Fall of the Cities_Branching Out

by Vance Huxley

  “I’m a spotter, to watch out for treachery, and in a good place for sniping without incoming, yes?” Emmy smiled, a little one.

  “That’s it.”

  “And you worry about me and Tammy.” Emmy’s smile widened.

  Harold gave up and grinned. “Yes, and about explaining to Curtis if I lose you, and I’m a sucker for your sparkling personality and bad-girl look. If this all goes wrong, use that pushbike to get home. Tell everyone to dig in. Now will you stop arguing?”

  “You really are a soft sod sometimes, Harold.” Emmy kissed him on the end of the nose. “All right, since you asked so nicely.” She set off towards the rest, calling for people to help her, and Harold heaved a sigh of relief. He really didn’t want Tammy left all alone, especially since she still relied on Mummy’s milk bar because the marts didn’t have the powdered sort.

  Harold soon had a distraction because Ken came over to talk. She saw the two camp beds in the transit. “Neat. If we’ve got someone hit bad and you’ve got a spare bed?”

  “Bring her over and we’ll try. We might have to blind her if she sees our medic?” Harold smiled because he didn’t mean that but the Barbies were notoriously protective about their real doctor.

  “If he saves her life she might stay to say thank you, repeatedly. We’ll be generous over replacing medication, if it’s needed.” The Barbie warchief nodded towards the armoured vehicles. “You look to have about thirty which is a bit light on numbers if it comes to a ruck. We’re near the Army and I don’t reckon the mob will come straight at us. If you get into hand-to-hand watch where you shoot.” She grinned. “We’ll flank them, just like real soldiers.”

  Harold laughed at her version of Paddy’s Irish accent. “I’ll warn everyone not to shoot dangerous blondes, though someone will be watching out for Caddi or Hawkins getting creative.”

  Ken looked over towards where the other gangs were hidden by the housing. “Yeah, especially Caddi. He’s got greedy eyes when he looks at your truck, and when all those shooters are mentioned.”

  “He should worry about them getting tempted while he’s in view.” Harold smirked. “I thought he’d burst something when he handed over the rifle and ammo.”

  “Have you really got that many shooters?”

  “Not that good, but I needed more 303 ammo.” Ken left still shaking her head and laughing.

  * * *

  “Tweet, tweet.” Everyone near enough to hear a radio stopped what they were doing and looked south because that had been Throstle, the Baggie’s lieutenant.

  Harold raised his voice. “They’re here. Get everything loaded up for the move.” A flurry of action settled into a nervous wait for the signal to say the mob were through the derelict housing. The whole horde had to move far enough into the open for the Baggies and Trainspotters to close the back door. Long minutes dragged by before the ‘Wagtail’ confirmed the rear were moving through the last houses. Gunfire sounded from the south, beyond this last row of housing, so Harold started the engine.

  “BG. Contact. Contact. Contact. Last ones clear of housing. Army machine gun shooting. Some of mob shooting back. Mart firing, mob charging the wire.” BG for Bad Girl meant Emmy. Harold dropped the truck into gear and set off round the corner onto a short stretch of road they’d just cleared of bricks. Beyond the houses he turned into a road junction, turning the wheel again sharply at the last moment before stopping. That left the truck and trailer forming a shallow “v” pointing at the distant mob.

  People poured out of the transit as it pulled in alongside the trailer, protected from the south. The sheet of metal, lifted by many willing hands, sealed the gap between trailer and truck. Stakes were pounded to jam them into a road drain or rubble, before leaning the steel at an angle to help shed incoming bullets. The fighters ran back to the van for their weapons, then got set behind the steel. On the pickup Harold helped to pull a tarpaulin across the back so the Army couldn’t see the rifles, then sat on a cushion and opened the flap over the centre loophole. Billy opened the next one along, while Roy stayed in the cab to use the loophole there.

  Patty lifted the field telephone receiver. “The bus is ready, Harold.”

  Emmy called on the radio. “BG. The first of the mob are nearly at the mart fence. The other gangs are coming out and setting up.”

