Fall of the Cities: Planting the Orchard

by Vance Huxley

  * * *

  An elbow dug him again and Harry grunted and opened gummy eyes. He scrubbed them and looked sideways to find the smiling face of Corporal Menzies. “Wakey, wakey, rise and shine. We’re nearly home.”

  Harry stretched and groaned. The floor had bruised his ass, and the wall had pummelled his shoulders. Wonderful. Outside the opposite window was darkness, except for a few stars. “How do you know?”

  “I had a peek out of the window. The lights down there are London. I’ve come in on enough package holiday flights to know what it looks like.” He looked at the other soldiers, now being roused and mumbling and complaining. “I hope there’s some hot grub.”

  “Coffee. I need coffee.”

  The tannoy struck up to confirm Menzies’s news. “We will landing at Heath-row shortly. Please gather your kit and be ready to disembark immediately.”

  “That was nice and polite. Why Heathrow?”

  “Maybe we’ll all get a night in the West End as compensation for the crappy catering?” Several smiles answered that. Then everyone set into looking as smart as possible without a shower or shave. They were coming home, into a public airport, and the Army wouldn’t be happy if they trudged off here like a bunch of deadbeats. Sure enough, the sergeants were soon pointing that out.

  Though everyone had their weapon. It had been that sort of evacuation in the end, where the priorities got narrowed down to survival. There were very few wounded because those had already been flown out. Presumably anyone wounded while running for the plane was still back there, and hopefully dead.

  Stones and most of the Special Forces nutters were still there but they might not be either dead or captured. Everyone, even a pay clerk, knew the Mullahs were coming for Camp Bastille. Harry knew Stones’s lot had gone out to try and spot the build-up and direct some serious air onto it, but all hell broke loose before they were back. Harry only knew because he had friends among them, mainly because of knowing Stones from before joining up. More to the point the rest knew about the medal and some treated Harry as an honorary member of the nutter club.

  The sergeant got the squaddies all sorted out and lined up by the time the Hercules finished taxiing from the runway to wherever. By then Harry had made sure his stick was invisible inside his pack because it wasn’t allowed in public. The men were organised purely by their remaining gear with no reference to what unit they belonged to. Because he had a full set of kit, Harry was in the first thirty off. They started off as soon as the back door lowered into a ramp even if the view didn’t help.

  Harry couldn’t see where they were going since the ramp pointed back towards the runways. The first thing he noticed was the puff of vapour as everyone breathed out. Then the cold bit through his clothing, reminding Harry, and the rest, that it was January and they were no longer in a desert. The soldiers wheeled as instructed and came around the end of the plane, and into view of the terminus.

  The view of the terminus wasn’t quite as expected. Harry didn’t actually think there would be a cheering crowd, but nobody at all in one of the busiest airports in England was eerie. Nobody seemed to be in any of the parked planes outside the terminal, and nobody behind the terminal windows. Not even staff or Army brass to greet them.

  There was plenty of debris around the planes as they marched past and a lot of noise somewhere ahead. There weren’t any footprints in the light snow. The place really was deserted, though still warm inside. The soldiers marched into the main hall and came to attention in ranks, and an officer appeared.

  As soon as he spoke it was apparent from his voice that he was the one from the plane. “There has been a breakdown in law and order. Martial Law has been declared in London and the other major population centres, so we are unable to take you to your barracks yet. First the streets must be cleared. There are no shields or batons available, so we will use fixed bayonets.”

  “You are the British Army, and I trust you to uphold the traditions of that Army. Turn in your ammunition so there are no accidental discharges, and try to minimise casualties among the civilians. We will organise cover if firearms are used against you.” He left and headed back through the terminal, and the sergeants began to split everyone up into squads.

  “What about bricks and stuff, Sarge?” Harry had seen riots on the TV and they always included rocks and bricks. “Without shields we’ll get beaten to death even with helmets.”

