Fall of the Cities: Planting the Orchard

by Vance Huxley

  Sergeant Wilson’s face sobered. “No, though it’s a bit tense. The Border Protection Force is being overwhelmed and last night the refugees broke through. None got onto the ships, but there’s supposed to be hundreds more refugees arriving from Lille. When they get there, it’ll be bloody chaos.”

  “Christ. I know the news said it’s bad in the French towns, but what are they marching to Calais for?”

  “There was a big riot in Lille. Now the survivors are marching to Calais and the Frogs are letting them. These aren’t refugees, or they weren’t. There’s been some ethnic cleansing going on and this lot lost.” Sarge looked at the men loading into the buses. “We’re heading for a ferry and there’ll be more units joining us. The officers don’t know why the Frogs aren’t stopping the marchers and there’s a flap on, which is why the brass have been so bloody talkative. Now move it because you don’t want to be last aboard. Not considering who is in charge.”

  Harry saw Lieutenant Symonns heading towards the bus and got the message. He was aboard long before the officer got there.

  * * *

  Three hours later the soldiers filed off the ferry in Calais. The first fifty or so were forming up when voices started shouting. “At the double, at the double. Leave your packs, follow the Land Rover.”

  Since that was blaring over the ship’s tannoy everyone got it, and started moving faster. Harry did wonder for a moment if the gangway would take it but the running men weren’t in step so it just swayed. Those on the lorry ramp wouldn’t have that problem. Within minutes three hundred men were jogging after the vehicle with just their rifles as luggage. The men went straight through the warehousing and past the custom’s inspection points until they reached a wide, clear area.

  “Form a line, double rank. Forget units. Move, move, move!” The urgency infected everyone, as did the sight ahead. The mesh fencing was still down in places and beyond it a sea of humanity was coalescing into a mob. The broken bits of timber, lumps of rubble and shoes mixed with stains on the concrete explained the urgency. The captain in charge had a split lip and had lost half the sleeve of his battledress.

  The remaining Border Protection Force didn’t look much better, and Harry realised that the body bags on the quay probably weren’t dead refugees after all. Not with civvie bodies still laid outside the fence. “Come on, move it. Line up and fix bayonets.”

  Lieutenant Symonns stared at the captain in horror, and seemed determined that he wasn’t going to end up the same way. He turned to the soldiers. “If one of you backs up I’ll shoot him.”

  There were a few mutters at that but nobody was actually against getting ready for what was coming. The battered captain headed off down the line, waving his arms and shouting as more men arrived.

  “Crap, we should have brought more blokes.”

  “Someone was on about another ferry. It must be late. Probably the crew are on strike.” The anonymous comedian would have been funny any other time, after the number of strikes there had been on the ferries. Right now he didn’t raise a laugh.

  “Here they come.” That statement wasn’t necessary as the crowd started forward, towards the partially wrecked fence and the thin line of soldiers.

  “Load your rifles.” A chill went up Harry’s spine. Symonns wasn’t going to open fire, was he? This lot hadn’t thrown a brick yet.

  “One in the air I reckon.” Whoever said that certainly made Harry feel better. Though he wasn’t happy since how the line formed up left him with his back against a stack of pallets. Retreat wasn’t an option even if they were only about four feet high. Though he’d have a lot better view from on top. Then, Harry realised, Symonns would shoot him for retreating.

  Everyone looked up at the scream of aircraft, coming in low. The crowd of refugees crouched but the planes were further back. Black dots fell from the jets and then they were gone, hurtling off and out of sight, still low and without altering course. Behind them plumes of black smoke with flickering flames at the bottom rose into the sky.

  “Oh shit, oh no. That’s the camp. They’ll kill us all.” The man in front of Harry was one of the battered Border Protection Force and for a moment Harry thought he’d run. Then he straightened and braced. “The bastards. The bloody stupid bastards. They’ve only gone and killed the women and kids.”

  Unbelieving faces turned towards him, and then wrenched their attention back to the front as a guttural roar rose from the crowd. The whole mass broke into a run and the first missiles arced up towards the soldiers. “Fire. Shoot.” The soldiers froze because there had been no sign of firearms, there weren’t even any petrol bombs. “Shoot them you stupid bastards!” That sounded like Lieutenant Symonns!

