by Vance Huxley
In Orchard Close, Harold kept his mouth shut about the differences between the uniforms and weapons in the mountains and those on the road, and how both were different to those on the bypass nearby. Not many differences, and most wouldn’t notice, but Harold had lived in the Army uniforms up on the bypass and used their weapons.
*
Cabal:
Only five people watched the screen in the bunker, and none seemed happy about the alleged victories. Owen, the chairman, scowled at the spymaster, Maurice and pointed to the screen. “That rubbish is fine for the scum, but according to Ivy, the Marts in Inverness know the real situation. How?”
“They don’t know the real situation. Those freed from the work camps are spreading rumours among the gangs. The Mart managers are listening to the gangsters, who are taunting the guards. It is true more convoys have been attacked, but those are real bodies.” Maurice clicked to show close-ups of a couple. “The rebels can’t afford losses because unlike our forces, there are no reinforcements.” He sighed. “In reality, burning lorries is a plus for us since that means the Reivers didn’t get the food.”
“They don’t actually need any more, do they, not after their invisible raiders popped up again?” Ivy lifted her lip, sneering at the spymaster. “They’ll be well fed for a long time because four other convoys disappeared briefly. We only found them when patrols investigated the smoke, after The Bruce burned the empty vehicles.” She turned to Joshua, the Army man. “I hope you can supply some decent armoured vehicles to escort convoys, because in all five cases the so-called bandits destroyed or captured what you’ve supplied to date. Why didn’t the RAF catch them? Where’s Faraz?”
“It’s not down to him or the RAF because we are using the European aircraft in that area. We can’t let the RAF see how many foreign soldiers or aircraft we have, or that they’re targeting women and children. The aircraft are working deep into the Grampians, supporting the ground forces or attacking the home bases and families of these Reivers. We pulled them back when your convoys were attacked, which cost us dearly.” Joshua took the TV controls to show about thirty uniformed bodies scattered across a hillside. A succession of clicks showed similar scenes elsewhere. All the uniformed bodies had been stripped of weaponry and equipment including boots, jackets and protective vests. “The counter-attacks and ambushes happened as soon the controllers pulled the air support, so the Reivers actually planned it. We can’t use RAF personnel so the controllers haven’t any experience, and were having trouble working with crews from different nations. That won’t happen again.”
“Ivy has a good point about the armour you supplied for the convoys, or rather the lack of it. My contractors are being slaughtered. The business about no replacements for the Reivers’ losses are bullshit, because every time the Reivers free a work camp, some of the scum join them. The scum have been fighting each other for years, so they are already trained.” Vanna, the Asian woman who controlled the armed civilian contractors, glared at Joshua. “We need real armoured fighting vehicles, the wheeled versions, not Land Rovers and other relatively soft-skinned vehicles. The tracked armour we used in York will rip up the roads so we can’t use that.”
Joshua held up his hands in surrender. “My apologies. I should have said they can’t replace trained personnel, because the scum from the work camps won’t be anything like as disciplined and effective as the original group. Most of the Reiver casualties are the new recruits, because they haven’t learned how to fight as soldiers.” He shuffled through some papers and pulled out a printed list before offering Vanna a few vehicles. The two of them argued fiercely over what mothballed vehicles would do the job, and how many Joshua could find crews for from the military prisons. None of the crews could return to tell the Army what they’d seen. He finally freed up enough armour to mollify Vanna, and agreed her contractors could provide most of the crew in each one.
“I hope this unrest won’t spread south?” Owen looked around all those present, most of them nodding agreement.
“We have regular troops patrolling a line from Glasgow to Edinburgh, with RAF support, supposedly to stop these raiders coming south. They are actually there to police the imported troops.” Joshua glanced at his figures. “This will stop any further clearances even in winter, because I can’t spare the troops.”
