by Vance Huxley
With luck, selling the loot from Orchard Close, especially the spare weapons and women, would be enough to break even. The true profits would come later, from all those experts like the plumber, smith, electrician, and hopefully the gunsmith. The General hoped he wouldn’t need all his rockets, but there wasn’t any time to be subtle. That Soldier bastard had been warned; he’d started to raise his walls. The attack had to go in tonight before he could finish the job.
The men finally began to form lines to collect a weapon, though some were still being beaten into obedience by their bosses. “The last bunch will be easier.” The General turned to Patton and raised his eyebrows to ask why. Easy and Bloods wasn’t a normal combination, especially since the last group would be the largest. “The Bloods know what’s going to happen, so I’ve already hammered any that objected. There’s a new second-in-command, Sumo, with nearly two hundred and fifty Bloods still fit to fight. The other half of Cain’s kiddies, seventy of them, are outnumbered so they daren’t act up.” The big man watched the fighters collecting their limited weaponry. “I thought the Jets might give trouble. With eighty of them that could have kicked the rest off.”
“Nah, most of the rest of these are the fucking queers, too frightened of the Bloods and those Children of Cain to object. Shit, they’re scared of the MiB for Christ’s sake.” A big smile spread across the General’s face. “From the replies, the Trainspotters are sending thirty-five men, officially, and the Ferdinands are sending fifty. After the fight over the diesel, that’s got to be most of their fit fighters. Rhys sent a message telling them to organise any Baggies, Hot Rods and assorted nutters. Once the infra-red shows enough of them gathering I’ll send launchers to help them attack the gate once our main attack starts. Nine hundred men at least, Patton. There’s never been an army like it, not in this city.” He nodded towards the lines of gangsters. “Enough to do it without this lot blazing away like lunatics, especially backed by fifty of Julius’s blokes with three pistols apiece. I know you aren’t happy, but they’re steadier shooters than Bloods.”
Patton couldn’t argue because every word was gospel. Even the restriction on bombs made sense because the Bloods would burn stuff just because they liked to. That didn’t matter on most attacks, but the General wanted to capture Orchard Close with as little damage as possible, and plenty of survivors. Patton might have argued more, but this time the Pinkies, then the Jets, would soak up the bullets going in and hit the fighters first. Cain’s kiddies and the Bloods would hit wounded or tired defenders because despite the General’s assessment, the Pinkies had been tough enough to stand off the Barbies since the Crash. “Fair enough. Rhys wants to talk to you, me and Julius. He’s got the wind up about something.”
Rhys, the spymaster, definitely looked worried. “You know I told you not to believe the clerical shit about Soldier Boy and that I’d check? I’d heard rumours about Soldier Boy and that woman of his, Killer Queen, topping a lot of Hot Rods, personally. I’ve firmed up the details. She was naked, he was unarmed, on his knees, and they still killed ten armed men including Caddi and Cooper. By that time she was injured, but he took weapons off the corpses and really got stuck in. Even with some exaggeration, that’s bad news.”
“He can make guns without his feet, which will slow him up. I’ll give her to the Bloods because they’ll want her to fight naked.” Patton laughed agreement.
“No, you’ll shoot them both on sight and to hell with capturing a gunsmith. This is his Army record.” Rhys smiled at the sudden interest. “Just a report, not the real thing. He’s definitely a clerk, but Soldier Boy got a bloody great medal for rescuing the SAS and killing a shitload of mad mullahs.” The spy laughed, because he’d finally got everyone’s full interest. “That’s right, he rescued the fucking SAS, single-handed, and now he’s got Caddi’s assassin to help him. She killed Caddi with her bare hands. She was Caddi’s assassin, sneaking around killing gang bosses, and Soldier Boy trained half-mile shooters. If either of them gets away you’ll never sleep easy again.”
“I agree, shoot on sight, both of them.” As a convoy of vans and trailers rumbled past, the General grinned. “Unless we get lucky and he catches a rocket. Right, the launchers have arrived, and Patton tells me the Bloods won’t act up, so let’s get everyone moved up and hit the place tonight. Send word to the Ferdinands and Trainspotters.”