  A long burst erupted from somewhere to the left and refugees went down and then weapon after weapon joined in. Harry tried to hit those with weapons though after the second shot he paused. The tops of lorries showed over the men still running to contact, and they were coming at speed. Not down the road towards the barriers. These were bouncing cross-country, intent on smashing through the fence. Then they’d go straight through the thin line of soldiers! Men waving weapons were hanging from some of them.

  The marchers from Lille had arrived and this lot had firearms and a plan. Harry couldn’t see to shoot the bloody drivers so he turned and climbed up the pallets. Then stood and raised his rifle. When the three lorries coming his way finally stopped, one actually overturning, there was no shortage of targets with firearms. Harry was never sure how long the chaos went on but it probably wasn’t very long.

  Then there were calm voices calling from behind and more soldiers were pushing into the line, firing short bursts into any men still advancing. The remaining refugees stopped, and then began to run, leaving a carpet of dead and wounded. Rifles cracked and some of those with firearms dropped, but in a remarkably short time they had all gone.

  “You, Miller, where do you think you’re going?” Harry turned, open-mouthed, to see Lieutenant Symonns pointing at him. “Running away? I always thought so, you’re gutless.”

  “No sir. I needed to see, to shoot.”

  “You couldn’t see a target?” Symonns swept a hand out across the mass of casualties. “Everybody else could.” His eyes narrowed. “You’re under arrest.”

  “What started this?” Harry and Symonns both looked over at the speaker, a captain. “Who ordered the troops to open fire like this?” The captain looked at Symonns.

  Symonns looked around and then back at Harry. “This man opened fire sir. A full burst and the rest just followed. I was just arresting him for running away.” The captain’s eyes looked at Harry and where he was, stood behind the line of soldiers.

  “Well?”

  “Needed the height sir, to see the lorries. So I could shoot the drivers.”

  “Makes some sense. If he was thinking like that, are you sure this man fired first?” The captain’s eyes moved to Symonns but it wasn’t him that answered.

  “I can confirm that sir. I was looking straight at this soldier, and he was the first to fire.” Harry’s heart sank as he saw the speaker. Corporal ‘Suggs’ Young. His hand had healed but his other eye was black and swollen now, and he had a split lip that was still healing.

  “You are absolutely certain?” Symonns had a triumphant gleam in his eye as he asked.

  “Yes sir, I’ll swear to it.”

  “Corporal, you will hand over your rifle and come with me. You two as well because this needs sorting out right now.” The captain looked at Young. “You, corporal, take this man’s rifle and ammunition.”

  Harry looked around desperately and saw a familiar face. “Sergeant! Sergeant Wilson.” Sarge looked round and Harry beckoned. “Here, quickly please.” Then he turned back to the captain. “The rifle and ammo clips are evidence sir, so they should be kept by the sergeant. He’s not involved so there’ll be no doubt about the condition of the weapon.”

  “Is it broken?”

  “No sir, but I can prove it wasn’t
me?” Or reasonable doubt, Harry hoped, if the Army were still reasonable.

  “Very well. Sergeant, take this man’s rifle and ammunition and come with me. He is under arrest for panicking and starting this bloody massacre, and for attempted desertion.” The captain turned on his heel.

  Sarge looked at Harry and opened his mouth then shut it at a glare from Symonns. That was followed by a malicious smile at Harry from the lieutenant. “I knew I’d get you, but this is perfect. Hand the rifle over.”

  Harry did. “Don’t clear it Sarge, it matters. Don’t change the selector either, please.” Sarge looked down at the weapon and then very carefully kept the barrel facing skywards.

  “You should make it safe sergeant.” Symonns was smiling happily.

  “Evidence sir. I will point out that you interfered if the sergeant touches anything about it.” Harry kept his voice level. He could get out of the first charge except for bloody corporal arsehole Young. That made every tiny thing important.

  The march back to the colonel, busy supervising the rest of the men from the second ferry, was a short one. One that took about a year, from Harry’s point of view. The captain spoke briefly and the colonel came across with another captain. The colonel looked at the four of them.

