Aftermath: The complete collection

by John Wilkinson

  ‘Time to wake up men, on your feet.’

  I stood up, cursing my aching body, for having to sleep on the floor. It was five forty am, and we clearly weren’t about to get caught with our pants down for a second successive morning. I checked my equipment, and went to meet my company, who were helping themselves to some of the food left in the boxes, delivered last night. I had a factory packed breakfast ration, and sat down with some of the guys. We seem to have been paired with Clarets Company, and both escaped from yesterday’s fighting unscathed. Captain Jamie King had a nasty gash to his right leg, which he’d cleaned himself and was re-wrapping a blooded bandage around it. Even the regular soldiers looked tired, perhaps the weather had been something even they hadn’t experienced before. Outside I could see Shrimps Company digging out the fleet of Vikings, covered in snow up to their roofs, the drifts had been that extreme. A couple of worried looking soldiers climbed out of the vehicles, claiming they had been trapped for hours, shouting for help. The spotters in the loft hadn’t seen movement from Torriero’s men since last night, and we joked there was none of them left. After forty minutes, and still no sign of an attack, Lieutenant Colonel Carter ordered four companies, including our own, to investigate the area. We tooled up and set off across the frozen field, on high alert. The snow was around a foot deep, with no recent footprints. As we reached the battlefield, the sights became a bit more grim, the snow red with blood. Bodies everywhere, some with limbs missing, bullet holes in everything. These men weren’t soldiers, they weren’t even prepared for a fight. They were canon fodder, whose sole purpose was just numbers. Some of the men weren’t even given jackets to deal with the conditions, never mind military uniform, or armour. A lone tree stood in the centre of the field, as the battle raged around it, remaining upright while everything around it died. There was a sniper in the tree, spotted by Higson of Clarets Company. It was one of Torriero’s men, with a trench coat on. He had frozen to death, fixed in position, rifle in hand. As we progressed further into the battlefield, we started to find groups of men dead, killed by the conditions. We found up to fifty, all in one place, who had been left to die, snow covering their frozen bodies. We found another four areas with a concentration of men, maybe as many as a hundred in total, where they’d just been left. Huddled together, their faces preserved like ice sculptures. There was no sign of Torriero’s army, who had orchestrated the battle, they had gone leaving everyone to die. Sergeant Welsh ordered us to bury the bodies, but it was a waste of time and energy. We played along, fetching a couple of spades from the Vikings, but the ground was frozen solid, we couldn’t make a dent in it. It might be possible soon though, there had been a definite rise in temperature, the snow starting to thaw around our feet. Lieutenant Colonel Carter took a call from the generals, and called an emergency meeting with the sergeants of each company. The meeting only lasted a couple of minutes, before everyone emerged with a new sense of purpose.

  ‘We move out in five’ shouted Sergeant Welsh, throwing his equipment into the back of the Viking, as all the other sergeants moved into action. A couple of vehicles couldn’t get off the field, and had to be dug out of the mud and snow, with bricks thrown under the wheels for traction. Soon we were back on the M6 heading towards Preston, as Sergeant Welsh explained the situation.

  ‘Torriero has launched a full offensive’ he said, turning around in his chair to speak to everyone. ‘We had spotters all the way down the A59, at Skipton and Gisburn, but we received no warnings until the offensive reached Sawley. The generals have launched a response, with ten battalions meeting Torriero’s army on the junction where the A59 meets the M6 heading towards Blackpool. We held the M6, but Torriero’s men are trying to push through into Preston.’

  ‘What numbers have they got?’ Little D interrupted. ‘Men and vehicles?’

  ‘We have no confirmation at present, but men roughly estimated at around a thousand, vehicles were mostly abandoned on the outskirts of Preston, but there have been sightings of tanks, now entering the battle.’

  ‘How many?’ Asked Murphy.

  ‘We are waiting for confirmation.’

  ‘How many are unaccounted for?’

  ‘They could have as many as twenty.’

  ‘How have they managed to achieve this level of surprise?’

  ‘The battle we have just fought was clearly to hide their real plan, they’d taken out all the spotters from Leeds to Sawley, all the way down the A59. I’m not sure how they achieved it, maybe they have better intel than we thought.’

  As we travelled along the M6, it started to rain a little, causing more problems for the Vikings, but washing a bit of the snow away.

