by Vance Huxley
“No, why?”
“She’s incredibly smug, and making cryptic comments about private personal training from the real expert. What is really intriguing is that I just saw her going into the dance house with your little brother, our revered leader.” Liz sniggered. “That look says its news to you as well.”
“This look says I’m going to slap his ears, because he said he had to do Soldier Boy things. That’s why I’m peeling sprouts on my own.” Sharyn glared at the bowl. “I might cook his with the mud on, just as a penance.”
“That wouldn’t matter with those disgusting things. Hmm, last night and tonight the sprout fiends switch with those who have taste, so we aren’t stunk out. I’ll have to check where Fergie is supposed to be sleeping.” Liz beamed. “And then if she does actually sleep there tonight.”
“Cripes. I don’t mind him finding a girl, but that’ll be lively. Fergie has already been giving Daisy advice about sneaking up on boys.”
“Cripes. Well if you don’t know, I’m off before you start to cook those.” Liz curled a lip at the sprouts and headed for the door, then yelped. “Daisy!”
Sharyn laughed. “Blame Harold, Patty, Emmy and possibly Fergie, at least.”
* * *
Despite several not particularly subtle attempts to find out more, Harold swore he had only been supervising a training class with machetes. Worse, Liz confirmed that Fergie stayed out Christmas night, but Sharyn knew Harold slept at home in the study. Sharyn realised she might be going over the top when she checked the snow outside the study window to see if there’d been a midnight visitor, so she let it drop. The snow stayed as a light covering, not enough for snowmen and barely enough for the occasional snowball. Clear paths soon appeared down all the common routes.
Hopes of a repeat of the New Year snowman competition faded after Christmas Day, a disappointment to those like Roy’s squad who had heard about the last one. Roy and his three friends had all been found places where they could have a proper festive holiday and Christmas Dinner. All four were startled by the mistletoe at the Christmas dance, then again when Santa left them presents. Roy in particular still found the dances and decorations surreal after the last few years, though he now took a number from the hat at the dances.
Harold, through Liz, knew that some of the women traded to get Roy’s number for the last dance. He didn’t find out if they wanted Roy because he would be a safe walk home or the opposite. Liz just gave a knowing smile and pointed out that Harold didn’t even know for sure why they used to trade for him. When Chris, one of Roy’s men, walked Celine home at Christmas the gossip radar went on high alert, but interest subsided when there didn’t seem to be any follow-up.
* * *
The day after Boxing Day the SUV driving very slowly along the road from the traffic island with the horn blaring and four white flags flying came as a complete surprise. The alarm gong from the front gate and the phones ringing all over Orchard Close meant that a crowd gathered even as the vehicle stopped at the bottom of the access road. Harold smiled quietly as Alfie brought the box out of the guardhouse so Soldier Boy could see over the closed gate. Wellington climbed out of the vehicle to give a slow turn with his hands holding his coat open to show there were no weapons in sight. “Can I talk to Soldier Boy please? Sorry about Christmas but this is very urgent.”
Harold answered. “Come on up. Who is with you?”
“Just guards and I’ll leave them here. No need for hostages.” Harold could hear someone in the guardhouse relaying the view. A ripple of comments greeted Wellington’s reply, because ranked visitors from the Geeks and Hot Rods were meticulous about exchanging hostages.
“All right. Do your men want to come inside to keep warm?”
“We won’t be here long enough. Thanks anyway.” Wellington had already started walking so Harold quietly asked for someone to open the gate enough to let him in.
As he came through Harold waved away a search. “He’s not suicidal.” Harold pointed. “Quick visit or not, we’ll go into number three.” Wellington nodded, following Harold along with Emmy and Casper.
They’d barely sat down when Wellington started. “We are almost certain the General will launch an attack across the flooded cutting in the next day or two.” He debated for a few moments. “We know he’s been moving up men, and where, but expected to stop them as they crossed the water. Now we’ve seen what he’ll use.” Wellington sighed. “We might need help.”