  “Are you sure, Lieutenant?” He was looking at Lieutenant Symonns.

  “Lieutenant Symonns. Yes sir. This man opened fire first, and was trying to get away at the end.”

  “Are you certain, very certain, Corporal?” This time the colonel was looking at Corporal Young.”

  “Corporal Young. Yes sir. We used to be in the same unit.”

  “So what’s your answer, corporal?” This time Harry was the object of the attention. The colonel’s attention fastened on Harry’s battledress. “What’s that on there for?”

  “Corporal Miller. My CO said I had to wear the ribbon. I didn’t fire any bursts sir. I got onto the pallets to be able to hit the lorry drivers, and pick out those with firearms.”

  “Pick out? That’s not a sharpshooter’s rifle.”

  “A moment sir.” The new captain wanted a word. A captain without unit badges and Harry suddenly felt a bit happier.

  The new captain looked at Harry. “Did you do the same as when you got the medal, Corporal?”

  “Yes sir.”

  “How many did you get?” The captain was enjoying this, though the rest were looking baffled. Though Sarge had a little smile at mention of the medal. “How many rounds?”

  “Twelve but fifteen rounds because I used two for the lorry drivers.” Harry wasn’t religious, but he would stick a few quid in the box outside the next church he passed.

  The captain grinned at all present. “As I understand it, this man was supposed to be firing uncontrolled bursts. I’ll bet the rifle says not, unless it’s been altered. I’ll also bet there’s fifteen rounds left in the clip. Any takers?”

  The colonel looked at him for a moment and then turned. “Captain Akers?” The original captain, the one who’d marched them all over, stiffened. “Check the rifle please.”

  “Still one up the spout sir, and I didn’t alter the selector since the corporal insisted.” Sarge still had that little smile, with a bit of anticipation now.

  The captain checked. “It’s on semi.” He worked the bolt to eject the rounds. “I make that fifteen.” Harry’s webbing was checked and all his clips were full. The captain looked at the colonel. “Good job I didn’t take the bet.”

  “Yes, isn’t it? Well, Lieutenant?” The colonel had absolutely no humour on his face or in his look.

  “I was sure it was him, and he was on the pallet. Then this man confirmed it.” Corporal Young flinched. “There was a lot of confusion, so perhaps I was mistaken. Though I’m still unsure why this man was on the pallet.”

  “So he could shoot better.” The mystery captain turned to the colonel. “I can explain?”

  “Good. I’m a bit lost myself over the leap of faith. Do you know Corporal Miller?” The colonel looked over at captain Akers. “Take the Lieutenant and Corporal Young somewhere private, please. Make sure they’re separate. I’ll be really interested in comparing what they say.”

  Captain Akers hesitated. “What about Corporal Miller, sir?”

  “He’ll be coming as well, but not until I’ve had a little chat.” The colonel turned back to the mystery captain. “I suppose this is top secret or some such?”

  “Not really, but nobody believes the truth. I don’t know the Corporal personally, but I’ll bet he’s a pay clerk.” The captain took Harry’s rifle from captain Akers and handed it back to Sarge, then the officer turned back. “Remember when the Mad Mullahs decided Kuwait was on their to-do list?” The captain was talking to the colonel but Harry remembered all right. “There were a lot of convoys and single vehicles ambushed, and a lot of very nasty fire fights, and a few made the news. One concerned some clerk and a group of mysterious chaps who were the only ones out of the lorry who were still breathing when relief arrived.”

  There was a spark of recognition in the colonel’s eyes now, as the captain continued. “There was a lot of fuss and the clerk ended up with the medal, and most people assumed it was to keep the other conscious man out of the limelight.” The captain nodded towards Harry. “Meet the clerk, and believe me he actually earned anything he got. The other man put him up for it.” That was news, that Stones had put him up for a decoration!

