Last Man Standing

by Vance Huxley

  “Not enough people died because they were sat with their feet up, eating all the sheep somebody left in the Hebrides.” The aristocratic woman who ran the work camps let a mild sneer drift across her face. “Which genius is responsible for that little oversight?”

  “My people cleared the population on schedule, Grace.” Vanna looked around for someone to divert attention, fastening on the man in naval uniform, Victor. “Perhaps if the navy had managed to get to sea over winter, nobody would have crossed the Minch to take advantage?”

  “Perhaps, maybe, should have. Nobody expected there to be anyone to eat the sheep, or cross the Minch, so how about we get back to killing the problem?” The chairman, Owen, didn’t raise his voice but everyone stopped bickering. “Do you have any successes to report in the rest of the country, Maurice?”

  “Some, here and there, because the gangs are stirring after winter. Some stirred more than others.” A map of Eastern Birmingham, showing Orchard Close and the surrounding area, came up on the screen. “I explained the situation here, how everyone wanted to kill each other but daren’t in case they were stabbed in the back?” The others nodded or agreed, interested because some of these gang wars could be entertaining. “Unfortunately, one of those who should have dealt with the democratic enclave underestimated them.” Maurice shrugged as drone pictures came up on the screen. “I’ve got analysts trying to work out what happened, but it isn’t easy.”

  “It’s a bloodbath. There’s bodies all over so someone got over the wall and stormed the enclave.” Vanna shrugged; her tone dismissive. “It’s happened a hundred times.”

  “No, because I knew the plan. An agent inside drugged the gate guards. The gang put a hundred and fifty men inside the walls, at night, then lost. Hardened, experienced fighters who were already inside the defences while the occupants slept, were killed to a man. The locals are on good terms with the nearby soldiers so I thought the squaddies might have taken a hand, but no.” The picture on the screen changed to show a rough line of bodies, stretching out across the ruins. “That’s a new border marker, and a big hint to the losers.”

  Joshua leant forward, suddenly intent. “I’d like to see the analysis, and can you send the raw data to the Army? If you’ve got spies anywhere near I want every scrap of information, raw, not after your analysts have worked over it. If there’s something different we need to know about it. Not for this enclave, but the Londoners might come up with something like it.”

  “Let me have the analysis as well please, because my people may have to clear this actual enclave if all those little schemes fail.” For once, Vanna and Joshua were united, though Vanna tweaked the farm manager a little. “Well Henry, do you still want us to rescue your pinups and give them a few acres in France?”

  “More than ever. They’ll not only hold it; they’ll stamp out any sort of guerrilla warfare behind our advance when we reclaim Europe.” Henry smirked as several faces lost their sneers, looking thoughtfully at all those bodies. “A line of these more democratic enclaves, the toughest ones, grateful for a new start, would save on garrison troops.”

  “Which might matter if we can ever clear the cities in the UK.” The Cabal diplomat, Boris, nodded to Henry. “Though I like Henry’s idea. Before we clear cities in the future, we should extract suitable candidates.”

  “There won’t be any like that in London. They’ve been eating their young in there, more or less, for nearly three years. None of them will ever be grateful.” The chairman turned to Joshua. “Can we still launch the attack on the Reivers and the one on London, both this year?”

  “I’d rather finish the Reivers first. Something will go wrong, Murphy’s Law. We’ll still beat them, because armour trumps huge numbers of warm bodies unless the bodies have armour-piercing, but it might take longer than expected.” Joshua smiled expansively. “But we can start moving the soldiers from guarding the cities to training camps in the autumn, to sharpen them up ready for London. Just don’t commit them, because something new is happening in London but Maurice hasn’t got enough information to work out what. Have we decided which gangs take over the guard posts around the cities?”

  “You weren’t serious about giving the gangs the job!” Vanna subsided as she saw the little smile on Joshua’s face. “Ha, ha. Very funny. My people will be ready to take over the guard posts.”