“If he’s let you see, maybe that’s a feint and he won’t attack there?” The General didn’t seem the careless sort to Harold.
“He’s made up boats, or rather floats, and boards faced with thin steel or maybe aluminium to put over them to make pontoon bridges. He won’t know we saw them.” Wellington sighed. “This is an ace of ours, but I’ve got to convince you because I need your help. We have a drone. A small one, a toy with cameras, and it can’t go far or we’ll lose it.” Wellington shrugged, producing a hideous smile. “No Satnav now and all the radio interference means if it goes too far, the damn thing won’t come back. We lost one like that and the Army shot another down when we were nosy, so we look after the last one.”
“If you know where he’s coming, why do you need us? Surely you’ll just slaughter them as they cross?” Harold frowned. “Just a flat roadway, not covered?”
“The roadways aren’t covered but there’s a steel contraption with loopholes and wheels and a roof lurking at both crossing points. We reckon he’ll put rifles on the far bank where it’s higher than ours, with more behind the shields as they cross. We need more rifles our side.” Wellington glanced at Harold. “The ballista team will be shot from the high ground while trying to rewind so we can’t use it here.”
“What about the catapult?” Harold frowned. “That threw bombs in the demo.”
“It’s an Onager and yes it does throw bombs, but not exactly accurately. Glass bottles and jars are getting scarcer and more to the point, if they hit people they won’t break. Most plastic containers with bombs attached will bounce off a flat surface and the attackers can just kick the rest into the water, and that’s if we don’t miss the walkway completely. Then either the water will put out fuses, or the blast will be muffled. That’s why we need a lot more bombs. There’s a better chance of some exploding where they’ll do some good and every one that goes off on the bridge will help.”
“Maybe you should get some bombs from the GOFS as well? Extras.” That would mean Harold needn’t part with as many.
Wellington shook his head. “It has to be you because the General might have enough people to try attacking the GOFS as well. They and the Barbies have to stay in place and fully armed, and I’ve sent a message suggesting they get ready, really quietly. That way he might be tempted to go for both. If we can stop him hard enough this time, especially if the bastard loses his shields, he’ll not try again.”
“That’s why you want bombs, but why do you need more rifles? I know you’ve got three big ones and at least three smaller calibres.” Harold smiled. “Everyone could count them on the TV but I reckon you probably left one at home.”
“You borrowed one from Caddi. Seven were shooting from your vehicles but I’ll bet you still left a couple of smaller ones at home.” Wellington sighed. “I’m sure nobody took all their rifles, the same as they only brought about half their fighters. We really would appreciate your big rifles and especially accurate shooters. The General has all those rifles from the MiB so he can put too many snipers on the high ground for ours to stop, and they’ll target anyone shooting at the men crossing. We’ve got enough pistols, bows and crossbows to make the crossing expensive if our men aren’t pinned. If possible we want to stop them getting onto our bank, but if we can’t we have to thin them out.”
“This might all be gospel, but forgive me for being a bit suspicious. You want our big rifles and best shooters for a sleepover in your backyard?” Harold had a dilemma, because he wouldn’t put it past the Geeks to do this
to kill the shooters and capture the weapons but daren’t ignore a possible attack by the General.
Wellington sighed again. “We’d be suicidal to start a war with you at the same time, but to prove it Galileo and Nobel will come here as hostages for you and yours. They’ll both mind their manners. Hawkins won’t swap Nobel or probably Galileo for your weapons or your shooters, even including you.”
“Why not?” Harold shrugged. “Two managers to get the rifles and take out our shooters makes sense, militarily speaking.”
The Geek shook his head, firmly though a smile hovered on his lips. “Not these two, though I’d make that swap for Einstein and Darwin in a heartbeat. Nobel, chemist, made dynamite? Nobel is our bomb man. Galileo is our artillery and crossbow inventing and refining man, or him and Tell between them. We can’t afford to lose them and whoever else you’d kill.” Wellington hesitated. “I’ll stay with you all the time, unarmed, so I’m one of those you kill?”
