by Vance Huxley
* * *
Meanwhile, Benny’s Boys had run across the park to take up position in the houses at the other side, facing Borg territory. One unreeled a spool of wire for the field telephone as he ran. One of the senior Boys attached the telephone, to report the fall of shot when the trebuchets dropped a ranging shot over the houses. Two large groups of SIMs fighters went out to cover the flanks, in case the Borg went after the throwers. “Here they come. Just one car.” The voice on the radio sounded excited, eager. “Flatten them!”
“If you don’t calm down, Dumbo, I’ll smack you with a bat.” Benny shook his head in mock despair as he turned towards Michelle. “Dumbo is a madman in a fight, but thinking isn’t his strong point. Don’t worry, the right men know they’re only supposed to frighten this carload away. They also know to keep off the radio.” Scattered shots rang out, followed by the sound of a car accelerating away and frantic Borg voices on the radios. “Now we wait, again, but I’d better go over there and join them first. You’ll have to forgive my lads, Michelle. They’ve never had a proper battle plan, except maybe a straight ambush.”
“This is a bit ambitious for me because I’ve never had so many fighters or toys. We won’t use the last toys, the rockets or automatics, unless someone breaks through.” Michelle glanced back towards where the prisoners waited. “Some of those will try to escape, to get back to their families. I’d rather let them go.”
“But…” Benny stopped what he’d been going to say, then bit off an expletive to give a short laugh. “Yeah, they’d be a pain to keep under control, then you and Prof would start giving me grief about slaves.” He set off to check on his men and repeat his instructions again, still shaking his head at the way his usual methods had altered. Civilized but dangerous neighbours meant easing off on the workers, but the fields grew more grub and the fights cost less men.
* * *
Ten minutes later the shooting started again, an exchange between a few selected men and the Borg scouts. The radios crackled with reports from the Borg scouts and the rehearsed panic calls from Benny’s defenders. Michelle listened to a field telephone, then picked up a second handset to call the throwers. “Prof? Seven vehicles and some scouts. According to the spotters, if you drop half outside number five and half at number eleven, that’ll seal the rest in. The spotter will judge when to fire.” With a handset at each ear, Michelle waited while the spotter juggled flight time for the missiles against the speed of the attackers. She ignored an outbreak of firing out on the flank, where a Borg probe found the SIMs waiting.
“Fire!” Six thin trails of smoke rose up over the park, almost leisurely until they plunged down behind the row of houses on the far side. Screams, shouts, smoke and the sounds of gunfire rose from the hidden road.
“Reload, reload, rock and fire, hurry!” The young woman didn’t really need to shout because the crews were winding the trebuchet arms down and hooking on the loads with smooth efficiency. In front of them, two tubes on tripods were being swung back and forth, checking the free movement.
“Hit five again and number ten. Fire when ready.” This time the salvo wasn’t as smooth, the first crews jeering at the last even as they threw themselves on the winches.
In the houses bordering the park, men opened fire on the stopped convoy as the front car slewed across the road, a rock embedded in the windshield. One man staggered clear but died in a hail of bullets. Another big rock embedded in the tarmac stopped any further progress, while three big splashes of burning brick and tarmac deterred anyone thinking of running forward. Further back along the road a van lay on its side, burning furiously. “Shoot the drivers!” Benny didn’t need his radio as his boys took up the cry. Van doors flew open as nine men charged towards the nearest house, waving machetes and shooting with pistols. Benny beckoned to his bodyguard, four heavily-armed men with plated jackets. “Come on, we’ve got a breakout.”
Behind him a vehicle suddenly accelerated, bouncing over the rubble in the gardens and through the fire, trailing smoke as a man on the back sprayed the houses with an automatic. The radio burst into life. “Blowpipe, blowpipe! Leaker! Jeep coming round the block!”
* * *
In front of the throwers, Michelle cupped her hands and called out. “Stevie, now’s your chance.” A man crouching beside one of the tubes raised a hand in acknowledgement, putting his eye to the crude sights.
