by Vance Huxley
“They aren’t too bad, and they’re getting better. The camps sounds like government, maybe getting a read on all the gangs before the hammer comes down. Aren’t you pleased we kept quiet about our hidden talents?” Jer smiled and clapped Asif on the shoulder. “We’ll get the rest of the lads to keep an eye open, to see if there are any other leaks. Did you find out how he reports?” They walked off talking quietly, working out how to protect the gangsters without letting them know.
*
Conan:
The leader of the Barbarians had his own suspicions about where Sylvester got information and maybe sent reports, but it worked for him so he didn’t actually care. Even so, Conan wasn’t happy about the argument he’d just had with the spy. He ran it back through in his head. If it had been anyone else he’d have topped them, but Sylvester had become too useful. The trouble was the smartarse had started getting a bit too full of himself, trying to plan the campaign and choose targets. The nuns were working out well, but that sneaky fuck needed to realise he wasn’t indispensable. The gang boss felt a little uneasy because that fucker hadn’t been scared, he’d been ready if Conan had gone for him. Conan didn’t, not just then, because he wasn’t totally sure he’d win. Sylvester didn’t look for trouble but he was too fast, almost professional when he had to fight.
After a little thought, Conan came up with another way to rub in who ran things. He would attack the next gang when he was good and ready, and it wouldn’t be the one Sylvester suggested. Conan knew the perfect target, one that could be run over with lunatics and machetes. He fancied a bit of blood and mayhem instead of all this pansy planning and shit. No hurry, the blokes were all pissed or hung over, or playing with their women.
That brought a smile to Conan’s face and he headed upstairs. He’d got some entertainment of his own, the Bitch. The smile faltered as the gang boss rubbed a long, partly-healed cut down his arm. Not all fun, she’d got to his knife when he dropped his jeans just a little bit too close. Still, after the beating he gave her for that she’d quietened down for a day or two. With a big grin he kicked open the bedroom door. “On your knees and drop your drawers, Bitch. I’ve got your New Year’s present in my pants. Ready to suck it yet?”
A groan greeted him, then a low laugh. “Yeah, all right. Drop your pants and shove it between my teeth. I dare you.”
“You’d like that. No chance. Though if you keep on biting, I might decide to knock the rest of your fucking teeth out.” He’d already knocked a few teeth out, by mistake, but Conan didn’t want to win that way. What he wanted was for her to give in like all the others.
She spat at him and made a gun hand, a finger out for the barrel. Sometimes Catherine felt tempted to give in, because she believed the bastard, about him letting her go after three days of total submission.It would be gross and humiliating but once she caved in she wouldn’t be any fun for the sick shit. Then she’d remind herself why she kept going. The nasty bastard would pick on another woman, then another because he liked humiliating them. Well he couldn’t do anything to her he hadn’t already tried, and she’d survived it all. It was driving the perverted shit nuts. With a bit of luck one of the others would shoot the rabid bastard, or he’d get that frustrated he’d give her a clean chance with a gun or a knife. Catherine glared at Conan, eye to eye. “Come on then, limp-dick. Look, I’m terrified. Help, help.”
* *
The General:
Despite the Christmas break, too many Bloods were still healing for the General to make a move on Orchard Close. At least that gave the General time to rethink his plans, or refine them a little. Splitting the men had worked well, but Caddi was still dicking about with his war and the General didn’t fancy taking Orchard Close without help. He tried another tack, telling Rhys to lean on the Pinkies harder. Maybe he could snip off those dykes first.
Just in case Caddi didn’t play nice, the General also asked Rhys to ask around, try and find someone who would loan or hire him extra fighters.
