by Vance Huxley
Quick, rough walls were thrown up around the three gardens, more like low heaps of rubble than actual walls. Others made fire bombs, diesel, oil and paraffin in plastic containers with rags in the opening, plugged loosely because the plastic wouldn’t smash. Some might not be thrown at the attackers because Logan wasn’t the only one to pick up on Harold’s comments to the estate up the road, about denying the General his prize. The Riot Squad agreed with scorched earth, making sure the scroats weren’t going to capture anything useful.
Harold spent precious time going around the most vociferous, persuading them not to torch the whole place. “Until the attackers get inside the strongpoints, it’s winnable. Keep them outside the walls, or out of the doors and windows, out in the open where we can kill them. Don’t burn our home because we’ll need it afterwards.” The defenders believed him, and that became their mantra; keep the bastards out of the doors and windows. Triple layers of ply and mesh would help.
Harold had groups practicing falling back, covering each other, carefully chosen groups although only six people knew that. The chosen groups were changed again and again, because Harold could now see exactly what Patty had meant. Many of the fighters were on the verge of breaking. They’d probably stand and fight, but once the gangsters made a breach too many would panic or run. There simply hadn’t been enough time to recover from the last attack. The physically wounded could still remember the pain, while almost all the fit fighters had been drugged, captured, and tied up, helpless as the rest fought. Harold’s mind settled on a reduced plan X, giving up any real hope of a counter-attack. Once they were under the bypass, most of the fighters would never be able to force themselves back across those three hundred paces.
Even so Harold kept planning, publicly, to defend the walls. The guardrooms were emptied, the weapons either issued or sent over the gap to the bypass. Those who could shoot, even badly, were given one pistol at least, then practiced loading and firing again and again. The numbers of possible defenders kept rising. More and more non-combatants volunteered to throw bombs, load pistols or muskets, or carry shields—anything to keep the shooters shooting.
The following morning arrived without an attack, so the tired wall guards tried to sleep. The Riot Squad and the Demons practiced storming houses that had been taken, or fighting in small groups if the walls were breached. Harold took a chance, telling Casper, Emmy and Patty the real reason for the practice, including the rockets, but swore them to secrecy. He daren’t tell them his real conclusions, that the Riot Squad had reached their limits. The Hot Rods who came with Charger were officially enrolled in the Riot Squad. With those who’d been drugged by Caddi that made seventy fit, experienced fighters who were given two or three hand guns each. Harold issued all the new ammunition he’d been given by the Army, and the new pre-Crash rounds brought by Mack and Charger.
When he discussed abandoning the Annex so the defenders weren’t trapped and killed, Patty insisted on including Ru in the discussion. Neither of the pair wanted to give up any houses without extracting a blood price. Ru eventually agreed to escape before being overrun, give up the houses and break north for the ruins. There, Harold suggested a secondary target to help the counter-attack. Knowing what he now did, Harold insisted she wait for Jilly’s bugle. If it didn’t sound, the Annex squad could head further north before cutting through the wire to join the wounded.
Charger volunteered for the Annex squad because, as he pointed out, “Some of these lasses aren’t much older than my Cherie. They’ll need some experienced fighters, especially if Ru goes down. Last but not least, I owe them.” Fifteen of the twenty-five-strong squad were girls from the Hot Rods, who agreed to tolerate him because Charger never visited the brothel or abused the women. Even so, Harold wondered if the ex-Hot Rod would end up with a bullet in the back.
Non-combatants and children sat along the roadsides, sharpening caltrops against kerbstones to make sure they penetrated. Young teens and mothers scattered bricks across the approaches to the lower wall sections, set up on their sides to make attackers stumble and trip, to disrupt the charge. The caltrops would fill the gaps. Another unsung genius suggested filling plastic bags or containers with chopped up fence wire, packed around any pipe bomb explosive that was left. There weren’t many, but the bombs went into the perimeter houses to be thrown down into the middle of any mass of attackers.
