by Vance Huxley
“Thank fucking Christ for that! Now we can roll them up each way, one at a time. We’ll watch out for those mines at the next one.” The General grimaced, glancing at his radio. “Too late to get the runners now, they broke straight through the roadblock. I didn’t expect them to keep rockets and an automatic back from defence, just for their bug-out.” A savage grin split his face. “At least we got a rocket maker. Better yet, that Keith swears all the rest died so I’m the only one with them. Tell the medics if that woman dies, so do they.”
“They know. She should be all right. They’ve stopped most of the bleeding and are pumping fluids and antibiotics into her.” Rhys, the spymaster, ran a finger across his throat. “What about that Keith?”
“Put him as an intel liaison to Julius. A backstabbing two-faced fuck like that might be useful if Caesar decides he wants the crown.” The General scowled as he raised his binoculars again. “If too many non-combatants got away there won’t be enough left to amuse the Bloods. We’ll have to keep going and eat up that little gang to the north, just to get the lunatics some reinforcements and playmates.”
*
An hour later a SIMS fighter with a bloodstained rag around one arm looked at the five survivors in his strongpoint. “We’re the last, I reckon. They’re throwing bombs to detonate the mines outside, and we’re out of rockets and pipe bombs. They’ll get to us next time, or the time after.” He held up a control on a wire. “You know what this does, triggers our mines. Or you thought it did.” He flicked off the back cover and moved a slider. “Now it’s an Armageddon switch. There’ll be nothing left to loot by the time they put the fires out. Do any of you want to be alive when the Bloods get inside?”
“Not a chance.” Tears trickled down the woman’s tired, smoke-stained face. “Put it on a chair in the middle. The first one who thinks the Bloods are getting too near, press that button.”
A youth with a bandaged leg, sat by a loophole, frowned at that. “I’m surprised none of the others did that, blew up their blockhouse.”
“A few might have, further around the wall, but they won’t have pressed this or we’d be gone as well. The council have been preparing for the General for over a year now. We were supposed to trigger this if we had to retreat, scorched earth, but when we found out our bug-out vehicles had been sabotaged the blockhouse commanders all agreed. The General has someone inside and knows our defence plans, including the bug-out, so he’ll have someone waiting to slow them up. That’s why, when the rockets were bombed, we asked for volunteers to dig in and die, to give the others as big a lead as possible.Now this will finish the job, make sure they’re too badly mauled to try and follow.” He looked around the bunker, meeting each defender’s eyes in turn. “We’ve done it, but there’ll be no cavalry.” He straightened to a sort of attention. “It’s been an honour.”
“You daft sod, give me a hug.” A woman put her good arm around him. “Killing those nasty shits has been a lot of fun, but we knew the score.” Her big smile belied the blood and grime on her tired face.”I’ve been a bit pissed off about them getting the crops and gear, but now I’ll die imagining that bloody General tearing his sodding hair out. Stick that button thing in the middle.” She moved back to a loophole, sniffing as her bravado faltered. “If I go down, don’t leave it too late. I really don’t fancy being a Bloods prisoner.”
*
As the Bloods closed in on the few blockhouses that were still resisting, a dull thud sounded and the ground vibrated against the General’s soles. All around the perimeter smoke gouted from the loopholes on most of the strongpoints, and fuel tanks in the nearby garages exploded. Further inside the enclave, smoke and flames rose from stores and workshops as a wave of destruction spread among the houses. Everything stopped as even the Bloods were stunned into silence. The General turned to his spymaster, Rhys, rage suffusing his face. “Perhaps Keith won’t be useful after all. Not after I’ve skinned the incompetent fuck an inch at a time, and the Bloods have finished playing with him.” His hand crumpled the reports used in planning the attack. “I hope your reports about Orchard Close don’t miss any little details like this?”
Rhys nodded and got the hell out, at least until the General had shed someone else’s blood. He’d keep clear of Patton and the Bloods as well, becausethe nutters had too many wounded to take another place right now. They’d get no rape or pillage from this victory, which would make them even more short-tempered and vicious than usual.Maybe he should have a chat to Julius, just in case either of them suddenly needed a friend.
*
Professors:
The General had Keith staked out,but hadn’t finishedskinning the traitor,when the Professors had surprise visitors. A long column of vehicles pulled up at their southern border, led by an armoured van bearing the gouges and smoke stains of serious combat. The visitors had technically invaded the smaller gang to the south, but nobody seemed to want to argue. Prof wondered why they’d stopped, because the border defences couldn’t organise fast enough to keep this many out. He stood in the road with four of the Kendo fighters, and raised a hand in greeting.
The tired voice from the van sounded female. “Hello there. Are you the Professors?”
“Yes. Who are you?”
The van door opened and a smoke-smudged woman with a bandage around her upper arm came out. She propped a shotgun against the vehicle and pointed back towards the convoy. “We are what’s left of the SIMS. We come in peace.” A bitter laugh from inside brought a wan smile. “Actually we are begging for shelter. The General has taken our enclave.”
Prof looked behind her at the long line of vehicles, several showing battle damage. “How did so many get away?” His eyes opened in alarm. “Is he following you?”