“Clear behind?” Stevie’s voice seemed calm, even though the Jeep had straightened out along the road that headed straight for the trebuchets. Behind him, well hidden, the men and women with automatics took aim but held their fire. The rockets hadn’t been tested on a live target, but if they worked, the shock should knock some fight out of the opposition.
“Clear!” A line of smoke tore across the grass and tarmac, passing in front of the Jeep before blowing a big hole in a garden wall. The Jeep slewed round, almost overturning as the shocked driver wrenched the wheel away from the explosion, but it hadn’t been touched. The passengers could be seen urging him to keep going, while shooting towards the source of the smoke trail. The Jeep’s front wheels swivelled as it started to move again.
“Sitting duck.” A line of smoke flew from the second rocket launcher, terminating in the middle of the Jeep. The vehicle rocked sideways, settling back as a ball of flame with wheels. Three of the occupants landed in smoking heaps, while the fourth rolled across the road, screaming and beating at his clothes until a rifle silenced him. The woman on this launcher grinned across at Stevie as the crew loaded another rocket. “I told you women were more accurate. No testosterone messing with our brains.”
Stevie smiled and ignored her, concentrating on his own reloaded weapon. The launchers were sudden death for stationary targets, but judging speed took practice and so far ammunition was scarce. Above him another salvo of death and destruction sailed over the park. This time the missiles were spread along the stopped vehicles. Benny must have moved away from the field telephone, because his voice sounded over the radio. “Same spread, but use the little rocks. The Borg are hiding behind cars and rubble.”
“Load with cobbles.” Two crews complained as they removed the bright red flammable loads, replacing them with nets full of cobblestones and half-bricks. The delay meant that the next salvo went out almost simultaneously, quickly followed by cheering from the houses.
* * *
Benny watched the lethal rain fall among the defenders in the road. The smaller missiles didn’t always kill but they stunned, or numbed hands and arms. The firing fell away as the survivors scrambled back towards the houses on the other side of the road, trying to regroup. “Attack! Now! Come on Boys, get them!” Benny charged out of the house, over the bodies of the attempted breakout and several defenders, wincing as the movement aggravated his arm. He stopped, remembering the other part of Michelle’s plan as he beckoned for the field telephone. “Backstop, SIMs. Backstop!”
Michelle relayed the call, then switched to calling the artillery on the field telephone. “Lift fire to the next street. Trap them in the houses!” The operators on the trebuchets added weights to the arms to lengthen the range, reloading with cobbles and smaller red containers. It didn’t matter if they didn’t hit anyone, as long as the next street looked too dangerous for the surviving Borg to risk crossing. For long minutes Benny’s Boys waited at the wrecked vehicles, rather than charge the occupied houses at the opposite side of the road. The Borg were relieved, settling in to wait for their reinforcements.
The sound of vehicles, followed by a few shots and panicked shouts from the houses, brought a big smile to Benny’s face. He’d thought it was all too complicated, that the Borg would see the trap, but now the gang boss realised Michelle had been right. Very few gangs did anything complicated, just attacked or defended with everyone they had. Bringing the flanking forces round to stop a retreat had caught the Borg out. He cupped his hands and shouted. “Listen up, whoever’s in charge of the Borg, because I’ve gotta tell ya.” Benny paused f
or effect. “Resistance is futile.” Howls of laughter from the road greeted the quote, but the trapped gangsters didn’t find it funny.
“Resistance will kill you fuckers if you come in here.” Several voices from different houses agreed. “So will the rest of our men, any time now.”
“Why would I come in there? Didn’t you hear what happened to the Lycans, after we bottled them up in the rat trap? Your reinforcements aren’t going to run into that sort of shit-storm to save you.” Benny smiled happily as he heard the horrified exclamations. Everyone local had heard about the Prof’s throwers burning the Lycan rats. “Unless you surrender?” Even as he said it, that took away Benny’s smile because the usual idea was to kill everyone. Fighting with Prof and Michelle was weird.