  ‘Holy shit! Look at the state of that’ Shouted Murphy, causing everyone to sit up, and look out of the front windscreen in disbelief. There was smoke bellowing out of at least five locations around Preston, with the fog, ash and rain it was hard to tell. Everyone remained silent for a few moments, I expected it brought back memories of the initial attack for them, as it did for me. There were a few fires raging uncontrollably, and bright white flashes lighting up the sky as more explosions rocked the city. The noise of war was audible from miles away, dull bangs, like thunder and lightning. Sergeant Welsh took a few radio conversations, as we got closer to the fighting. The M6 was being held, so we were directed to New Hall Lane, Preston, to join up with the First and Thirty Third Battalions, fighting across the Ribbleton area. We left the motorway long before the junction was visible, heading into the fields on the left hand side, the slush and mud sprayed up the side of the vehicle, as we followed the River Ribble towards Walton Le Dale. The tension in the Viking started to grow, as the sound of rifle fire became close enough to recognise. We crossed the river at the town bridge, and followed the A6 onto London Road. The convoy stuck close together, like a centipede, working its way through the backstreets, passing abandoned cars still smoldering, and people fleeing. The terraced houses were being evacuated, soldiers knocking on doors and worried residents grabbing what belongings they could, before fleeing their properties. The army were on the street, organising the evacuation, directing the traffic, helping those in need of advice. But we weren’t the only vehicles on the road, as the city emptied, and the residents took to their cars. After a few miles of stop starting, we finally arrived at the military base camp, situated at a triangular junction on London Road and Church Street, where the A59 joins it. An officer waved us towards him, and then into a field, where all the military vehicles were being parked up. Murphy lined us up next to Clarets Company, and we all climbed out with our equipment.

  ‘Grab a bucket of hot water, and clean the Viking’ said Sergeant Welsh, as he and Sergeant Hargreaves headed for the building on the edge of the field. There was a strange calmness around the camp, to say there was explosions in the near distance, and gunfire. Soldiers just meandering around, laughing and joking. Some were cleaning their vehicles, and a row of tanks were having their machine guns checked, and shells re-stocked. There were buckets of water, but nobody in their right mind would describe them as warm. We took some rags and proceeded to wash the dirt and grim off the Viking, some tanks looked to have already seen action, one was having blood washed off its bodywork. When Sergeant Welsh returned, we gathered around a map he lay out on the bonnet of the Viking.

  ‘There’s good news and there’s bad news’ remarked Sergeant Welsh, flattening the map out with his hand. The good news is, the route to Camp Blue via the M6 north has been destroyed, by The Albert Lesters Battalion, blowing the bridge and its slip roads over the River Ribble. They are well supported by two other battalions, and are at present comfortably holding the area. The river is impassable by vehicle for miles, and far too strong and deep to do so on foot. The bad news is, a section of Torriero’s men have pushed towards Preston, and are presently being held back by East Surrey and York and Lancaster battalions. We are going to form part of the support
, along with Lancashire Fusiliers Ninth and Black Cats Battalions.’ He pointed out the areas of interest on the map as he continued, starting with our base. ‘We are here, a couple of clicks from the battle. The A59 is a long straight road, with houses and shops on both sides, which have been evacuated now. Make your final checks, we move out in five.’

