Urban Guerrilla

by Leo Nix

  “I told you before, Marian, it's been on the news. The Crusaders Of The Revelations have finally done it. They're killing everybody like they've been preaching for years. Isn't that right, boys?” a middle aged man called out to them.

  “Yes, that's right. It's on the news and CB radio, that's exactly what we've heard. They're saying that the water in every city has been poisoned right across the world and we shouldn't drink the tap water.” Simon turned to the lady. “I'm sorry, miss, but things are really bad out there. The terrorists have taken control of the part of the city where we escaped from. They've set up road blocks and they're killing everyone they see.”

  He looked up to see the crowd moving in closer to listen. “We got out by sheer luck. I wouldn't go down there, but if any of you want we can let you listen to our CB?” The teenager began to set up their mobile CB set from the rack on the back of his bike. Luke sat on the ground and turned up the sound.

  “I'll scan our police channels and see if anything has changed. This morning we heard the armoured cavalry on UHF open channel, warning everyone that the terrorists had infiltrated their units, they were killing everyone. We can't usually listen in on the military frequencies because they scramble their transmissions, but this time was different. They must've done it on purpose. The civilian channels can sometimes come up with something useful like that.” Luke tried to sound hopeful for these clearly distraught and struggling people.

  They crowded around but the news was all bad. Reports of army reversals came in from all points. They heard orders passed back and forth between police units, it sounded like the entire countryside was in a total shambles.

  One piece of good news was that some of the 1st Armoured Cavalry still held out in the Adelaide Hills. Although they'd lost control of one cavalry squadron the other continued to fight against stiff opposition. They heard a broadcast for the police to organise transport and ensure civilians did not block the roads.

  Sadly, few civilians survived. One police report stated that 75% of the population were either dead or dying after drinking the water. The police fared no better than any other service. The report said that the police were barely functioning with a skeleton staff. The only force in any strength was the terrorists.

  “Those damned Revelationists killing everyone. I always knew they were doing the work of the Antichrist.” sobbed one woman, others soon joined in.

  The woman that called the boys forward said to Simon, “I would get out of here if I were you. Just pack up your set and go into the countryside. Stick to back roads and tracks. Just get out of the city for God's sake.” She looked at them and stepped back into the crowd.

  Simon nodded as he and Luke began to pack up their gear. “Miss, I hope you get away safely.” Turning to the group he said, “Good luck everybody, I hope you all find somewhere that's safe from the terrorists, and the army comes to find you. We need to go now, good luck again.” Simon kicked his bike alive and waved. He sped off along a path that he and Luke knew from their years of riding in the hills.

  Simon and Luke decided they should try and contact the armoured division higher up in the mountains. They picked their way along back tracks then headed towards a service station off the main road. Their bikes sat on empty and they needed fuel.

  The boys arrived at the station but everything appeared too quiet. Suspiciously they climbed off their bikes and took their helmets off. They looked around but noticed nothing out of the ordinary. Sitting out front was a battered station wagon which made the whole place look quite normal, but that added to their sense of dread. Just then Luke pointed to a figure in the window. It looked like old Mr Thornton sitting in his rocking chair, just like they'd seen countless times before. They made their way carefully towards the open shop door.

  Simon waved hello but the shape in the window didn't return the wave. He pushed at the front door to the store and called out greetings but still no answer. Stepping inside he almost tripped over the two bodies lying on the floor. Luke followed and then gasped in shock. Simon stared at him with a questioning look on his face.

  “What is it?” he mouthed.

  Luke pointed to the hunched figure beside the window. Seated in his rocking chair was the elderly owner. His eyes were closed and his mouth open. He didn't seem to be breathing, he looked dead.

  “Hello, Mr Thornton? Hello? It's Simo and Luke. Are you OK?” Simon called out as he took a tentative step towards the aged body in the rocking chair.

  The old man made no movement and uttered no sound. There was just a slight rocking of the chair accompanied by a `creak creak' as it gently moved back and forth.

