by Vance Huxley
Gofannon stared. “Fucking hell, he’ll kill anyone who shows.”
“Even if I miss, and I don’t intend to, he’ll be ducking and thanking any God he believes in. I’ll say when.” Harold smiled. “You didn’t ask why I wanted a motorbike.”
“Why did you want a fucking motorbike? And hard luck because we haven’t got one.” Gofannon still seemed upset about the idea of tempting the sniper to show himself.
“Crap.”
“Gotcha. We’ve brought an electric quad.” Gofannon laughed, his good humour restored. “We’ve got two, dead handy now the petrol is all fucked up. Why did you want it?”
“Put two men on it, the driver and someone to hop off and collect that rifle if he drops it because then they’ll have to leave it behind. If someone gets out of that vehicle to pick anything up I’ll shoot him and you can strip his body as a bonus, but I want the rifle if possible. As my wages.” Harold took a look through the sights. The bit of height gave him an angle and he’d get a slightly bigger target, but not much. Harold had good look at the vehicle, and the sides had definitely been built up and probably with thicker steel plate than the original. “But first I want a decoy to get him to show. What will it take?”
Gofannon sighed. “Some might think it worth the risk if you kill that fucker. It’s a deal on the rifle. Can I open this door?”
“Just a minute.” Harold moved aside. “Just in case he can see in when its open and has checked these rooms out. The change of light when you open the door means he’ll check again if he notices. I would.”
Gofannon frowned. “I must remember not to piss you off anytime or learn to be sneakier. Can I open this door now?”
“Yeah. Arrange for someone to shoot at him and give him some sort of a target when you say, and for the quad to get out there with a fire up his ass when I say.”
The GOFS leader hesitated. “All right but you’d better not miss. My blokes are still sore about one of them being killed.”
Billy spoke straight after the door closed. “I’ve got your back, Harold.”
“I know, but don’t point that sawn-off at Gofannon because he’ll be really annoyed. Don’t worry I won’t miss.” Harold chuckled. “I really have done this before.” Better still Harold had got well and truly angry at this bastard. He had absolutely no qualms about shooting the sniper without any warning, before the man could shoot again. There was water instead of sand, with the target slightly downhill instead of uphill, but oddly enough the wind riffling the water seemed about the same strength as the one that had riffled those papers in Kuwait. Back where Harold first killed a man, three short years ago.
Gofannon came back in. “Cy said OK but only if Patty lets him buy her a beer and sits with him to drink it next time he’s over. Just that. He’ll settle for Bethany or Fergie but wants to brag about Patty sitting with him.” The GOFS boss grinned. “With a picture if possible?”
Harold knew just how Patty felt about the bloke who shot refugees. “Deal, she’ll even pose with her crossbow.” Harold gave it three or four minutes for any spotter to finish checking. “I’ll just shuffle some furniture.” Harold used a bedside table and a chair to make a rest, with his coat padded up on the top. He placed the rifle and braced himself, then let his head drift into that quiet place and adjusted the sights, aiming at the rear of the pickup. “Tell Cy.”
Harold didn’t hear Gofannon’s, “Start shooting Cy” except as some faint whisper, though he heard Cy begin to shoot. A black bump showed over the tailgate of the pick-up as the sniper looked for whoever had started shooting, but he’d be too late. Harold moved the sights across a little because the sniper didn’t come up dead centre, and squeezed. The rifle barrel in the pickup jerked up and disappeared as did the man’s head so Harold worked the bolt and moved the sights to the passenger door. As a man came out Harold retargeted and shot at the back window of the pickup truck the other side.
He worked the bolt and moved his sights back across to the man who had pulled himself up the side of the pickup to look into the back of the vehicle. The gangster jerked his head towards the cab, then towards Harold, then the 308 bullet picked him off the side of the truck and left him sprawled across the road. “Go, go, go!” Harold worked the bolt. He checked the tailgate for any sign of the shooter before holding his sights on the man in the road to check for movement. Gofannon yelled into his radio, sending the quad driver on his way. “Wait until they are nearly there, then tell them to bring the pickup truck as well. The General’s men will hear the radio and realise the driver’s dead, but by then it’ll be too late.”