  “Tell the bus to shoot when I do, Patty.” Harold gave those in the bus a moment to get set, then settled himself. He picked out a man shooting a rifle towards the bypass. It did cross his mind that he’d never know for sure who he hit this time, with so many others shooting. Then Harold’s first shot went downrange, the man staggered and went down, and the rest of the Orchard Close rifles opened up.

  Harold fired at a figure laid behind bodies and saw dust spurt nearby but the rifle flipped up, falling to the side. Then Harold targeted a man shooting from behind an impromptu breastwork half a dozen bricks high. He saw a brick spit out dust and spin out of the loose stack. Either the ricochet or the bullet going through the brick threw the man back. That finally gave Harold a proper read on the wind so he could shoot with more confidence. Harold emptied the clip, four rounds, before reverting to single shot load and fire.

  “BG. They’ve hit the fence but holding for now.” She paused and fired. “Mart fence guards not shooting so dead.” Another shot. “Some climbing the fence, some going for the Army.” Emmy fired. “Bombs going off near the armoured car.”

  Harold began to worry because although people looked this way and some fell, the mass of people were ignoring the rifles. More of those in his sights began to drop, stagger or duck away. More of the crowd started to look and point towards Orchard Close. The other rifles must have held off momentarily, but although more bullets tore into the mass of people they weren’t enough.

  “BG. You’ve got their attention. Only GOFS and Barbies shooting properly.” More and more of the mob turned towards him, but Harold ignored them to look for the ones taking cover or kneeling to shoot back. The crowd pointed or fired, beginning to bulge his way, but now Harold worried there weren’t enough rifles to sting the mob into an attack. They had to be lured away from the mart.

  “BG. The rest of the bastards have started shooting now.” A ripple went through the mass, with more people staggering or falling. Harold cursed the other gangsters for holding fire because they’d nearly screwed it all up. More faces turned his way, more arms pointed, and finally the mob surged towards him. Harold had no idea how much of the mob had started his way. He concentrated on searching for anyone carrying a rifle or shotgun so he could kill them.

  “BG. Here they come, a lot of them just at you.” Harold could hear the strain in Emmy’s voice.

  Stu, one of Roy’s men using the rangefinder and the field telephone to keep everyone on target, called, “‘Four hundred fifty.” Rounds spanged off the steel, but so far nothing had penetrated. “Four hundred.” Harold loaded and fired in a steady rhythm now because nobody in the crowd stopped to take cover or aim.

  “BG. Cripes Harold, there’s a lot. Though now the rest can’t decide.” Emmy paused to fire. “Some are going for the Army, some for the mart, and the rest are sort of stopped.”

  “Three hundred fifty.” A few of the attackers stopped to aim. Harold shot any he saw then went back to looking for dangerous weapons.

  “BG. A big bunch are running back towards the houses.” Emmy fired. “Another lot are going towards Caddi or near him.” Harold heard relief this time, because the mob had split their fire and broken up though there still seemed to be a lot coming at him.

  “Three hundred.” Light flooded into the rear corner of the truck. Harold glanced over to see Patty on one knee raising her crossbow to loft a shaft towards the attackers. Harold found a target with a shotgun, crushing any pity as he killed her because more rounds were striking the steel now. He had women to protect right here.

  “BG. Bombs from the houses, but not enough to stop them.” Emmy fired. “Shoot fast Harold, there’s still a lot.�
� She kept firing and speaking in short sentences. “Shooting from houses. Not enough to stop them.”

  “Two hundred fifty.” A wild-eyed man with a double barrelled shotgun threw up his arms and fell before Harold fired. He looked for another target and killed him, then another.

  “BG. Mob in mart yard. Attacking doors.” She paused. “Triple cripes, the armoured car is on fire.” Emmy started firing again. “Armoured car retreating.”

  “Two hundred.” Again Harold fired, but now he couldn’t see any rifles and had trouble finding shotguns. The scope restricted the view now so Harold took the time to unfasten it. “One hundred fifty” was in a different voice but he had no time to look. Harold didn’t take the time to make clean kills now, just put the targets down. This time a crossbow bolt stole one of his victims.

  “BG. Big fight in housing.” Emmy fired and spoke, again and again. “Paddy’s attacking from flank. Mart guards have grenades. Machine guns on mart roof.”

