by Vance Huxley
“Stop trying for sympathy. I’ll want fourpeople behind the bar, and two fully armed members of someone’s squad on duty. You can’t sell hard liquor.” Harold thought hard, remembering the discussion with Ski. “Set up a couple of crossbow targets outside, and some boules or something like horseshoe throwing. You’ll want a punch-bag for anyone wanting to show off, or let off steam. What are the rules?”
“All the Orchard Close ones of course. In addition, if the staff decide someone’s drunk, they get no more. If any customers get out of hand, they’re barred for any period we decide, up to life. That has to include bad language or trying to grab the staff, on top of the fine or caning. If they fight among themselves and use blades, or damage furniture, barred for any period up to life.” Seth shrugged dismissively, apparently not worried about the customers fighting. “With the two guards there, attacking the staff will be fatal. Especially with number six just along the road on the opposite side. It always has a guard shift on duty.”
“The threat of being barred will work better than caning.” Berry handed Harold a list. “Here, we’ll be serving fruit juice, small beer and the other watered booze as well as real beer and cider. There’ll be burgers and soup, chips, and snacks of some sort once we get Pippa to work her culinary magic. She might even manage real crisps.”
Harold looked down the list. “They only drink from plastic. No glass, especially not bottles. I suppose you’ve got a name?”
“No. We thought everyone can choose, all put a name up and the most popular one gets it. Well?” Berry had grabbed Seth in some sort of bear-hug, anxiously waiting. From her half-smile, she knew what the answer would be.
“Go for it. My vote is for The Pub, because there’s only one left.” Harold didn’t think Berry heard past the first three words as she whooped and picked Seth off his feet to whirl him round. As her lips connected, Harold got out of there.
A week of intense discussion later Harold supervised a vote. The Pub came in well ahead of The Highlander, also popular because there could be only one. Stephan, Fredrick and a couple of amateur woodcarvers took a circular table top and carved both sides with a representation of the Orchard Close tree logo. They decorated it with four dartboards instead of fruit, carved The Pub around the top edge, and hung it outside the door. Two weeks after Berry suggested it, in early October, The Pub opened.Twenty-four gangsters cheered as Tessa cut the ribbon, then surged inside.
*
While Berry and Seth kept the locals amused, Harold considered the shrinking heap of spring steel in Liz’s lair. He took a deep mental breath, and showed Wamil a secret. Wamil tried it and agreed that anyfightercould use a similar sword, one much lighter than a GOFS version. Harold’s sword had atwenty-six-inch long steel blade less thanan inch wide, curving in to a sharp point at the end. The blade had been sharpened a third of the way up both sides and left thick enoughand flexible enough through the middle to take a solid blow. A fighting rapier, not a fencing epee.
They sparred a little with padded weapons. Wamil agreed the slim steel could be downright lethal, especially as Harold fought with a metal bar in the other hand.They sparred again, really going for it this time. Eventually, Wamil admitted Harold would have killed her about evens, the best he’d done so far. Harold enjoyed real sparring instead of solo exercises, becauseas they fought, his old lessons came back soWamil had to work harder and harder to keep at evens.
On the way home, Harold called by the forge to make Liz shout cripes and beat on him. When Liz let him in, he hopped up on the bench. She grinned. “One of those visits? With your stick as well, so all official. Am I in trouble?”
Harold just gave a bland smile. “How good is your new steel? Does it make truly flexible, strong blades?”
“Oh yes. What do you want? A big berserker double headed axe?” She stopped as Harold took hold of his stick with both hands as if using it as an axe, then squeezed and twisted. Liz’s eyes narrowed at the click, then widened as the stick parted at the band of decoration. Harold pulled and the gleaming steel weapon slid free, leaving him with a twenty-eight-inch tube in the other hand. “Ooh, you sneaky, nasty soldier you! Cripes, you’ve had that all along?” She put out a hand. “Gimmee.”
Harold held out the sword so she could take the hilt. He waited for Liz to swing it a couple of times before asking. “Can you make me one or three?”