  “One shot per man, mostly through the head except for when they charged and he had to double up on a few. Then his rifle jammed so he beat or chopped a few more to death. This man doesn’t run which is why that’s the CGC. His CO really is proud of that and insists he wears the ribbon, since it’s a bit unusual for a pay clerk.” The captain looked over at Harry. “Our lot think it’s funny, being rescued by a pay clerk, which is why most of us who were out that way know about Corporal Miller. Now I’ve got to go and sort those other things?”

  “Yes, thank you.” The colonel turned to Harry. “Now you give your deposition, and then you tell me exactly why you ended up with a CGC because I’m really curious.” Harry noticed Sarge following behind, trying to be inconspicuous.

  * * *

  “Then the relief turned up and took us all home. The relief counted up bodies and when they found out who shot who, gave Stones a lot of stick about being shown up. So the CO really did insist the bloody thing is on my uniform.” Harry indicated the ribbon.

  Sarge leant back and laughed. “Crap. I thought the same as most people I suppose. Right up to when you went after that asshole in a balaclava.” He chuckled. “Suggs never had a chance.”

  Harry smiled. “The last one had a sword.”

  “So the poncy stick?”

  “Stones and his mates didn’t think much of my technique up close and personal, so they wanted me to have something handy next time. It’s even got a pen and inkpot inscribed on the top and Stilus Gladio Fortior, The Pen is mightier than the Sword.”

  Sarge sobered. “You’ll get off the hook on this, because you weren’t guilty and a proper investigation will find that out. They’ll pull the bullets out of the lorry drivers if necessary. Your problem is that Lieutenant Symonns is a nastier piece of work than I thought.”

  Sarge sat for a few moments, visibly thinking hard and then his face cleared. “You may as well know. The arse is connected. Best thing you can do is take the Army offer and get out. Go and rescue your sister. Get her out of town and into a country cottage someplace.”

  “Christ, are you serious?”

  “Symonns will use his connections to wriggle out of this and drop the lot on Young. Who thoroughly deserves the crap. But then you’ll find some other, more senior officers here and there, looking for you.” Sarge shook his head. “Bloody marvellous. You start acting like a bloody soldier and you’ve got to go.”

  Harold was thinking fast. “I might go and get my sister, though I might collect some passengers first?”

  Sarge shook his head. “No you won’t.
If you go into London you won’t get out. Leave that lass with whatever help you managed, and come back later if you have to. Save your sister before the government seals off the other cities.”

  “What?”

  “It’s been mentioned. But you sure as hell never heard that from me because to be honest I’m not sure. I can’t see why, or how the country can function like that.” Sarge stared at the ground. “There again I’m not some bloody high-powered brain with a bright idea and the ear of the Prime Minister, am I?”

  “Thanks, Sarge. I’ll do it. I don’t like leaving but I can’t leave Sharyn and the kids in something like London. I could write and warn them?”

  Sarge’s snort of derision confirmed Harry’s own thoughts on that. “They’d cross that part out, then give you shit for suggesting it.” Sarge stood up. “Now get your arse in gear and start the paperwork. I’ll square it over you pissing off before the enquiry’s done now that the colonel’s onside. Though this enquiry won’t be done in my lifetime so that won’t be a big problem.”

  * * *

  Harry stared at the ticket. One way, bus leaving in two hours. “Why can’t I sort out my own transport?”

  The corporal behind the desk grimaced. “Petrol shortages. You take the official bus to wherever you told the Army you’re going. I might mention that this only came in after about a dozen of the squaddies who took discharge headed into London.”

  “So what?”

  “You think the brass want trained soldiers waiting when we go back in? Just my humble opinion.” The clerk looked down. “It says here you’re going to your sister’s. Is that true?”

  “Yes, but I did intend a diversion.”

  “Not now. Get on the bus, Mr Miller, late of HM Forces.” The corporal glanced at the heap by Harry. “You’ll need a bus to carry that lot.”

  Harry laughed. “I tried to get my pay this way because I don’t reckon the balance in cash will ever turn up. Good luck Corporal.”

  “Good luck, Mr Miller.”

  * * *

  Harry stared out over the city from the top of the by-pass. Miles of empty dual carriageway tarmac disappeared in front and behind the bus. In front, at the bottom of the up ramp, was a road lined with burned houses. “Is this it? How do I get home from here?”