* * *
In Orchard Close, the lookouts reported a sudden increase in the number of watchers. The shadows crept across the ruins and darkness fell, by which time there were too many hot spots to be scouts. Harold picked up the phone, asking Veronica for a party line to all the leaders. “We go, now. No hesitation. Alfie, move the tank and the Battle Bus as soon as it gets properly dark. Everyone else, no more arguments, from you or your people. If something isn’t packed, it stays. See you at the wedding party.” That was because several people had complained they’d missed out on Easter.
“I hope Vulcan makes it before the party starts.” Patty rang off without waiting for an answer. She knew the full message now and that it could be hours before reinforcements arrived. Everyone was now being told the other secret, about the rockets, or half of them wouldn’t agree to leave. Harold rang off, picking up Mercedes’ armoured vest and ammunition. He’d take them over the exclusion zone because otherwise he didn’t trust her to leave.
By the time Mercedes hobbled under the overpass, she agreed it could be a week or two before she could run. After a passionate goodbye Harold threw himself into moving stores and ammunition, but hesitated when someone handed him rabbits! “They’d kill Rocket Man, Harold, and eat him.” Harold didn’t answer, because if Rabbit Bob wanted to save the breeding rabbits and there was time, why not? He’d used the bunnies as an excuse for the steps, so it was his own fault really. On the way back Harold spotted several chickens in boxes and cat carriers, so none of the keepers wanted to abandon their charges. Thandia the mastiff came past following Elise, who carried a cat in a box. All they needed was an ark!
Some evacuees moved much slower. The stretcher cases had already left, but now almost all the fighters with leg wounds hopped and hobbled over the exclusion zone, using crutches. The joiners had made plenty after the last attack. Liz tipped out her rucksack, filled with armoured vests. “This would be a lot easier if our mob wore them.” Harold agreed, but Sarge might notice how many fighters didn’t go back after dropping off their loads. This way he’d never realise how few people had stayed in the houses, or perhaps he would. Harold glanced up at the Army camera, hoping the watchers had turned them off rather than watch without reporting.
Even when the light failed, the flood of people and materials didn’t falter until, an hour after full dark, it stopped completely. Those who would be staying on the wall had made their last trips to say their farewells, a good few fighters settling into place with the tears still wet on their faces. A last few were hauled up and over the enclave wall, their boxes almost empty, then tipped the last caltrops into the clear path. The guide stakes had been uprooted and scattered, so gardening would be an exciting experience after tonight.
* * *
At the other side of fields full of young plants, the glow on the infra-red had spread into a solid line along the edge of the ruins. Hundreds of armed men crouched out there in the dark, probably ten times as many as were waiting for them. Harold listened to the reports, all coded numbers and letters because he’d split Orchard Close into sectors, but so far nobody had advanced out of cover. Eventually several people reported hearing engines, many vehicles but driving quietly, over towards the traffic island. The General must be moving into the farm, so it wouldn’t be long now. More engines out beyond the potato field would be an assault party for the gates.
“Bring in most of the sentries.” From out in the dark, night sights and infra-red would still see the ten remaining figures as they patrolled, their heads bright with heat. The ‘volunteers’ spread around the walls, working their way slowly but steadily from gu
ard post to guard post. Musket barrels slid in between the sandbags on top of the bricks, ready. Mace arms and sword arms were loosened and warming exercises run through. Candles in little pots were lit for fuses and placed under a cover to stop the glow. Every firearm had already been loaded, so now the shooters checked that the covers above the walls hid the long guns from the Army or drones. Hot spots appeared outside the gates, six hundred yards away at the other side of the potato patch. Inside the walls, the tension mounted.
9 – Heavily-Armed Nutters
The opening volley came almost as a relief, especially since the shooters didn’t hit anyone. The incoming struck the sentries, shop dummies from the Barbies with hot water bottles in the heads to fool infrared. Moved along on roller skates or skateboards, they’d been good enough to fool snipers at night. The accuracy of the first volley was, however, very disturbing, as were the number of rifles with night sights of some sort. Too many real marksmen were out there, with heavy rifles that could kill a man at half a mile right through a plated vest.