“Probably a lot.It’ll take less metal than a machete or even a sabre,even if it’s thicker in the middle. That railway spring steel is already thick enough.” Liz swished the sword again. “Cripes Harold, who knows about this?” She swung and stabbed at thin air. “Not the gangs because I’ve heard the scroats saying you only carry a stick.”
“I only use it in an emergency. Berry saw it once but not properly. Sharyn knows, and Tessa because her fella had it made. Then Wamil, and you.” Harold smiled quietly at the memory. “Plus a bunch of SAS blokes, but none of them are about at the moment. Two of them have something similar.”
“I should beat on you, because this means I can’t make as many sabres and Rambos. But look at it, it’s gorgeous, real art. What’s the writing on the blade? I know you told me the bit around the inkpot on the boss says ‘The Pen is Mightier than the Sword’ in Latin, but what does this bit mean?” Liz made a couple of attempts at it.
“I had to learn to pronounce it when I had lessons. The top bit is ‘Stilus gladio fortior,’which means ‘The Pen is mightier than the Sword.’The bladesays ‘Si tamen habes in gladio,’ which translates as ‘But if you also have a Sword?” Harold watched while Liz tried to work out why. “It’s an in joke from when I won the medal. The SAS lads reckoned I lacked finesse with the pointy stuff.”
The blacksmith had picked up on something else he’d said. “Lessons? You can use it properly? Do that jumping in and out with a facemask?” Liz pretended to jump forward and back, stabbing as if with an epee.
“Yes I can use it properly, but not the facemask stuff. This is a fighting sword or sword-stick, more like Walter Raleigh I think.” Harold held out his hand and she handed the sword back. He ran through a couple of exercises, dancing and prancing as Sharyn called them. “Slashing, stabbing, parrying, clubbing with the boss, a smack in the teeth with the stick and maybe a knee in the nuts. The unsharpened bit shrugs off a machete and will break an arm. Now, can you make them?”
“Cripes yes, and theseare almost artwork. That lass with the engraving kit could put some fancy on the blades, like she does the Rambos.” Liz stopped grinning and sighed. “You’re no fun at all. I’ve got to keep it secret, haven’t I?”
Harold laughed at her crestfallen expression. “Just think of all the crowing you can do eventually, about these, the Katari, the sabres and the muskets.” He looked round very obviously. “Where’s your apprentice?”
Liz tried to look sad then reallyfrowned, looking at the rapier. “The applicants are all with the other Boyfriends or Elves, learning how to beat scroats as well as heavy metal. I suppose I’d better keep the secrets from whoever for now. I can work on these while the successful applicant plays at soldiers, then when he comes back all hot and sweaty?” She looked upwards with a blissful expression. “Now you’ve done it. Go on, soldier off and leave me to my sooty dreams.”
“I’ll either drop this off now and then for you to look at, or Tessa will bring it.” Harold rolled his eyes. “Nobody will wonder why she’s carrying my stick.”
“Keeping it warm?That wench is loving it, stuffing it to the Hot Rods after living under them for three years.” Liz switched from having fun to curiosity.”If it wasn’t for Mercedes, she might be serious?”
“Smith off. I’ve known Tessa for years, and she saw my acne.” Harold slid the sword back into his stick with a snick. “There, just a thick wooden walking stick with a brass boss.” Liz frowned, inspecting the exterior so Harold explained. “I have to file marks off the steel now and then, but it came with a little pot of paint to touch up the scratches so it still looks like wood.”<
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“There’s even proper woodgrain etched into the steel. Sneaky and artistic, I like it.” Liz reached for her music player. “Now scamper off if you value your hearing.” Harold scampered.
*
As the October nights closed in earlier and earlier, work slowed on the new houses. Getting them ready for habitation proved to be too much before winter. When frost crusted the early morning fields, even the keenest enthusiasts reluctantlyadmitteddefeat until spring. Work gangs carried on withdemolishing the surrounding ruins, theycould do that all winter. The bricks from demolition went into a huge stack the other side of the buildings, where they couldn’t give an attacker cover.
