Fall of the Cities_A Mercedes for Soldier Boy

by Vance Huxley

  “What the?” The gangster died, eyes wide in astonishment as the long steel shape slid silently into view and a rifle fired. Others turned as more of the rifles poking from the sand-bagged loopholes spat death from behind them. In the woods, towards the zoo itself, automatics opened up in short, deadly bursts. Screams and curses echoed through the trees as the attackers realised what they were facing, and tried to get away. They were too late because more automatics were waiting, aboard the barge now floating right across their quickest, easiest line of retreat.

  The gangsters might have made a better showing, but the automatic weapons came as a terrible shock. The mob charging forward to swamp the defenders disintegrated, many of them panicking as the flickering lines of tracer turned their front ranks into bloody heaps.Some of the survivors scattered into the woodland, throwing aside weapons and any chance of escape as the traps in the undergrowth, or pursuing Zookeepers, maimed or killed them. The rest, surrounded and facing professionals with superior firepower, tried to break out past the barge. Ten frantic minutes later, a man wearing a tigerskin cloak limped up towards the canal. The steel barge, now sporting new scars and holes in the sandbags, had been joined by several floating bodies. Fifteen pushed open a hatch. “Hi there Teddy. Did one of them get you?”

  “No, Teddy tripped in the woods. I told him, the commander is supposed to be calm and collected, not screaming and running about.” The young woman put an arm around Teddy. “Did any of them get away?”

  “A few, Imogen, but their neighbours will mop them up when they realise how badly those gangs were hit. Can we come ashore now?” Another two men had come out of hatches, throwing ropes to others in ragged police uniforms who were now coming out of the trees.

  “Yes, and thank you. That should put off anyone but the Barbarians, and we are a long way away from them, thank God. We’ll follow up just as we discussed, pushing out beyond the trees to make a proper killing zone with warning signs. The extra grazing land, and the browse, will mean we can let a few more animals mature.” Teddy, the man with the tigerskin, grinned. “Not all of them, we will be barbecuing a young buffalo tonight to celebrate. I hope you are staying?”

  A chorus of agreement came from the barge as the ex-policemen disembarked. This alliance had some very unexpected benefits.

  *

  A week later,Six-One-Three stood peering into the stretch of canal coming out of the tunnel. “Why are there so many?” The water below him teemed with fish.

  Inga, a dark-skinned woman with exotic feathers threaded through her dreadlocks, joined him. “We put nets across two dead-end side tunnels, at those junctions you passed in the tunnel?” Constable Six-One-Three nodded, he’d seen side tunnels off the subterranean canal leading back to his own enclave. “We released all the fresh water fish in our aquariums into them, just after the Crash. We’ve had to more or less ignore them since then, because the other gangs could reach this entrance.” She patted his stubby automatic. “Or they could until you turned up. The gangs were all wary of the darts and Takato, but your automatics scare the nasty sods shitless.”

  “Fair return for milk. We’ve had men killed trying to get that skimmed rubbish from the Marts. It still seems surreal, milking zebras and buffalo, but the kids will be healthier.”

  “And the children know it. They recite the names ofthose who have fallen to defend them, or on Mart runs to keep them fed, every morning at school assembly. There’s a plaque on the wall so they remember everyone.” Inga put a hand on his shoulder. “Most of the latest names are your men.We are all grateful.”

  Six-One-Three looked embarrassed, turning back to the strip of water to find a way to change the subject. “Won’t these fish escape now you’ve set them free?”

  Inga could take a hint that big. “No, we’ve put the net across the canal under the bridge over there. They’ve all gathered because it’s feeding time. We breed maggots in the dung, to supplement what they find.” She smiled as the ex-policeman watched the fish, entranced by the spectacle. There were fish from all over the world, many of them brightly coloured, all mixed together in a mad painter’s piscine palette. “Would you like to help me feed them, Six-One....., surely you don’t have to use your number all the time? Don’t you know me well enough to drop the military stuff?”“

  “It’s not military, we shortened our police numbers.” He glanced at her, smiling. “You already know my name is David, so I suppose it is a bit silly. I know your name is Inga. Luckily, because crazy woman with feathers in her hair is a bit of a mouthful.”