Harold had to respect that as a guarantee. “I hope you haven’t upset Hawkins or this is a golden opportunity.”
“I’ve explained it all to Hawkins. Fighting you while the General is just over the water is suicide. On top of that I pointed out you won’t bring all your fighters, bombs, or the smaller rifles and you’ve got at least three of those. Even Einstein finally got the message, because Hawkins has threatened to hand him over to your women tied hand and foot if he starts trouble.” Wellington looked at the three of them hopefully. “Well?”
Harold thought frantically. “Give us ten minutes. You’ll get help, it’s just how much.”
“I’ll wait in the car so you can swear at each other.” Wellington’s ruined mouth twisted in a smile again. “Will you be bringing the armour?”
“No point for this. That truck is really slow and not manoeuvrable. The General will either avoid it or have an answer.” Harold smiled. “I’ve got the answer if he has another one armoured like that. Get you gone then, so we can get on with the shouting.”
The shouting mainly concerned having to help the Geeks, but even Emmy conceded that the Geeks were better than the General as a neighbour. Harold headed for his gun room to cast a few special bullets. While the lead cooled he went to see Barry, about using pipe bombs to help Geeks because they were a lesser evil than the General. Eventually Harold persuaded the ex-fireman the General had to be stopped any way possible. Some of Barry’s paranoia over Geeks looking for his grandchildren had gone, especially since Doll and Matti dyed their hair back to their natural colours and none of the Geek visitors commented. Harold collected four boxes of bombs from Bernie’s garage, including all of the latest types, though he wouldn’t allow Bernie himself to come along.
Emmy, Roy and Alfie didn’t take long to organise their weapons and backup once the decision had been made. Patty, Billy, Louie with a bandage still on his ear and Chris, one of Roy’s friends, came as personal bodyguards because those with big rifles would be preoccupied. In the chaos someone like Einstein might give in to temptation. Thirty Orchard Close fighters, men and women including the other two of Roy’s friends and all four of the refugee fighters, came with handguns, machetes and some shotguns. Harold delayed everyone while he went to marry the new rounds to the right brass, then hurried back with his special Christmas present for Wellington. The small force crammed into two transit vans, along with the padded boxes containing pipe bombs.
* * *
Within minutes of being escorted to the Geek front line, Harold sat watching the grainy images on the Geek TV with real interest. They weren’t very good quality but Wellington had told the truth. The tracks in the light snow were clear from the air but invisible from the Geek side of the flooded railway cutting. The tracks and footprints showed where men and equipment had been moved up in two of the places where the opposite banks had a gentler slope to the water. The clincher for Harold was the rough punt shapes sealed across the top, which had to be floats, and the metal faced boards stacked alongside. He had a quiet word with Wellington who chortled and went off to collect old petrol and oil in plastic containers.
Darwin stayed away from the Orchard Close contingent as did Marconi and Einstein. Hawkins confirmed he’d given them other jobs in case one of them opened his big mouth near Emmy or Patty. Hawkins seemed torn between feeling disgusted he needed Orchard Close, and grateful they’d come. He left Wellington and Tell to deal with Harold’s contingent as much as possible. Tell, the Geek bowyer, came for a discussion with Wellington because they would each command the defence at one crossing. The bowyer took one look at Patty’s crossbow and a big grin split his face. He spent some time with Patty, experimenting with her weapon.
The Orchard Close party split up. Emmy and Harold covered one crossing with Patty and Louie to watch their backs, with Roy and Alfie at the other. The rest of the fighters split with them to meet the two attacks. The Geeks provided houses for Harold’s party, with blow heaters but no running water. Their fighters stared at Emmy and Patty, and the women among the fighters, then gave them a wide berth as Hawkins had promised. After a long, restless, but undisturbed night Harold, Emmy, Wellington and Hawkins looked at the overnight pictures from the drone.
“F...ferkit, they must be f... freezing in there.” Hawkins glanced at Emmy and Patty, then back to the screen. “The roofs are still covered in snow.”