  “Can we go back to this idea of salvaging some enclaves to use later? Is there any way we can give the best candidates a little help, the same way Maurice helps his killer gangs?” Henry had finally got his chance to save the best out of the chaos, people who had risen above the savagery. “We want them as strong as possible when the time comes.”

  A fierce discussion broke out with Vanna, Maurice and Grace insisting the inhabitants of the cities were all surplus, and any easing of the original plan to kill them all was a mistake. Boris and Henry were equally certain a few genuinely democratic or benign enclaves, planted in Europe as the Cabal finally invaded to liberate the continent, would be priceless assets. Joshua eventually agreed with Henry, because those enclaves would protect his rear when the soldiers advanced, while Gerard wanted pacified supply lines for his lorries. That idea converted Ivy, the woman who would be producing the supplies, on strictly practical grounds because she’d prefer all those enclaves in flames.

  “Sorry Maurice, you’ve lost this one.” Owen hit the table with his gavel. “That Orchard Close enclave will make a good test subject. Whatever schemes you have to destroy them, pull the plug. We’ll leave the local soldiers in place as well, because they are looking right down into the back gardens and you say they’re already on good terms.” The chairman thought for a few moments, then turned to Joshua. “Can we hint that we don’t mind the odd burst of machine-gun fire if the neighbours call again?”

  “From the soldiers? I don’t know, because we’ve been sudden death on any hint of soldiers actually interfering. We’ve court-martialled the culprits on the odd occasions it happened.” Joshua thought hard, ignoring the glares from Maurice and Vanna. He’d do it just to show the Weasel and the Vulture they didn’t run the show. “I can let the hints work down, word of mouth but not official, to turn a blind eye if necessary. We can’t say anything official, but there should be time because after this last attack none of the locals will bother them for a while.”

  “Definitely not official, then if the idea doesn’t pan out we can just give the artillery co-ordinates and a fire order. A couple of stray shells will take care of soldiers who know the wrong secrets.” Owen narrowed his eyes as he noted the disagreement on Maurice’s face. “I trust you can rein in your attack dogs, Maurice, or we can give the artillery different co-ordinates?”

  “No need for that, but I have to work the same way as Joshua. Hints and maybe a better target elsewhere, or a sniper mission.” The spymaster was telling the truth, which gave him an excuse providing the General moved quickly. The latest reports from the area would be looping off around a long paper trail before he had to admit to seeing them.

  For once there wasn’t anyone hanging back for a private discussion, though Maurice passed a note to Vanna. The first almost robotic sniper, a brainwashed refugee totally controlled by the Cabal, had passed his tests. He also glanced at Henry’s back then raised a hand to his chin, flicking his thumb in a cut-throat gesture. The miniscule headshake from Vanna puzzled him, but Maurice didn’t know that Henry had sent his escort back to the Specials and replaced them with squaddies. Sometimes the sheer volume of information swallowed up the details.

  * * *

  Cyn Palace:

  Across the playing field, and where the ruins had been cleared, all five gangs including their fighters were busy planting out their seedlings and weeding fields. Sinner, Sin and Imam stopped farming to represent their group at a meeting, one that the Cabal would have been very interested in. The small convoy stopped at an old cinema, by which time it included twenty-seven other gang bosses, presidents, religious leaders or other repres
entatives. The Sin Palace trio nodded cautiously as they recognised several of their neighbours. The lights inside were a big surprise because the electricity to London had been cut off years ago, and there wasn’t windmill on the roof.