“Eventually, maybe, but there’s two gangs in the way. The second gang got out of our way after we blasted through the first, but they’ll both be lining their borders for the next rude visitors.” The woman glanced back at the vehicles. “A lot of good people died to give us a start, and more died getting us this far. The survivors are mostly non-combatants, but a good few have trades and they brought tools and equipment. We’ve even brought a woman who makes rockets, a sort of guided missile. They’ll stop any of your neighbours giving you grief.”
That didn’t make sense to Prof. “So how come the General won?”
“Betrayal. He got to someone inside and the RAF blew up our artillery.” Her shoulders slumped. “Look, we know we’ll not get decent housing, but we need someplace to sleep tonight. Then if you don’t want us we’ll push on, try to find someone to take us in.”
“No need. If you are willing to work clearing land and fixing housing, you are welcome. I must insist you turn in your weapons before coming inside our perimeter.” Around Prof and back behind him in cover, hands gripped weapons a little tighter.
The woman’s bitter laugh was echoed from inside the vehicle. “We’ve blown through the General’s blocking forces and everyone elsethat tried to stop us. You can have the weapons, but there’s sod all ammo.” She limped forward, holding out her hand. “I’m Michelle, and very, very pleased to meet you.”
*
The Reivers:
North of Inverness, and in some places south, the Reivers had also finished a fighting withdrawal. In their case, they’d been harried by troops and aircraft, and where they’d ended up wasn’t exactly a safe haven. Even so their leaders were satisfied with what they’d managed. The air attacks had definitely eased off, or were launched from a distance so they weren’t as accurate, and there’d been no more attacks on the caves. The government forces had established a front line, but too late because convoy after convoy had been pillaged as the government troops and work camps moved south. Most of the supplies were carried across the mountains in backpacks, and were now north of Loch Ness. With the crops raised in small patches scattered through the Highlands, the Reivers thought they might have enough food for winter.
Just as well, because the battle tan
k in a food convoy had come as a deadly surprise. The sides of what looked like an articulated lorry fell away to reveal an armoured behemoth, but a couple of the raiding party escaped, temporarily. They’d got off a warning message,one that explained why two recent raiding parties had disappeared without trace. Raiding halted, then resumed, but only on smaller convoys or outposts. Gradually, as more of the government’s new mercenaries arrived, only spotters had stayed south of Loch Ness. Now they’d had to leave as well.
To the south of the sixty-mile Fort William-Inverness line, right across Scotland, the European troops built strongpoints and manned them with machine guns. Spotters were established along the coast at each end, to stop any flanking raids, while artillery and light armour moved into position to respond if the Reivers tried to break through. North of the line, the Reivers started planning for when the snow melted. Somehow they had to break that line, or there’d be no food the following winter. For now,sneaking in and out of Inverness allowed the Reivers to recruit, gather intel and mix with the residents for a little R&R.
*
The Cabal:
Owen stood to address the Cabal members, a big smile on his face. “Not so much a meeting this time, more an excuse to exchange congratulations. After all, this is the season of goodwill.” He gestured towards the one-way window showing the operations room. Tinsel and trimmings, and even a small fibre-optic Christmas tree, were decorating the consoles and workstations. “Personally, I am going to stuff myself with turkey and trimmings, and put my feet up. When we raise a glass to celebrate the New Year, I think we can definitely count the old one as a success. We now have enough European armour and air power, to solve the clearance problem. Providing Maurice continues to eliminate democratic enclaves, I believe the end-game is in sight.”
This time nobody held back for secret discussions. Vanna had a quiet word with Maurice, just to congratulate him on how well the new snipers were working out. He had good news for her. The yearly bonus from their information-collecting operation, already turned into bullion, was waiting for collection. Maurice also handed her a large soft parcel, a Christmas present, a bonus on the bonus. He’d no idea which enclave had provided it, but going by Vanna’s usual tastes, he thought the knitted shawl might be just the thing.
*
Cyn Palace:
In London none of the neighbours around Cyn Palace wanted to fight, and one or two wanted to trade. A strange, almost peaceful December left everyone in exactly the right mood for Christmas. Presents were in short supply inside the cordon, but in Cyn Palace a small group congratulated each other. Everyone would eat well this winter and next year, and even better they’d now turned the old school gymnasium into a giant pigeon coop. Not exactly turkey, but everyone would have roast bird on the table at Christmas.
There’d be a small break afterwards, but then it would be time to dig over the fields and any extra cleared ground for spring sowing. The cleared area grew daily,as the new refugees sweated to earn their places. Trade routes were spreading, so this year there’d be cauliflower if the seeds were viable. A small group of traders had sold cheese and seeds, then traded two weird-looking cows that had allegedly come from London Zoo. Despite the hump, they both gave milk, a real novelty. The traders had wanted some of the captured weaponry, and the chance to copy several library books. It wasn’t exactly heaven, but hell seemed much further away than it had a time or two this last four years.