“What!” Gofannon blocked Harold’s view as he looked out. “I thought you’d missed the first shot.”
“No, I shot the driver second, then him in the road. Remember, I get the rifle and ammo.” Harold laughed. “Now get out of the way so I can take a pot at anyone who comes to object.”
“Too fucking true. You sweet bastard.” Gofannon moved aside but then looked back out, blocking the view again. “I have to see to tell them at the right time.” He paused, then thumbed the button and spoke. “Heff, take the fucking pickup. Smartarse shot the driver. Either strip the one in the road or toss his body and weapons in the back.” The GOFS boss moved aside. “Vulcan will laugh like a drain. He’s the one who reckoned we should send that fucking rifle on instead of buying it because none of us could use it properly. He said we weren’t likely to really piss you off, and you’d probably shoot some arse that needed it one day.”
“You really did send those blokes to us? I thought they’d been to one of your estates. Tell Vulcan thanks, and he’s off my target list.” Harold patted the rifle. “This thing certainly backed Caddi off.”
“Oh yes, we’ve been pissing ourselves laughing about all the demolition round The Mansion and the Geeks.” Gofannon headed for the door. “Now I’m going down there to wave the refugees home and give the General the finger.”
Harold settled in and waited. A car did start out from the far side of the floods, then common sense prevailed because by then the pickup had started reversing. The pickup brushed aside the tape and stop signs as it reversed all the way to the end of the water, to be met by a crowd of cheering, waving GOFS and Barbies. The cheering reached a new high when the five refugees waded ashore, towing the body of their comrade, then reached a crescendo when Harold came downstairs.
Harold answered the questions and smiled at the compliments, but his attention stayed on the pickup. The vehicle had been properly customised for this job, with the sides plated in what looked like half inch steel. In addition sheets of steel hung down the sides, front and back of the wheels. Steel plates covered the driver’s door and the bonnet though not the windscreen and the rear and side windows were only covered in ply with viewing slots. Harold presumed the driver ducked while the sniper shot whoever attacked them.
“Oy, Heff, why didn’t you turn round?” Gofannon laughed. “Or can’t you manage a three point turn.”
“I can, but the dirty bastard painted the inside of the windscreen with his brains and the wipers are on the outside.” Heff opened the driver’s door. “Though I don’t think it was his idea.” He climbed out and tried to look at his back. “I’m covered in shit, or piss and blood at least. Hang on.” He took off his weapons and boots then ran over to sit in the water. “That’s better. Has anyone got a bucket?”
One of the refugees actually went over to splash water on his jacket, then helped peel it off when that wasn’t working. Another came over to Harold, holding out his hand. “Roy. We owe you when you need it.”
“Harold, or Soldier Boy to most people. It was a real pleasure.” This man carried a machete, knives, two pistols and a shotgun. The other four were well armed and had taken even more weapons from the body of their comrade. All of them were bandaged and sported bruises and small cuts. “Are you the last?”
“I reckon. That’s twice I’ve had to run from the General.” The man sighed. “Next time I might not.” He
looked at the Blaser, then back to where the pickup had been. “I might not have to.”
“It’s only one rifle, though where I live we can’t run anyway. Get sorted out, relax, and we’ll talk later because just now I want to trade.” Harold raised a hand. “Gofannon. Can we trade for this pickup?” Harold pulled himself up to look over into the back. “Well used, needs a good scrub down or jet wash.”
Several men laughed and one climbed in to drop the tailgate so others could pull the body out. Gofannon looked the vehicle over. “Maybe, but you’ve got the rifle and ammo as pay, remember.” Too true he had, and now Harold had set his mind at rest about that. He’d been worried about hitting the sights but fortune had smiled and his shot had torn through the other side of the sniper’s face and head. Gofannon looked in the cab, grimacing at the smell, mess, and the body still crumpled in the passenger footwell. “I’ll want coupons or maybe some more plumbing work. Your man got the water running by going around that break with several smaller pipes, he told me. Unfortunately there’s leaks showing up now there’s a water supply, where pipes must have frozen in the winter.”
