Last Man Standing

by Vance Huxley

  As more bullets hit the bricks and sandbags, the defensive volleys deteriorated into a continuous but less intense bombardment. Even so, some of the attackers were cringing away, or slowing. Harold began to hope they’d break, but then more screams and cries of warning rang out. Men and women were thrown back off the Orchard Close walls and the defensive firing faltered. The General’s snipers had stopped shooting at the remaining lights to concentrate on the defenders. “Rifles, keep the snipers busy. Slow them up. Everyone else, keep shooting the scroats. Don’t stop now!” This time Harold used the radio as well as shouting because it didn’t matter who heard.

  The line of attackers had faltered for a moment, but those behind them pushed the mass forward. Now the noise and fury from the wall faltered. Everyone inside Orchard Close could still hear screaming, but it was almost drowned in the roar of triumph as the tangled mass in the fields charged forward. The defenders fired as fast as they could, burning through Harold’s entire stock of buckshot and hundreds of rounds and musket balls. Accuracy was a forgotten dream; the shooters fired as fast as they could cram the ammo in and pull a trigger. Unfortunately the fire wasn’t accurate; some of it wasted on the back ranks or flying off into the night. The defenders daren’t stand up to aim as more pistols were firing now, flaying the top of the wall and the loopholes in the houses, while the big rifles targeted anyone exposing themselves too long. The defenders with pistols were all doing a Bess, emptying their clips in a continuous roll, fired blind over the wall.

  * * *

  If that sort of volume of lead had been hitting the charge for the full seven hundred yards, the attack might have broken, but now it came too late. The horde behind the dead and dying front ranks were too close now, close enough for the first few bombs. There would be more, and too many would land behind the wall. More gunfire hit the walls as pistols and shotguns opened up from the front of the mob. The attackers, doped up, boozed up, or just battle-crazed, weren’t going to stop now, and when enough maniacs found the breaches they’d get over the wall. More attackers dropped, screaming as they hit the last holes and caltrops or because they’d finally caught a bullet. More defenders stopped firing, too busy kicking bombs into the slit trenches, grenade traps. At least the ragged remains of the cloth covers over the defenders meant some bombs rolled off the back, but others exploded among Harold’s fighters.

  The Orchard Close defensive fire fell away as their last bombs went up and over, landing almost at the foot of the wall. The firing from the walls had been suppressed by the pistols, the attackers were too close to stop, and now the General’s snipers were silencing the fire from the perimeter houses. The survivors in there pushed nail bombs and Molotovs through the loopholes, but daren’t expose themselves to throw missiles at the mob assaulting the walls. Harold waited now, poised for when someone reported men coming through a breach.

  * * *

  While the main defenders tried desperately to stop overwhelming numbers, volleys of six rockets came across the potato patch to hit the gates and guard houses. The rockets kept coming as the attackers crept forward in the dark. With only Tilly’s rifle, the defence had little effect even when the assault finally surged to their feet three hundred yards away. Three-rocket volleys struck each guardhouse as the attackers funnelled in towards the steel-plated gates. The rockets stopped any attempt to spread out and hit the walls to each side, as did the caltrops, tripwires and punji sticks.

  At a hundred yards the remaining defenders in the two houses popped up between rocket volleys and emptied their pistols. Despite their casualties, the attackers cheered because the rockets had definitely thinned out the defence, even when a half dozen muskets opened up. More pistol fire hit the attackers, but another rocket volley finally silenced the guardhouses. The survivors ran out the back to join the defence behind the gates.

  At fifty yards, with a loud crash, clear above the gunfire, the gates fell forward onto the roadway! The attackers were laughing and whooping in glee as they surged forwards, then they paused in confusion. Something still filled the gap in the wall, something with loopholes. A musket volley blasted out, quickly followed by a second. When the first few pistol shots clanged or ricocheted off, the attackers realised what they were facing. Soldier Boy’s tank and the Battle Bus! These attackers were locals, mainly from the Trainspotters and Ferdinands, so they’d seen the amount of gunfire the vehicles had shrugged off. Even as the attackers hesitated or tried to turn aside, another musket volley crashed out. The big balls were brutal at close range, tearing right through some men in spite of their vests before striking the man behind. Pistols were killing or wounding more men, while the sheer noise and shock value had an effect.