  “Move your packs round to the front if possible. Take some gear out to lighten them, but nothing essential. I don’t know if we’re coming back here though your kitbags will catch up eventually.” The solution spread down the line and a very small pile grew behind them. Most of what was in the packs was essential if they weren’t coming back to collect it. The pack felt weird hung in front but was probably capable of stopping a brick.

  “Right, you lot. Outside those doors are the taxi ranks and access roads. We go left, to where a fairly thin line of London Bobbies is trying to stop the citizens storming the planes.”

  “Why do they want the planes, Sarge?” Which was a good question since there were no pilots in evidence. Though another two planes had now landed.

  “Since I’m a mushroom as well I wasn’t told. Presumably because one of them thinks they can fly one of those bloody planes. Which they will not be allowed to do. Am I clear?”

  “Yes Sarge!” From most of the throats present.

  “Let’s get at it then, because there’s another two planeloads coming through here to sort out any other little problems. Turn in your ammunition, now. ” Harry really started to worry. What sort of unrest needed three planeloads of squaddies with bayonets?

  * * *

  It was full daylight when Harry was finally allowed to sit on the kerb at the edge of a rubble-strewn street and take a proper breath. They’d all been pulled off the line for a breather and water, but never for long enough to really recover. It was the sheer savagery of the rioters that had shocked Harry. Faces distorted with hate, pressing against the bayonets and trying to drag someone forward into the mob. That had happened twice and when the soldiers had pushed forward and recovered their badly beaten comrades, attitudes behind the bayonets hardened.

  “It might be lucky they took our ammo. I might have been tempted when we pulled that copper out of the crowd.” Menzies sucked on the bottle of water.

  “Not just coppers either. The bastards got a couple of our lads as well. I couldn’t tell if they were alive or dead.” Harry drank water as well, because like all the rest he had a raging thirst after hours of this crap.

  “At least the brass got their heads out of...” Menzies realised there were officers wandering about. “The officers realised the true situation. The bloody petrol bombers lost their sodding enthusiasm when a few got shot.”

  Harry almost spat but with his luck he’d hit some officer’s boots as he came past. “Only after the third planeload were disembarked. There’s some bad burns from before then. This riot is supposed to be about fuel shortages and the idiots are throwing petrol bombs. It’s sheer lunacy.”

  “Not completely lunatic, some of that lot were trying for the rifles.” Menzies grinned. “Our shooters must have been primed for that because those bastards went down sharpish.”

  “Yeah, I felt the wind of a couple of those rounds, I reckon.” Harry continued to clean his bayonet. “Getting a bayonet bloody because the fool in front keeps pushing is bad enough, but shooting civvie men and women is a really bad job.”

  The other corporal grunted agreement. “See you found one as well.” Corporal Menzies gestured to the riot shield Harry had claimed.

  “I picked it up when one of the wounded coppers left it, and used it to push people away.” Harry shrugged. “That didn’t work because I needed two hands for the rifle. So on my next break I fixed it across my pack. It’s a lot more effective than the pack. It’s wider and even those bloody wooden poles they’re using to stab with just bounce off it.”

  Menzies was re-shuffling his s
hield to make it more secure. “It wasn’t the shields that turned it though. It was the bayonets and that’s just wrong against civvies. The lunatics at the back just kept pushing those at the front onto the points.” Menzies spat into the gutter. “The rifles should have shot those bastards at the back and let the front ranks pull away.” He shook his head. “The poor sods were being pushed over and through the wounded and into our lines, what did they think would happen?”

  “Until enough wounded got back for the rest to get the message, then they stopped. Will we ever know how many were wounded, because they’re gone, someplace?” Harry inspected his bayonet again, because he really didn’t want any blood left on it.

  “Christ knows. They had their own bloody riot when enough started fighting to get away. God knows how many of them injured other bloody rioters. It might have been a blessing when we were ordered forward.” Both winced, remembering that. Trying to step over injured men and women, pushing the bayonets forward until the fighting ahead broke up. Then the crowd was just that, a crowd of civilians running as fast as they could while the marksmen shot those stopping to throw a last missile.