  “Welcome, ladies and gentlemen. My name is Judge, a given name, not an occupation. The electricity for this building comes from a small waterwheel, driven by one of the old, forgotten streams that still run beneath London. We have a map of all the streams and large ground-water drains that might still be running. A similar map of your area and plans for windmills and water wheels if you need them is your payment for attending.” When Judge, a stout, balding man, raised a hand, a large map of London dropped down to cover part of the cinema screen. “This is our city. The government want to kill us and take it for themselves.” He used a pool cue to point at a cluster of red crosses south of the M25, in a bulge below the main enclosure. “These are your areas of control, enclaves according to the government.” The cue tapped where the bulge joined the rest of London, on a thick red line. “Our analysts believe the government will attack here first, where they can cut off the enclaves around Gatwick. You would be isolated from the main part of London, an easy target. We want to combine those enclaves, just for defence, so you can give the bastards a bloody nose.” The crowd erupted in shouted arguments as rivals objected to working with each other. Some almost came to blows, but they’d all disarmed on the way in while the guards in here had baseball bats.

  Eventually the thirty individuals were once more facing the screen. Judge had been joined by an obvious priest, an Imam, and seven people from four very different ethnic types, some female. “That’s the first thing we must stop, once and for all. Colour, sex, religion, or language differences are luxuries we can’t afford. Anyone who prefers death to tolerance can leave now.”

  While some of those present carried on arguing with their neighbours, Sin nudged the Imam. “Are you ready to embrace Sin, Imam?”

  With a smile he put an arm around her, briefly. “Love thine enemy?” He glanced around at the guards. “What do you think will happen to anyone who rejects the idea?”

  “Nothing at all. They’ll go home and carry on as usual until a fridge falls on them, or lightning strikes them, or some other convenient accident.” Sinner glanced up at the stage. “Which I don’t mind, as long as that crowd don’t think they are going to be our new rulers. I’ll even volunteer to push the fridge if it gets all the guns aimed the same way.”

  “Those people up there don’t look that stupid. We have all been independent too long for a mass takeover.” Imam glanced in the same direction as Sinner. “Though in the unlikely event we survive the Army attacks, you might want to position a fridge on a convenient roof.”

  By now the crowd had quietened except for one gang boss who left, loudly proclaiming he wasn’t having a bunch of old wankers giving him orders. Judge clapped his hands to get attention. “The first thing you’ll need is to decide on a liaison, someone to meet and swap ideas with other similar groups. We’ll be setting up a war cabinet, a few people to try and co-ordinate, but anyone can join. Just remember, volunteers will be expected to spend most of your time working on the defence of London in general and the Gatwick salient in particular.”

  “Does the liaison have to be someone representing the group, or can I send my own?”

  Judge turned towards the speaker, a middle-aged woman. “Your choice, but I’d hope you would discuss your idea with a group first. Ideas that are backed by several enclaves will carry more weight than individual contributions but we won’t ignore anything.” He turned to the rest, smiling and opening his arms wide. “If all of you agree on a particular course of action in your area, we would be fools to ignore you. We are not fools.”

  “I’m assuming you don’t want advice on interior decorating. Is there some sort of master plan, or do we all try to defend our own patch? I’m Sinner and this is Imam, so we’re already fully integrated.” Sin jabbed Sinner in the ribs as several people laughed.

  “That’s so far integrated there should be a special word for it.” Judge waited for the laughter to die down. “We want an overall plan, hopefully as integrated as you two. The idea is to deny any attacker a choice, steering the soldiers and especially the armour into kill zones.” Judge raised his arms as a storm of protest pointed out they couldn’t kill tanks. “Right now you can’t scratch a tank, but there are ways.” He pointed to a large oriental man. “We have Ronin, an expert who can teach you how to build a shaped charge. That will punch through armour, but the device must be placed on the target. The black lady prefers to be known as Methuselah and qualified as a civil engineer. She will show you how to trap a tank, or steer it into the right place for others to put the shaped charge in place. It won’t be that easy, of course, but it isn’t impossible.”

  “Will we all have shaped charges? If so, where does all the explosive come from?” This gang leader turned to the rest, looking for support. “I’ve got enough trouble finding powder to reload my empties.” She turned back towards the stage as mutters of agreement rose around her.