* *
The Professors:
It hadn’t been long since they’d arrived, but the SIMS were already making a difference. Unlike the usual occasional refugee, lost souls fleeing some personal tragedy, the SIMS were still united. Better still, every one of them was determined that the next time the General came they were going to break him. To survive until then the SIMS needed housing and food, because they hadn’t had room to bring bulk supplies. The convoy had brought every last coupon the SIMS had, and the more expensive Mart supplies, which helped them to pay their way. From the way the men and women set out to clear ground, they’d grow plenty of food next year, so the Professor dipped into the reserves to help out. Surprisingly, so did Benny’s Boys.
According to Benny, the General had issued a warning about anyone helping the SIMS refugees. Since he hadn’t broken his alliance with Prof, Benny would be on the shit list so he might as well go all the way. The General would be coming eventually so he wanted as many fighters as possible. From the rumours spreading about the casualties when the General took the SIMS compound, these were exactly the right sort. So far, Prof hadn’t told Benny the other reason to be pleased the SIMS were here, just in case one of Benny’s Boys had loose lips. The chemistry department had a new student, one who was teaching the professorsa way to help them stopthe General.
* *
Reivers:
There wasn’t anything quiet about New Year’s morning far to the north, far enough for deep snow, as explosions tore apart several enclaves inside Inverness. Air raids hit first, quickly followed by smaller explosions as artillery and mortars added to the carnage. The inhabitants of Inverness, trying to cope with the sudden loss of their electricity and water, forgot about that as tanks smashed down their enclave walls. A full armoured assault drove into the city from the south. The news spread quickly, helped by the jets screaming overhead, the plumes of smoke, the thunder of explosions, and the non-combatants running north. There were plenty who didn’t run, either trapped or just deciding to make a stand. In enclave after enclave, grim-faced men and women, some barely out of childhood, prepared to face the onslaught.
Most enclaves, or their leaders, had expected an attack sooner or later, but none were prepared for the sheer scale and ferocity. Despite knowing it wouldn’t be enough, they sent out their fighters to harass the advance or launched their carefully constructed and hidden missiles. Tripwire and remote detonated bombs and other little surprises were put in place or activated, many created in case of an attack by neighbours. Gang wars were settled in minutes, as bitter enemies joined forces against the greater threat. Elsewhere, hate-crazed individuals hid in the ruins before launching themselves or vehicles at the attackers, intent on taking at least one with them. The shooters went out to try and kill officers, or artillery spotters, or anyone they could, but began to die almost immediately. The counter-sniping was heavy, and indiscriminate.
Despite every effort by the defenders, the attack ground its way into the city in an unbroken line. Along the northern perimeter of Inverness, those fleeing the fighting found the way wide open. The Army posts and the Marts were deserted. Refugees broke into the Marts, but the last ‘supply’ convoys had been removing stores so the warehouses were almost empty. Beyond the Marts, across the no-go zone, lay the deserted, snow-covered ruins of the suburbs and empty fields. Despite the lessons of Glasgow, the non-combatants had nowhere else to go.
Perhaps the fighters might have carried on longer, and made the invaders pay a higher price. Instead, when the flood of escapees were left unmolested, more and more turned from stubborn defence to a fighting retreat. Enough stayed to the last minute, or were trapped and died rather than surrender, to slow the clearance to a crawl. Those men and women passed back vital information before they died. The armour, and the troops supporting it, weren’t British. They identified French, German, Spanish, Greek and Italian troops, passing on details of the equipment and unit flashes.
A few units of government paramilita
ry Specials joined the attack. Those were quickly targeted because of what the Specials did to Glasgow. The most suicidal of the loners made a point of heading for the Specials; they’d be the only part of the government anyone could reach. Despite their armour, casualties among the paramilitaries quickly escalated. After the first day the contractors held back, only moving in to round up survivors and process them. Even as the line of armour smashed deeper, the assault deteriorated into a series of small, vicious engagements.
*
An armoured half-track skidded to a halt at a junction. After inspecting the buildings and ruins, the rear doors opened for the soldiers to disembark, but the first ones out had to dive for cover as a line of flame shot out of a pile of rubble. The crude missile almost missed, but caught the door and ricocheted inside. Flame and smoke gouted from the vehicle as men stumbled out, screaming and beating at their clothes. Those already outside lashed the rubble with gunfire and advanced.
