by Vance Huxley
* * *
“Shit! Sir, man down. He’s been shot.” Harry, along with a lot of others, looked at his empty rifle and muttered unkind and profane comments about officers.
“Don’t worry. The sharpshooters will get them. Just keep your heads down a bit.”
“All right for that bastard. He’s not trying to fend off a sodding lunatic while keeping his sodding head down.”
“Shut it!” Sarge stifled further anonymous comment. A rattle of shots from behind and overhead announced the sharpshooters.
“How come you aren’t with them?” Menzies was puzzled. “You being so shit hot with a rifle?” Maynard must have given him the story, or enough of it.
“Glad I’m not. I’ll shoot a bloke with a gun but I’m not even keen on that. I’m bloody pleased I’m not shooting some woman throwing a petrol bomb, because I wouldn’t sleep well.” Harry still dreamed of some he’d shot and they were lunatics with guns.
Menzies grinned. “You won’t sleep well if the bloody thing hits you. How come though, because they’ve picked out all the marksmen.”
“I never qualified since I didn’t want to be a sniper. What about you? You had a rifle with a big scope and looked the part.”
“Picked it up off a body. I didn’t want someone using it on me as I ran for the plane. I was damned glad you took it.” Menzies glanced up and crouched. “Oh shit, here we go again.”
The rioters had quietened for a moment as the gunfire echoed in the street, but now they were back and petrol bombs were coming up and over. By the time the crowd broke the bayonets were red, and three soldiers were down with gunshot wounds. Two went to hospital and one into a body bag. Two of the civvie corpses had holes in their backs where their own had shot them, by mistake presumably. The Army rifles killed six shooters but only three handguns were recovered.
The soldiers marched back to the buses, and were taken back to the hotel. The hotel staff produced tea, coffee and bacon sandwiches for those awake enough to eat. The rest staggered into their rooms.
* * *
This time good morning was in daylight. “Eight thirty hours.” A smiling Cynthia informed Harry, because the shifts had been altered. “Now you are on shift from nine hundred to seventeen hundred, and Menzies from then until oh one hundred. Maynard has the night shift.”
“Unless there’s a riot.”
Cynthia’s smile faltered. “Then we have nobody to feed so we don’t need a supervisor.” Cynthia’s smile brightened again. “That means that I get to bring your morning coffee every morning. So maybe I’ll eventually find out the truth about commandos.” She made a mock attempt to peek down Harry’s covers.
“You could be very disappointed.”
“You could risk it?”
Harry looked down the room. “Where are the other two?”
“I told them to leave so that you wouldn’t be embarrassed if I peeked.” Just for a moment Harry thought she might have, until he caught the mischief in her eyes. Then Cynthia laughed. “Nearly got you that time. Now I have to go before you ruin my reputation.” She gave Harry a lovely smile and turned. Just as she left her voice added, “though I’m a bit disappointed you haven’t even tried.”
No, thought Harry, but I surely would if you pulled this stunt anywhere I thought might stay private long enough. Cynthia was safe with her teasing while Harry was here, sharing a room with three others and with Sarge likely to turn up at any time. If he ever got any leave, Harry would offer to take her to a dance or pub, and try to find out how much was tease. He sat up and reached for the coffee.
* * *
“Oh, corporal, just the man. Are the Army organising more supplies? Bacon, eggs, sausages, potatoes, all that sort of thing.”
Harry stared at Cullen. “There isn’t enough?”
Cullen shrugged. “Your soldiers are going through the usual stocks of simple but filling at speed and there have been no deliveries. There weren’t many the week before that but we haven’t had many guests.” Cullen smiled. “You don’t want me to start experimenting with what’s left. I told you, trainee.”
“But we had bread? And milk?”
“We’re using frozen milk and really need more soon. The bread is made here so we need more flour and yeast.”
“Damn. Make a list and I’ll see what I can do.” Harry headed towards the front of the hotel, officer country.
Plywood was being fastened over the ground floor windows. Even those not already broken. The captain overseeing that had obviously been anticipating Harry’s query at some time.