Gofannon liked to make a good trade, but without the constant barrage of aggravation Caddi used as a bargaining tactic and Harold thought he’d got a fair deal. He left first, in his pickup, to suggest Caddi’s spies had a half day off because a small gang of trigger-happy fighters were looking for refuge. That also meant the spies didn’t see Harold’s new purchase arriving.
A laughing Heff, short for Hephaestus because he also thought it sounded like a disease, drove the roughly wiped down armoured pickup to Orchard Close since his clothes were already gunked up. Someone had to bring the vehicle because Billy couldn’t drive. In common with several residents, he’d been too young to learn before his world came apart. After the deal, Harold told Gofannon why he wanted the pickup, to tow the minibus, though he’d armour plate the windows on the vehicle first.
Roy and his men didn’t belong with any of the refugee families. They’d already been refugees, driven back by the General’s first conquest, so they’d offered their guns to help stop the second. The seven men were angry enough to make a last stand, but tough enough that six survived the last crazy minutes as the defences broke. They cut themselves a path out of the chaos then hid because their guns were out of ammo. Today the six men ran out of food, so they made a break for the GOFS. The sniper had arrived before they made it. When Harold shot the sniper Roy and his remaining four friends had been preparing the flooded house to sell their lives as dearly as possible using only machetes and knives.
Harold had five more men, all seasoned fighters, because according to Roy they all owed Soldier Boy a life. Though if possible Roy and his men wanted to fight the General when he came. They were willing to try stopping him at the water instead of living in Orchard Close, if Harold agreed. After seeing the picture of Orchard Close the five of them wanted the option of falling back there if they survived a breakthrough. Roy reckoned if the General took the walls after crossing that open ground it would ruin the bastard. If the attackers bounced, Roy wanted to piss on their graves.
Gofannon laughed at that part. He thought that if the GOFS line broke there would be more fighters heading to Orchard Close with the same idea. In the interim he’d feed Roy and his men since they were on loan. Harold thought about that comment, about extra fighters. These might make a real difference because the attackers would have to come in without showing firearms, and all five were hardened veterans.
The girl club was really chuffed with their new tow truck, promising to decorate the armour once Liz had finished covering the windows. Better yet, some of the new refugees were happy to scrub the pick-up clean once they knew who left the blood on and in it. Rob rolled his eyes and pointed out he’d better do the plumbing to pay for the vehicle or his missus and the girl club would nag him to death.
Patty laughed about Cy and agreed to him getting his ‘date’ complete with her crossbow. She reckoned if she’d been there to see the nasty bastard in the truck die, Cy might have got a kiss in the heat of the moment. Harold parked the armour up for now with a tarpaulin over the top. With the extra weight the truck must drink diesel by the bucket-full, so Harold carried on using his usual vehicle for trips to the neighbours.
* * *
Caddi’s turn to trade for skills came round again and this time Harold stayed over at The Mansion. He thought Caddi might have put out a screen of riflemen, and wanted to keep some uncertainty in his travel plans. The cooks produced a blistering curry, with fried rice. When Harold joked that the meat under the curry could be anything, Roller assured him only rabbit went in there. Caddi had put a camera in the kitchen, a very obvious one, and then a second one the staff knew nothing about. Harold hoped the cooks didn’t try anything, because they really could cook so under Caddi’s incentive scheme they were safe from abuse.
Harold didn’t care about how much the cameraman laughed as he checked under the bed and in the en-suite. He checked the wardrobes but they were still locked. Harold considered smashing the locks, but there’d been no hint of deception in the conversation downstairs or his goodnights. He slept fitfully, woke early, and left without any hassle. Caddi would no doubt be working on some sort of harassment, but not women in the bedroom it seemed.
* * *
A week after Harold shot the sniper, Roy and his four men turned up to officially become part of Orchard Close. They’d been asking around, because all five stood in front of the gate while Roy asked, very formally, for sanctuary. Harold collected his stick to do the job properly but didn’t send the Hot Rod spies home. A report of five heavily armed men joining Orchard Close could only make Caddi more cautious. The residents threw an impromptu dance, not much of a dance by Orchard Close standards but definitely more than Roy expected.