Meanwhile, the visiting gangsters asked for an extra target in the pub yard, for knives. Shortly afterwards talk began about real competitions for knife throwing, crossbows, horseshoes, darts and even bar billiards, with titles and maybe prizes. Lively rivalries soon started between the visitors but the Orchard Close fighters daren’t take part. Nobody in Orchard Close could throw a knife properly. When asked, everyone claimed that Harold wouldn’t let them show off with either knives or crossbows. It wouldn’t be fair to the visitors.A few residentswatched the visitors,carefully,and began to get the hang of throwing. Despite the teasing, Harold didn’t ask Mercedes to drop by and give lessons.
The Riot Squad practiced hard with their other weapons, where the visitors couldn’t see, untilAnt found them another use for their spare time.
*
Ant, the history buff,seemed worried but determined when he intercepted Harold on his evening walk around the walls. “I know I’m not a fighter, but I think Orchard Close should adopt a system for fighting as a group instead of one on one.” Ant seemed wary, probably because Harold looked suspicious. He’d had some completely screwball ideas brought to him, including armoured knights on motorbikes.
“We are developing different ways to fight. What sort of system do you think would work better than this?” Harold gestured to the walls with the firing steps.
Ant looked along the walls and hesitated, then blurted it out. “But what about if they get inside, or if you have to go out there to attack someone?”
Harold spoke gently, realising thatAntwas worried about him dismissing the idea or maybe the tone of his first reply. “I’ve worried about it myself, which is why the wall is so thick and high. The Riot Squad are all practicing for a breakthrough, but it will be bad. I’d rather not go out there to attack anyone, to be honest, because we would be outnumbered.” Harold studied the history buff. “You came up with the maces, didn’t you?”
“Yes. I thought that a baseball bat isn’t designed as a melee weapon, so we needed something that was.”
Harold nodded. “They are a lot better. Liz said you suggested short swords, which led to the Rambos. Now you’ve come up with a way to deal with a breakin. What weapons does it need and how much training would it take?”
“We have the weapons, or most of them.” Ant held up both hands, palms out in mock surrender.”I’ll confess here and now I studied the Romans, so I might be playing favourites. That’s why I suggested short swords, though Liz went way beyond anything I had in mind. I noticed that with those metal strips on the skirts over their jeans, the armoured vests and the Rambos, the fighters are nearly there, nearly legionnaires. When I went with a scavenging party to take that plywood off the railway wagons, the last bit fell in place.” Ant paused, obviously trying to find a way to explain. “The gangs tend to use the biggest men they can find, but we use anyone willing to have a go and many are smaller, especially women.The Romans were small. The Germanic tribes and Celts were generally taller and probably physically stronger, but got beaten badly. Hundreds were killed by the legions, for negligible losses.” He looked at Harold hopefully.
“Good enough to get me interested. What are you doing this evening, after eight?” Harold smiled at the startled look. “We’ll get no peace until Daisy is in bed, and I’d like you to come round to my place and discuss this with a few other people.”
“Tonight?” Ant looked and sounded worried. “I can come but I’ve not got all the books to back it up. I could find them in a couple of days?”
“I’d rather you came tonight. Then if the theory is sound, we’ll get you some help searching through the library. You’ll need it.We’ve found loads of books in the new housingbutthey aren’t all dried out yet, let alone sorted and shelved.” Harold patted him gently on the back. “Better yet, wecanwork out who are the best fighters to test your ideas, and look for alternatives.”
“I’ll bring what I’ve got. Eight o’clock.” Ant left, head down deep in thought, while Harold finished his rounds.
*
By the time Ant left, just before midnight, he had converts. Not to a straight Roman legion arrayed in the open for battle, because they’d be shot to pieces. According to Ant, Celts and Old Germans fought like gangsters, picking a target and trying to kill him one on one. The Romans would lock shields, refuse individual combat, and kill the attackers at a rate of five or ten to one.
Some research the following day confirmed that part. Harold felt relieved becausehe’d harboured a small suspicion that Ant pushedRomans a bit too hard.The talk resurrected a fewprevious suggestions about how to fight the gangs. Most were impractical such as the Greek Phalanx with super-long spears and the English Longbow arrow storm, bothof those took years of dedicated training. There were others, including a Saxon-style shield wall with spears, maces and axes that werepractical but favoured larger men. The defenders on the wall worked a lot like that, because the height gave them an advantage.
