The Dead Alone (Empires Lost Book 3)

by Charles S. Jackson

  “Of – of course…” she stammered, caught a little by surprised at being put on the spot.

  “Then it’s best we don’t bring up anything that gets in the way of that,” he pointed out firmly, giving a single nod as he turned back to the maps. “You know much about this bloody island?” He added, changing the subject.

  “Father and I would go hiking sometimes on our days off…” she replied after a moment’s thought, casting her eyes about in the darkness as if some reasonable answer might somehow present itself. “Mostly that was across the bay, though…”

  “Meh,” Langdale shrugged, seeing no point in crying over the proverbial spilt milk. “Have to bloody find somewhere… bloody patrol could come past anytime…” He turned away from the maps and the truck’s interior and stared out across the water, his eyes moving back around toward the beachside huts, where several villagers still stood nearby, little more than ghostly shapes in the darkness.

  “Look,” he continued with renewed enthusiasm, “seeing as you know the local lingo, can you pop over and have a word to those buggers over there and ask ‘em if they know anywhere we could hide out for a few days? One of ‘em must know the lie of the land ‘round here, and we need to find somewhere safe to stash this truck while we’re traipsing all over the bloody countryside.”

  “I can’t go hiking in this…!” Victoria complained, gesturing to the bedraggled nurse’s uniform she still wore. “I’ll freeze for a start, and these shoes are barely coping with the roads as it is!”

  “Deal with that when we get to it,” Langdale growled, trying to keep his frustration in check. “Just go and ask, all right? Once we’ve sorted that out, we’ll deal with your wardrobe issues!”

  With a distinct ‘hmph…!’, Victoria Watson whirled and almost flounced away, clearly not happy about the situation as Langdale silently shook his head and turned his attention back to the maps on the front seat. Finding nothing more after a few minutes, he sighed with resignation and switched off the tactical light, holstering the pistol and leaning against the side of the truck as he watched Victoria speaking with a cluster of locals, the voices soft and indistinct over the continuous crash of waves on the beach beside him. A moment or two later and the conversation had concluded with her thanking them all profusely and turning to make her way back toward the abandoned trucks.

  The approaching 4WD wasn’t noticeable from where he stood until it as far too late to do anything about it, the flicker of its slotted headlights first appearing between the dark, distant huts of the village when it was only a few dozen yards away. With the sound of its engine masked by the rolling surf all around, the open-topped Land Rover came in from the far side of the peninsula and was already pulling to a halt even as realisation spread of its imminent arrival.

  “Oh, fuckin’ hell…!” Langdale hissed, unslinging his rifle and ducking around to the other side of the panel van, taking cover behind its hood as he took in the situation.

  Victoria was perhaps twenty yards away at this point, but the headlights, dim as they were, had nevertheless caught her as she froze in fear in the middle of the road, her outline framed in perfect silhouette. He could see the terror in her face from that distance, her eyes fixed on the four Japanese soldiers than piled out of the vehicle and immediately began to advance toward her.

  “Christ on a bike!” He muttered softly, noting the submachine guns slung casually over their shoulders as all four approached, one in the lead barking orders at her in sharp, completely unintelligible Japanese.

  At such short range, Langdale knew he could take out all four without any problem, but whether he could prevent Victoria from being caught in the inevitable crossfire was another thing altogether. With a shrug, he reached down to his combat webbing and withdrew a small, black, cylindrical grenade from one of the pouches there.

  “Poor bastards…” he mused, managing a faint grin. “…Outnumbered one to four…!”

  None of the Japanese were even slightly concerned. Called down from their regular patrol area on the opposite side of the peninsula following the engagements earlier that night, they’d not actually expected to find anything worth investigating, and as it was, one possible enemy who, upon further investigation, appeared to be nothing more than a simple nurse, was hardly worth becoming excited over, although some abandoned vehicles nearby might warrant closer examination.