  “If we’re being informal, you could take me swimming?”

  David’s eyes widened. “Swimming? In there?” He stared down at the crowded fish, in water he’d seen bodies floating in not so long ago.

  She rolled her eyes. “Not in with the fish.” Inga gestured towards the tunnel. “There’s another small side tunnel in there that’s netted off. There’s floats to sit on and oil lamps. We didn’t fancy fishy friends or the gangsters joining us in the water.” She stifled her smile. “We could take a rowboat. I’d have time after feeding this lot, if you help me out?”

  “Brilliant. What do I do?”

  “The maggots are in those tubs.” As she followed him, Inga’s smile became a little more calculating. David was a strapping young fella, a polite one who had given as good as he got when she’d flirted a little at the barbecues. Inga would have made a real move sooner, but she hadn’t wanted him distracted from killing gangsters. Now, if she could get him in the side tunnel with that soft romantic lamplight, David would probably go along with the skinny dipping part. After all, there weren’t any swimsuits and he wouldn’t know the swimming parties were usually single sex. Better still, the water wasn’t exactly warm, which is why there were sleeping bags to warm up in after drying off. Some were doubles.

  *

  Sutton Park:

  Around Sutton Park, the gangs were still slowly learning to live in harmony, and a few members here and there had progressed to the double sleeping bag stage. Others definitely hadn’t.There were fights between members of different gangs, but the equivalent of duelling rules had developed. Letting the challenged choose the weapons cut down on actual fights, because some of the gangs had real favourites. Nobody wanted to take on a Yakuza with a sword, nor one of Shiner’s Skins with just a baseball bat and boots.

  Despite many of them being reluctant, the gangs were forced closer together because the Last Prophet and his men were expanding. Refugees, people running before he got to them, trickled into the area around Sutton Park. Gradually a ring of small groups of almost habitable houses around the park itself were renovated. The new inhabitants either worked in Sutton Park, or began to clear the easiest of the ruins around them to extend the fields.

  At first the gangs claimed anyone settling in their section, but the better housing wasn’t evenly spaced, which meant some gangs ended up with the lion’s share. That meant more rents, and more extra food, and other gangs objected. After some discussion, the tense type with hands on weapons, the refugees were all called the Newbies. They belonged to no gang, or all gangs, and their rents and the extra food they produced were divided up. During the negotiations the smallest of the gangs dissolved, most of them joining the Newbies, which gave them a core of fighters. Theremaining five gang leaders, or their lieutenants, began to meet more and more to deal with their new, joint tenants. They also had to agree on joint commanders for the fighters recruited from the Newbies.

  None of them realised just how often the original park keepers asked for meetings, or brought problems that needed a meeting. Neither did they notice how often a park keeper happened to have a solution. Not always the best one, but the one that led to the least chance of strife. Despite being the conquerors, the five gangs were being gradually trained into a strange arrangement that wasn’t democratic, but would be a long way from totalitarian.

  * *

  Conan:

  Elsewhere in the city, other enclaves made the
ir own plans for defence but sometimes they just weren’t enough. As midnight approached in one insignificant enclave on the north-western edge of the city, close to an Army outpost, none of the residents were thinking of sleep. Armed strangers roamed their streets, while teams of the locals frantically threw water onto the buildings near to what had been their guardhouse. The burning house had been a barracks for most of the fighters, its windows boarded up apart from weapons slits. Other teams carried in bodies from around the enclave, throwing them onto the blaze to join the rest on one giant pyre. The residents flinched nervously at the screams from elsewhere in what had been their home. Now it belonged to the Barbarians.