  There came a deep, shuddering gasp, as the old man dragged life back into his lungs. Simon and Luke's heads snapped upwards in shock. The withered figure suddenly opened its eyes.

  “Shit!” yelped Luke and he looked to run outside.

  “Oh, boys, sorry, I was just taking a nap.” He grinned his usual grin. “What is it you want today? Some fuel for your bikes?” came his slow, reedy voice.

  “Are you all right, Mr Thornton?” asked Simon, he looked at the dead bodies on the floor and then slowly back to the old man. Beside his rocking chair they spied an aged sawn-off shotgun.

  Mr Thornton noticed their glance. “Oh that, it's fine boys. Those two are just some roughnecks who wanted to rob me. They won't be doing that again now, will they?” He sucked his gums as he chuckled wetly. “These out-of-towner's should know better than mess with an old man and his shotgun.”

  “You shot them yourself?” asked an incredulous Luke.

  “Sure did young fella. I heard on the news this morning that terrorists are trying to take over the city. The world's gone crazy they said. I know what happens when terrorists are on the rampage and scavengers come out of the woodwork. Saw it in South America during the sixties. So when I got out of bed this morning I prepared myself with the old shotty. When these two came in demanding money, I told them to bugger off. One of them made the mistake of pulling out a pop-gun.” He rocked back and forth as a smile formed showing his bare gums.

  He saw Simon staring at the pistol in the hand of one of the dead bodies. “If you want that pistol, just grab it. Go ahead, search his pockets and take what you want, he won't be needing anything now.” He paused for a second. “Do you know how to use a pistol? No? OK, point it to the floor away from your feet, and pass it to me handle first. Now watch carefully.”

  Mr Thornton then explained the mechanism and action of the weapon. It was a `Saturday night special', a snub nosed .38 commonly used in armed robberies, he explained to the fascination of the two boys. He spun the chamber.

  “Only one bullet so it looks like that's all they had. Poverty's a bitch ain't it? You can check their pockets and their car outside there for more bullets. Huh, hmm, well, use it wisely and don't waste it. What are your plans for today then?”

  Over the dead bodies lying on the floor they discussed the situation from their experiences and what they'd heard on TV and their CB. Mr Thornton had no idea things were so bad. He told them to fill up their bikes, grab as many fuel cans as they could, and strap them down as they'd done many times before.

  “Hmm, that plan to find the armoured cavalry may not be such a good idea. They're in a fight for their lives right now. Listen, you can hear the rumble of shell fire every now and then. If you're dead set on finding them make sure you identify yourself first, and be careful it's ours and not there's. Don't show anyone you have that 38 either, just in case they aren't who they say they are. And keep it safely in your pocket until you're absolutely sure you want to use it. A `special' is a deadly weapon close-up. Remember that, a .38 bullet at close range just might save your lives one day.”

  The boys were back on their now heavily loaded bikes and riding towards the sounds of battle. Simon had the .38 in his trouser pocket, his hands kept wanting to take it out and handle it. He was fascinated with the weapon and thought it an object of absolute beauty.

  They expe
rienced no trouble finding the cavalry, they just rode their bikes towards the rumble of gunfire. It was fortunate that they came across a sentry who didn't fire first, then ask questions. Teenage boys on trail bikes still look like teenage boys, and this saved their lives.

  An armed sentry stepped in front of the boys as they slowly rode up the fire trail towards the firing.

  “Stop right there boys and off with the helmets,” he called, his Steyr pointed at the ground in front of them. The boys obeyed and kicked down the stands on their bikes while they took off their helmets.

  “Are you the cavalry?” asked Simon. “We escaped the city and want to join up and do something useful. We know how to operate a CB unit. Look, we have a mobile one we use.” He jabbed his finger at the CB set strapped to the back of Luke's bike.

  The sentry shook his head. “You boys must be bloody mad coming up here. Can't you tell this is a battle zone? There's ordnance flying all over the place. The terrorist army have pushed us almost back to the city itself.” He continued to shake his head at them as he spoke into his mic. Turning to them he said, “Sit down and wait while my superior comes down. He'll only be a few minutes.”

