Fall of the Cities: Planting the Orchard

by Vance Huxley

  “Body, Sarge?”

  “Hah. Yes, body. What was it, he won’t be back Sarge? Not likely since someone had stuck a cricket stump into his neck.”

  No I didn’t, Harry thought. “Cricket stump?”

  “Yeah, it was laid nearby and I reckon it was that or a poncy stick, maybe. Just a jab in the Adam’s apple that left a round mark but it did the job. Barely broke the skin which was why the body squad was puzzled. I suppose if you’d jabbed Suggs like that instead of in the eye he would have ended up the same way?”

  “No idea Sarge?”

  “Fair enough. I still don’t like the idea of you as a pay clerk, but you’ll do, Miller. After all, if you’d been a sniper or in a proper unit instead of a pay unit, I’d have had to find another way to fix that bastard Young. Now piss off, and don’t let me catch you coming out of a broom cupboard with a big smile.”

  “Right Sarge.” Menzies arrived and handed over the bayonets and the pair of them scarpered back up to their room.

  Neither of them could work out what had really happened, but it seemed they’d done Sarge a favour. Menzies was really curious, having seen some of the fight, so Harry promised the highlights if he could get some sleep first. Though he wanted an answer to one question. “Did your good morning mention Valentine’s?”

  Harold smiled. “Oh yes, and I really want some leave or a broom cupboard to follow that up. What about your bright smile?”

  “Ah. Well, you know I said I wouldn’t get a kiss? I don’t think she’s had a lot of practice but Valentine’s seemed to be important, and sort of surprising in a very nice way.” Menzies shook his head. “Bloody hell, I’m glad that fear of Sarge is keeping me honest because I was damn tempted to sort of, well as you said, follow up a bit.”

  “Broom cupboard?”

  “Christ, no. Not this one. Holding hands and a few kisses will probably be as far as it goes until we leave.” Menzies sighed. “Nita is really sweet and I wish we were staying longer.”

  “Me too.”

  * * *

  Good morning went on a long time and Harry pulled her down on top the bed, even if she was outside the cover. Cynthia giggled. “Should I put the chair under the door handle Harry Corporal Miller?”

  “If you wake me up like that again put the chair under first, because I’m not likely to let go.” Harry meant that because after the tension of last night that kiss had really got to him. No, sod it, that kiss didn’t need help from last night.

  “You’ll be late on duty?”

  Harry grinned. “I might not care. Which will be a shame because apparently I’m to get you in a broom cupboard.”

  “Really?” The tip of Cynthia’s tongue peeked. “I’ll look for one that’s big enough.”

  “Better knock first.”

  “Marcie? Oh God yes. She’s sort of fascinated because Stevie treats her like she’s made of china. Virgin china. She really wants to get into Stevie’s pants but doesn’t want to look easy.” Cynthia giggled again. “We’ve all sworn not to tell him, you know, what she does. Did, because Marcie reckons she’s coming off the game. She likes how Stevie treats her.”

  Cynthia became much more serious, “It was getting really bad out there before this, with the gangs getting worse than ever. The coppers don’t even go onto the worst estates now. How long will the Army stay?” She hugged tightly and giggled. “I don’t want to be left wondering.”

  “I don’t know. Really. We were supposed to go back to barracks but never got there. I suppose if the riots die down we’ll go.” Harry sighed. “I don’t fancy leaving you here if it’s bad as that.”

  “That definitely means you’re going to have to rush about this morning.” Cynthia’s lips descended. When she finally pulled her head back both of them were breathing heavily. “If you leave, I’m hiding in your rucksack.”

  “If you don’t wriggle about, I won’t tell.”

  That was worth a bit more rushing and then Cynthia, and Harry, really did have to hurry so that nobody asked awkward questions.

  Though the curious soldiers when Harry was a bit late for breakfast were more interested in the trio sat in one corner. On had a big patch over one eye and his hand was strapped up, one was having a lot of trouble eating through swollen lips, and one just kept very quiet. None wanted to make eye contact with anyone else. Harry could feel the eyes of everyone else looking to see if he bore any signs of combat, and ignored the whole thing.

