by Vance Huxley
Bruce enlightened him. “The guard posts won’t be listening, not now. Just in case somebody else is, we’d best shoot the men in the lorries.”
“No, please. Check my radio.” Hands roughly searched him. “I’ll tell them all it’s a Special Unit exercise, that the radio men are to shut their sets down.” He took the offered radio, speaking very carefully and clearly. “All NCOs and drivers, this is an operation by the Specials. Shut down the radios because the scum have cracked the radio codes. Come forward one at a time to show your ID but keep your traps shut. Don’t ask this lot stupid questions or wind them up. Each vehicle confirm by handheld, on this channel, when the transmitter is cold.” He paused, thought of the look in those cold blue eyes, and emphasised the next bit. “Keep your big mouths shut and don’t fuck up. These are the real thing, so you know what’ll happen.”
*
Ten minutes later the drivers, guards and radio operators sat huddled together in a ditch as their vehicles roared off into the distance. “At least they left us some clothes.”
The officer cut in before the rest could start. “Because half of us have shat our pants, Thompson. Unfortunately, they took all the cold weather gear.” He turned to the sergeant. “Fuck it, McTavish, we’ll freeze to death before the next convoy comes this way.”
“No we won’t, sir. We’ll march like hell towards the nearest guard post, about fifteen miles southwest.” The sergeant glared at the muttered complaints from some men. It would be a brutal march in this weather, but moaning wouldn’t help. “From what they said I’m guessing they’ll have stripped that as well, but the buildings will break the wind. I’m hoping we find an old house or even a barn before that. We’ll burn the furniture or the floorboards, whatever. That’ll keep us warm until the RAF come looking and see the smoke.” He turned to look up the now empty road. “Who were they? They didn’t look like the usual street yobs that escape from the work camps.”
The officer followed his gaze. “They aren’t. Those are survivors from Glasgow. I told them a little porky so you all owe me your miserable lives. I said we weren’t there, it was all down to the Specials.” A round of swearing and blasphemy followed. “Now aren’t you glad you weren’t chatty? The leader is called Bruce, and his sidekick lost a wife and three kids and wants blood. I’ll settle for getting frostbite and a bout of flu. Now come on, get moving.” The line of men bent their heads against the wind and headed southwest.
*
The Cabal:
Two days later, the raid in Scotland sparked an emergency meeting of the UK cell of the Cabal, the global conspiracy that had triggered the current disaster. Safely tucked away in their clean, warm bunker deep beneath pristine, rolling Lincolnshire countryside, none of them felt any cold or wind. The atmosphere in the underground room, however, felt decidedly frosty and crackled with tension. Joshua, the spare, balding military liaison wearing an Army uniform, looked apologetic. “We had no idea some of them would break out of Glasgow properly outfitted to live in the mountains.” He scowled at an innocuous man further round the large polished table. “Our intel seemed to miss that.”
Owen, the aristocratic chairman and leader of the Cabal, looked at the same unassuming figure, their spymaster. “Well, Maurice? You claimed to have a source in every gang and enclave.”
“Had.” Maurice shrugged apologetically. “As expected, closing the food Marts around Glasgow caused utter confusion and bitter fighting among the scum. My people were caught up in that, some died while others were unable to report.” He turned a little and clicked the control, bringing the wallscreen to life. The picture panned, showing a vast expanse of bodies in a valley, with snow still covering the hills either side. “To answer Joshua, even real arctic clothing didn’t make any difference. The idea still worked out well enough, most of the escapees died during the artillery barrage. At least ninety-five percent died either there, or trying to break into Fastlane.” He chuckled, but cut it short when nobody else smiled. “Even scum should have worked out a nuclear submarine base would be well defended.”
The youngest man present objected. “The five percent are the problem. How many is that? They hit our supply convoys up the east coast, but where did they go to in the interim? How did they survive the winter?” He switched to the Army liaison. “Joshua, you claimed the weather in the mountains had driven even the sheep to leave.”
Another voice interrupted. “Losing a few supply convoys isn’t the real problem. They also attacked some of the farming communities in the lowlands, killing or kidnapping people we actually need. These supposed refugees went on to kill the guards and free everyone in three work camps. The loss of transport, materials and manpower will cause serious disruption in our schedules. Worse, two of those missing have B passes, people who aren’t full Cabal members butknew enough to guarantee them a pass out of the cities. They may tell the scum that at least some of the Crash was planned.” Henry, the bearded farm manager, looked worried as well as angry because both A passes, those fully aware of the Cabal, and B passes, those who only knew their part of the master plan, were supposed to be kept safe. C passes, people who were particularly useful or relatives of A or B passes, didn’t know about the Cabal or its plans. He turned to join Gerard in questioning Joshua. “Who are these attackers exactly, because that seemed like a military operation?”
