Aftermath: The Complete Collection (Books 1 & 2)

by John Wilkinson

  ‘The Royal Regiment of Scotland, First Battalion’ Bernard replied.

  ‘Really, The Black Watch. Did you know Major Bentley’

  ‘Peter Bentley?’

  ‘Yes, that’s right.’

  ‘He was a Sergeant when I left, early two thousand. He was a promising soldier.’

  ‘Yeah, he was. He died on Christmas Day two thousand and twenty, hit and run, never caught the driver. Strange how many life threatening situations he found himself in, in so many dangerous countries, only to be killed on British soil. It’s nice to meet you Bernard, I’m sure we can find a role for you at the camp, if you follow the others, we can get your uniforms fitted before lunch.’

  We followed the queue of men, down the stairs and out of the building. I had forgotten how cold it was outside, so warm the hotel was. A line of trucks was driving past the hotel, heading towards the back entrance. I looked on the back of the trailers as they past, the first had mattresses piled high, the second gas canisters and oil drums. There were also supplies of food, clothes and more alcohol. They stopped to let us pass, on our way to the football ground. The dust and ash kicked up from the trucks, floated around our heads as we made our way across. Ignoring the large double doors used by vehicles, we entered through a turnstile into the main body of the stadium. Inside we could escape the wind, but not the cold. There was row upon row of wooden tables, each with jackets, uniforms and boots laid out, categorised by apparel and then size. I searched through the clothes, finding my size and tried them on. But I’d lost that much weight from malnutrition, I had dropped two pant sizes. The clothes were clean and crisp, much better quality material than I’ve been used to, and did a much better job of keeping the cold out. Bernard got kitted out too, I could tell he was finding it all a bit emotional, being in a uniform again. He was trying to hide his red eyes from me, but I saw them. All the other recruits got suited and booted and we headed back to the hotel to have some lunch, all the talk was about the forthcoming training. The dinner hall was open thirty minutes early for the recruits, and it was buzzing. I looked around the men, trying to identify with them. I had short conversations with those on my table, in that snapshot alone there was a fireman, teacher, factory worker and two who had been unemployed, before the world turned to shit. But this all means nothing now, the educated and the destitute, both will be given guns, and thrown into battle. The next few days is going to be a challenge for all of us, I’m not underestimating it, but there are some unfit people in this room, even with a major shortage of food, some are overweight. I left Bernard and the other recruits chatting, as I went to my room to write up this mornings diary entry. I have about an hour before we need to meet up at the stadium for weapons training.