“This is a list of supermarkets and discount warehouses in the immediate area. Over there on the reception desk are the keys to the truck out front and an A-Z map of London. Take a lance-corporal with eight soldiers and make sure they are all armed to the teeth.” The captain smiled at Harry’s look. “That’s a war zone out there so treat London the same as any other city you ever fought in.” Harry collected his rifle and helmet and signed out an ammunition belt. Once he’d got his escort armed, Harry gave the lance-corporal the list and map.
The streets did look like a war zone, and Harry did actually know what a war zone looked like. It wasn’t just the rubble and broken windows. There were also burned out cars and buildings, and here and there were other signs of how serious the situation was. Patches that looked too much like old bloodstains, and items of clothing. Torn and stained shirts, or single trainers, were laid on the footpaths and tarmac. The lorry went around the largest lumps of masonry and over the rest.
* * *
“This is the first supermarket on the list.” ‘This’ had two holes where the door and window should be. The ground outside was covered in broken packets of pasta, cereal, flour and sugar. Mixed in were other crushed packets and boxes, and even some squashed cans.
Harry sighed. “Two men on the back of the lorry, one on the street out front, one in the cab. We’ll go in and see if there’s anything we need.”
“The place has already been looted.” The lance-corporal, Tredwell, was looking at the mess on the pavement.
“Opportunists. They’ll have grabbed what they want and left. There’ll be no booze or prescription drugs.” Harry looked along the street both ways. “They grabbed the expensive or alcoholic and ran so there’ll be beans and suchlike left. Anyway I’d rather take the food from a wrecked shop than somewhere the local families get their food from.”
“Fair point, Corp. You two, with me.” The three men stepped into the shop with their bayonets fixed and a round up the spout. Nobody wanted to take chances after the last few nights. Within a few minutes Tredwell came back out.
“One body in the back office and there’s a floor safe. It’s open and empty and so is the till. There’s a room at the back with a big padlock on. Someone hit it with a fire extinguisher but the lock is still holding.” Tredwell grimaced. “You’re right about grab and run. There’s still a lot of food laid on the floor, and there are plenty of cans of beans and suchlike.
“That door is probably either a big fridge or the storeroom. Have we got anything to open it because I don’t fancy stopping a ricochet?” Harry smiled. “If it’s a fridge I reckon we’re sorted for bacon sandwiches.”
“There’ll be something in the toolbox, Corp.”
“Which means you just volunteered.” The squaddie sighed dramatically and climbed out of the cab. He rattled about in the big box bolted to the truck and turned, waving a selection of tools including a lump hammer.
“Hang on.” Tredwell sent one of the other men into the cab and then the volunteer locksmith headed into the gloom. Harry and Tredwell followed. While he waited for the door to be opened Harry had a look in the office. The body had been beaten before his throat was cut, presumably to persuade the man to open the safe. This wasn’t just rioting and looting.
Within minutes the padlocked door opened to reveal an apprehensive middle-aged woman. Her face cleared as she saw the uniforms. “Thank God, the Army. But where is Silas?”
She was trying to look past Harry and her face tightened as she saw the state of the shop beyond.
“Who is Silas?” Harry had a horrible suspicion that he knew.
“My husband. He was going to give them the keys to the safe so they would go away and leave us in peace. But he swallowed the key to the padlock so even if they searched him, it wouldn’t be found.” She looked slightly embarrassed. “I was expecting to wait a little bit longer while he, you know, retrieved it.” The woman moved out a bit and looked round. “They’ve wrecked it. Why didn’t they just steal the food and booze, why wreck it?” She turned towards the little office and Harry stopped her.
“Mrs?”
“Yes, Mrs. Imberg. Betty.”
“I need to talk to you before you go in there. What did your husband look like?” Betty wrenched herself out of Harry’s grasp and lunged towards the office. She stopped in the door way and gave a strangled gasp, before moving forward and dropping to her knees. Then she looked back at Harry, her tears already starting.
“Why?”