The residents of Orchard Close were in a savage mood, a mix of fear, hatred, and sheer frustration that the General wouldn’t just let them be. Underneath it ran a quiet desperation and a sense of impending doom. Despite that, Trev’s betrayal and Caddi’s invasion had removed any lingering reservations about violence in self-defence. Almost the entire population concentrated on keeping the scroats outside the walls, at any cost. Even the precious football pitches were sacrificed, the sacred turf dotted with painful surprises concealed under twigs and grass.
* * *
By mid-afternoon on the third day the trickle of volunteers finally stopped, and Harold knew the worst. He called a council of war, with restricted membership. “Remember, you don’t tell anyone who isn’t in this room, not until it’s time. Firstly, we’re in better shape than expected.” Harold knew this might be the last time he had them all together, so all the leaders had to know. With luck, the spy wouldn’t have time to pass any messages. “There’s fifty-nine fighters who were either drugged by Trev or only lightly injured, so they’re fully fit. Those, and the eleven experienced fighters who came with Charger and Mack, are our first line. Another fifty-two experienced fighters are at least marginally mobile but too badly hurt to risk in proper hand-to-hand fighting. Another couple of weeks would make a big difference, but right now many wounds will reopen if they’re stressed too much.”
“But they can shoot or throw bombs. Bethany won’t stay out of it, or Tilly, or a good few others.” Patty knew that all the Riot Squad meant to be there for their sisters and brothers.
Harold held up a hand to stop the objections. “But too many can’t crank or hold a crossbow, or even put in another clip once their pistol is empty. Others can, but they are limping or on crutches. Don’t worry, the shooters will have loaders and some shield bearers.” He consulted his list again. “Thirty-four of the women who came from the Hot Rods or other gangs during the recent fighting, and nine of the men and youths who came with them, have been training with the Riot Squad.” Several people scowled at that because so many arriving at the same time, with their protectors and hopefully avengers, had affected everyone. “They’ll back up the fit fighters but could all freeze or break when it hits the fan.”
“Cripes, Harold, that’s a hundred and sixty-five, as many as we had when Caddi came!” Doll definitely cheered up because that sounded like a lot of firepower, but then she realised why Harold had split them up. “But only what, seventy really fit to fight, including everyone here. We’ll kill a lot as they charge, but then…”
“It isn’t quite that bad, as far as shooting is concerned.” Tessa took the list from Harold. “We’ve got a hundred and thirty-one non-combatants inside the walls, fourteen of them under sixteen. That includes the likes of Lenny who won’t fight and twenty-two badly injured who have already been carried to safety, most of them fighters. Half of the rest, over forty men and women or young teens, have volunteered to load guns or carry ammo or even throw bombs and Molotovs. All those armoured vests from Caddi’s men will provide the volunteers with some protection. Some like Celine and Alicia haven’t any Riot Squad training, but they volunteered to be shooters.” She put the list down, and turned to Harold. “But it isn’t enough, is it?”
He’d had to give them the numbers and let them see the problem, but even now Harold daren’t say he thought the Riot Squad would break. Believing their friends would fight might be all that kept most of the youngsters from running. “No, because we can’t shoot seven or eight hundred men fast enough, especially in the dark. We can pick at them with rifles and crossbows, but we’ll only be able
to hit them with shotguns, muskets and pistols for the last hundred paces.”
“But a hundred pistols only have to hit seven men each. We can still do it.” Doll twirled her pistol and slid it back into her holster, a favourite Gunslinger trick. “Especially if we all blaze away like Bess, two-handed if we can.”