Even as ideas were rejected, some aspects were kept. For instance, lancers on pushbikes weren’t practical but the scavengers now sent in as many bicycles as possible, even broken ones. A few had been kept for messengers, but a resident mentioned a dystopian book they’d read. Cycles were the fastest personal transport in the world that didn’t need an engine.The larger numbers were to provide emergency mobilityfor a strike force, even after the diesel finally ran out.
Gradually a variety of possible fighting styles developed, each suitable for one aspect of the defence or a certain temperament. The five squad leaders began assessing their fighters, swapping squad members to get people with the right skills together. Most of the time that meant people with the right preferences, their training wasn’t finished. In some cases, such as the legion shield wall, it hadn’t even been designed.
All of the five smaller units making up the Riot Squad would patrol their section of wall, and defend it against a surprise attack. If Orchard Close had any warning, the off-duty fighters would join them and any specialists would split off.Patty’s Demons would be sort-of Romans, with Rambos and hopefully plywood shields for plugging breakthroughs by groups. Instead of chucking spears they’d use a volley of crossbows before contact. The first experiments proved one of Ant’s suggestions, plywood could be bent and made a very tough shield.
Doll’s gunslingers were the best pistol shots, so they trained asassault troops.They’d usepistols, accurately at up to eighty yards, targeting scattered breakthroughs or launching attacks on enemy commanders if the opportunity came up. For close combat their members preferred sabres with iron bars or shields, one on one after shooting at the enemy as they closed.Casper’s, Alfie’s and Bess and Matthew’s squads would provide the main defence on the walls, using shields and a mixture of machetes, spears and maces. They would fall back to hold the guardhouses if necessary, shooting into any breakthrough from the flanks. All the squads had some crossbows, and thebrick walls would give them protectionas the attackers closed.With the shotguns and rifles as well, and luck, they’d break an attack short of contact. The overall emphasis stayed on holding the walls, but the squad leaders watched for anyone especially good at shooting, or blade work, for specialist training.
October
Dudley Zoo/Precinct Nineteen
Teddy and Sarge, the leaders of the Zookeepers and Precinct Nineteen, hadn�
��t any real specialists except the ex-police snipers and the Zookeepers using dart guns. Despite a series of raids, the zoo hadn’t been either infiltrated or caught by surprise, but the defendershoped someone launched an all-out attack sooner rather than later. Each raid put more of their men out of action, even if just temporarily, but using automatics even once would ruin the whole plan. The emergency squad hoped they’d realise when the main attack came, hopefully before it ran right over the rest of the zoo.
Tonight neither Sergeant Koos nor David, Six-One-Three, could see more than occasional shadows across the tunnel entrance, too many shadows this time. They could also hear triumphant shouts from the gangsters, and panicked radio messages as the defenders of Dudley Zoo retreated. The woodland echoed with gunfire, and the occasional bellow from Takato’s elephant gun. Crouching in the canal boat in the pitch dark, too far back to be seen from the entrance, the twenty men could only listen and hope.
“Christ, no, we’re done for! There must be two full gangs out there, too many men to stop. They’re real fighters, not yobs. Fall back, fall back. Hold the castle. Let them have a few animals and hope they go away!” Simeon, Eight-One-Four, had panicked, or so it seemed. The message only contained one important bit of information, two gangs had combined using experienced fighters and enough men to take the place. This was what the defenders had been hoping for, while the rest of the radio message should suck the attackers right in!
In the tunnel,Sergeant Koos, One-Five, waited long moments as a few more shadows flitted past the entrance, then he tapped Six-One-Three on the shoulder. The ex-constable tapped the next man, and so on down the boat. The men picked up long wooden poles, padded at the ends, braced them against the tunnel walls and heaved. Very slowly at first, then quicker, the barge floated towards the opening. Just before it came clear the men put down the poles and quickly filed inside, heading for their positions and weapons. The last manheld down the transmit and said, “One-Fivehere, full auto.”