  All four heard the distinctly metallic ring of the M84 grenade as it landed in the middle of the track, no more than a few yards behind them, and skittered away into the low scrub on the other side. Turning as one, all were now completely alert as their weapons appeared in their hands, and the man nearest Victoria – clearly the leader – began to bark orders for them to spread out. The grenade detonated a few seconds later.

  Designed for flash and noise rather than the production of lethal fragments, the M84 diversionary stun grenade instantly released a blinding burst of light equivalent to almost a million candela, accompanied by a deafening roar in the 180-decibel range. Victoria Watson and the Japanese troopers alike were all temporarily blinded by the glare, while the loudness of the explosion was sufficient to not only cause momentary deafness but was also strong enough to disrupt the workings of their inner ears, completely ruining their balance and causing all five to fall to the hard ground, writhing in disoriented agony.

  Appearing from behind the safety of the radio truck the moment the grenade had gone off, Langdale approached with slow, purposeful steps, his USP automatic held outstretched before him. A long, thick suppressor was now fixed to the muzzle, and the tactical light instead projected a thin green beam of laser light zeroed perfectly to the pistol’s aim at 50 yards. Without a moment’s hesitation, he sought out each of the sprawled Japanese soldiers in turn; a tiny spot of green light pausing momentarily on each man’s forehead as all of them were despatched in their turn by two soft, sneeze-like shots in ‘double-tap’ style.

  “It’s ok… I’ve got you…” he ventured quickly, reaching down to take a still-dazed Victoria by the arm and help her to her feet.

  “What…? I can’t see… I can’t see…!” She cried shrilly, realising for the first time that her vison was gone.

  “It’ll pass…!” Langdale snapped loudly into her ear as she struggled to bring herself upright, his sharp words cutting through her hysteria. “It’ll take a few minutes, but it’ll pass… trust me! Now; I’m gonna lead you over to the truck where you can sit down and rest while I take care of those other buggers.”

  “Are… are they dead…?” She gasped in horror as she staggered across to the panel van with his assistance.

  “Bloody-well better be!” He growled under his breath. “Don’t worry about that right now: I need to get them out of sight, and I reckon you won’t want to see me doing that… Hmmm…” he added, pausing for a moment as they reached the vehicle and stood back to give her an up-and-down ‘once over’. “That might come in handy too. In you get,” he continued, opening the passenger door for her and guiding her hand to the frame for support.

  “Don’t leave me here!” She fretted, tears already streaming down her face in reaction to the blinding flash.

  “I’ll be quick!” He assured, closing the door carefully once she was properly seated. “I’m only a few feet away anyway: try not to worry.”

  Moving the bodies out of sight took a good few minutes of hard work, even with the assistance of several villagers who seemed more than willing to help regardless of any language barriers. The Land Rover was less of a problem, being an Australian Army model in any case, and he settled for parking it over with the rest of the abandoned vehicles, hiding it in plain sight.

  “How you feeling…?” He asked breathlessly as he approached the radio van’s open passenger window once more, chest still heaving faintly from the recent physical effort.

  “My ears have stopped ringing,” she sniffed, not at all happy about having been ‘abandoned’. “I’ve still got a big, white spot in the middle of my v
ision,” she grumped, then added grudgingly, “but it’s getting better.”

  “Those things are meant to leave you stunned and blinded for a while, but it wears off eventually,” Langdale offered, trying to be helpful. “I think I’ve got a solution for that clothing problem too…” He continued, lifting both hands to reveal a set of khaki coloured tunic and trousers, folded roughly into two thick packages with a set of cowhide service shoes and several pairs of traditional, split-toed tabi socks. “You might need to double up on the socks to get the shoes on, but I reckon the uniform should be a fair enough fit…”

  “Where did you…?” She began, then stopped as realisation kicked in. “Oh no… on no…!” She blurted, recoiling from the open window. “I am not wearing some dead Japanese man’s clothes!”

  “You said yourself: you can’t go traipsing about the countryside dressed like you are,” he pointed out with a lop-sided grin. “Don’t have too many alternatives at the moment. Anyway, don’t need to worry about that right now… we got some driving to do first. Anyone in the village have any ideas?”