Harold nodded, agreeing, but then had to disappoint her. “True, we still might do it if we packed the walls with every shooter, but now you get the last secret. I daren’t tell you before because of the General’s spy. He’s got rockets that would slaughter us, then knock enough wall down to let the horde in. We can’t hold the walls, not against rockets and numbers combined. Some of you expected the scroats to get over the walls, but none of you knew that the alternative, emergency plan is actually the plan, the only plan.” Harold waited as a storm of protest broke out. He’d already gone through the arguments with them all, individually, as a last-ditch emergency, but daren’t say more at the time. If the squad leaders had known they weren’t going to stand and fight, they’d have taken it easy and the rest might have realised. Then the spy would have told the General.
“So I don’t wait to put my rifle under the floorboards at the last minute? I leave it there and run?” Patty clutched her Winchester tightly. “No chance. I can kill dozens on the way in!”
“When you counter-attack, the Army won’t let you carry a rifle. Even if you drive the scroats out of Orchard Close, you’ll have to stand and watch the survivors run off over the fields. With that rifle you can shoot them, because I want every man who comes over our walls to die. Let’s send a message everyone will understand!” Harold didn’t really expect Patty to have a chance to counter-attack, but after the Army had finished she could retrieve her baby and the ammo. The Army would take every rifle and shotgun they could find, and probably any pistols, so Orchard Close needed some guns hidden for later. “Emmy is doing the same.”
Emmy nodded her agreement, so Patty jerked her head in an unhappy nod. “Done. They all die.” Others chipped in to agree with her because Harold wasn’t asking them to run away. They’d still get their chance at the General, just later than expected.
“But you cross the exclusion zone first, carrying your other weapons and armour in packs and boxes. There’ll be enough of us left on the walls to hurt the attack, badly, but then we’ll head for the strongpoints. If the Army stick to shrapnel we’ll survive, then when enough scroats are dead and the shells stop?” Harold smacked a fist into his palm. Casper shot Harold a quick glance, as did Mack because they knew the full plan, but neither spoke up.
“What about the Annex?” Ru glanced at Charger. “Do we abandon it like we planned?”
“Just as planned, but now you go as soon as an attack reaches your walls. No counter-attack until the likes of Patty and Emmy launch theirs. Wait for Jilly’s bugle sounding the charge, or you’ll be isolated and slaughtered, but if necessary you’ll be in exactly the right place to fix those rockets once and for all. The General will lose his artillery, and with luck the people who make the damn things. If the Army interferes, stops Patty attacking, sneak out under the wire or off to the GOFS or Barbies, just as I said.” Harold knew the Army would definitely interfere, once Sarge called them in, and the reaction force wouldn’t wait for dawn. They’d invade Orchard Close as soon as the soldiers and armour arrived, on the heels of the artillery. Unfortunately, if Harold told them that, his friends would insist on staying with him and then a lot more of them would die.
“But what if the artillery doesn’t open up?” Patty shut up because she’d just seen both the Army rifles, propped up in a corner. “Fair enough. So who stays to put up a fight? I could do that?”
“You will lead the Demons, all those girls you trained, because they’ll follow you anywhere. Emmy will lead the Gnomes, and the Elves because Casper will be watching my back. Alfie will lead the Boyfriends and Bess can fight Matthew for who leads the Lovers.” That was when Harold found out his scheming wouldn’t work according to plan.
Hazel insisted that she’d stay because she was one of the fit ones and she wasn’t accepting preferential treatment. Alfie promptly insisted on watching out for Hazel, while Bess reckoned if Harold wanted heavy firepower she could shoot faster than anyone else. Matthew wouldn’t let her stay without him. Half an hour of bickering would only be the first round because all the squad leaders prophesied similar arguments from fighters who wouldn’t run. Tilly really had publicly stated that the first man to get over the wall would only do so over her body. Harold finished by reminding everyone, again, to keep quiet so the spy couldn’t tell the General. He really hoped the spy wasn’t in the room.
As the last of the squad leaders left to hide weapons or make their own preparations, Mercedes finally started crying. “You promised, you and me, live or die. I won’t go.”