  25 / 11 / 27 - Time 19:30

  I walked back to the stadium, meeting Bernard and the other recruits outside the main doors, used by the trucks. The guard opened the doors and let us all through, then closed them behind us. Ahead, was the main football pitch, which was covered with large blue waterproof plastic sheets, covering its entire length. On top of that were pieces of wood, metal, and other salvaged material, sorted into large piles. There was so little light penetrating the black ashen clouds, the floodlights were being used to help the labourers, powered by diesel generators. We continued past the workers to the far end of the stadium, where there were four soldiers waiting patiently for us. Laid out in front of them, was a gun range, constructed from salvaged wood, with the silhouette of terrorists painted on in black paint, and fixed to the ground with a metal base. On the left was a rifle range, with targets at one hundred, one hundred and fifty, two hundred, two hundred and fifty, three hundred and three hundred and fifty yards. The hand gun range on the right, had targets at fifteen, thirty, fifty, seventy five and one hundred yards. Desks were set up at the front, with weapons and ammo laid out, with the four soldiers stood next to it. One stepped forward and announced, ‘My name is Captain Jones, this is Lieutenant Higginson, Second Lieutenant Jackson and Lance Corporal Farrell. General Morris has put us in charge of your training, starting this afternoon with weapons. On your left you’ll find the rifle range, we are using the L85A2 - Carbine Rifle for all primary weapons, equipped with a L123A2 under-barrel grenade launcher. We believe it’s better, with only a short time frame available, to familiarise yourself with just one rifle. Should any of your comrades fall, you will be able to use his weapon or ammo, as the whole army will use the same, with the only exception speciality weapons. On your right we have the hand guns, Glock 17 Gen4.’ There was around thirty of us, split into two groups, with two soldiers running either weapons training. My group started with the L85A2, a weapon I was unfamiliar with. We were given a demonstration, starting with how to hold the weapon, fortunately everyone in the group was right handed, as the rifle was problematic for left handers. The weapon uses 5.56×45mm NATO ammo, from a STANAG magazine, with a thirty round capacity. The magazine release button is placed above the magazine housing, on the left side of the receiver. Captain Jones informed us the camp had over ten thousand L85A2 rifles, after they were removed from service in two thousand and twenty five, and kept at the Fulwood Barracks. We practiced shots using the ACOG sights, firing at the targets. At first, very few recruits had any success, with frustration beginning to show on a couple, who stormed off after being unable to get to grips with it. But after a few hours continual practice, the noise of wood shattering could be heard all the way along the gun range. Smiles appeared on everyone’s faces, and high fives were handed out like children in the school yard. We took the gun apart, and put it back together again, then repeated. We practiced until we could do it without hesitation, and then we shot some more targets. We put an equal amount of time into the handgun training, I requested my Welrod silenced pistol back, much to the amusement of the soldiers. ‘I was wondering where that had come from!’ Captain Jones laughed, ‘I was hoping to have it as a souvenir.’ He sent me into the bowls of the stadium, to collect it from the stockpile of random weaponry. It felt good to have it back in my hands, and I destroyed a few targets with it. By the end of play, I finished in the top fifteen percent with the L85A2, and top five for hand guns. I was happy with those results, considering I had never used the rifle before, but I don’t think many of the recruits had, most of them had limited experience, firing at clay pigeons and vermin. Those hours spent practicing on my farm, certainly paid off today. We all headed off to our respected dinner halls, happy with our achievement. There was only two other recruits on our floor, and Bernard and I sat down to dinner with them. Adrian Harper, a engineer from Stockport, and Hassan Hana, an English Muslim who moved to the UK as a child in the early nineteen nineties. Adrian is a tall man, maybe six two, with light brown hair and a certain air of authority. In my brief time in his company, he seemed organised and disciplined, someone who could make a soldier. He arrived at Camp Blue yesterday with his twelve year old son Max, who was the spitting image of him. Hassan also arrived yesterday with his wife, Shazia, and three children, Nadim. Erina and Elma. He was a large, round man, with the early signs of hair loss, which he joked about. He was an amicable fella, always joking about something, normally his size, maybe it was a defence mechanism he had become used to relying on. Dinner was freshly made potato soup, with bread rolls, which weren’t warm, but I’m just being picky. Adrian and Hassan told us about their own experiences, and how they had reached Camp Blue. Neither stories made for easy listening, Hassan in particular had a heartbreaking moment, losing one of his children. ‘It’s one thing having your child taken from you’ he said, ‘It’s quite another to wake up find him gone, we just didn’t know what happened to him. Amid was our eldest, fifteen, he disappeared as we slept in a dilapidated barn on the outskirts of Leeds. On the night he disappeared, he had been talking about the following days journey. He was laughing and joking, just his normal self. When we woke up he had gone, we were frantic, we just couldn’t understand what had happened. How could he just disappear? Nobody else had gone, m
y wife Shazia was still there, as were all our other children, I cannot believe he was taken, without us hearing, and waking the rest of us. We searched and searched for him, I couldn’t bring myself to leave, so we waited for his arrival. We were convinced he must have got up to go to the toilet or something, and got turned around. We couldn’t leave without him, but he never came back. We waited for a week, it was the hardest decision I have ever had to make, to leave without him. But we had no food left and needed to keep moving, for the sake of the rest of my family, we’d pushed our luck as it was, Torriero’s men had seized control of Leeds and were building some kind of wall.’