“That’s not too bad just now. The farms are producing plenty of fruit and veg while the Falklands and Argentina are sending fuel and meat. The meat is mainly for the enclosures because the fishing fleet is feeding the Army and the useful citizens.” Owen turned to Grace, the aristocrat supervising the work camps. “Once the harvests are in, you can send more parties out to scavenge the abandoned villages and suburbs outside the enclosures. That turned out to be very productive in the spring.”
There wouldn’t be much scavenging in Scotland this year. Most of those present had now skimmed the reports and were startled to find out six thousand inmates had been freed from work camps, and less than half had been recovered. At least most of the rest had gone back to their cities, rather than join the rebels in the mountains. Joshua’s Army checkpoints and Vanna’s Mart guards would be arresting people all over the country, on the slightest pretext, to make up the shortfall.
A relieved Owen moved his attention to Maurice. “What about your plans to eradicate the democratic enclaves?”
“Some are gone, and others will go soon. Some have been forced to band together and will take more careful handling. One item has come to my attention.” Maurice brandished a thin file. “You insisted on rotating Army personnel, to stop attachments between them and nearby enclaves?”
“Yes. We don’t want them getting too cosy. This way the Army personnel are all exposed to the worst areas to harden attitudes.” Owen answered but the others nodded.
“Maybe it works another way. The hardened troops move next to one of the democratic, friendly enclaves, and lose their edge.” Maurice started passing copies of a report around the table. “As you can see from the feedback, the Army as a whole might actually become more tolerant, not less. Overall we might be better off letting some soldiers stay and become friendly, then wipe them out along with the enclave.”
Joshua barely glanced at the report before tossing it down. “I’m not happy about deliberately killing regular Army personnel like that.”
“We’ll all monitor the situation, and look at it again in a few months.” Owen nodded to Maurice, ignoring the huff of displeasure from Joshua. “Please let us see the reports so we can assess the situation properly. After all, south of Edinburgh the situation is stable so we don’t want to rock the boat until the Reivers are dealt with. Is that all?” Owen looked round the table before moving on to the next problem. Henry, the farm manager, had complained about the cancellation of all planned clearances. As usual he wanted more land for growing food. “Ivy, please liaise with Joshua to move the Army nearer to the enclosures. That will leave more land where the Army can’t see Henry using mechanised farming equipment. Reorganising his farmers will keep Henry off our backs.” The rest nodded agreement, happy to move on to more mundane matters.
*
As the meeting broke up, four of them paused briefly, letting Joshua get out of hearing. Maurice glanced after him. “Is that what you wanted, Vanna?”
“More real armour? Oh yes, the tracked tanks have uses but some of the wheeled versions will be a big help. Our own non-Army armoured force is building nicely.” She smiled hopefully at Maurice. “What about our private snipers?”
“The first tests worked, and your nosy Army officer is no more. The test subject performed perfectly.” Maurice hesitated, then admitted the problem. “We still need more traumatised people as raw material, because the wastage is very high. I’m having them buried in the woods, well spread out.”
“Good idea. We don’t want anyone to notice and ask awkward questions. I’m sure Grace can scour the work camps and find more inmates with breakdowns?” Owen waited until Grace nodded before mo
ving on. “Did the anti-aircraft and anti-tank weapons arrive?”
“Yes. They came to work camps labelled with the wrong delivery address, and were put into storage pending return.” Grace laughed briefly. “Maurice’s off-radar delivery lorries picked them up. No trail, Owen.”
Maurice picked it up. “They are now installed in the city centres, with Vanna’s people, ready to antagonise the regular Army and RAF if necessary. We’ll blow up a few tanks or planes if there’s any hesitation when we finally send in the armed forces.”
“Better yet, when we have enough paramilitaries and finally disband the Army, those weapons will be a big help if any of the armed forces mutiny.” The four conspirators split into pairs and left.
Vanna glanced to make sure neither Owen nor Grace could hear. “I’m a little worried about the amount of ammunition in the enclosures, Maurice. After all, my paramilitaries will face it sooner or later.”