“Come into the bedroom and I’ll explain. I promise I’ll run like a bunny at the right time. It’s not a last stand, honest. I promised I wouldn’t do that.” It wasn’t, not quite, though the odds weren’t good. Harold gave her the surprise present, something he’d been saving for a special moment. He’d bought the nine-mil pistol when he saw a Geek showing it off, paying well over the odds. He’d thought Mercedes would find the obviously female legs engraved on the grips, wearing fishnet stockings, both appropriate and funny. From her giggle, he’d got it right. “Better still, I’ve got clips full of these.” The sight of the Army hollow points and full metal jackets kept Mercedes distracted. “So when you come back for me, it won’t matter how they’re armoured or how big they are.”
The weapon or the talk had another effect; Mercedes needed a bath because there might not be time after dark. She still couldn’t bathe properly because of the dressings, but the real idea seemed to be pushing her personal limits on where ’Arold could wash her by hand. When a very relaxed and slightly bemused Harold went out for a walk around Orchard Close, just before tea, he could see that quite a few couples were working together or were just together. Only a few were saying goodbyes, because Harold had tried to send as many couples as possible to safety. The goodbyes were because of the news from the spotters. The scattered warm spots seen on the infra-red the first night had doubled the next night and were now up to thirty-one. Harold still held off, just in case the General needed another day to get his Army lined up.
* * *
A mile and a half away the General felt a long way from happy, or ready. Two hundred and fifty fighting men, the second such group, were glowering at him, their leaders, and the guns aimed at them. Either side of the General stood a line of forty men, mostly MiBs, all carrying automatic or semi-automatic rifles, rifles and shotguns with clips, or pump action shotguns. To each side of the crowd twenty of Julius’s men were lined up, single or double-barrelled shotguns ready for trouble. “Stop acting like fucking kids. If you shoot while you’re running, you’ll shoot high. The Army is on the bypass behind Orchard Close, and what will they do if a bullet gets near them?” He waited but despite the sullen looks, some comments that weren’t aimed quite at him, and occasional fighting in the crowd, nobody answered. “Napalm, or bloody artillery, and you all die! No women, no loot, no booze. Those twats behind the walls will piss themselves laughing at you. Branson, tell them.”
The boss MiB took the loudspeaker. “There’ll be twenty-two shooters with good weapons, half a mile from the walls, in upstairs windows. They’ll shoot over your heads and at that range they’ll all hit a man. You don’t need to shoot, not until you’re inside.” Branson held up a heavy rifle with a big scope. “Unless you can shoot better with a bloody pistol than I can with this?” A couple of men claimed they could, but were laughing. “But once you get inside the walls, you’ll need a pistol.” The men perked up, suddenly interested, and began eying the heap of firearms they’d just been forced to hand over.
The General took over again, switching speakers to keep the men off balance. “Three-quarters get one pistol, one in three gets a crossbow, one in ten gets a
shotgun, and one in ten gets a ratting rifle. Take careful note, the firearms are loaded but you can’t carry reloads or spare clips. Then it’s your choice. Blaze away and risk the Army, or wait until you get over the wall, when you’ll really need as many bullets as possible. Throw your bomb, if you’ve got one, over the wall just before you get there. Don’t throw any once you’re inside the walls, or you’ll burn the fucking loot.” A careful pause, then the General cut off the first protests. “You outnumber them at least five to one, and the rockets and rifles will kill plenty before you get there. Any arguments and I’ll send you in with just your fucking blades.”
As most of the men in front of him began to argue with each other, or discuss the attack instead of thinking of trying to kill him, the General hid his sigh of relief. He’d liked this idea when Rhys suggested it, because he really did worry about the Army even if the spy insisted they wouldn’t interfere unless someone shot at them. Not only that, but this was too valuable a prize; he needed those experts and their tools intact. Providing a buy-in for the surviving Kutters and bribing Shrek had cost dearly. Buying everything his captive needed to produce all these rockets, as well as enough new ammunition for the machine guns and big rifles to deal with Soldier Boy’s armour, had cost an absolute fortune.