  The Black Cats Battalion is a tank unit, comprising seven companies, extra power we were not accustomed to. We weren’t given anymore information on Torriero’s numbers or equipment, it would be a nice surprise. We left the base and followed the A59 towards the objective, the streets looked deserted, the army having done a good job clearing the area. The sound of battle became louder, as we dropped down from the outskirts of Preston towards the River Ribble. The left and right hand side of the road were surrounded by overhanging trees, cloaking us from any light. As we came out of the bottom, there was a large bridge, guarded by soldiers, one was waving us into a field on the left, just before the river. The tanks remained backed up on the main road, their engines still running. We stood around for a few minutes, as conversations were had, and orders given. Sergeant Welsh spoke to Lieutenant Colonel Carter, and we headed over the bridge with our objectives, to join up with East Surrey Battalion. I noticed explosive charges, placed at strategic points along the structure of the bridge. Ahead of us was a large roundabout, with a motorway security building in the centre and the smoking remains of a slip road to our left. Further over was another large roundabout, with the remains of the main junction to the M6, now lying at the bottom of the river. Beyond that was Torriero’s army, hidden amongst thousands of abandoned vehicles, and smoke pouring off the remains of the second slip road. There were soldiers pinned down around the security building, and it’s surrounding property, including a car park and a grassy area with trees. We ducked down and ran across the carriageway, meeting up with the other soldiers, who filled us in on the situation. Clarets Company were right behind us, and took up position behind the wall that ran the entire radius of the property. Torriero’s men were hard to see, the foggy rain and smoke from explosions was making visibility difficult. There was a stand off for around two hours, as we held our position, and exchanged fire, never really hurting each other. They were a different kind of enemy, using superior weaponry than in any previous gunfight, and stayed well hidden, taking no chances. The scale of the fighting was much bigger than I had previously experienced, stretching out into the distance to my right, and following the river to my left, parallel to the motorway. I can only describe the fighting I saw, and information I was given. But understand this, the battle was on a vast scale, involving thousands of fighters and various locations. There could have been close to a thousand soldiers deployed by the camp, just within this area alone, but we still had no real idea the numbers we were facing. The battle was cagey in its early stages, as both armies felt each other out, without making any real moves. But it moved up a gear around four pm, when the sound of crunching metal could be heard as one of Torriero’s tanks appeared, rearing up like a horse as it drove over the top of the abandoned vehicles, and then crushing them as it came back down. It stopped around three hundred yards away, with a second tank pulling up behind it. The gunner opened up on us, as the turret started to rotate towards the security building. We were behind a wall in the car park, and watched as soldiers ran out of the building, looking for cover. The tank rocked back as a shell hit the building, blowing the windows out and sending wood, glass and bricks scattering across the car park. We moved further into cover as the gunner rattled bullets against the walls and abandoned vehicles, still sat in the car park. Dust started to bellow out of the building as another shell hit it, this one setting the building alight. With a third shell the whole building went up like a bonfire, fire pouring out of the windows, I could feel the heat emanating from it on my face. As the tank rolled forward, another two appeared behind it, and then a group of soldiers. They were trying to remain behind cover, but a couple were hit and went down, as the army started to retaliate. Two tanks stayed in position at the back, as the first moved closer to the security building, now engulfed in flames. Torriero’s men ran besides it, until they were close enough to the property, to open fire. Bullets tore into the wall we were hiding behind, and a shell exploded further down the line, sending two soldiers somersaulting through the air. When they landed, they were both missing limbs, members of Clarets Company risked their lives to drag them away. Torriero’s tank was hit on the skirt, and rocked back and forth from the impact. One of the tanks from The Black Cats Battalion rolled into view, with four others for company. They positioned themselves to our back right, around three hundred yards from our position, and fired repeatedly at Torriero’s tanks, hitting them on at least three occasions. This only caused Torriero to send in more tanks, the sight of which was enough to make Lieutenant Colonel Carter order a retreat back over the bridge, and to hold that position. The fighting was as intense as my limited time in the army had experienced, there was simply no rest, no time to relax, the bullets just continued. We had to get everyone back over the bridge, and we were under intense fire. Three of our tanks positioned themselves in between us, and the enemy, shielding us from gunfire, and shells, allowing us to get some soldiers over the bridge. More soldiers were killed, one hit by his own tank as he tried to help a felled comrade. A couple of our tanks were hit, but not seriously damaged, one of Torriero’s was completely destroyed. When the occupants climbed out they were on fire, one shot himself in the head with a pistol, the other two were put out of their misery by members of the army. Our tank moved into position, and we were given the order to move, which we did. As I moved away, I checked behind me and saw Atkinson still laying on the floor, with his arms over his head.

  ‘Atkinson!’ I shouted, grabbing his arm, and trying to move him. ‘Get up, move it. You’ll die if you stay here.’ He wouldn’t budge, so I kicked him in the ribs shouting. ‘Get the fuck up, if you don’t, I’ll shoot you myself.’ He still didn’t move, so I fired my rifle by his feet, as there was an explosion on the side of our tank, sending debris into the air. ‘I swear I’ll fucking shoot you’ I shouted, as he looked up at me, and gingerly climbed to his feet. I grabbed his arm, and pulled him as I ran, across the carriageway, and over the bridge, all the while bullets were hitting the floor around us.