Pulling bricks aside exposed their attacker, a young teenager with tears still wet on a face frozen in a snarl. Beside him lay the crude tube used to launch the rocket, his only weapon. The soldiers turned back to try and save their vehicle and the injured men.
*
Three men, one with white hair, threw themselves from a first floor window into a squad of soldiers, lashing out with a hammer and kitchen knives. In seconds all three were dead, leaving two lightly injured soldiers to head back towards the medics. Inside the shelled house, everyone else was already dead.
*
A young woman, weeping bitterly, staggered out of a doorway. A squad of soldiers aimed weapons at her, because other women had been carrying explosives. This one held out a bundle, a baby, asking for help. As she came closer the corporal realised nothing could help the dead child, but by then nothing could save the soldiers as the bomb exploded.
*
A dozen ragged men leapt out of cover, swarming over the tank and tugging at the hatches. They smashed bottles over any possible vent or opening, bathing the vehicle in flames. Gunfire from the soldiers following the armour swept the attackers away. The tank rumbled forward, unharmed, while the flames flickered and died.
*
Three men burst into a room and looked at the two bodies. “Shite, they got them both. Both our bloody snipers.”
The youngest picked up a rifle. “Then they won’t be looking here, will they?” He glanced back. “I can’t do the fancy stuff, but I’ll shoot any officers or NCOs that I can hit until they get me. I’ve got nothing to lose, not now. Someone stay by the door and take the rifle away once I’m done.” A savage grin split his face. “The Bruce will have a shooter who can use it properly.”
“I’ll take the other.” The older man glanced at the third. “You’re a crappy shot, so you get to take the Bruce his present.” He laid down, snugging the second rifle into his shoulder. “Ready?” The two of them began to shoot as fast as possible. Sure enough, five minutes later both were dead but the advancing soldiers wouldn’t get the weapons.
*
The tank pushed aside a barrier as the defenders fled, many of them going down in a hail of bullets. The armoured vehicle ground on down the street, until without warning a van reversed out of a shop window. It hit the tank and exploded, deluging the vehicle with burning liquid but without actually breaching the armour. With a roar, the stone-built building at the opposite side of the road came down over both. The shop building followed, the sheer weight of stone and brick trapping the armoured vehicle in with the intense fire. Soldiers began to tear at the rubble to free the tank crew, but gunfire swept them away.
By the time a second armoured vehicle and an air strike had been called up to clear the strongpoint ahead, a dull thud and crackling beneath the rubble announced the fate of the tank crew. Fifty-eight men and women died to kill them, but the defenders were willing to pay the price.
*
As the armour and the soldiers fought their way deeper into Inverness, any reluctance to target civilians died out. Time and again men and women threw themselves at the attackers, armed with everything from a kitchen knife to crude bombs. A few prisoners were taken and passed back, but the leading troops were now more inclined to shoot anything moving. A steady stream of wounded soldiers were picked up in armoured ambulances, or waited for the medics in the second wave. Not many vehicles were destroyed, but a slowly growing number were put out of action when crude rockets, mines, building collapses or pits damaged their weaponry or tracks.
Some small groups were coming out of shelter to surrender once the fighting had passed through. Others had no intention of surrendering, they were just hoping for softer targets. Soon even the second wave soldiers didn’t always accept a white flag. Elsewhere, amateur booby traps that hadn’t worked went off at the second or third attempt. Even as the flame and fury of the battle line moved north, fresh explosions and plumes of smoke grew in the ‘liberated’ areas.
At the rear the Specials collected prisoners, driving them into temporary camps. After cursory questioning, a few were segregated for further interrogation or a particular skill. Lorries were already waiting to ship the rest south, to a processing centre near Aberdeen.