  “You won’t all need them. For those who do, we have a limited amount of very good traditional explosive, and we are already casting shaped charges of various types. A very few of our members are demolition experts, who will give you much more bang per pound. Some enclaves have no idea that industrial explosives are still securely stored inside their boundaries. That sort of information was never public. Even those who stumbled across them would reject what they found because modern emulsions and water gels are not the sticks and blocks of popular fiction.” The cinema was silent now, except for Judge’s voice, as the various representatives realised this group had a real plan and real expertise. Most of the leaders here had been petty criminals at the time of the Crash, or ordinary Londoners struggling to make a basic living. “Some explosives can be poured through, say, a street grate. Providing the stretch of pipework has been isolated, the slurry will harden to form a long, thick bar. That stretch of street is now a huge bomb, without any evidence of digging or construction. Improvised devices, up to thermobaric devices approaching a tactical nuke, can be constructed using very little of what you consider explosives.” Judge nodded to one side, waiting as another map came down to cover the original. “This is just your area. The thick black lines are where we want to stop the attack or divert it sideways. The blue shaded areas will hopefully be kept clear, except for infiltrators you can kill with crossbows and pistols. The red areas are kill zones where we will try to herd the troops and armour.”

  “Someone will run off and give that map to the soldiers, in return for a pass out of this shithole.” Voices shouted this time, either agreeing or pointing out they’d already caught spies.

  “Only if you, the leaders gathered here, show the map to others. Even then, this is only an outline, a suggestion based on maps of buildings, drains, subways, all that type of thing.” Judge tapped the drawing with his pool cue. “We want you to tell us everything that’s wrong with this map. Which roads are blocked, and can an Army bulldozer clear them? Is a bridge down, or a tunnel blocked by a collapse or a crashed train or cars? Talk about it, come up with your own ideas. We’ve got time yet.”

  “How much time?” That’s the one thing Sin really wanted to know. Did this committee actually have a date?

  “Not this year. Possibly over winter, but I doubt it. The soldiers will want daylight to see the state of the roads and bridges, especially if the tarmac has been dug up lately.” Judge laughed as several of the committee smiled. “They sure as hell will when the first tank drops twenty feet into a main sewer, or a bridge dumps fifty or sixty soldiers into an underpass full of water and barbed wire. They’ll pull back and wait for spring.” He hesitated, looking along the line on the stage, until a tall slim man nodded. “We have some intel, so we know the soldiers are still guarding other cities. They will be withdrawn for retraining prior to the attack on London, sometime in the autumn. That
will give us our timetable. The committee will come down now to join you, so we can introduce ourselves and answer your questions.”

  The meeting lasted another hour, then Imam collected their map and the plans. The books in Cyn Palace had already provided the information to build windmills, but their gangs hadn’t found a stream to drive a waterwheel.

  On the way out, Judge intercepted the trio. “The Sin Palace representatives. Does your palace have any information on radios, long-range rather than hand-held? When the attack starts we’d like to spread the news to the rest of the country. We need as much information as possible to work out a way of doing so.”

  With a quick glance at the other two, Sin answered. “There’s plenty of information of all sorts, because we’ve been gathering pamphlets and books since day one. We don’t know if it’s anything new to you or if it will help.”

  “Would you mind if two of our people called to have a look? The government made a point of destroying large libraries and bookshops, and left a virus that wiped nearly every computer in London. We only have the paper records in smaller places, but many of those burned.” Judge smiled at the three nods of agreement. “Our people will bring their own food. If your information is useful, we’d be happy to broadcast a message to anyone you know out there.” His smile faltered for a moment. “Though we can’t be sure we’ll get through to the enclosed cities. We want to rouse the rest, everyone outside the enclosures. With luck we can persuade a few soldiers to desert.”

  “Deal.” Sin turned to Sinner and Imam. “Sorry, it’s just that I thought of someone. Though I’m not sure how he’d get into London.”

  Sinner nodded, then grinned. “No problem, as long as it isn’t an old boyfriend.” As they walked towards the car, Sin didn’t answer. Harry Corporal Miller might be an ex-boyfriend, but his rifle would definitely be a big help if she could persuade him to desert.