  A stern-faced man loped down the dirt track towards them. He looked them over then said firmly, “Boys you can't hang around here, we're about to push off again and if you stay you'll be killed. The terrorists don't take prisoners. Go home and stay indoors, it's not safe out and don't drink the tap water, whatever you do, its poisonous.”

  Simon looked at the sergeant major and said, “Sir, we just escaped the city, we saw a truck load of soldiers executed by a terrorist dressed in uniform, our uniform. We've seen dead and dying people everywhere. Our own families are probably dead by now too. We don't have a home to go to and we can't go back if we wanted. All we ask is for you to give us a job so we can help fight these terrorists.”

  The weathered warrior stood there, his mouth opened then closed. He then looked them over with an experienced eye. Eventually he spoke. “Well I'll be,” he half whispered, “how old are you fella's?”

  “We're sixteen, sir,” said Luke.

  “Sixteen, you want to die for king and country and still in nappies. What a mad world we live in. OK, bring your kits with you.” He turned to the sentry, “Private, call up Captain Ridges and tell him we have two new recruits. Tell him I'll bring them up now.” He waved his hand at them and they trotted their bikes behind him. They dared not start their engines for fear of stirring his wrath.

  Blackened, bloodied and smoking bodies lay everywhere: soldiers in jungle camouflage and terrorists in black shirts with strange white writing. They walked past a damaged APC, it was surrounded by twenty or more bodies. Just below the top of the hill they could see what must be headquarters. A shell exploded down the hill and the boys flinched.

  “Stick right next to me, boys, don't wander off because there are mines about.” At that they stuck to him like blu-tack. The sergeant major pointed, “Put your bikes and gear there, walk behind me and don't say a thing unless you're spoken to, and don't ask any questions, got that?”

  He turned and looked directly into their eyes. They nodded their heads nervously. As they walked into the tent the sergeant major bawled “Attention!” it frightened the daylights out of the boys and they quickly snapped to attention.

  He explained the boys presence to the captain then stepped back and folded his hands behind his back. Captain Ridges looked at the two boys. “Well your parents should be proud of you offering your services to fight for our country. Unfortunately, we are in a bad situation, we just don't have any positions for you. In any other situation, at any other time, I would be able to offer you a cup of tea and a chat before kicking your backsides back down that hill and all the way home.” The officer pinched the bridge of his nose with his thumb and index finger wearily.

  The lines in his face and the black rings around his eyes suggested extreme exhaustion. He shook his head and continued. “I'm sorry boys but I can't keep you here, it's just too dangerous and your deaths would be a sheer waste. I'm going to send you back down the hill with one of my most experienced men. He'll escort you back to a safe place. I suggest you get back on your bikes and ride as far away from here as you can. We're being pushed back inch by inch and we still don't know if we can hold Adelaide, or any other place for that matter.”

  “Sergeant Major, grab Private Nulla for me please.” He turned back to the boys still standing at attention in front of him. He rubbed the bridge of his nose between his thumb and index finger again. He sure looked tired, thought Simon.

  Turning back to the boys he said, “Relax, stand easy, your hands can go in front if you and you spread your feet a bit. That's it, it's more comfortable.” He looked at them and thought for a moment.

  “Seriously boys, we don't stand much of a chance the way things have turned out. We're completely unprepared for this. I don't want to see either of you dead, not here nor anywhere. Private Nulla will take you to a safe place even if it takes a month or two. I admire your spirit but not today. Take your time and be warriors in other ways. Save what you can and fight guerrilla style. Fight the terrorist's with your brains. Don't take risks and always retreat to fight another day. Right, here comes your escort.”

  The captain extended his hand and Nulla shook it firmly. “Private Nulla, consider yourself reinstated to Sergeant. You are sectioned off to escort these two warriors to a safer place. I don't know where that is or how long it will take. Take a weeks rations, ammunition and anything else you may need. Sorry, but I don't have a spare trail bike, but I'm sure these boys will double you.” His head bobbed up and down as he closed his eyes to think.