  The leader of the Barbarians, Conan, strode through his new possession. Reaching a small, undamaged house with a prominent cross on the door, he knocked, identifying himself before the man inside opened the door. “You were right, Sylvester. We poured paraffin and oil through the weapons slits and torched the barracks doorway before the first shot. Those boarded up windows trapped most of the fighters,and the rest never got chance to organise. Better still, the Army never had a chance to stick their noses in.” He looked around but couldn’t see anyone else. “Does anyone know the God-botherers let us in? We killed the ones they drugged.”

  “No, nobody alive anyway. They’re in the back room, through there.” Sylvester, a tall man in his thirties, gestured to a door. “Give them a pat on the back to encourage them and we can do it again, when you have to. Not too often, or someone will realise.”

  Conan headed for the door in the far wall, pulling it open without knocking. The priest and four nuns stopped praying, their heads jerking up in alarm. “It worked. You did your job so the other nuns are safe, as long as they keep nursing my men. They stay safe as long as you’ll do it again when I tell you.” His eyes narrowed. “Why isn’t she out there?” Conan inspected the sixth worshipper, taking in the woman’s age and figure. “Hobbled, or keeping one of my men warm and happy.”

  “Kelly asked to join us, to become a novice. She didn’t know what we were doing, so she is a true believer. It wasn’t to save herself from your men. Can we keep her, please? We did what you asked, gave you this enclave?” Despite the priest’s attempt to sound resolute it came across much more like pleading. “We’d like to see the others please, to make sure….” He trailed off as Conan laughed.

  “Make sure they still have underwear? I kept my word. As long as they nurse my men, and you do as you’re told, none of them end up in a hobble. Saving your sisters from that should be enough to keep you in line, without letting you pick up strays.” Conan whirled round, his fist rising as Sylvester touched his arm. “Fuck it, you should know better.”

  “Sorry.” Sylvester jerked his head to get Conan out of the room. Once the door closed he spoke quickly and quietly. “Let them have the woman, as a reward. This is the first time we relied on them completely and they made a big difference. If we’d tried storming the walls the Army post might have interfered, because this enclave is close enough to have made friends. It would have only taken one soldier with a machine gun getting a rush of blood to turn our attack into a bloodbath. The bastard wouldn’t have even needed to leave the Army guard post.” Sylvester turned to look at the closed door. “They’ve got close to this girl. Let them save her, then promise her special treatment if they fuck up.”

  Conan thought about it, seriously, because Sylvester wasn’t usually wrong about this sort of shit. He’d suggested using the nuns again, after the captured ones had got Conan’s men through the gates and in among the Lambs of God. The Barbarian leader wasn’t sure where the lean, fit man had come from, but he had contacts among the Mart guards and sources that gave him solid info. Letting Sylvester win this one might keep him sweet. Conan nodded and opened the door without answering. He’d let the God-botherers take the girl with them, then put her to work in the hospital. The four nuns and the priest would get a good look at what he’d done to the Bitch, then he’d promise to make their little friend a special project if anyone fucked up.

  * *

  The General:

  Meanwhile, a few miles northwest from Orchard Close, too far to cause any alarm,the General hoped his own spymaster had persuaded an opponent to open his own gates. The morning mist wasn’t too bad, barely softening the rubble and certainly not hiding the General’s army as they drew up in front of the small enclave. A long way in front, because a half mile of fields and flattened rubble surrounded a continuous brick wall, with several half-demolished houses jutting out. The houses had been turned into strongpoints, their crenelated tops higher than the walls, allowing the defenders to enfilade any attackers who made it that far. The General glanced back and up, until a man at a house window gave him the thumbs up. The snipers in the nearby houses were ready. The MiB automatics were among the third rank of the Bloods, ready to open up once they had a target.

  The General raised his loudspeaker. “Parley?” He turned it off and waited. After a few moments he frowned at Rhys. “I thought you said they’d been primed to expect this?”