  “This isn’t our job.” Harry waved his hand at the street with its scattering of still shapes among those still writhing or moaning. “Bayonets against civvies is just wrong. What happened to the police?”

  “Half of them are dead or in an ambulance, and the copper in charge had to ask for an Army escort to hospital. Our wounded aren’t going to hospital, unless they actually need an ambulance. Only really serious cases go to hospital because the place is full.” Menzies capped his water and looked around. “Or so I was told when I took a wounded copper back there. God knows when we’ll get to the barracks.”

  “Soon, I reckon. After all we broke this lot up. Surely they don’t want to try that again?” Harry gestured to a young woman being helped to her feet and led away. Her arm and side were drenched in blood. Many wounded had limped or staggered away once the soldiers were ordered to stand fast, but some weren’t able to.

  “You lot. From you to you, that’s about twenty. Get into that hotel and throw out any civvies who aren’t cooks. No cleaners or office staff and no customers. Then sit down in the dining room and get some hot food down you.” The men in question looked at the officer. “Christ, look at you. Get some sleep after that. Leave some decent rooms for the officers and sergeants, and squeeze up tight. We’ve got to cram you all in there if possible.”

  The lieutenant looked closer. “Well, well, well, we’ve got the bloody hero with us. Right, you’re in charge so I’ll know whose arse to kick if it isn’t done.”

  Harry sighed. “Yes sir.” The lieutenant turned and headed off, snapping out orders to get the tired men up and moving.

  Harry looked at Menzies and gave a tired smile. “Or maybe we won’t go to the barracks.” He stood and offered the other Corporal a hand to help him rise. “I just hope the staff are willing. Don’t fancy the food otherwise.”

  “My aunt used to make fag ash sandwiches, but it wasn’t deliberate. Just what dropped from the one in her mouth. After that I’m not too fussy about what I eat.” They gathered the weary men together and headed inside.

  * * *

  Clearing the hotel of residents was easy. “We’ve only got four guests, er, sir?” The desk clerk, a young woman in a smart dress, was completely out of her depth. “Are the Army wanting to book the rest?”

  Harry sighed. “Sorry, but no.” He tapped his arm. “These mean corporal so no need for sirs, and we’ve been sent in to commandeer the hotel under emergency powers.”

  “Emergency powers? One moment sir, er, corporal? I’ll get the manager.” Harry stood there with a crowd of dirty, tired soldiers while she did, and it didn’t take long.

  One look at the rifles and bayonets and the man who was standing in for the manager just shrugged. “Not my problem, though you’ll have to evict the guests.” He looked pointedly at the bayonets. “What about staff?”

  “Just enough to cook for eighty men. Though we could do with someone showing a couple of the lads where the laundry is.” If they were here for a while Harry couldn’t see the usual services being resumed. They’d all need somewhere to get the blood and muck off the uniforms and clean their boxers.

  “Right sir. I’ll let the staff know. Those who remain will be in the kitchens, down that corridor and through the door marked no entry.” The man turned to the receptionist. “D’you want a lift home, Kathy?”

  “What, now? My shift’s another three hours.”

  “No shifts now. This lot are taking over and I for one will be pleased to get the hell out of here. Do you want to stay and risk getting a lift later?”

  “Christ, no, Jacob. Thanks, I’ll just clock off and get my things.”

  “See you in the car park.”

  Harry looked at Menzies and the other man shrugged. “Maybe we’d better get into the kitchen and make sure they don’t all feel like that?” Menzies smiled. “You won’t like my cooking.”

  “Right. I’ll get the kitchen, you split this lot up and sort out these guests.” Harry headed down the passage and into chaos. Though this chaos wasn’t because they were all fighting to get out of the door.

  “Do we all have to go?” The young woman looked decidedly unhappy about that. “We live in.” There were some sideways looks among the others about that, but nobody argued.

  “I don’t care what the rest do, I need to get home.” The middle-aged woman in white clothing glared at Harry. “My kids won’t feed themselves but you lot are old enough to manage.”