“I don’t care how tough they are, he can’t keep troops in there for long.” Wellington grinned. “Though I hope he does because they’ll not sleep well. The cold will sap their strength so after a few days of that they’ll be knackered.”
Harold nodded agreement. “Can you put the drone back up, to keep an eye on them?”
Wellington shook his head. “Not this morning, it’s too clear. We only need one of them to look up and notice the odd-shaped birdie up there. The General ain’t stupid, he’ll know we’re watching and call the whole thing off.” The Geek gestured at the screen. “This infrared stuff is easy to get at night, but as you can see the actual camera pictures at night are crap.”
“Enough to see these though.” Emmy tapped a shape on the screen. “That’s the same as on the daylight pictures you got, though the detail on this is worse.” She frowned. “If the shield is still there, he’s not coming right away.”
“No but this was an hour ago, because we took the drone down at first light. We can’t tell if it’s on the move now.” Wellington tried to sound hopeful. “At least we’ll spot him moving up for a night or dawn attack.”
“Though an attack could be any time today.” Harold stretched. “I’ll let my people know to relax, but keep their gear ready to go.” By late morning most people started to think the attack might not be today, since the attackers would want plenty of daylight to consolidate any gains.
* * *
Perhaps the General tried to catch everyone out because the attack started early in the afternoon. “Go, go, go. The bastard is coming.” The Geek stopped, mouth open, visibly mentally repeating what he’d said when he saw Emmy.
She smiled. “We’re coming.” They were, already picking up weapons before running towards their positions. Gunfire started from the other side followed by screams this side warning everyone the incoming shots were accurate. Wellington waited at the Orchard Close firing position, an arc of bricks six thick backed by earth, with slots at intervals to fire through without looking over. Patty moved to one side with her binoculars and settled in while Harold and Emmy each chose a slot to fire through.
“Not yet.” Wellington picked up a field telephone, waving the hand-piece. “Marconi fixed these up when he heard about yours.” He held the receiver to his ear. “Have you got them spotted?” He paused for an answer, then chuckled. “Fire.” The GOFS general gestured to the slits. “Take a peek.” On the far bank four strips of metal, railway lines when Harold looked closer, now led from a sandbagged and steel covered structure. A long line of floats and boards came out of the shelter and slid down the steel into the water. Down at the water’s edge thre
e sections were already floating, moving further out as another pushed into the water.
Lines of smoke curved in from behind Harold, in two clumps. They landed at two different places along the opposite crest of the cutting, high points. At one location two men with rifles stood and started to run; at the other the victims must have opted for keeping low. After the ripple of explosions Harold doubted either action made much difference. The lack of any more shooting from either spot confirmed his thoughts. “That’s careless.” Harold couldn’t understand why the General put men in range of the catapult.
“Not really. Galileo used coil springs from railway wagons to make these onagers so they are much more powerful. Up to now I’ve only used our older version, just once or twice against patrols to give the arses a false idea of our range. The original can’t throw even a single bomb that far uphill.” Wellington’s grotesque smiled flashed. “My bad.” He shrugged as more explosions and screams sounded in the distance. “Twice. We’ll drop some more where the other rifles were firing from, though they seem to have got the idea already.” More bombs arced across the gap followed by more explosions. No more rifles fired from the high points on the opposite bank.
“What are you expecting them to do now?” Harold guessed that Wellington and the General must have a plan B, both seemed to be that sort of person. He looked back through the loophole as more explosions sounded. A few bombs straddled the floats entering the water without appreciable effect.
“Something like your tank, probably adapted to have those loopholes rather than the original version, with maybe a roof to deflect pipe bombs. Possibly armoured with thicker steel which had worried me until you handed out the first Christmas presents.” Wellington glanced across the water. “I’d hoped to blow the tyres at least though even that would be a bitch to manage if the driver kept moving. If we immobilise the damn things I intend throwing petrol and oil in bottles with wicks. Original Molotovs.”