  Captain Ridges looked up, his voice firm. “Nulla, go country and set up a civil resistance, guerrilla style. I don't expect we'll be an organised army by the end of the week so do what you can, and that's an order. Questions?”

  “Sir, I am to escort these two scoundrels to safety even if it takes so much time that the war might be over. If things go to the proverbial then I am to go country and engage in covert action against our enemy, guerrilla style.” He stood to attention while speaking. Simon and Luke watched in amazement at the formal military display.

  “Correct ,Sergeant. And nice work with the ammunition truck this morning, well done.” They shook hands like old friends. Captain Ridges stepped back, they saluted then he turned on his heel and went back to work. The solidly built aboriginal sergeant did the same and turned to his fellow sergeant.

  “Sar'n major, am I to allocate weapons to these boys?” asked Nulla.

  “Hmm, best not to, they might shoot someone.” He scratched at the stubble on his chin then said, “Belay that Nulla. Yes, A3 Steyrs with ammunition. They're of an age and they want to fight, they had the courage to come up here and offer their lives for their country. Collect what is lying around and get them some gear. Then get the hell out of here. You have ten minutes before we move out, better start moving as soon as you can.”

  Surprised at how things had turned out, Simon and Luke felt like they belonged in the army now as they shook the large man's out-stretched hand.

  “Good luck, lads. Nulla, may we meet again in better times.” The sergeant major turned to the boys then said firmly, “Attention! About face! Dismissed!”

  Then they were alone with their escort.

  “Well boys, looks like it's you lot and me against the whole terrorist army. Do not move from this spot until I call you,” the well muscled, aboriginal sergeant said firmly. “When I call I want you to bring your bikes over and we'll get moving. Do what I tell you and we might just get out of this trap alive.” Nulla went off to get his kit, supplies and two standard issue A3 Steyrs for the boys.

  Luke didn't know whether to laugh, smile or wet his pants he was so excited. This had turned out better than he could ever have hoped for. He could not imagine anything better in life than having his own assault rifle.

  “I was hoping we'd get to ride in the tanks
, darn it.” said Simon as he pulled a sad face. They were like wide-eyed kids in an ice-cream shop as they watched the soldiers preparing to move out.

  Chapter 3 - Charlene - Heidi

  When Charlene woke it was dark. She hurt all over and the blood soaked into her clothing made it feel sticky and cold. The pain was something she wasn't ready for and it knocked her down when she tried to sit up. Putting her good hand to the ground she sought out a nicer place to die. Her left shoulder was on fire and she heard herself cry out when she tried to move her arm. It had been a hot day, but it was proving to be a scorcher of a night in Adelaide city as the terrorists continued with their killing rampage.

  Charlene knew she was in trouble. She was in severe pain, thirsty and had a slight fever. Her arm and shoulder were swollen and inflammation had already set in. She couldn't straighten her left arm nor could she move her hand. Her torso appeared to be untouched but her shoulder was numb and each pulse beat was like a hammer pounding into her.

  `My shoulder must be broken. I need to move or I'll die here,' she thought. Charlene knew that if she didn't get treatment soon, her arm would become infected and she would die a slow and painful death.

  The young woman tried to stand but fell back, her head spinning. Trying again she had the same result. But Charlene was never a quitter so she tried again and again until she could sit up without the world spinning inside her head. She finally stood and staggered back to the now quiet and darkened supermarket.

  The back doors to the bakery, where Emma shot her a few hours previously, were open. She tottered through, not registering that this was the scene of her violent assault. Charlene looked down at the dark stain and shuddered as she recognised it was her own blood there on the concrete.

  In a haze Charlene forced herself back inside and crouched behind a counter, listening. She heard no sounds of movement so she stood up, and, on unsteady legs, she wobbled into the aisles. There she found an empty shopping basket and began to fill it with food, bandages, pain killers and bottles of water, as much as should could carry in her one, useful hand.