  “Oh… oh…!” She exclaimed, her discussions with the locals having been pushed from her mind by more recent events. “Yes…! One of them told me that about half a mile back – where we crossed that last creek – there’s a track that runs about two miles up into the mountains. If we follow it to the end, there’s an abandoned church there that hasn’t been used in years. Apparently, hardly any of the villagers even go up there now, and they thought there’d be no chance of any random patrols.”

  “So, he’s saying that unless they were looking for something in particular…”

  “Exactly…” she agreed, both pleased they appeared to be on the same wavelength.

  “Good enough for me,” Langdale announced, deciding any option was better than none at all. “Here ya go…” he added, tossing the clothes lightly through the open window and onto her lap before she could raise any protest. As her squeals of preciousness over his shameless effrontery rose from the passenger seat, he jogged around to the driver’s side, grinning cheekily all the way, and hauled himself up behind the wheel.

  “If you don’t mind…!” Victoria Watson declared indignantly, her offended glare losing its effect somewhat in the darkness within the cabin. “I have never been so insulted!”

  “Well…” The sergeant observed with a dry grin as he kicked over the Chevrolet’s engine, “… if that’s the case, I reckon you need to get out more often…!”

  Further complaint and protest inevitably followed, although the fact that Langdale suspected he could hear some effort on her part to suppress a giggle at one stage did nothing to forward her cause.

  After a little effort expended in carefully reversing the K-51 panel van and trailer clear of the other two abandoned vehicles, he managed to execute an awkward U-turn and they trundled out onto the track once more, cruising back the way they’d come. Finding it impossible to see adequately without headlights, Langdale could only pray there were no other patrols nearby to take notice. For her part, Victoria Watson continued to natter and complain over the perceived slight to her sensibilities, the activity keeping her exactly as distracted and entertained as he’d originally intended.

  Carson’s Airfield,

  Northern Territory

  The clattering roar of the Chickasaw was pure agony for Thorne as it settled onto a helipad near the main administration buildings beneath the lightening skies before dawn that next morning. A mostly-sleepless night – his third in succession – had taken its toll and left him with a blistering migraine against which his repeated attacks with aspirin were only marginally effective. Wearing clothes he’d had on for at least forty-eight hours, he felt awful and was vaguely aware that he probably smelled as bad into the bargain. None of that mattered even slightly to him at that moment however.

  Trumbull and Murray had a jeep waiting for him already, the RAF officer walking across to meet him as Thorne almost stumbled from the helicopter, exhaustion painfully evident in his every movement. From his expression, stance and general demeanour it, was clear to both that the man must’ve been close to the limit of his mental and physical reserves. A long, loud train whistle pierced the air at that moment, surprising everyone tone and drawing a wince from Thorne as he cursed whatever nearby locomotive had produced that ear-splitting screech.

  “Where’s our little ‘mate’…?” He growled sourly, barely slowing down as Trumbull executed a perfect about-face and fell in beside him on the way back to the vehicle.

  “If you’re referring to Colonel Solingen, he’s been called away to an urgent phone call with Melbourne regarding the current situation here.” Trumbull answered with a faint smirk. “I suspect he’ll be some time. How are you doing, my friend…?” He added, that last question asked with real concern.

  “Badly…” Thorne answered simply, unable to meet the man’s gaze, and the fact that there’d been no profanity in the statement was telling indeed. “I appreciate the call by the way,” he offered, feeling a need to talk as they reached the 4WD and climbed in. “The news was hard to deal with as it was, but hearing it first from you was far better than finding out by default when the friggin’ plane arrived.”