  Though Harry had a quiet smile when the plates of breakfast landed in front of the three soldiers. Burned breakfast in a mixed heap in the middle of the plate. Harry reckoned it was probably scraped from other plates when they went back to the kitchen. Cynthia gave Harry a big smile on the way back. The trio left the food, and the dining room, and a lot of chatter broke out. Though nobody asked Harry anything. It was the last time any of the squaddies saw the trio in London.

  * * *

  After another ten days the riots eventually died away a little, though the troops didn’t leave. Some men started to hope that the worst was over, and Cyn promised a broom cupboard soon in case the soldiers were leaving. Instead the sergeants came round in daylight with instructions for everyone to collect ammunition. Then the buses turned up but three this time with steel plates on the sides to supplement the heavy wire mesh on the windows.

  “Where are we going, sergeant?” Sergeant Wilson grimaced.

  “The police have a serious problem with criminals. Something over and above their firearms squad or maybe they’re busy.” Sarge looked round the bus. “Be really careful this time because we’ve been told this lot are armed, really armed. Forget being in England. Treat this as a raid on some nutter’s compound in Kuwait or Iraq or Syria. Take no chances and shoot without hesitation.”

  “What is it, some gang headquarters or what?” Sarge glanced at the speaker.

  “You should be so lucky. This is a council estate. Social housing and the chances are most of them have never left the place in years. It’s their own little country where even the coppers don’t go. Now we’re going to invade. You’ll get it all at the briefing but this is the highlights.”

  “Christ Sarge, will there be women?” Harry had spoken without thought because if it was an estate?

  “Yes, Miller, and kids. Everyone be very, very careful what you shoot at. But remember if you identify a shooter it doesn’t matter if she’s someone’s Grandma. Shoot her dead.” Sarge looked around the bus. “Don’t piss about or you’ll kill one of your mates as sure as putting the gun to his head.” Then he reached down and handed Harry a fat scope. “I know you’ll be careful so you are covering us today.” He held Harry’s eyes. “Keep them alive, Harry.”

  A big pair of binoculars went to LC Tredwell. “You’re a crap shooter, so spot for him. There’ll be snipers with proper rifles and suchlike covering the operation, but I want a pair of eyes I trust over our lads. With our own personal cover.”

  Harry put the big scope on his rifle. “Tredwell?”

  “Yeah, Corp?”

  “Find me a big bit of concrete or such like, three or four hundred yards out with some distinctive marks on. Something where the bullet won’t go through and kill someone watching telly.”

  “OK. Why?”

  “So I can make sure this thing is working properly.” Harry tapped the scope.

  “It’s the real thing this time, isn’t it?” Tredwell sighed. “In England. That’s never right.”

  * * *

  This wasn’t at all like Kuwait and not only because of the style of buildings. Light snow covered the ground and breath plumed as the men dived for cover again and again. The opposition was different as well, and not because of their clothing. These people had never fought troops or anyone with a lot of rifles. The defenders thought that blazing away with handguns from fifty to a hundred yards away would stop the soldiers.

  They certainly didn’t think of taking cover at a hundred yards away and were being shot down in droves. That didn’t sto
p more of them picking up the weapons. That sort of fanatical lunacy was definitely like Kuwait. Unfortunately some had rifles, and they did know how to shoot. Though they still didn’t understand taking cover properly.

  “Got another one, Miller.” Tredwell’s voice had lost its earlier excitement. That had died as nine times he watched while men with guns died. Smashed down by bullets Tredwell had personally called down on them.

  “Where?” Harry was numb. This was exactly what he didn’t want to do, exactly what he’d tried so hard to avoid. But now he had got to know the soldiers ahead. The squaddies who were being shot at were personal friends. There were too many guns shooting from the buildings and the official backup snipers were being overwhelmed by the sheer number of targets. They were also trying to respond to targets called in by a lot of different units. So Harry squashed his reservations and pulled the trigger time after time.

  “Tower block, the one with the big yellow graffiti. Four floors down, sixth window from the left. That’s a rifle.” Tredwell cursed. “It just fired so it really is a solid target. Oh shit.”