  Too many of the attackers were newcomers who didn’t understand what they faced, or were hopped up or drunk enough not to care. They kept coming, giving the rest time to recover and follow. The hesitation allowed the defenders to reload their muskets again, but five volleys were never going to be enough. The flame and smoke swept around the attackers as hands reached for the vehicles, some attackers looking for a gap at the sides or trying to shoot through the loopholes. A short burst of firing from up on the bypass, followed by streaks of fire in the night, tore down a dozen attackers.

  “That’s the Army! They’ll kill you all!” The woman’s voice sounded confident, throwing the attackers into confusion as a second, longer burst of machine-gun fire ripped deeper into the mass. The tracers slashed across the front of the gateway, a clear message from the squaddies! Automatic rifle fire, short bursts from up on the bypass, finished the job as the attack broke, shattered. Some gangsters scattered, throwing their weapons aside as the Army rifles chased them into the night, but most ran along the walls. They’d be looking for another way inside, probably through the shattered gatehouses.

  “Good thinking Hazel. Watch out for anyone coming up behind or tossing a bomb around the gateposts.” Tilly fired twice because two men were crawling away. She still wasn’t resigned to giving up the gates, but Harold had hammered it home. Once the radio told her, everyone had to run for the guardhouse. “Josh, you look after my rifle in case we have to cut our way out.” Despite her injured arm, Tilly was much better trained and armed than most of her group.

  Hazel chuckled when a rifle cracked, followed by someone behind them screaming. “I told you Alfie would watch our rear. Uncle Harold insisted on him staying back there with the Army rifles, but he can still see the gate.” She raised her pistol, emptying a clip towards movement in the shadows.

  “A personal guardian Angel? With a rifle and a big spear? Cool.” The mystery female voice sniggered. “Can I join the boyfriends after?”

  “Not so many boys now.” The levity died as the defenders concentrated on their loopholes, on both sides, shooting at any movement.

  * * *

  Harold still hadn’t truly believed the reported numbers, not until a third attacking force hit the Annex. The General must have found a lot of allies, and he had plenty of rockets because a reduced barrage briefly lashed the Annex walls. There weren’t enough to collapse the brickwork but the attackers followed on the heels of the explosions, too many for the defenders. All too soon the first men were up and over the walls, in among the houses. A ripple of explosions slowed the assault, then a larger explosion, followed by two rapid volleys of gunfire that tore a hole through the attackers. A tight group of defenders, their weapons spitting death in every direction, broke through the encirclement. The group soon disappeared into the darkness, their first pursuers falling back after being savaged by a hail of gunfire.

  The attackers weren’t interested in chasing escapees. They’d come for loot and now the Annex lay undefended, or almost because not everyone had escaped. Baulked by the boarded-up windows the gangsters poured in through the doorways, the first few falling as gunfire met them. The rest surged in over their dead or wounded comrades, searching for the remaining defenders. A last flurry of firing, with the occasional nail bomb, died away as the t
riumphant gangsters swept through house after house. Cheering died away into puzzled silence punctuated by the cries of those wounded, especially those with their feet impaled on boards. The houses had been stripped bare of loot and abandoned, with even the water cut off. Stranger still there weren’t any bodies inside, so who had been shooting? Someone pointed out the loot must be inside the main enclave, so the gangsters reformed to storm the wall at the other end of the garden. Someone over there began to shoot, but only a couple of defenders.

  * * *

  In the main enclave, Harold just hoped it had all gone to plan. He’d never expected the Annex to hold if the General sent enough men, and he certainly couldn’t reinforce the place. Now he heard a few Mad Maxes firing across the gardens, harassing the Annex attackers, then return fire from the Annex. Maybe that would be enough to tempt the gangsters across the gardens and increase the body count, but nothing would stop the General now. Back with the main assault the last Molotovs went up and just over the wall. That drove back some of the attackers, temporarily, which was all the defenders needed to break contact. The first few gangsters were already scrambling up the slopes of fallen brick, through the breaches. At any moment now the rest would notice and concentrate on the gaps. Only the lights in their eyes had stopped the horde seeing the weak points and aiming for them from the beginning.