  “I need enough to feed eighty soldiers. Well, some are officers and I’ll need someone to show us the best rooms for them. Simple food but filling and the first twenty are here and hungry.” Harry looked round. “We’ve got to have enough staff for that.” He shrugged. “Orders, so don’t blame me.”

  “You don’t need me for that. I cook the fancy stuff so I’ll be gone then.” The woman headed for the door and Harry hesitated, then let her go. He really didn’t fancy stopping a mother going home to her kids. A dozen more followed but there seemed a good few left. Especially when the door burst open.

  “There’s soldiers all over and they’re taking all….” The young man stopped. “Oh.”

  “Did you get the message?” Harry hoped so because there were others in the passage behind him.

  “Yes, we’ve all got to go home even if we don’t want to. Why? Do you know what the streets out there are like?” He looked at Harry’s stained uniform and the rifle. “Oh. I suppose you do.”

  “Yes, even though we only arrived last night. That’s why we need beds and food. You can stay if you’re catering staff. Kitchen staff, cooks, or whatever it’s called.”

  The youth looked worried, then his face cleared. He looked behind him. “We can stay if we’re catering staff. From the kitchens.” He turned back with a big smile. “I work in the kitchen, don’t I Cullen.”

  A portly man with a white apron and one of those cook’s hats looked at the youth for a minute. “Why yes, of course you do. You’d better get your apron on. In that cupboard.” Ten more people of all ages came out of the corridor behind him and four young women were kitchen staff and happy to stay.

  “Right sir, food for twenty coming up. Quick and simple.” Cullen smiled. “In the dining room in ten minutes, OK?”

  “Lovely, I’ll get the lads organised.” Harry was relieved because all those in here were smiling and none were making for the door. “Can someone show us the best rooms, for the officers?”

  “There’s someone showing the other soldier with those on his sleeve.” The young woman pointed.

  “Brilliant. I’ll get out of the way then.” Because Harry was covered in all sorts of crap, and stood in a kitchen surrounded by people in clean white aprons. Health and Safety wouldn’t be impressed.

  * * *

  The meal was bangers and mash with gravy and bloody wonderful. Hot cooked food, real English food a
nd exactly what the men wanted. The meal was served by half a dozen women who Harry had assumed were kitchen staff. Two were definitely waitresses, their expertise in handling the dishes and plates was clear. The others had smocks but theirs were pale blue unlike the kitchen staff.

  After finishing his meal Harry went to find out who they were, because he knew some bloody officer would give him grief sooner or later if they weren’t cooks. The four in question were missing. “Who’s in charge and where are the rest of the kitchen staff?”

  The portly man with the hat spoke up. “I’m the assistant cook, Cullen. This is all the kitchen staff.”

  “Plus those two waitresses and then there were at least four others. Don’t piss me about, Cullen, because I’m the reasonable sort. Some officer or sergeant will be a lot more bloody annoyed and then give me crap as well. So who are they?” Cullen’s eyes went round the kitchen while he worked on an answer.

  “Cleaning staff sir. They daren’t go home.”

  Harry turned to the young woman, one of the waitresses. “Why not? The riot is over. Is that why you and her have stayed? The rioting?” Harry realised that he was tired and probably sounded angry when the woman flinched back. He gentled his tone a bit. “Who are you?”

  “Janina, sir. We’re all frightened to go home. Some of us have been here three days now, expecting the place to be wrecked. Then you all turned up. Is the Army here to rescue us all?”

  Harry stared. Rescue them? “We’ve just landed at Heathrow and there was a riot, so we were told to stop it. Nobody said anything about rescues. Why can’t you go home?”

  The young woman looked embarrassed. “It’s the rioters sir. They go back to the estates at first light, but, well, they’re still there. Some of them look out for women. They caught Lucja on her way in on Wednesday, sir. The manager took her to the hospital but we haven’t been home since.”

  “What about the others? The ones who left?”

  Cullen spoke up at last. “They are the ones with houses or flats in the better areas, the ones that only get rioters at night. Most of them have got families. We’re the ones who live in digs or on the estates.” He sighed. “The manager didn’t come back after taking Lucja.”