*
“We can’t help them Angus.” The small band of Reivers stood watching as refugees flooded past. Columns of thick smoke rose over Inverness, whilehelicopters and jets dived to deliver their own contribution to the mayhem. “If we go into the city we’ll get eaten up. That’s battle armour and trained soldiers working in disciplined units, with close air support. We’d always expected the Army, but thought they’d respect non-combatants and be open to subversion. Christ knows what these have been offered, but it’s enough for them to kill bairns.”
“They’re from the continent, and not the ones we’ve been fighting all year.” Angus glared at Bruce and the rest. “If they come one step out of Inverness, it means they’re driving these poor bastards tae another ambush. I’ll not watch that happen.”
“We agree, but there’s no obvious place for them tae pen the civvies up for slaughter. Just tae make sure, we’d best split that column up so it’s a smaller target, and aim them towards deserted towns and villages. At least they’ll have cover from the weather.” Bruce sighed, glancing both ways but the column stretched out of sight in both directions. “I’ve no idea how we’ll feed them. Any reserves we put by will be eaten up long before spring.”
A woman pushed through the fighters, offering a radio. “A relayed message from Maeve, for the Bruce. She wants you back there as soon as possible.”
“About the food, nae doubt. Let her know I’m on the way.” Bruce turned back to Angus and the other men. “Can I trust everyone tae at least think afore doing something stupid?”
“Aye, on one condition. Once we’ve got the refugees clear, I want tae take the best of our people hunting. It’ll be a mess in those ruins, no proper front line. We haven’t the weaponry tae stop them, but we can sting them.” Angus’s smile had even less warmth than the grey winter sky. “We should give the tourists a proper Highland welcome.”
“With luck I’ll be back tae help.”
*
Two days later Bruce finally trudged down a valley to meet Maeve, the woman who acted as quartermaster since she lost an arm to a bullet. Half a dozen men and women waited with her, including one that Bruce recognised as a fisherman. “I doubt they’ll catch enough fish tae help, Maeve.”
The wan smile caught him by surprise, Maeve rarely smiled at all now. “But they can ferry a good few of yon refugees across the Minch. There’s shelter over there, in the Hebrides, and plenty of sheep. Hardly any people, because the paramilitaries swept the islands clean, but not much damage and nobody went back tae loot.” She opened a map showing red circles dotting the Hebridean Islands, just off the west coast of Scotland. “We’ve been setting it up in case the worst happened. If you’d been pushed back too far, we wanted tae give ye an escape.”
“Why did ye no tell me?”
“They’ve got quality as well now. Trained troops, foreigners with heavy armour and air support. Fully integrated units, not the mishmash of refugee soldiers sealing the line along Loch Ness.” Bruce stretched wearily. “Let me have a brew and give me the details. Will there be enough?”
“I don’t know. A lot depends on how many refugees there are, and how many can find food and shelter in the lowlands.” Maeve turned towards a small croft. “I’ll give ye the figures, but it’s up tae God now. There’ll be precious little cheer for anyone after this.” As he followed her, Bruce felt more hopeful than he had since the radio told him Inverness had lost their water and electric. He wasn’t sure why the government had spared all those people, but they had. With Maeve’s help, most might survive the winter, a winter Bruce would spend training his new recruits. Then in the spring he’d use those extra recruits to break that front line, and turn the Reivers loose on these bloody foreigners.
*
The Cabal:
The Cabal were very pleased with the bloody foreigners. “That’s what York needed.” Vanna smiled happily. “Real armour to smash the scum.”
“Not just real armour, but real soldiers. After all, your contractors have armour. How did they get on?” Joshua looked decidedly smug.
The scowl in reply just widened his smirk. “The scum concentrated on my people. Despite all the rubbish about Maurice keeping the news secret, the inhabitants knew exactly who they were.” Embarrassment didn’t suit Vanna. “I pulled them back to deal with processing any survivors.”
“What about the aircraft? Were there any problems targeting non-combatants?” Owen, the chairman, leant forward. “No constructively disobeyed orders?”