“So you can shoot us?” The spokesman wasn’t falling for that. The Borg fought under the same rules; kill everyone.
“No, we’ll let you go again after you give us all your weapons and ammo and agree the park is ours.” It wasn’t the plan, but Benny remembered what Michelle said about the workers. “And the housing for the workers.”
“Fuck off.” After a long pause the Borg voice continued. “Just the park, but we want the workers back.”
“Not a chance. We need them to farm our new fields.” Benny relaxed because once again Michelle had hit it right on the button. The Borg had been hit hard. Now the thought of those fire bombs frightened them, so the survivors just wanted to get out alive. When more Borg arrived, a rock and a fire bomb dropped into the road, demonstrating that any attempt to free the trapped gangsters would lead to a big Borg bonfire. Benny pointed out the new arrivals just increased the possible targets, which sobered the hotheads and the cars pulled back. Another fifteen minutes of mixed bargaining and insults later, the trapped Borg gave up their weapons, armour, and ammo, and trudged or hobbled down the road to their friends.
Another line of men, women and children trudged the other way, carrying bags and packs. The Borg had given up the relatives of the captive workers rather than hand over the houses. “Blimey, you’d better be careful, Benny. If you start being nice to workers, your Boys won’t be frightened of you.” Michelle clapped him on the back. “Now you’ve got to find houses and beds for this lot.”
“Not likely. Just a third of them because we’ll be splitting the crops when they come in.” Benny smirked as he eyed up the workers. “I’ll take care of frightening my Boys.” The Borg thought they’d won a big concession when they kept the houses, but Benny knew better. Between the Professors and the SIMs, any weatherproof houses with electricity and water running nearby could be fixed up. The new workers would probably end up in better housing than their old estate.
* * *
The Reivers:
North of Inverness, a German Leopard 2A7 battle tank trampled a barricade of wrecked cars and collapsed walls, forcing a way into a village. The Reivers either retreated or took up positions in the houses on either side, firing at the attacking troops. The armour wouldn’t use up heavy munitions on individuals, but they didn’t need to. The tanks pushed down buildings and fortifications, leaving the defenders exposed to the following soldiers.
On a rise on the opposite side to the advancing soldiers, a small group of men crouched behind a low stone wall. Bruce and Angus had just arrived, responding to urgent calls from the farming settlements; now they were trying to work out what could be done. This same scene was playing out again and again across the width of the lowland plain, soldiers and armour sweeping west then north around Cromarty Firth, swamping the ruins of Inverness. The only blessing, such as it was, seemed to be that the attackers were moving slowly, intent on rooting out every last survivor.
“Well, now we know why they basteds let so many escape from Inverness afore they cut the bridge.” Bruce watched the tank trample another hurriedly-raised barricade, then swerve to take the corner off a house. The impromptu strongpoint collapsed as the armoured vehicle roared on into the village, followed by squads of soldiers. “With so many tae feed, the Cabal knew we’d be forced tae farm the fertile land. Now we cannae face tanks and planes in the open. We have tae abandon the women and bairns, separate them from the fighters so they’re not targets.” As if to underline his words a helicopter flew across the village at rooftop height, the door gunner hosing the retreating residents with bullets. It rose quickly as two cylinders fell, bouncing once before dousing the fleeing fighters and villagers in fire.
“I’ve already started pulling the fighters away from the civvies. Some civvies won’t surrender anyway because a bullet, or even fire, might be better than the Specials getting them.” Bruce heaved a long, shuddering sigh, then glanced towards Inverness. “With a wee bit o’ luck the Specials will be coming soon, tae collect any survivors.”
“We’ll get to them if they do, one way or another. For now we’ve got tae find a way to stop the armour or at least slow it. Dornoch Firth is the next natural defence line, but even if we can stop the armour there we’ve lost most of the decent farmland. We can bleed them all the way north after that, but it’ll make little difference to the food supply. Their timing is suspiciously good because our best men are concentrated in the west, ready for the breakout. We only have a few days before the Ugly Duckling hatches her eggs, and we have to attack at the same time.”