Digging and Dancing
Orchard Close had a similarly peaceful December, even with a war next door and refugees still trickling in. Rumours of a savage battle involving the General didn’t worry anyone too much, the dying had been a long way from their border and might slow the gang boss up. As Christmas grew nearer,the coloured lights went up and the night defences took on a festive air. The new refugees looked astounded, while those who had already seen them quickly claimed the rechargeablefairy lights to wear. Lights twinkled on six of the young firs in the plantation this year, once Finn ran power cables out to the trees. Half a dozen residents laid a temporary extension cable from the new electricity supply in the Farm, placing a string of coloured lights across the front of Caddi’s watchers. Not only did that blind them at night, it lit the spies up very nicely so everyone else could see them.
Several residents asked about a Christmas tree this year, a real one, not plastic. Liz refused to let anyone steal a single twig of her prospective forest, but the residents didn’t want them anyway. This year they wanted a proper sized tree, bushy and two metres tall at least, providing someone could work out where to find one. Every decent sized tree for miles around, except those in the alleged Trainspotters’ park, had been used for arrows or charcoal.
Onemid-Decembermorning,Harold answered a knock on his door to find six very nervous teenagers standing there. “What have you lot been up to?”
“Nothing, yet, sort of.If we sneak under the bypass we are out of sight of the soldiers, right?” Nate obviously wasn’t keen on being the spokesman, but one of the girls had pushed him forward.
“Possibly, though there’s supposed to be cameras under there.” Harold frowned. “Don’t try it, you’ll get shot.”
“Not the third span along, not since Rihannon, er, well.” Nate stopped, but the girl prodded again. “Not since Rihannon started meeting a soldier under there. The camera stopped working. Now some of us go under there to meet, in private. Not soldiers.”The youth floundered to a stop, his blush threatening to set his face on fire. Harold had started off alarmed, but this sergeant must have relaxed a lot more than he’d realised. Now Harold tried to keep his smile hidden.Same-sex houses for the young singles and no spare rooms left little privacy for a love life. Harold was impressed that some of the girls were relaxing enough to be tempted, and more impressed they did so out in the decidedly frosty night.
“I’m lost. Why do you want to see me about your love life? And regardless of what Rihannon is up to, I still think you are crackers going under the bypass.” Harold would be having a word with the guards that side. There weren’t many because the wall almost met the exclusion zone, but those on duty must know about the couples.
“We can’t cut the mesh or climb it because that sets off alarms, but we could dig under the fence. If we put a board and some dirt over the hole in the day, we could do it in three or four nights?” Nate might have been warming to his theme, but Harold had started getting worried.
“Why? I wouldn’t recommend escaping. You’d be out there with just what you can carry, a target for every soldier, pilot and escaped scroat.”
“Not escape, we could go out and get a tree! A real Christmas tree.” Harold looked at the rest of the group. The two lads might have their brains in their pants, but the four young women were determined.If he said no they’d probably have a go anyway. Cripes, at least a quarter of Orchard Close would help them.
Harold looked as stern as possible. “Not tonight, and maybe not tomorrow. I’m going to talk to a few people. It’s a lovely idea but not worth dying for so I am telling you now, don’t start digging.” Harold forced a scowl because he didn’t seem to be getting through. “Keep your mouths shut, really shut, because if I hear one rumour I’ll stop you.” He couldn’t keep looking serious for much longer so he sent them on their way. “But decide who is going if we come up with a plan.”
Harold wasn’t sure they heard anything but, “who is going” because the group bounced down the path with a lot of laughter and some intense hugging. He’d make sure the wall guards understood. Harold looked back at Tessa and Sharyn, listening at the door to the lounge, and watched their smiles blossom when he said, “Charcoal.”
*
Before he made any real plans, Harold had to check if the idiots were telling the truth. Several shamefaced guards admitted to letting couples go out through the potato field at one end, and head across to the bypass. Harold told them to stop it for the next couple of nights, then went to find the charcoal expert. He smiled when the door to Liz’s
forge refused to open, and knocked. “I’ll huff and I’ll puff?”
After a few moments he heard the bar being lifted, andthe door opened to reveal agrinning Liz but no apprentice. “You’ll have no huff left after carting all the new ironmongery down to the armoury. Oodles of helmets and maces, and Henry’s hammer is ideal for making Rambos.” She waved Harold inside. “Luckily he’s off practicing with those rough Riot Squad types, or I might not have answered the door at all.”
Harold hopped up to sit on her bench, raising a smile. “I’m relieved you’re still finding time to smith, what with new toys and a new toy-boy. How important is charcoal now, with that new furnace?” He already had some idea by the number of charcoal bags that were now empty.
“I need it to temper and fettle, to straighten or repair the rubbish you accept in trade, and for hardening. Is there a problem?” Liz glanced at what she had left. “I know it’s expensive, but the trees aren’t growing fast enough.”
“You made your own charcoal when we cut down all those trees just after the Crash. The thing is, getting timber is possible but risky, but from what you say may be necessary. Nobody has any but Caddi, and he’s pushed his prices right up or maybe he has to pay more.”
Liz stared at him, startled. “Cripes, are you actually going to raid the Trainspotters? How will you get trees back here?”