The opening volleys were answered by those who could shoot best, using a dozen accurate, long-range rifles even if most didn’t have night sights. The defending shooters were badly outnumbered because after a few minutes Harold estimated they were facing a score of enemy rifles. As expected, the General had taken over the upstairs windows in the farm, so there wasn’t any chance of a shot going high and hitting a soldier.
Even as he tried to kill the riflemen out there, Harold kept reminding his team what to do. “You know the exact range so your sights are set. Just aim and shoot. Lay your sights on a flash. Wait, then when it comes again, shoot but move immediately. Don’t wait to see if there’s a result because the bad guys will be doing the same. Pick another gun flash and lay your sights on it, but only through a firing slit. Never raise your head above the wall; never shoot twice from the same place.” He kept up the litany, because most of his shooters weren’t half-milers, even if they’d had night sights.
Umeko glanced towards him as she chambered another round. She’d qualified for one of Caddi’s hunting rifles. “Yes daddy.” The exchange went on for ten long minutes, during which Harold only lost one shooter. None were wounded because with the narrow slits and the thick walls, any hit went through the head.
There weren’t as many shooting back from Orchard Close, but their fire must have been having an effect because the General changed tactics. The night lit up as at least twenty rockets came through the baby forest to smash into the walls. Liz would be livid because the General must have cut fire lanes through the young trees. Everyone inside Orchard Close dropped to the ground, praying the bricks would hold, though a few rockets passed right over to strike deeper inside Orchard Close. As the third volley died away Harold heard a drum and cheers, so the mob had started to advance. A few defenders stood up when the rockets seemed to have stopped, but dropped as the night lit up with another flight. “Those with weapons that can reach, start shooting immediately. If the rockets come again, drop, then get straight back up. Keep below the top of the walls, shoot through loopholes or gaps in the sandbags.” Reminded of their training, the defenders with any sort of rifle surged to their feet.
The rockets had done their work, concentrating in three places to break the wall and kill defenders. Despite the amount of explosives, the thick barrier hadn’t been blown apart, but it had collapsed. The breaches were steep slopes of jumbled brick, providing easier access into Orchard Close than the sheer walls. A few rockets had landed short, or gone over, but none of those had caused any injuries. “Move the injured, get them to a stronghold. Don’t try to repair the gap. We can’t. Move the long guns under the covers and keep your heads down.” Matthew pulled Bess away from the scattered bricks, looking frantically around because his old injury meant he couldn’t carry her. His arm would never stand the weight. “Someone, please, get Bess to the cellar.” He really hoped the sheet of blood across her face wasn’t fatal.
Big Mack plucked the woman from the ground. “I’ve got ’er. You stick ter bossin’ that lot.” He trotted away into the dark.
Harold turned as light flickered, to see that three rockets had found something flammable. “Put out those fires before they light us up.” Dark figures, non-combatants, ran to get buckets of water, stamping on burning wood, cloth, and rabbit bedding. Several houses on the perimeter had been hit, but only one room had been penetrated and the interiors had been soaked.
Those with long guns moved away from where the rockets had blown away the covers. A drone, or the Army, mustn’t catch sight of the rifles and shotguns. Harold thought Sarge might turn a blind eye, but felt sure a drone would be sent once the rockets were reported. The rifle team switched to killing the fighters out in front of the charging mass, in the hope they were leaders. The Mad Max rifles were just hoping to hit the crowd because they were hopelessly inaccurate at that range. Three Gunslingers with long-barrelled pistols started firing. Their bullets should carry far enough to hit someone in the horde.
The gangsters must have been sneaking forward as the first volleys of rockets struck because the front ranks were already deep into the fields, running hard. They’d soon be struggling through mud because Rob had opened the cocks to drain the irrigation water from the loft tanks out into the fields. Two spotlights on a house roof lit up the mass, briefly before rifles shot them to pieces. The one clear view proved that Harold had made the right decision. There were too many attackers. Nothing short of artillery, cannon or a machine gun would stop that mob getting over the walls.