  Adrian, Bernard and I told him how sorry we were for his loss, but in truth, we have all had to make hard decisions, I’ve met no one who hasn’t been affected in some way. Fortunately the children arrived shortly after for dinner, to lighten the mood. Max was the first to appear, he looked around the room for his dad, and when he found him, he ran over to our table with a smile on his face. Then Shazia arrived, dressed in a chefs outfit, with three children in tow. Hassan explained they had a family restaurant in Barnsley, in their previous life, Shazia must have been put to good use in the camp kitchens. ‘Are you responsible for this lovely potato soup?’ I asked Shazia.

  ‘No I’ve been put on floor five’ she replied. ‘They’ve been treated to my famous lamb rogan josh, without the lamb’ she laughed.

  As Adrian and Hassan left with their respected families, Emma, James and Josh arrived, with Mrs Brownhill behind them. ‘Dad, Josh has hurt his head’ said Emma, with her arm around him, guiding him towards me.

  ‘Are you OK Josh?’ I asked, with little response.

  ‘He’s fine now,’ replied Mrs Brownhill, smiling at me, which I have to say, set off a few butterflies in my stomach. ‘He fell over while playing outside, just keep an eye on him.’

  ‘I will thanks Lauren.’ She turned around and started to walk away, until I clumsily blurted out ‘Is that it for you today?’

  She turned back to respond, ‘I’m going to have my only cigarette of the day, and then call it a night.’

  ‘Stress of all those children?’

  ‘Something like that’ she smiled. ‘I only get chance for one cigarette a day, which is just as well as I’ve nearly run out. You got anything planned for tonight?’

  ‘We have the camp meeting to attend, after that I might go for a drink at the bar.’

  ‘Well, hope you have a good one. Night Nathan.’

  ‘Night.’

  ‘Good night Emma, James and Josh, see you tomorrow.’

  ‘Night Mrs Brownhill’ they replied in chorus. Bernard never said a word, he just smiled to himself, and I chose to ignore him.

  The children had their dinner, and asked about what I’d decided to do. I told them of my decision, I could tell Emma wasn’t happy, she went quiet and a bit distant, but she never argued with me. Bernard offered to take the children back to our room, while I attended the camp meeting. The room was rammed with people by the time it started, all chatting to each other, I looked around for a face I recognised but couldn’t find any.

  General Clarke came onto the stage with another solider, who was carrying a notebook and pen. As General Clarke started talking, the solider wrote down the minutes. ‘Afternoon, I don’t want to keep you long tonight, there are only a couple of subjects on the agenda. If this is your first camp meeting, it’s really an opportunity for you to highlight any problems you might be having, so we can smooth out the running of the camp. First, we require volunteers to help with the running of the outdoor showers, they are getting dirty within a couple hours use, we need extra cleaning shifts running between the hours of eleven and twelve, and three and four. If you can help, please wait around at the end and speak to Mrs Sharp. I have received an anonymous complaint about roommates within the camp. This complaint wasn’t aimed at anyone in particular, just that some rooms are been filled by more than one family. This I’m afraid is unavoidable, Camp Blue is full to the rafters, and our daily intake is topping out at over three hundred. We have to use all available space, we are at present, actively searching for a new site, hopefully with news on that to come shortly. I want to keep the camp in the loop as much as possible with regards army issues, but please bare in mind, there are some things that are inappropriate to discuss outside of military ears. What I can say is we believe Torriero is planning an attack, we have a contact within his group, who is feeding us information back, we are one step ahead of him at all times. But we must remain vigilant, we are currently assessing his strength, numbers and armory.’

  General Clarke opened the room to questions, the first coming from a concerned looking lady, with two children by her side. ‘I have virtually no shoes or pants for my son, Paul. I have been to the store room and searched, with help from the organisers, but there is a serious shortage of boys aged fifteen to sixteen.’

  The solider next to General Clarke wrote down all the relevant information, as he responded. ‘I will pass this information on to General Harris, does anyone else have any shortage of clothes or shoes? We will organise a supply run targeting clothing shops.’ There were requests for more footwear for three year olds, clothes for age eight, ten and twenty female, and a larger range of waist sizes in male pants. It was noted there are twenty three children under the age of one in the camp, and very little baby milk left, with a new supply needed soon. A young father, holding a baby no more than a year old, was next to speak. ‘I don’t want to spoil anyone’s fun, but the noise coming from the bar area on the first floor, is keeping my boy up. It’s hard enough getting him to sleep in the first place without his mum, and no bottles of warm milk. Last night it went on until one in the morning, it’s supposed to be the family area, seems an odd place to put it.’