Harry had no answers. “I’m sorry. I don’t know.”
Behind him Tredwell tapped on Harry’s back and whispered. “That store is full, and there’s a cold store at the back. We can get most of what’s on the list. Should we start?”
Harry turned and spoke quietly. “Yes, get it loaded quickly but take loose food from the floor first. Then we can lock the rest back up. Try and find something for the body.” Tredwell looked past Harry, startled. “Would you want tell her we’re leaving him here?” The LC shook his head.
“I’ll get on it. Will you?” He gestured.
“I’ll explain requisitioning. Just make sure you’ve made a list.” Harry turned back to the weeping woman. “Mrs. Imberg. Betty. Is there someone you can contact?”
She looked up, her eyes already red and swollen. “Yes, we have family.”
Harry picked the phone up off the floor and remarkably, after replacing the hand-piece for a few moments, got a dialling tone. “Why don’t you call them? Then we can give you a lift.” Her eyes went to her husband. “Yes, him as well.” Harry held out the phone.
In the end Harry had to talk to the family himself because Betty couldn’t really put everything into words. Tredwell found a roll of big rubble sacks and some tape, and with one of the squaddies made Silas Imberg into an anonymous parcel. Meanwhile the soldiers loaded the lorry. Once they had finished Harry picked a big padlock off a shelf and put it in the clasp. He handed the three keys to Betty Imberg.
“What’s the point?”
“The point is that you and your family can live a long time on that food. It might get a bit boring, but hopefully you’ll all stay alive and well until this all dies down.” Harry looked at the rest of the shop. “If you come in daylight, maybe your family can help you take the other useable food.”
“But it isn’t going to die down, is it? Not with all the oil gone.”
Harry shook his head. “It hasn’t all gone, there’s billions of gallons still down there. Anyway, all the wells can’t be gone. There’ll be some left, especially the ones out at sea.”
Mrs. Imberg shook her head at that. “The TV explained. The oil is all useless because the refineries are all gone.”
“They’ll rebuild. It’ll just take a bit of time.” A chill went up Harry’s spine. All the refineries? Was that possible? The Army wouldn’t allow live TV in Kuwait and he hadn’t really had the chance to catch up since coming home.
“But what happens during that time?” Betty Imberg took a deep, shuddering breath. “I’m sorry. You have been very kind and I don’t want to seem ungrateful. It’s just.” She waved a hand around to take in the shop, the lorry, and no doubt Silas. “I really would appreciate a lift, and then we will see.”
At least Harry felt a bit better when the house door opened and a big man with grey hair swept Betty into an embrace. He nodded to Harry and his eyes narrowed as two men brought the body round. The man moved the grieving woman aside, gently, as Silas was taken into the house. Then Harry lifted a hand in farewell and told the driver to head for the hotel.
* * *
“What the hell has been happening? I just met a woman who said all the refineries were gone, everywhere.” Harry had cornered Menzies who was up and about but not yet on duty.
“Christ! No, surely not all of them? The bloody TV is in the officer’s mess so none of us have seen sod all. Hang on, someone had an old newspaper. You go round the lads as well, borrow any magazines and papers.” Menzies was back in ten minutes as was Harry, and they sat and read in silence for a while.
“Crap. We’re screwed.”
“The Yanks have still got oil and South America is still pumping the stuff out.” Though Menzies didn’t sound optimistic.
“A lot of places are still pumping it out according to these. There’s just no bloody refineries left. According to this,” Harry waved a newspaper, “someone even blew up the little one in the north of Scotland. What the hell sparked this off?”
“Christ knows, or maybe Allah. The reporters can’t decide if it started in Russia or the Middle East. Then suddenly Milford Haven and the big Dutch refineries were going up, and there were groups lighting bonfires under oil pipelines all over the world.” Menzies looked from one publication to the other. “But why? Nobody seems to be protecting their little bit and asking for a lot of cash.”
“These are old news, so maybe they have now.” Harry grimaced. “Because it’s not all over the world. Just Asia, Europe and Africa which leaves all the Americas with all the petrol.”