  Pistol fire killed the first to climb the bricks, but that wouldn’t work for long. “Back, fall back. Don’t hesitate, but try to watch out for scroats. Get to your blockhouse. That means you, Tilly. Come on, go go go!” Harold screamed into his radio, again and again, and most of the defenders didn’t hesitate. Those who could still move abandoned the firing steps, backing away while shooting at anyone who managed to reach the top of the wall. The remaining defenders in the houses evacuated before they were cut off, some of them barely in time as more attackers funnelled through the breaches. Some didn’t retreat because they couldn’t, or wouldn’t, but Harold already knew that.

  Time had run out, but even now the defenders tried to keep some sort of discipline. Not for long, because as they came over the rubble the attackers opened up, and every man seemed to have a pistol! Most defenders just dropped any heavy weapons and ran. The horde through one breach checked, turning as firing broke out to the side, giving the running defenders a moment’s respite to drag wounded into cover. Return fire dropped the two Orchard Close fighters who’d been firing at the Annex, the mob immediately turning back to their main target.

  At the opposite breach, nearer the gate, the first attackers spotted a group running from the tank and Battle Bus. Tilly saw the numbers coming over the rubble, and how far it was to safety, and knew none of them would make it. It was time to keep her promise; then she’d never dream of dead kids ever again. “Keep running, don’t stop, don’t even look back!” Even as she called, Tilly aimed her pistol. “Here you shits! Over here! Come and get it!” She charged forward, emptying the pistol before snatching out a second as men ducked and cursed.

  As her second pistol died, she dropped it and pulled out her sabre. Oddly enough, someone in the crowd ahead started shouting, telling the men not to shoot, to save ammunition for later. She wondered if the idiots thought they were going to capture a woman. No chance. The first startled opponent found that out when the odd-looking machete tore out his throat. Tilly lashed out in all directions, trying to use her shield with her wounded arm, but one of the men caught hold of it. She slipped her arm free, pulling her iron bar but she couldn’t get her arm high enough for a real swing. She slashed the other way with the sabre, across the attackers at face height to hold them off. The attackers stopped, clustering around her, hacking and stabbing which bought one more precious minute for her friends. When the front ranks continued down the rubble, over her body and into Orchard Close, the gangsters never realised they’d kept Tilly’s promise.

  Josh glanced back, beckoning as the knot of men closed around Tilly. “Come on Hazel, faster.”

  “Leave me, Alfie will cover…” Hazel fell. Josh turned away, running as fast as he could for the stronghold. Her Guardian Angel couldn’t help Hazel now; she’d gone to meet the real thing. Josh scrambled through the door, running up the stairs still carrying Tilly’s rifle because there weren’t enough people shooting from up there.

  Alfie didn’t turn as he heard someone come into the room. “Aim at the biggest groups.” Josh wasn’t normally a shooter, but a dead body and streaks of blood leading to the stairs explained where the real shooters had gone. He chickened out of telling Alfie about Hazel. The rifle was simple enough to load, so Josh began to shoot as fast as possible.

  * * *

  The defenders weren’t routing but came close, only remnants of discipline keeping them all heading for the three reinforced houses. Occasionally one would turn and empty a pistol, but mostly the surviving defenders ran, hobbled, hopped, or were carried. The covering fire from the strongpoints attracted some of the pistol fire aimed at the runners, giving them a brief respite. Then the front attackers threw their pistols aside! The survivors from the gates thickened the defensive fire, but nothing would stop the flood of screaming gangsters.