  ‘You should have left him’ snarled Sergeant Welsh. We were told to continue into cover, as one of Torriero’s tanks was attempting to cross the bridge. But that’s what Lieutenant Colonel Carter was hoping, and expecting. When it was halfway across, and a second tank was starting to climb up the deck, he detonated the explosives, positioned along the entire length of the bridge. The bridge collapsed in on itself from the centre, the tank fell forward, hitting the shattering concrete, and then disappearing under a cloud of dust and debris. When the cloud had subsided, one tank had disappeared under the waves below, and another sat precariously on the edge. It was frantically trying to reverse back, but gravity was against it, as the remains of the concrete bridge gave way under its tracks, it toppled over the edge and dropped twenty yards to the river below. The scene caused mass cheering from the soldiers on our side of the river, whooping and a hollering. There is no way they could survive that drop in a vehicle, the River Ribble is around thirty metres wide, and deep with a strong current. A couple of Torriero’s men tried to cross, probably ordered by an overzealous superior. But the order must have been overturned, when they were swept away, never to be seen again. We all moved into position, in the fields to the left and right of the river, short burst of gunfire were heard over the river, but eventually the fighting died out for the day. It was time for both armies to re-evaluate the situation, and what should be done going forward. As night came, Torriero’s army launched one final assault on us, firing a bombardment of mortars over the river, into our positions. Everyone ran for cover, under the vehicles lined up in the field a favourite place, but many just ran into the woods, hoping the trees would
offer some protection. But in truth, the mortar was a weapon they hadn’t mastered yet, their range was completely out, resulting in no injures from the attack, most exploded in the river, or on the banking. They then attempted to effect our moral, with propaganda messages, shouted through a public address system.

  ‘This is only the start of the war, we will not stop until you are all dead.’

  Their messages amused most of the soldiers, particularly after the two tanks that were destroyed at the death, but their commitment and dedication soon started to wind up the new battalion, who had to listen to it for hours. They had arrived all fresh faced, to relive all operational soldiers, and give them some rest and recovery time. Silence finally came over the battleground, and the days fighting came to an end, except for a few small exchanges of fire. Sergeant Welsh ordered us to help The Lancashire Fusiliers Ninth Battalion to put the fires out, caused by the mortars. We grabbed buckets, and headed down to the river, filling them with water and pouring it onto the burning shrubbery and trees. We all got back in our vehicles, and were driven back up the hill along the A59, through the security and into the base, on Church Street. There was a large community building, that was being used to house the injured, who were lined up on stretchers as the medical staff dealt with them. There was lots of activity around this building, as the screams of the injured could be heard from outside. A man appeared from inside the building, and poured a bucket full of water down the drain, it was dark red in colour, the same as his hands. I noticed a group of soldiers, gathered together around a sign on the wall of a pub. There was two large chalk boards, probably used to advertise the pubs ‘Specials’ or ‘Live football’ in the past. They had a different use now, to help the army keep track of fatalities. The first board had ‘Dead’ written on it, the second ‘Missing.’ The dead board had fifty seven names on it, and the missing over seventy. Soldiers were still lining up waiting to add to it, as more companies arrived back from fighting. A fleet of vehicles drove through security, and lined up outside the community building, like a taxi rank, each waiting their turn. First the injured were brought out, still on their stretchers, and loaded into the vehicles, as many per vehicle as they could fit. Then the dead were carefully loaded into the vehicles, at least the bodies we’ve managed to retrieve. The vehicles followed the A583 out of Preston, through the different security points, into Blackpool and then Camp Blue. The army have battalions guarding every approach to the camp, which in reality is spreading us rather thin, and leaving us vulnerable to losing control of key areas. As we left the Vikings, I could see some of the engineers working on repairing damaged vehicles, and re-stocking their armory. A couple of the tanks had taken a fair few hits, and needed patching up for tomorrow. Sergeant Welsh told us to take occupation of any houses along the A59, or around the base. Everyone had been evacuated now, and the houses were a free for all. There were signs on the occupied houses, Sergeant Welsh stayed in a building with the other sergeants, as Keane, Little D, Murphy, Atkinson and I found an empty house after a short walk. Inside, as the others ran up the stairs to grab the beds, I stopped a moment to look at the pictures laying on the radiator cover in the hallway. Pictures of a young family, two children on their holidays, happy faces in good times. What had happened to this family played on my mind, as I lay down in one of the children’s bedrooms and tried to get some sleep.