Before Joshua could reply, Owen butted in. “Worse, with those liberated workers, their numbers have substantially increased. But first I have questions for Faraz.” As the chairman switched his attention to the RAF liaison, so did the others. “Why didn’t you spot all these escapees, and worse still, why can’t you find them now?”
Faraz looked embarrassed and sounded defensive. “Joshua used artillery to kill the main mass, with no ground forces in contact.” He glanced at Maurice and Joshua. “My instructions were clear. There must be no sign of air power on the TV, so the artillery opened up as night fell and we used drones without lights. The residual heat from an artillery bombardment, combined with the numbers of dead and dying, swamped the sensors. Even dead bodies retain some heat for hours. We reported people escaping into the hills. Some came back when the guns stopped but unfortunately, once night fell, we kept losing them against the background.”
Owen looked around the table, and he wasn’t the only one still unconvinced. “Why didn’t you follow them as they left, or spot them between the escape and now?”
Faraz turned his hopeful gaze towards Joshua, who sighed in resignation before answering. “I’ve already gone through all this with Faraz. Which of the scattered traces should they have followed? Many of the survivors ran but died later. Much less than five percent survived over the winter, perhaps as few as three hundred from the evidence. Those who returned probably stripped additional clothing and food from the bodies so yes, Maurice, I accept that arctic clothing didn’t matter. Deep enough snow will have masked any sign of heat, and living like Eskimos would help them keep warm. A few small fires, well hidden, would be enough.” Joshua hesitated, then pushed on. “Some of them are trained in arctic warfare, ex-military. This must all be kept from the armed forces at all costs.”
“Aberdeen and Inverness already know.” Ivy, the redheaded woman responsible for supplying the Marts, glared at Joshua. “Your Army cordons let an unknown number from the liberated work camps break back into the cities. The gangs are taunting the Mart guards about Reivers being loose in the Highlands. Hundreds of the freed prisoners apparently joined them.” Her glare moved onto Maurice. “You won’t empty either of those cities with the same trick. Worse, there’s claims that Robert the Bruce is back.”
Maurice laughed at her, shaking his head. “One of the leaders is actually called Bruce, that’s all. The liberated scum are making something of nothing.” His humour died again as he saw the expressions on the others. “There is no contact between those two cities and any other, and we are scotching the rumours where possible. Better still would be a clear shot at the bastard himself, and t
hat bloody Angus. He’s an ex-warrant officer from the Black Watch who lost a wife and three children, and is a very dangerous man.”
“They are all dangerous now, every man and woman. They’ve spent nearly two months under the snow, learning from the experts, practicing with their weapons and honing their hatred. That Bruce made himself very clear. They are Reivers and intend putting the lowlands to fire and the sword. Blood feud, revenge for Glasgow.” Joshua looked around the table, his expression and voice deadly serious as he tried to drive the situation home to men and women who’d never been cold or hungry. “I’ve stopped any communication between the Army units around those cities and other units, and they’ll not be rotated out. If what they’ve heard gets to the rest of the Army, especially the Scots Guards or the Black Watch, they’ll mutiny. We’d better get the Specials moved up somewhere nearby. If the wrong captive talks, and the wrong rumours get back to the scum, we’ll need them to take out the Army units around the cities.” He shrugged, his sour expression echoed by some of the others as realisation dawned. “The regular forces are already unhappy about conditions in the enclosures. We don’t want any of them joining the rebels.”
Now thoroughly alarmed, Gerard, the youngest man, turned on Faraz. “You could hunt these Reivers down. Use jets and helicopters and the night vision thingies to burn or shoot them.”
“We can detect their heat while they are moving, but those escapees are in the Scottish Highlands.” Gerard and Ivy continued to glare so Faraz continued. “Firstly, there are thousands of square miles to search, slowly enough so the pilot can identify and maybe shoot what he finds. Secondly, have you any idea how many sheep live there?”
“Sheep?”
“Sheep, Gerard, each of which is a warm spot that has to be identified, or we’ll use up all our munitions on haggis fillings. Contrary to popular opinion, even last winter wasn’t enough to make all the sheep come off the mountains.” The RAF man glanced at Owen, the chairman, for support. “We may want to conserve the munitions for London or Europe. In addition, can we afford to use up that amount of avgas?”
With a scowl, Owen shook his head. “Not yet.”
“I thought the corned beef had arrived. Doesn’t that mean the Falklands refineries are producing?” Vanna, the tall slim Asian woman in charge of the military contractors, the paramilitaries, didn’t look convinced. “At last.”
“They are producing a little fuel, but we had to use up some reserves to send for the corned beef because the spam finally ran out.” Owen turned his scowl on Ivy, responsible for processing local food. “From what you said it was that or no meat in the Marts, and we couldn’t afford for all the population centres to get aroused at the same time. I thought the spam was made with any rubbish available?”
“Yes but we had to put some pork in with the fats, to give it a flavour so the scum didn’t realise. We’ve even hunted out the wild boar so most of the last batches were rat and dog and yes, some sheep, including everything but the wool.” Ivy’s frown hadn’t faded. “I pushed that corned beef straight out to the Marts to quieten everyone down, so I hope there’ll be more?”