  “One hundred.” Hands pulled the tarpaulin back and with a deep roar a shotgun fired inside the rear of the truck, then another two. The mob running towards Harold flinched as more shotguns joined in, some emptying a second barrel.

  “BG. Mob hitting Ferdinands.” Emmy’s voice rose to a shout. “Yeah, Go Barbies, go GOFS! Flank attack!” The shotguns began to add a heavier beat to the rifle fire as they were reloaded and fired as fast as possible.

  “Fifty.” The gunfire nearby paused, just for a moment as Harold pulled out two nine mill pistols. Then every handgun that could be brought to bear opened up, a cacophony of sound and fury that almost drowned out the sound of rounds still hitting the steel plating. The advancing mob stalled for a moment as the front ranks fell. The rest milled and surged as the pistols hammered away, relentless. More and more fell or staggered back, until at last the rest started to break. The survivors split, pressing to the sides. With huge relief Harold saw how few were left standing.

  There were still enough to run over the Orchard Close party, except the erstwhile attackers weren’t trying to. The survivors tried to get between the vehicles and either the Barbies or the GOFS but didn’t go wide enough. The Orchard Close handguns stopped their frantic tattoo as the shooters remembered their instructions; once the mass breaks, slow up to mark your target. Or most of them did. With a small part of his mind Harold bet that the one still shooting as fast as possible would be Bess.

  “BG. Watch left flank.” She fired. “Army and RAF arrived.”

  Feet ran alongside the pickup, at the back, before shotguns and pistols sounded from near the cab. The defenders behind the steel plate in the centre must have moved to the flanks. Smoking trails in the air turned into vicious explosions among the attempt to bypass the vehicles. Figures fell or staggered, and more explosions blossomed among them. Finally the attempt broke, some running away while others turned towards Harold again. Beyond them machetes rose and fell. “Cease fire, cease fire. Friendlies mixed in. Take them hand to hand or single aimed shots.” Patty scooped up the field telephone, passing Harold’s message to the battle bus.

  “BG. They’re breaking Harold. At the houses and here. The mart is safe.”

  The ending became anticlimactic, with the last of the attackers charging in to get to grips since they had no missile weapons left. Barely a score ran in close enough to be dangerous. They went down in a quick flurry as Roy’s squad, Harold, Patty, Billy and the defenders from behind the steel plate met them. GOFS and Barbie swords and machetes rose and fell among the rest, now trying to escape. Exhausted, demoralised and now outnumbered, the end came quickly. Harold finally had a chance to look around.

  Some Barbies, those not finishing wounded in front of Harold, were already thirty or more yards out from their position, hunting down anyone running away. Harold hoped they stopped before getting too close to the mart guns. Even as he thought that, Harold saw Ken’s distinctive figure waving and presumably shouting though it might be a while before Harold could hear properly. Other blonde-haired figures among the women fighters also started waving. The Barbies resorted to shooting at the fleeing figures.

  To the right the GOFS had also charged forward, their big swords and machetes rising and falling as they finished the last few off. Some were shooting at the nearest of the fleeing attackers, while others worked back up the line of casualties making sure of the wounded. Halfway around the arc a tight knot of struggling figures showed where part of the mob had made full contact with the Ferdinands. Further away figures retreated from the housing on the neutral road, showing that the Baggies and Trainspotters had stopped any escape.

  Smoke rose from near the mart marking where helicopters had joined the fight. At least those stayed near the mart; Harold had worried the RAF would take the opportunity to wipe out the gangs as well. A hand smacked him in the back, staggering him. Another hand tugged at Harold’s head. He realised he still wore the headband and earpiece around his plugged ears. Moments later the cotton wool came away in time to hear Casper saying, “Typical dumb soldier.”

  The door on the pickup opened and Roy looked out. He looked a little shell-shocked, then stuck his little finger through a hole in the plate covering the window and waggled it. A big smile split his face. “That put ten years on me.” Roy looked over those who’d jumped out of the pickup and his face sobered. “Where’s Stu?”

  “Crap, boost me Casper.” Harold turned to the pickup, barely registering the battered state of the paintwork before Casper heaved. Harold tumbled into the pickup then cursed, very quietly. Stu lay curled up against the far side, clutching his gut, with blood leaking between his fingers.