“This place is surreal. You do know there’s bloody chaos out there?” Roy wore a bemused smile as various women insisted that each of his men put down their weapons for at least one dance.
“They know, and some of those women are perfectly capable of looking after themselves if hell comes to breakfast. It already did once.” Harold nodded towards the dancers. “This is their way of giving all that chaos the finger. Brace yourself. You’d better give me the shotgun and possibly your weapons belt?” Harold pointed as Bethany headed towards them with a big smile. “If you’re lucky a weapons belt will interfere with the dancing.”
Roy looked at the close dancing a couple of his men were involved in and realised why. “She might be coming for you.”
“I’m off the menu. Relax Roy, just for tonight you are safe.” Harold took the man’s weapons, turning to grin at Bethany. “Hi there Sweet Gnome, be gentle with him. He hasn’t been around real people for a little while.”
She giggled. “But you know the rules?” Roy nodded. “Come on then, because you have to dance at least once. Then you can go back and discuss all the serious stuff with grumpy. Hey, that’s a real gnome g-name.”
After five dances with different partners, Roy relaxed enough to talk seriously. Gofannon had agreed that Roy’s squad were more than welcome to stand guard five days on, two days off. Now he’d seen Orchard Close, Roy wanted to spend all the rest days here but worried that he’d be eating supplies without earning them. Harold assured him that watching that strip of water counted as work but warned that if something in the fields needed digging or picking, Emmy’s gnomes would recruit whomever they wanted.
By the time they went back on duty, all five men had spent time digging up potatoes, and seemed to enjoy themselves. Before they left, Harold had a chat to Roy about shooting and found that all five were self-trained in the hardest school of all. “Can you use a rifle as well? Accurately?”
“I’ve used one when there’s been the chance, but not regularly.” Roy smiled slightly. “I’m hoping you come quickly if the arses start across that water. If you can stop the lead vehicle so the rest have to come on foot?” His smile looked both hungry and e
ager.
“Would you feel insulted if I offered advice, about shooting a rifle?” Harold approached the subject carefully, so as not to bruise Roy’s ego.
“After what you did? Have you got a spare rifle?” Roy glanced towards his men. “I don’t know which of us would be best, but a rifle on the spot would be really handy?”
“I’ve got three big rifles and three shooters, but need them right here in case Caddi gets ambitious. Talk to Gofannon when you get back.” Harold had thought about the GOFS passing on the Blaser rifle. They deserved some sort of payback. “If he’ll loan you a decent rifle, I’ll do my best to make one of you a decent marksman.” Harold glanced down at Roy’s weapons. “Your firearms were an agreeable surprise because you look after them, so the rifle won’t need much maintaining.”
“Yeah, we cleaned and oiled but we couldn’t fix some things. Stu is dead chuffed you sorted that safety because he worried it would jam at the wrong time.” Roy headed for the GOFS vehicle waving a hand in farewell. At least a dozen Orchard Close residents came to the gate to see them off.
Harold had a similar conversation about shooting with the four fighter refugees but they had never used rifles. Instead they were interested in this machete training, and happy to swap tips about pistol shooting. All four wanted to be here on the walls defending their families if the General came for them. At least Harold knew these four wouldn’t freeze and might even be a bit too sharp. After their recent experience they might shoot someone who didn’t shout a password quickly enough after dusk, so Harold tried to keep the newcomers on days for now.
* * *
All those weapons, and how well some could use them, were the reason only four people met around the large table in the bunker this time. Vanna and Joshua, representing the two types of armed land forces looked curiously at the other two. As Maurice took his seat Owen started the informal meeting. “You asked me to arrange this meeting, Maurice. What exactly is the problem?”
“The rule requiring the Army to shoot at anyone carrying any sort of firearm.” Maurice activated the screen on the wall to show an overhead view of Orchard Close. “This place is typical of the problem though not the only one. It’s near the Army, near enough for the soldiers to see that these are not animals or scum but ordinary people getting by. In this case there are two nearby gangs, one growing fast, which may be capable of capturing the enclave.” Maurice highlighted the areas of crops. “These people have firearms of course and a few decent shooters. With this field of fire they might be capable of breaking an attack which would otherwise run right over them.”