  ‘Apologies Mr-

  ‘Raider.’

  ‘Sorry Mr. Raider, I will have a conversation with the officers in charge of the bar, and make sure the noise levels are reduced, with shut down at twelve.’

  Further discussions included the wash room being left dirty, a complaint aimed at the whole camp, and a question about where to obtain towels, which were available from the store room. There was also a complaint about the temperature of the water in the outside shower block, which is a problem that won’t be solved anytime soon. As the meeting concluded, we were reminded to pick up tomorrow’s water from the supply table on the way out. I made my way down the stairs, past the security guard and onto my corridor. When I reached my room, the children were all ready for bed, washed and teeth brushed. They looked and smelled so clean, Bernard had been to the store room and found some new clothes for them, including pyjamas. They were all sat on Emma’s mattresses, so I lay next to them, and started to tell them a story. They all got under Emma’s covers, trying to get warm. They are forming a nice bond, which I’m really pleased about. Like a brother and sister relationship, comfortable with close contact, and expressive with each other. They were all tired after a busy day meeting new friends, and learning how the camp worked. I think they’ve become so accustomed to doing their own thing, a bit of structure feels too much like school, but they’ll get used to it. Bernard had proven enough on the gun range to be promoted straight into the training staff, a role he will start tomorrow. He told me to go and have a drink at the bar with the other recruits and soldiers, stating the relationships you build now with your comrades, are just as important on the battlefield as how good you are with your weapon. I said good night to the children, and left Bernard to finish the story. When I got inside the bar, it was split into two distinct groups, recruits and soldiers. I was acknowledged by both groups, and after reciprocating, I went and sat with the recruits. I looked around the group for any faces I recognised, Hassan wasn’t there but Adrian was, so I sat next to him, and his son Max. Adrian had also done pretty well on the gun range, but was worried about how his dodgy knees would hold up in the run tomorrow. He looked a pretty fit man, but an old injury can cause a problem for anyone�
�s fitness. He told me a little more about his back story, similarly to me he had lost his wife before all this happened, to cancer. They’d originated from Aberdeen, and had only recently left home after witnessing Torriero’s men tearing up some local towns. The table was covered in beer bottles, and with the recruits getting more and more drunk, the language was becoming a bit strong for Adrian, so he decided to take Max back to their room. The recruits certainly weren’t thinking very far ahead, everyone seemed pretty happy with their days work, not worried about what tomorrow was going to bring. I left them to it, and went over the speak to Little D, who was sat with Keane. He lifted his empty beer bottle and shook it as I arrived, pointing behind the bar. I walked around, where I found a large bucket, filled with cold water and bottles of beer, of which I took three. But by the time I got back to the table, Keane had stood up and gone, not before throwing a scornful look in my direction. Keane must be in his late twenties, with long wavy ginger hair, and as all the soldiers, he was a strong athletic looking man. Little D was a spitting image of his older brother, only with more hair and a few less scars. I put the bottles on the table, smiled at Little D, and sat down. ‘Don’t worry about Keane’ he said, ‘He’s a prick really. He tries not to be, but deep down he cannot help it. He’s an exceptional sniper, with one of the highest kill rates in the British Army, but he’s still a prick.’

  ‘He seems to have a problem with me, and is not shy about showing it.’

  ‘Yeah, but he’s like that with everyone, particularly non military. He’s wary of anyone joining our squad who is not from an army background, after the last one got himself killed, and nearly cost the company more lives.’

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘We could all see the lad wasn’t right, he had spent most of his childhood killing terrorists on his Playstation, we all knew what was going to happen. He was just too young, still a kid, seventeen I think. Anyway, Chris was convinced he was going to be OK, he tried to take him under his wing. But he didn’t listen to orders, thought he knew best, and got himself caught. Torriero tried to use him in a trap, but he warned us, and was executed for it.’