  His eyes opened. “Wanted the General.” Then Stu screwed up his eyes in pain and moaned gently.

  “Medic! Lenny!” Harold dropped the back of the pickup, looking over to the transit but Matti, standing at the rear, held up her hand.

  “A minute, Harold. It’s Dolly. She’s hit bad.” Harold looked down and winced because Phillip had a crossbow bolt in his chest. Someone had covered his face with a jacket. Nathan, one of the refugees from the General, gently nursed a hand swathed in blood-soaked cloth. Roy came round to the back and looked in the truck.

  “How bad?”

  Harold shook his head, because he didn’t know but the wound looked to be in a really bad place, just above belt buckle height. “We could try the Army?”

  “No, he wouldn’t want that. We decided.” Roy looked up at Harold. “If that’s how it is, can he go with your people near the bypass?”

  “Our people Roy, that’s the deal.”

  “Let me see.” Lenny stripped a pair of red-spattered gloves from his hands as he came over. “Pull me up please.” Harold did and waited until Lenny finished a quick inspection. The medic looked back, shaking his head. He showed two hypodermics, one half full and one full. “It’ll be a long or short wait and longer will be worse.”

  Roy looked at the little needles. “Are you sure?”

  “Even with the Army medics. I doubt he’d even get to a hospital.”

  “Give me a sec.” Roy boosted himself into the truck to kneel by Stu, speaking quietly for a few moments while Harold and Lenny turned away. Harold busied himself tucking the rifles and shotguns out of sight in case the RAF were nosy. “Doc? Lenny?”

  “Yes?”

  “Quick and easy please.” Harold left. Lenny followed him out of the truck moments later.

  “How many more and how bad are they?” Harold didn’t like the look of those gloves Lenny had pulled off.

  “Phillip is dead. Finn’s arm has a bullet through it, the same one as his last wound. Doll has a bullet in her chest. Jeremy has either twisted or broken his ankle. Nathan’s hand is bleeding but I haven’t had chance to check properly. Louie has lost a piece of his ear. The rest are scrapes, cuts and bruises. Doll is lungshot, but maybe a real doctor can do something I can’t.” Lenny shook his head. “I’m a paramedic, Harold, and not even qualified. I can stop her lung collapsing for now but that’s it.” H
e spoke to Nathan, who rose and followed the medic to the transit.

  Emmy came running up, her rifle only partly hidden, and went into the van. “Soldier Boy.” Harold turned to find a very sombre looking Christie. “How good is your medic? We’ve got three who might not make it to doc.”

  “Bring them and we’ll try.” Christie moved aside to reveal three figures being carried on doors. Two were thrashing about but one lay very still. Lenny waved them towards the van.

  Harold stopped Christie from joining them. “We need your doc, or a real doc of some sort.” Harold looked towards the bypass, where soldiers were moving down towards the mart, shooting as they came.

  “You know the rules.” Christie paused. “Who is it?”

  “Doll, the blonde usually wearing a Stetson. Hang on, let me talk to her sister.” Harold raised his voice. “Matti?”

  Matti came over, her face pale and drawn. “She won’t go to the Army, Harold. Some of us decided, after what you said. Anything but that.” Matti turned to Christie. “What about your doc?”

  “She won’t be able to come back, Doll that is.” Christie put a hand up to rub her head and paused. She took her blonde wig off and scrubbed at her tight curls, looking at the transit and thinking hard. “How badly will Doll want to get home?” She grimaced. “She’s a fighter so we’ll not be able to stop her easily, will we?”

  “Matti is her sister, and her grandad is back there.” Harold shrugged. “She won’t stay willingly, though to be honest she might not make it anyway.”

  “F... Damn, damn, damn.” Christie looked at the van again then took a deep breath. “We’ll put her in an empty storeroom. She stays there, with a bag on her head if the door opens. One attempt to look out the door and she stays at Beth’s, right?” Christie looked at her wig. “This means I’m one of those in charge. The deal will stand even if I get shit about it. I’ll call it fair exchange if your man gets even one of ours back to doc alive. Can they travel in there, in the van?”