  “What?”

  “Never mind. There’s curtains so you’ll have to shoot at where you think er, he is. The shooter.” Tredwell sounded a bit flaky, but he’d gone that way after the third so Harry ignored it.

  Harry moved his scope onto the window and there were flowered curtains billowing in the wind at the open section. Beneath them a long tube was aimed downwards. Harry carefully adjusted his sights as Tredwell gave him the range. Harry used a flag over one of the tower blocks to estimate the wind and it was still about the same. The curtains billowed and Harry caught his breath.

  “Tredwell. It’s, she’s.” Harry couldn’t say it.

  “She’s a shooter Harry.” Though Tredwell’s voice was very quiet and not totally convinced. Harry pictured that face as the curtain obscured it. Not a Grandma, but old enough for a mother, maybe a few times.

  The rifle spat flame again and the radio asked plaintively if someone could kill the bastard snipers please. Not sniper so not necessarily this one, but Harry hardened his heart. He followed the line of the rifle barrel up and settled. Then moved the point of aim just a little.

  Harry couldn’t guarantee a kill anyway, but this way increased the chances of just wounding. If he smashed her shoulder then she wouldn’t be shooting again. Harry fired. The rifle in the window was snatched backwards suddenly and didn’t reappear. That was a hit because the jerk was involuntary, not a reaction to a near miss.

  “Hit. Probable but not confirmed.” Tredwell didn’t sound happy either.

  Silence fell around them though the rattle of gunfire continued just ahead. Harry was only keeping about fifty yards back from the rest of his mob because this wasn’t a specialist weapon. It wasn’t that accurate if the range lengthened too far. Then more complaints on the radio led to Tredwell finding another target and the bearded face in the scope was almost a relief. More targets followed and then the Army were falling back. Mission accomplished though nobody was saying what that meant.

  * * *

  Harry couldn’t sleep. He had, briefly, but tossed and turned. In the end he quietly put on his trousers and a tee-shirt because Menzies was fast off. Then he wandered downstairs and sat in the empty dining room, thinking. Nine men hadn’t come back on the bus, though five of them were expected to return eventually. There was still no talk of when everyone would be split up to find their own units. There was no hint of when they’d go back to the barracks.

  Harry went to the kitchen for a coffee. Marcie smiled and brought him one and a doughnut. “Why are you up?” She grinned. “Cyn will be disappointed if you aren’t there for wakeup.” So would Harry, he was having to hurry with his shower about one morning in three and was seriously considering looking for broom cupboards. The stunned look and big smile that Maynard had two mornings ago hinted that one was available.

  “I’ll be disappointed if I’m not there.” He sighed. “I can’t sleep. It was a bad day.” Harry gave her a small smile. “I keep seeing people who are now dead.

  I need to think of something else and it’s hard.” Marcie put a hand on his arm and went off, doing whatever. Harry took his coffee through to the dining room. It did cross his mind that coffee might not be a good idea, but caffeine wasn’t the problem.

  * * *

  “Corporal Miller.” Harry looked up at Marcie.

  “Hi there, what is it?” He’d been here half an hour and was tired but still nowhere near sleep.

  “There’s someone wants to see whoever is on duty. Dav… Maynard is already busy so I thought maybe you would go. Maybe it will take your mind off other things?” The young woman looked anxious.

  “Sure, no problem. Who is it and where?”

  “Second floor, near the top of the stairs. There was no name, just a message.” Harry thought about that but there was no reason for alarm. Not in the hotel itself in the middle of the night. The rooms weren’t exactly soundproof so one yell would rouse the lot. Why was he thinking like this? Because he was tired and kept seeing dead people.

  Then Harry turned the last corner and could see who was at the top of the last short flight of stairs. “Cyn?”

  Her eyes sparkled. “I was told you needed something to catch your attention.” She was dressed in a raincoat which was odd. “Do you really want to dance with me, and find out about how much of Cynthia is Cyn?

  “Christ yes, but I can’t leave the hotel.”