“But we can cut the supply at the right time, since we know exactly where they shop. They’ll shoot their weapons dry within a few hours. In the interim, the scum are thinning themselves so there’ll be fewer for your people to face.” Vanna nodded in agreement, but looked thoughtful as they hurried to catch the rest. She didn’t thinkthe scum would run out of ammunition as quickly as Maurice seemed to believe. She might not like them, but she recognised that they weren’t all idiots.
*
Cyn Palace, London:
The six leaders of five gangs, Sin and Sinner, Kermit, Preacher, Ike, and Imam, weren’t buying ammunition or propellant from Maurice’s supplier, because they were isolated in London. Fortunately,the sealed city contained both the experts and materials to produce their own. These six hadbought some of ittotry a new method of deterring raids, and now they were ready to act. The combined reaction force had beaten off several raids without losing any food, even if each fight cost them fighters and ammunition. Now the Imam and Preacher had come up with a real long-term answer.
Today, the first part of the deterrent meant Sinner crouching in the rubble, keeping his head down so the raiding Gatts could pass by without spotting him. He could hear quiet voices and the sound of boots trying to sneak over broken bricks, but he couldn’t see anyone. “Don’t look. Stay hidden.” Her words were barely breathed in his ear but Sinner turned to make a sharp retort, then stopped and smiled. The sheer mischief in Cyn’s eyes held him, and she’d been right. He’d almost risked sticking his head up far enough to see.
Sinner nodded, then leant to kiss her. “You keep down as well. No need to join the attack.” A vain hope, he knew. She’d led her people from the first time he’d seen her, three long years ago. Cyn had been frightened of her gun and sick at the sight of bodies when they first met. He hadn’t been much better. Sinner looked across the rubble to where the librarian crouched. If it had hadn’t been for her, he might have never met Cyn, and would probably be dead. He’d been watching the library from a block of flats, wondering who was in there, when a bunch of yobs had knocked on the door. A little fat bloke came out to negotiate and when the gangster shot him, everyone in the library froze. So did Sinner, though he couldn’t do much anyway with only a cricket bat. Nita hadn’t frozen for long, just a few heartbeats, then she’d emptied two pistols in a continuous roll that mostly missed. The shots that didn’t miss killed the gang leader, dropped his second, and hit another three. The other four ran.
Sinner hadn’t been called that, back then. He’d been sneaking around looking for someplace, anyplace, his small group might survive the chaos. When he saw Cyn coming out of the library, the pistol in her hand wobbling all over the place, his brain took a holiday and he’d charged out of hiding to help her. He’d not seen Nita until she followed Cyn outside and pointed a pistol at him. The smoke coming out of the barrel told him this one would shoot, so he’d started talking as fast as possible. A couple of Sinner’s friends had come over to help finish off the wounded attackers, exchanged stories, and within days his small group had joined those in the library.
Right now, Nita, usually called the librarian these days, carried at least four pistols, a shotgun and a hatchet, and had that look in her eyes. Her religious fervour frightened Sinner,it frightened most sensible people, but that fervour came in handy in a fight. A light touch brought his mind back to the present. Cyn, known as Sin these days, mouthed, “They’ve gone.” Sure enough, the noise of feet had faded away.
Sinner clicked his radio, twice. The rest of his Sinners knew what that meant and began to crawl out of deep cover, moving into firing positions. If everything went to plan, they’d be waiting when the Gatts ran for home.
*
The faint noises were now approaching Eli and Preacher, as the Gatt raiders crept through the rubble directly between them. Eli clicked three times, and four clicks answered. None of his gang, or Preacher’s, moved. They’d set this up very carefully, which meant waiting for the right moment so they’d kill plenty of Gatts.Eli fitted a bolt into his crossbow. Arrows didn’t ricochet like bullets so there’d be less chance of friendly fire casualties. A single click sounded on the radio. Eli waited for a count of five, but no more clicks came.
“Allahu Akbar! Allahu Akbar!” One voice called the first time, but even Eli joined in the second time. He wasn’t religious but that cry would scare the shit out of the Gatts, the gang creeping up to steal food. “Allahu Akbar!” Eli came up on his knees and aimed his crossbow.
