary, though only by those actually inside the tank. The tank was also capable of throwing up a smoke screen; if it got into any real difficulty it could even launch chaff to confuse a missile.
He was greatly impressed by the firepower of the tank. He wasn’t used to the idea of fighting in one; the Elite Guard just didn’t use them, and today was the first day he had really seen one this close since he had been part of a school visit to a war museum back when he was ten. And even then, those tanks weren’t anything like these.
Well, he couldn’t stand there gawping all day, and a minute later he was climbing into the command chair inside the tank. From here he had access to all the scanners, as well as a view of what was around of them through the cameras.
The driver was a woman who introduced herself as Lieutenant Gloria Patrick. She had access to her own set of cameras that could only be directed from where she sat. The commander could see what she could see but couldn’t redirect them, as she might be using them to see where she was going. The cameras were the most vulnerable part of the tank, though their lenses were specially designed to survive a direct hit. Should the cameras go down, though, the driver could always resort to a small slit which unfortunately would expose the crew to the outside and possible danger on a battlefield and thus was for emergency use only.
Gloria was currently in the navigator’s chair. She was keeping her eye on the communications between the various vehicles, ready to report if anything important came up. She was standing in for Michael while he was covering the check-in desk.
The last member of Charles’ ‘three friends,’ as the broadcast network had put it, was the gunner Lieutenant Oliver Peece, and he was in the gunner’s cockpit behind where Charles sat. He too was surrounded with small screens, each of which was linked to a camera that moved with a laser. A larger screen in the middle of this bank of screens was favored by the big gun, but could be switched to any other weapon the tank had at a moment’s notice if the gunner felt he needed to. The big screen could also be turned to scan, and it was here that the infrared scanners could be activated as well as many other settings, including, for some long-forgotten reason, black and white.
As the gunner, Oliver didn’t have a real chair but a sort of cushion that he could rest his rear on to take the weight off his legs while stan
ding. The entire gunnery cockpit could turn if the gunner felt it necessary. Although the weapons were quite capable of being fired from any position, some gunners did like to orientate themselves towards the direction of the laser they were currently using. More commonly, they liked to face the same direction as the turret and the big gun.
‘Has the sniper been caught?’ Charles asked as he made himself comfortable. He started to run through his own checklist, which basically meant making sure his screens were working. If there were any other checks he should be running through, he wasn’t aware of what they might be. No one had shown him how to be a tank commander, and this really was his first time.
‘No one has reported that they caught the sniper, sir,’ Gloria said without looking round. ‘It was probably only a hopeful shot before they moved on. With luck we won’t see that one again.’
‘Shame,’ Charles replied calmly, ‘I don’t like to think of any of them getting away. Keep your eyes open; that won’t be the only attack on us before we reach Sou’nd. What’s the time, anyway?’
‘Six fifteen,’ Oliver told him. He was looking relaxed and even seemed to be dozing. He must have run his checks already and probably had done so before six. Now he was just waiting for the kick-off.
Charles wondered if Oliver had been using this tank’s scanners to search the buildings for the sniper as some of the others had. ‘Six fifteen?’ He seemed quite surprised. ‘I thought it was later.’ Then, turning to Gloria, he said, ‘Inform the convoy that we leave at six thirty-five whether they’re ready or not and whether the civilians are done or not. We’re late already, and I’ll give them no more time.’
‘I’d prefer it if we didn’t have them at all, sir,’ Oliver commented.
‘Me too,’ Charles agreed. ‘Especially as I’m the one that’ll get the blame when the cats attack and slaughter them. Perhaps the sniper will have caused some of them to think again about coming along with us.’
‘Not enough, I’ll bet,’ Oliver mumbled.
‘The check-in desk is still very busy,’ Gloria put in. ‘I don’t think the sniper has done much to upset them. The first real battle might see them think again about being with us.’
‘Some have probably already had enough. Others won’t leave us regardless of what happens.’ Oliver glanced at his watch again, anxious to be off. ‘Everyone is different. Your best bet is to worry about those you do command and leave the civilians to themselves.’
It was shortly before six thirty when Michael joined them in the tank. Gloria moved immediately into her own seat and let Michael take over the communication and navigation post.
‘They didn’t like it when I told them we had all we were going to take,’ he commented as he took the chair. Although Gloria had already run all the checks that Michael was supposed to, he made a quick double check of everything to make sure of it for himself.
‘Well, the advert says we leave at six. Those that we leave behind should have gotten here sooner. That is all,’ Charles told them. He then gave the newcomer a few minutes to sort himself out and decide he was happy with the way his controls were set up before adding, ‘Okay, let’s get this show on the road. Contact Tank One and tell them to lead the way. The others are to follow in single file according to their designation. Tell Tank One this isn’t a race. A nice seventy miles per hour will do. They might be a scout tank, but we have no need for them to scout the center of London for us.’
‘Want to check everyone’s ready first?’ Michael asked. He closed both his eyes tight for a moment and turned his head back towards the controls.
‘Anyone who isn’t ready gets left behind. Let’s go,’ Charles insisted. And then to question the strange movement Michael had just made he asked, ‘Are you all right?’