  Cynthia took his hand. “Come with me, Harry Corporal Miller.” Harry took her hand and followed. Those faces in his head were already fading a bit. He wondered if Cynthia was taking him to her room, but that was on the third floor.

  Cynthia stopped in front of a blank door and took a key out of her pocket. Then she put it in the lock. “This is the broom cupboard. It took a while to get it ready.” She giggled as the door unlocked and pulled the key out.

  “Shouldn’t we have knocked?”

  “If the key goes in, nobody is inside.” They stepped inside and Harry had a brief glimpse of a single mattress with a thin strip of floor alongside. Then every thing went black as the door closed and the key rattled again. “There, now we’re private.” Harry captured the figure moving past and pulled her close, to be rewarded by a fierce kiss. “Just a few moments, Harry Corporal Miller.”

  “Harry. Just Harry in here.” Harry let her pull through his hands, but reluctantly. Bloody hell, he’d actually had a couple of interesting dreams about Cyn but not in a real broom cupboard. “Where are the brooms?”

  “Stationery cupboard because it had to be big enough for the bed, but we renamed it because Sarge was so certain.” There was a giggle in her voice and some rustling, and then a dim light appeared. “Just a moment.” Cyn pulled out something from under her coat and then a sheet was spread on the mattress. “I’ll collect it later for the laundry.”

  Cyn’s voice was a bit breathless and Harry felt the same way. There was no tease here, because Cyn had just locked them in and put a sheet on a bed. She was definitely Cyn not Cynthia right now.

  “Just the music, then we can dance.” Harry was just wondering how to get away with someone hearing that, and if she was wearing a dancing dress under there, when the music started. “Let’s Marvin Gaye and Get It On” whispered quietly in the small room. Cyn turned with a big smile and slipped off the coat.

  “Can I have this dance please sir?”

  “Christ yes, but the dancing might not reach the end of the record.” Cyn was dressed in a lace Teddy, and a big smile, and nothing else.

  Cyn slipped into his arms and began to move to the music. “We can still dance even if we aren’t stood up. Though I had hoped for one upright dance.” She giggled and moved slowly against him. “Just so you don’t think I’m too easy.”

  “After all the good mornings where you left me frustrated?” Harry’s hands were already exploring the edges of the Teddy, and started on the flimsy garment itself. “In any case, I�
��m the easy one. If you’d used a chair the second morning?” He bent his head and Cyn tipped hers back.

  The third time they broke lip contact to breath Cyn ran her hands down under the top of his trousers. “Considering what your hands are up to, I want to find out what’s under here.”

  “I’m sort of interested in what’s under this.” Harry’s hands went on another trip over the Teddy.

  “You know what’s under it.” Harry moved back just enough for Cyn’s hands to get to work on unfastening his trousers and they slid down. “Oh. Not a commando then?”

  “No, and even though I know what’s under this, I’m still interested.” Harry’s hands came round the front to show just how interested, and pull at the little bows.

  “Not yet.” Cyn wriggled as Harry got a hand inside. “Or not all of it. Not with your shirt on.” Harry released her to help strip off his Tee-shirt. Then he pulled the straps off Cyn’s shoulder and the Teddy came down to her waist. Cyn put her arms round him and cuddled up close. “Oh God yes. Now this is a real dance.”

  It was and somehow they both got to the end of it still on their feet. The track changed. “Can we sit this one out?”

  Cyn giggled and sat on the mattress, pulling Harry down beside her. “I got my dance. The standing one.”

  Donna Summer began to sing “Love to Love You Baby.”

  “Now that’s what I call mood music.” Harry pulled at the last bows on the Teddy, then paused. “Oh, damn. I haven’t, er, got, um.” Because he hadn’t got a bloody condom with him.

  Cyn laughed and rolled away from Harry, reaching towards the light and the little MP3 player. “But we have an um, the rubber ones? We raided the machine in the toilets.” Harry looked at the curvy ass now pointed at him and began to strip the Teddy off it. Cyn giggled again and rolled back over, bending her legs one at a time to help him get the bit of lace off. She waved a foil square between finger and thumb. “My turn.” Then she reached for Harry’s boxers.