In the street,over forty fighters froze for vital moments, staring horrified at the horde pouring out of the houses ahead of them. Every coloured fighter in the other four gangs had joined Imam’s men, to encourage the jihad impression because most people still thought of Moslems as non-whites. Even as Eli fired, half the fighters ahead of him broke and ran. Crossbow shafts sleeted in from both sides and ahead, and most of the remaining Gatts staggered or went down. A few fired, but by the time they’d decided which way to shoot, the Imam’s shock troops had hit.
Eli charged forward, dodging a wild swing from a machete and striking for the bloke’s arm. Before his opponent’s machete hit the ground, someone else had brained the bloke. “Keep going, keep going. Allahu Akbar!” Kermit came bounding past, blood flying from his blade, and set off after the Gatts who’d run away.
“Don’t let them get away. Strike now, in the Lord’s name!” Across the street Preacher and a dozen men cornered three Gatts who’d run the wrong way. Eli turned to join the chase, kicking at a wounded man on the floor.
“Come on!” A long, curved sword, the real deal, skewered the wounded man. For an old geezer the Imam could shift, even if the younger fighters were leaving him behind. “Finish them now, before they recover.” Eli did as he was told, encouraged by the roar of gunfire up ahead.
*
The gunfire came from the Sinners, a volley that hit the fleeing Gatts at point blank range, just when they thought they’d escaped. Sinner thanked God, either Preacher’s or Imam’s, because none of his gang had opened fire early and given the victims a chance to break away to the sides. He might have waited too long to be absolutely certain, but an elbow had smacked into his ribs at exactly the right time. “Fire!” Pistols and shotguns swept at least half the runners away, and wounded or stunned the rest. “Cease fire, cease fire, use your blades.” Sinner leapt to his feet, cringing as he half-expected Nita to keep shooting. His relief didn’t last long as he came face to face with a wild-eyed Gatt wielding a big old sword. Sinner blocked the first three swings, almost losing his machete, then stumbled and fell. The Gatt lifted his sword to finish Sinner and froze, a crossbow bolt sticking out of his chest.
As the bloke crumpled, his sword clattering on the rubble, he revealed a smiling Sin. “Sorry, I daren’t shoot before. I might have hit you.” She reached down and helped Sinner up, then handed him the big sword. “Here, try this for size.”
“Hey you two, fighting before loving.” Eli stopped, trying to catch his breath. “Bloody hell, I’m knackered.” He looked around at the bodies, and t
he wounded Gatts who were rapidly becoming bodies. “Did we get them all?”
“Most of them. We let two get away just like you wanted.” The young man scowled in the direction the Gatts had run. “We didn’t have to. We could have sent the bodies.”
“You know why they’re alive. By the time they’ve finished shitting their britches and telling everyone Imam has started a jihad, every surviving Gatt will be praying the nutters head someplace else.” All the humour left Sin’s voice. “We all saw the real thing when that lot round Paddington decided to set up a new Islamic State. A lot of people died wiping them out, and nobody wants to find themselves in the way of that sort of thing again.”
“Then you should all give thanks to Allah, that he sent you true believers.” The little smile on Imam’s face acknowledged a good few of those present weren’t on speaking terms with any god, let alone his. “The Sinners you loaned me seemed to enjoy their religious experience.”
Sinner laughed at him. “You might even convert a couple if we do this too often.” As Preacher arrived, the six gang bosses walked slowly back towards the old school used as a barracks. The idea had worked, so now they had to decide which other local gangs needed the same treatment. Once they’d all learned some manners, maybe they’d be more willing to negotiate a permanent peace. Then the idiots could buy the food they kept trying to steal.
Demon Spawn
Despite all the action elsewhere in their own city and country,Orchard Close had more prosaic problems. The beer sales took a hit at the beginning of May, when the Hot Rods’ production started back up. Since Caddi hadn’t given them any warning, that left the brewers with gallons of surplus beer.