  “The least I could do, of course,” Trumbull shrugged as their driver selected a gear and the Land Rover lurched off down a nearby access road. “We’re fuelling the Lightning at the moment in preparation for a recon flight: cloud cover is solid over the whole area at the moment, and going in clean she’ll be able to slip straight past before anyone sees her coming. The EOTS should be able to give us a good picture of their current deployments there, and were going to specifically target the Laha and Tan Tui areas: with a little luck on our side, we might even get a glimpse of where they’ve taken Evan and Eileen. Thank the Lord, Mal was able to slip away and get word through…”

  “What’s his current status?”

  “Fine as of two hours ago… He’s managed to get hold of a radio unit and wired up a patch kit. He’s enough batteries for a few days, but we’re organising a supply drop tonight regardless: a few spares, some extra ammo and such like. He’s up in the hills at the southern end of the Hitu Peninsula at the moment and making his way north toward Laha. Orders at the moment are to get as close as he deems safe, then observe and report. I want eyes on the area over the next few days while we sort out some kind of response.”

  “What makes you think there’ll be a bloody response?” Thorne growled, staring sullenly out through the rear side window. “Canberra’s made it bloody clear I’m out of the loop, and all our conventional resources are tied up defending the front lines everywhere else. Would’ve been better for Mal to just shoot the poor bastards rather than let the Japs get ‘em…” he added darkly, something tearing inside his soul. “Would a’ been doing ‘em a bloody favour!”

  Do you really believe that…?

  “You can’t seriously believe that, Max,” Trumbull exclaimed, aghast at even the idea as he echoed the words in Thorne’s own head.

  “Well, what the fuck can we do?” He snarled back angrily, slamming a fist against the door sill in ragged frustration. “Canberra’s nobbled us, and that bastard, Solingen will do everything he can to fuck us over if we try anything funny. What can I do to get Evan and – and Eileen out of there…?” He finished plaintively, his voice faltering as he forced her name out.

  “Well, we may have some assistance in that regard,” Trumbull advised with a faint smile, and as Thorne took note of his surroundings for the first time in a while, he suddenly realised they’d reached the main entrance to the base and had been waved through without stopping or even slowing down.

  “Where the bloody hell are you takin’ me?” He asked suspiciously, craning his neck and staring out at the road ahead as the Land Rover headed on up the service road to the main highway and the railway siding beyond.

  It was at that moment he saw the locomotive he’d heard earlier, waiting patiently at that siding with an addi
tional large fuel tank attached and just three carriages behind. Painted an overall olive drab like the tanker and carriages themselves, the locomotive was a brand new diesel-electric design one of Thorne’s own subsidiary companies was currently producing. The only distinguishing feature he could pick up was – much to his surprise – the crest of the British Royal Family mounted clearly on the train’s nose for all to see.

  “What have you been up to?” He asked sharply, his suspicion now even greater as he stared at Trumbull, sitting beside him in the rear of the 4WD.

  “We assumed right from the start there was at least a possibility that Kanimbla might not reach Ambon,” Trumbull explained evenly. Under different circumstances, he might even have enjoyed having Thorne at a disadvantage for a change. “We also expected that should this indeed occur, your first thought would most likely be to do something incredibly stupid…”

  “…Okay…” Thorne managed eventually, having opened his mouth to protest, thought about the remark for a moment, and ultimately conceded the point as valid.

  “We perhaps thought it better that we do whatever we could to make sure that whatever happens next isn’t completely stupid… or, if it is, that at least it has a chance of succeeding.”

  “Who do you mean by ‘we’…?” Thorne managed finally as the vehicle pulled up at the siding itself, close to the rearmost carriage.

  “Come and see…” Alec suggested with a smile, opening his rear passenger door and exiting without another word. “You might want to sit up the end near the windows, however,” he added, making a point of giving an over-exaggerated sniff.

  “Pain in the ass…!” Thorne muttered, quickly following him from the other side as Murray climbed out through the door at the rear of the vehicle.

  Trumbull was already at the rear door of the carriage as Thorne climbed the stairs to the platform and caught up with him. That door was opened as he arrived, and he was surprised to see the face of Richard Trumbull, Alec’s father and Prime Minister of the British Government-in-Exile.