  A large number of attackers had spread out along the walls to storm the perimeter houses, rather than be shot in the back by Harold’s suicide squad. Some refugees from the tents had volunteered for pistol training because they’d lost everyone they cared about. Instead of running, they went for body count and vengeance. Several stretcher cases had made the same decision when they came back from Beth’s to find their loved ones had died. The brief storm of pistol fire, and the nail bombs when the houses were stormed, diverted attackers and bought precious time.

  The next attackers through the breaches had no distractions, heading straight for the retreating men and women while shooting on the run. The defenders had a small lead, but a few of Harold’s badly wounded fighters gave up when they reached the low lines of heaped bricks. They weren’t going to make it across the garden but none of them fancied surrendering, even if it was possible. Reloading their pistols they kept firing until the storm of steel swept them away.

  Another crowd of cheering gangsters flooded across the big garden, hoping to find loot or women. That closed off the last possible escape for anyone in Orchard Close, north to the Geeks, but the last defenders were already cramming into the three houses. Two of the doors slammed shut and bombs rained down on the first men to try and break in. Return fire soon swamped the rifles in the upstairs windows, their brief resistance snuffed out by the sheer volume of lead. Machetes and maces started on breaking the doors and the ply over the windows.

  A wild melee swirled around the last doorway. Harold used up the Army pistol rounds, concentrating on anyone wearing decent body armour, but he couldn’t reload. He tucked his useless left hand inside his jacket, reverting to his sword. If the front ranks of attackers had still carried pistols, he’d have been dead in seconds.

  Casper’s limp was more pronounced because he’d been wounded again. He used a mace as a support, still protecting Harold’s right with his oversized machete. It jammed in a scroat’s armour so he pulled a pistol. Mack lashed out with his mace, keeping Harold’s left flank clear.

  Harold turned to glance back, checking that everyone had made it inside the house, just as a solid blow hit his right shoulder. His sword slipped from his hand. “That’s it. Quick, get inside before….” A giant slapped Harold’s head, turning out the lights.

  “Pick ’im up!”

  “I can’t, my bloody leg won’t take it.” Casper blocked a blow from a machete with his mace/crutch, standing on one leg as he stuck the barrel of his pistol almost in the bloke’s eye and pulled the trigger. “You get him inside.”

  Mack punched an opponent, backhanding another with the mace before bending to grab Harold’s jacket. “Come on ’Arry.” Even as Mack backed through the doorway, dragging Harold, a thump and a sharp pain told the big man his luck had run out. His mace dropped as Mack looked down at th
e crossbow bolt that had punched through the plates of his jacket. “Fuck. Sorry ’Arry.” The big man stumbled along the hallway, still dragging his burden. Behind him Casper took his chance as gunfire from above drove back the nearest gangsters. He slammed the steel-plated door closed, dropping two long metal plates into the slots on the doorposts.

  * * *

  Up on the bypass Sergeant Stokes beat his fist on a sandbag, again and again. He’d been on the radio four times, but the answer kept coming back, “Not in our jurisdiction.” At last the new, temporary bloody lieutenant sent a dozen men, who weren’t here yet. A dozen! The sergeant had thought he’d need a gun to stop two of the squaddies going down there when the attack on the gate started. Instead, he’d opened up with the LMG, then let the lads shoot at a few gangsters. That would bring all sorts of shit down on a certain sergeant’s head, but right now he didn’t care.

  “Sarge?”

  “Corp?”

  “There’s about a dozen coming along the side of the bypass. The alarm tripped as they came past.” The corporal pointed south.

  Anyone out there would be a gangster, but Sarge thought he should pretend to follow procedure. “Have you confirmed who they are?”

  “A bunch of heavily-armed strangers inside the zone. I think they’re trying for the back wall. I told Vaugn to watch them with night vision, to keep him from running off to help his lass.”

  Sarge gave up on procedure. “Use the LMG. Kill them all.”

  Though the corporal wasn’t quite that pissed off, not yet. “No warning shot?”

  “They’re in the sodding zone. Now shoot them or do I have to bloody well do it?”

  “No Sarge. My pleasure.” From his tone of voice the corporal was happy to be shooting someone, anyone, so he’d just been trying to keep it looking right.