An explosion in the village sent a tall plume of smoke skyward. A tank slewed, then stopped. Reivers swept forward, but the tank’s machine gun, main gun, and the grenade launcher on the turret opened up. The muzzle blast from the 120 mm cannon blew a path through the nearest attackers, while gunfire from the following soldiers drove the survivors back. As the Molotovs burned without having any effect on the armour, Angus clenched his fists in impotent frustration. “We can cripple armoured vehicles, break a track, but that’ll only slow them up a few hours because we cannae finish them. Though now we have a target, Kendrik has an idea.” Angus beckoned to a group waiting nearby, and one man came forward. “Kendrik, tell Bruce.”
“If we kill a few repair crews, or blow up their transport, yon tank will have tae be taken back south for repair. Wi’ a bit o’ luck we can cut the road and strand the tank, because those transporters cannae go cross-country. If we can burn the lorry, that might wreck the tank.” Kendrik looked hopefully from Bruce to Angus. “We’ve got tae stop they basteds somehow!”
“We could hit them travelling both ways because they’ll have tae transport the repaired tanks back. Otherwise the tracks will cut up the roads and stop yon supply lorries.” Angus pointed south, where three thin columns of smoke rose into the sky. “Those might not be our best fighters, but nobody can stop them reaching the road.”
“Not until we run out of volunteers.” The cold fact was that, as Bruce knew, most of the raids would be suicidal. Ahead of them helicopters strafed a flock of civilians trying to escape from the fighting. Most of the survivors laid down with their hands on their heads, waiting for capture, but a few ran back into the burning village. “I hope the Ugly Duckling will stop that as well.”
Angus shrugged because he didn’t have much faith in that particular mission. “We’ll concentrate on this tank first. If it works, I’ll leave Kendrik tae spread the word while I get back tae my lads.” He trotted down the back of the low hill to join the group of fighters.
After a long look at the mountains in the distance, Kendrik turned to follow. “Less than a week maybe, then most o’ the snow down south will be gone.” From the definite hunger in his voice, Bruce thought Kendrik might have volunteered for one of the suicide missions.
* * *
In the village, and especially inside the tank, the attackers didn’t feel particularly safe. As the defenders tried to get closer, again, the crew of the Leopard 2A7 supplemented their co-axial machine gun with a barrage of 40 mm grenades from the remote-controlled launcher on the turret. Their controller, the Cabal’s representative, took his time but finally answered the German’s call-sign and asked what the problem was. “Send air cover and r
epair team, schnell! We are stop in the middle of village.”
The controller didn’t seem too worried, probably because he stayed well back from the shooting. “I can hear your machine gun is working. You’re in a big iron box so what’s the problem?”
The tank commander took a deep breath, trying to remember that he owed the Englische for saving his wife and son from the chaos on the continent. In return, he had to work through this Schwachkopf. “Listen Engländer and try to understand. We are still firing but the Reivers blow a track. Their Soldaten are in the ruins, so if we run out of grenades they will close. Do you wish to lose this tank to save a few Euro?”
The controller didn’t seem too worried. “Those wankers haven’t got anything that’ll break your armour, Fritz. Don’t worry, the Frogs will clear the rest of the village without any more help. Piece of piss for big tough lads like them. You’ll be safe enough in your big tin box so stop using the grenades, right? I’ll call two of the choppers off chasing civvies. They’ll cover you until a repair crew gets there.” He listened to the reply, more interested in conserving grenades and shells than the remote chance of losing a tank. “Yes, I know they aren’t really close support and their controller takes time to react, but tough titty that’s all you’ve got. Time to soldier, soldier.”
When the controller signed off, the tank gunner looked the question at his officer, who shrugged and instructed him to keep firing. Whoever these controllers were, they’d never been on the sharp end and might not even be Army. The grenade launcher kept firing to support the French soldiers until they finally cleared the village.