Menzies waved a magazine. “The map in this showing destroyed refineries looks like over half the world got measles, and add Australia to the list.” Menzies hesitated. “Some of them reckon it’s a CIA thing, so that the Yanks have all the oil. That it got out of hand.”
“Not according to this.” Harry lifted the magazine. “Their article reckons if it was the CIA they’d have picked on Venezuela, since they aren’t the USA’s best friends.” Harry sighed. “Betty was right, we really are in the shit. I can’t remember where I saw it but years ago some TV bloke said Britain only has enough petrol for a week, and enough gas for three days.”
They stared at each other and let that settle in. “Let’s hope the special bloody relationship includes the Yanks filling up the national petrol tank.” Menzies grunted agreement. “We should get a radio at least, or maybe a TV.”
“The officers would nobble it. Otherwise there’d be a TV in the dining room. They’re not exactly stopping us finding out, just making it difficult. Mushroom syndrome.” Menzies waved the newspaper. “These are all old ones, so we need to get up to date.” Then he smiled. “Maybe Cynthia has a TV in her room. Nip in there and find out, or have you already done that?”
“Crap, no. Don’t even breath it. Though what about whoever wakes you up?”
“She’s nice but definitely hands off. A quiet lass with a lovely smile but I reckon you got the firecracker.” Menzies looked at Harry and grinned. “We could requisition a TV from somewhere? A little portable and give it to the staff?” He laughed. “You could maybe get into her room after all.”
That reminded Harry of a question over the wakeups. “Hey, Menzies, how come you pair are missing when I get woken up?” Harry grinned. “Well I know Maynard is on shift, but you’re always gone as well. I don’t mind but it’s bloody tempting when that lass turns up.”
Menzies laughed. “There’s nobody there when I get my call, so where are you?” Harry was trying to think why he was never in there. Not for Menzies because Harry was on duty, but not when Maynard was woken up either. Menzies laughed again. “I wondered so took note, and there’s always some sort of query. From the kitchen staff and it’s never serious. Just enough to get me out of the room or occupied for about ten minutes.”
“So Cynthia, er, the staff are making sure they get us alone?” Harry frowned. “That’s risky.”
“They don’t care, apparently. I
daren’t make a move but you’re right about tempting because the same bright smile wakes me up every time. Though mine isn’t more than a smile. I reckon I’d be lucky to get a kiss if we did find a quiet spot.” Menzies grinned. “You’ve got a smile as well from what you said. Cynthia?”
“It might just be because they’re on duty at the right time?” Harry laughed. “But it isn’t, is it? Christ, now I really do want some leave and someplace to take Cynthia dancing.”
“Me too. Since we get diverted Maynard must be getting the same treatment.” They both laughed because Maynard was known for being shy. Trying to talk to a woman while in bed he’d be dumbstruck. Harry was now curious enough to try and find out how interested Cyn actually was.
* * *
“Good morning Harry Corporal Miller.” After a week that was the usual style of address from Cynthia, ever since Harry tried to explain his rank and name. That and a wicked smile. Harry woke up slowly as usual, then smiled.
“Just hang on a sec while I sit up. Don’t peek, will you? In case this blanket slips.” Harry started to sit up and got his partial answer. Cynthia didn’t look away. Instead she watched with a little smile and the tip of her tongue peeked out. Then she pouted.
“Spoilsport. You never let it slip at all.” Cynthia put down the coffee and then slowly looked over the exposed parts. She sniggered. “Though now I know you don’t wear a shirt, so I’m really curious.”
“It’s a good job I’m not as curious. Your roommates might not be happy if a soldier charged in there every morning.” Harry did wonder if he could organise a diversion for her roommates sometime.
“They might not be there if they knew you were coming.” Cynthia let her tongue come out just enough to wet the middle of her lips.
“Yes curious that, there’s never anyone here when you arrive.”
Cynthia sighed dramatically which tightened her blouse front in a really attractive way. “But still you never take advantage. It makes me wonder what a girl has to do to get noticed.”