Night attacks were to achieve surprise, but failing that, Harold had been told they were used to restrict the defender’s vision. There’d be no surprise this time, so Harold wanted to thoroughly mess up the other bloke’s vision. At five hundred yards, and then again at four hundred, more lights blazed out from table lamps laid in the fields ahead of the attackers, shielded so they didn’t dazzle Orchard Close shooters. “Pick out the leaders. Quick, while the light lasts!” After a moment of delay and confusion, the gangsters pushed on, stamping on the bulbs. Harold hit a switch, detonating four garden ornaments inside the mass. Others exploded here and there as defenders closed their switches.
More security lights lit up, blinding the attackers while hopefully dazzling the shooters in the farm. The lights worked for a few minutes, then a sharp explosion rang out behind the lines. The lights went out: all of them! “The rockets have hit the mains!”
“Not likely, because the rockets have stopped. Somebody just nobbled our box or our mains cable. Here.” A hand shoved a small box with a familiar throw switch into Harold’s hands. “Give us a moment. Some of the loaders are my apprentices so they’re already working on it, switching from government power to ours. The water generators and windmills were already up and running.” Finn patted a smaller switch and put it down next to Harold. “This one is connected to a car battery so it will set off some of the remaining gnomes. We won’t get all the lights and bombs working again, so choose your moment.”
“How did you know?”
“I didn’t, but we’ve had power cuts before. I just thought how convenient it would be if someone cut us off round about now. Someone like the General’s spy. That’s why I insisted on staying here.” A few lights came back on, either out in the gardens or on the houses, and Finn turned away. “I’d better check on the dynamos. With luck I’ll find him interfering.” The electrician drew his pistol, disappearing into the dark.
The riflemen in the farm tried to shoot the lights out so Harold’s shooters ignored them, concentrating on the assault troops. At three hundred yards more gnomes and a succession of other bombs exploded, inside the mass of attacking gangsters. The shrapnel, metal scrap and shattered concrete probably didn’t kill many attackers, but any sort of injury would slow the charge, allowing the shooters to kill or wound a few more. Men began to drop or scream without being shot as they found caltrops or ankle breakers, but the mass absorbed the casualties, pounding closer
and closer to the walls.
The musketeers used crossbows to loft shafts towards the thick line of attacks. As long as the missile went far enough they’d hit someone. Non-shooters pounced on the weapons, cranking frantically as the shooters fired their second and third weapon. More of the security lights blazed back into life, lighting up the attackers. Even after shooting at them over the last six hundred yards, the defenders still hadn’t made a real impression on the mob. There just weren’t enough long-range weapons. As the attackers reached about a hundred yards, the shotguns with slugs and the muskets all opened fire. More of the better pistol shooters began to fire, trying to loft their bullets into the front of the enemy line. For the first time Harold saw some of the attackers falter and could hear the wounded screaming.
“Look out!”
“Keep down!”
“Shoot them, someone!” All along the wall the shooters who hadn’t got a firing slit ducked back, or fell, as a hail of lead came in from the darkness ahead. The attackers had replied with pistols, which weren’t very accurate but there were a lot of shooters. Harold glanced up because that wasn’t seven hundred pistols. The attackers couldn’t be shooting high or Sarge would have opened fire.
If too many shots went high, Sarge would be forced to make the other call, and artillery didn’t take sides. “If a single shell lands, run for the bypass! Don’t hesitate.” Voices answered, then shouted the message to others so Harold relaxed, concentrating on trying to shoot more gangsters. He soon realised that relatively few of the attackers were firing, over the heads of the rest, so he tried to kill them.
A single trumpet blasted out, and smoking bomblets arced up and out. Just a rash of shooting stars, pretty against the night sky, but as the sparks landed fire blossomed in front of the attackers. The hastily assembled firepots were whirled on a string before release so the missile would carry further. The flames did little real damage but those caught in the flames paused to extinguish them. The muskets and shotguns volleyed again, and again as more firepots soared up and out.