  “Yes, they are. I hope Napoleon goes for it. They’ve got some good intel in there and know about the snipers and automatics, so it won’t be easy if they fight. Maybe someone got cold feet, or maybe some of them are having to be convinced.” Both Rhys and the General shut up as a half dozen pistol shots rang out, inside the enclave.

  Even while they were wondering if that had been a power bid that failed or a regime change, a loudspeaker called, “Where?”

  Rhys chuckled. “He already knows. In the middle of the clear ground.”

  The General nodded and answered. “You come outside the gate, with your top four men. We’ll start walking and meet you in the middle of the fields.” He wanted the other blokes in view first because he had pictures on his phone. If the gang boss came out despite knowing about the snipers, he wasn’t planning anything cute.

  A radio crackled. All it said was, “It’s him” but the General started walking. The man who’d reported also had phone camera pictures of this gang’s boss, and binoculars. Patton and Rhys joined the General, as did Branson and Scrooge from the MiB. The General didn’t fancy this but his fighters, especially the Bloods, expected their boss to have some balls. As he came nearer, the General smiled, because this bloke also wore some sort of military uniform. He’d only brought three companions, but the fourth might have been the cause of the shooting. The man stopped and saluted, so the General returned it.

  “I am known as Napoleon, but I think this might be Waterloo. Your terms, sir?”

  “Total surrender. Your enclave becomes mine.”

  “What about my men, the fighters?” All four of the men were edgy, surrendering but still worried it might be a mistake, so the General smiled reassuringly.

  “If they march out, surrender, they can join my army. In fact, they’ll be welcome.” At least two of the men weren’t completely convinced, and neither was Napoleon.

  “March out? Do they have to disarm?”

  Patton laughed but the General shot him a look to shut the idiot up. “That is what a surrender means.”

  “Can they keep their blades, since this is a negotiated takeover rather than unconditional surrender? They’ll stack their firearms but, well, we have a certain esprit de corps here. If you want to use them, that will work for you.” Napoleon finally asked what really worried him, because despite the negotiations there were no guarantees. “Who will command them? They would fight best under their current commanders?”

  This timethe General laughed, he couldn’t help it, because there’d be no need to negotiate to get exactly what he wanted. Napoleon had just offered to do the job, without any conditions. “We’ll discuss how much command, andhow many men but you definitely aren’t in charge anymore. Even so, the MiB prove that I am happy to consider some sort of position for others. What about the rest of the people in there, the ones who don’t fight?”

  “The civvies will do what they’re told. We are surren
dering to avoid a sack, so that is a condition, because otherwise we might as well fight. You don’t want that because some of the tradespeople are productive,in return for which we keep their children or spouses safe. If their families get caught in crossfire, you’ll lose assets such as my firearms repair man.” The man calling himself Napoleon hooked a thumb back towards the fortifications. “Not only that, but my fighters will not stand by and see your Bloods turned loose on their families.”

  The General relaxed. If the fighters and that repair man had families, he could control them. “If you’d like to sit down comfortably, we can thrash out the details over a drink?”

  “One man will go back to let the troops know. They will remain on alert until I give them the order to stand down.” The General agreed and escorted his new ally to where beer, wine and coffee waited. He smiled quietly, because Patton looked thoroughly pissed off. The big man would be busy for the next couple of days slapping the Bloods down, because Hannibal, Patton’s current second, didn’t have what it took to boss those lunatics. Not now, when they were wound up for a fight.

  *

  An hour later the General watched the fighters march out and neatly stack their firearms. “Perfect.” Beside him Patton grunted unhappily but the General chuckled. “Cheer up Patton. You’ve got a little time before we go after the SIMS, but there’ll be no waiting for anyone to heal so start briefing your men. We’ll use the break to reorganise, to go through all the men we have. I want you to sort out all the nutters, the nastiest bastards, from everywhere and move them into the Bloods.” The General grimaced, because Patton might not like the reason. “We’ll need plenty of them to charge over that open ground at Orchard Close, because every bloody gun will be working. Attacking the SIMS first will get them settled in together.”