‘I thought I was going to sneeze,’ Michael replied. As he spoke he sounded as if he was still trying to contain the sneeze. ‘I’ll be fine. Let’s go.’
Less than a minute later they were moving into position behind Tank Three and following the route that Colonel Davis had mapped out for them. The route took them through the center of London, through many streets that would usually be gridlocked even at this early hour. Colonel Davis had seen to it that they would be devoid of civilian traffic today by getting the local police forces to close off the streets to everyone except the convoy until they were through.
Charles hadn’t liked it. Though he could understand that a lot of time would be saved, it was as good as telling the cats which way they were coming. Colonel Davis was confident the cats wouldn’t be able to lift a finger to stop the convoy even if they knew every aspect of the battle plans. Colonel Davis was also confident that the cats didn’t have a single weapon to harm even the lightest vehicle in the convoy. Colonel Davis was so confident that he had decided not to join the convoy himself, but to follow its progress at a distance via the newspaper.
As the convoy pulled away from its starting position, there came a loud clump on the left flank of the tank. Charles’ first thought was that the anticipated attack had started, and he looked behind him to where Oliver was perched. As well as having control over the many laser weapons that bristled from the tank, Oliver also had charge of all the defensive devices that the tank was fitted with. It was he who would trigger the smoke, he who would release the chaff, and in situations where the tank was under threat of being boarded, he who could electrify the entire outer shell.
Oliver shook his head at the implied question. ‘It’s a broadcast unit. They probably think they can get some good pictures sitting on the outside of our tank. It’s nothing to worry about.’
‘Don’t they know we’re going into battle?’ Charles hissed. He turned back to face the front of the tank and tried to pick up the interlopers on one of his scanners. ‘Triple N again. Won’t they leave me alone?’
‘I think they think they own you.’ Oliver’s comment sounded a little amused. ‘They probably think they made you into the hero you are today with their story, and they’re looking for some sort of payback.’
‘Once we get into action we’ll lose them one way or another. I’d rather they survived, but we can’t really be blamed for their stupidity if they are killed,’ Michael commented, still sounding like a sneeze was brewing.
‘You just watch them,’ Charles replied. He sighed, ‘We prepared a press truck especially for the reporters to travel in, and instead they insist on sitting on the outside of our vehicle where they’ll be sitting ducks.’
‘I could activate the anti-boarder field anyway,’ Oliver commented, ‘just a low setting, enough to give them the message that we don’t want them there.’
‘That’d make them very unhappy with us. And that could lead to very unfavorable reporting. I don’t think the Colonel would be too happy with any of us if we get bad press on this excursion. No, we can’t afford to deliberately upset a network by doing something like that. We’ll have to grin and bear it and hope they leave before they get themselves killed.’
‘I’m not sure I understand why they’re sending living people into the battle zone,’ Gloria commented. ‘Don’t they have robots for this sort of situation?’
‘I wondered about that too,’ Charles confessed.
‘They do,’ Oliver replied; ‘however, robots don’t have the instinct that a human reporter team might have. There’s also all the press awards that can be won by reporting on a battle such as today’s. Some of those reporters probably insisted they be allowed to cover this event.’
The trip went fairly quickly, and other than another pair of snipers taking pot shots at them as they drove by, they passed through London without incident.
The first real encounter with any resistance was in the town of Romford, located just to the east of London in the county known as Essex. There were two possible routes that could take them from here on to Upminster and beyond. The most suitable for their needs would have bypassed most of the town itself and taken them straight to Upminster without fuss, but part of this bypass inv
olved a bridge which jumped across a main road serving Romford town center. Indeed, this had been the intended route, having even been closed to the public to allow the convoy to pass.
However, as they approached the bridge, Michael, who was monitoring the newspaper channels for pertinent stories as well as keeping in touch with the other vehicles of the convoy, came across a local report. ‘I think you should hear this,’ he commented and switched the channel so that Charles could receive it.
A reporter in a long white rain coat was standing in the foreground with the bridge just behind him. There was a lot of activity on the bridge, mainly uniformed soldiers. ‘Last night a group of cats, knowing that Slim’s convoy was intending to bypass Romford by use of the flyover, tried to plant a number of explosives along its length. It’s believed they intended to trigger these bombs when the convoy had gotten halfway across. Fortunately our local forces were on the ball and came by to check the area for just this sort of thing, catching them in the act.’ There was pride in his voice. ‘These brave local boys got into a vicious gun battle with the evil cats and were able to call up reinforcements from the far side, thus pinning the cats in the center of the bridge. The local authorities aren’t sure how many cats were on the bridge. They have retrieved eight bodies on the flyover itself this morning and two others that appear to have been trying to lower themselves by ropes to the road below in order to escape. It’s feared that if any of the cats did get away, they may still have the ability to trigger the explosives they planted. Even now the police and the army are busy trying to clear the bridge for the imminent arrival of the convoy. It’s feared the convoy might be delayed until the bridge has been thoroughly checked.’
‘We can’t wait,’ Charles responded; ‘we’ve been delayed enough as it is. We’d better take an alternate route through the town.’
London Wild Page 35