This time Owen sounded more confident. “Yes, there will be, along with some frozen beef for the civilised citizens. What about distribution? Gerard?”
The youngest Cabal member glanced at the figures in a file in front of him. After a brief but bitter exchange over how many ports were already available, and the number of troops tied up protecting them, the group conceded another wouldn’t hurt. After another tussle over when the paramilitaries would be finished in Glasgow, Joshua, Vanna and Gerard settled on Hull, providing that meant the troops could abandon Liverpool. Those docks were the most difficult to defend because the surrounding city held too many enclaves to be cleared yet.
A cultured woman’s voice cut into the talk about numbers and timing. “One moment please. Nobody has given an answer on what is to be done about those Reivers or whatever they are in the Highlands. They have food, real weapons including automatics, and are properly organised. Forget the enclosures because they are actually enclosed, and we have enough ports to manage.” Grace, the grey-haired aristocratic woman in charge of the work camps, turned to Joshua. “There is also the problem of rumours spreading through the armed forces. Well?”
“These Reivers have just gained an unknown number of recruits. I’ve warned you, we daren’t use regulars to flush them out. As it is we’ll have to move the Scottish troops south, just in case they find out. I’ll replace them with English regiments, so there’ll be no local connections.” Joshua sighed heavily, obviously unhappy with the next part. “The Army units around Aberdeen and Invernessalready know what happened, sothey’ll have to die as soon as the problem is resolved. The trouble is, any Army units we send to chase these Reivers will soon realise who they are. We should utilise your people, Vanna, the civilian contractors, perhaps all the Specials including those from your processing facilities? You keep saying they’ll do the jobs the Army can’t.”
“Against irregulars trained by Army personnel, fighting on their home turf? Not a snowball’s chance in hell.” Vanna hesitated, reluctant to give Joshua more reasons to belittle her forces. “Worse still, didn’t you just say that Angus made it clear his men would welcome a chance to kill Specials? This one is down to the Army, the professionals, as you so often point out.”
The rotund man at the end of the table, silent until now, suddenly smiled. “Weren’t we thinking of using rescued European troops in selected areas, or was that just their planes and warships?”
“Excellent idea,Boris. We did persuade a few European ground units to surrender, most of them along with the warships, but we’d need more of them. Use the reconnaissance info to compile a list of any remnants of national armies in Europe. We’ll offer them a safe place for their families. They can repay us by traipsing over the mountains hunting Reivers.” Owen glanced at Joshua. “Will that work?”
“There’ll be a hell of an attrition rate, but they can use the foreign airpower that came here when their airfields were overrun. That will stop rumours spreading among any British Forces.” Joshua fell quiet but the rest waited. They could see him consulting papers and working something out. “No new clearances until next winter at least. I want enough regulars free to deal with the imported troops if they act up.”
The chairman, Owen, had heard enough. “Agreed. Boris, use the survivors of European Cabal cells to recruit from the continent. The ex-government members will be recognised by their national armies, and may have enough authority left to give orders. Victor, will you arrange for the Navy to transport any recruits? Use the French warships that came over when Brest fell.” The Navy man agreed without looking up, busy with his own files.
Maurice, the spymaster, lifted a lip in a sneer. “Give the Scots Guards London to guard. It’ll take some of the vim out of the feisty bastards. Demanding to see the King? Who the hell do they think they are?”
“They are the British Army. That means the King is their commander, especially since we aren’t actually a legal government. Heaven forbid the Army ever find that out.” Owen gave a dismissive shrug and indicated Vanna. “That’s why Vanna’s Specials guard him, and the two younger Royals. We only allowed a few officers to see the King in his sickbed in Edinburgh Castle, too drugged to get ambitious. They were actually pleased to find out one of the Royal Family had survived. Typical that it has to be that red-haired wildcard, not someone we could control.”
“We only need him to live a few more years, just until the young Royals reach twenty-one. We’ll have one of them obedient by then.” Grace brandished a page of figures. “A longer term worry is London itself. The residents are proving resilient.”
“When the numbers are low enough, we can use firepower to process the rest. Vanna’s contractors can be used for that.” Owen switched to the bearded man. “I hope we finally have good news about food, Henry?”
Despite plenty of ideas on how to grow more, nobody could
get around the basic problem. The Army believed the draconian measures were necessary because of the food and fuel shortage. That meant theareas where the Army could see the fields had to be farmed inefficiently, by hand, so the soldiers didn’t realise theCabal had enough fuel for tractors. On the plus side, the destruction or capture of the European fishing fleets meant the revitalisedfishing ports were bringing in record catches.
*
Maurice, Vanna and Grace held back after the meeting for a quiet word with Owen, the chairman. They had plans afoot that the rest of the Cabal didn’t need to know about. At the beginning, the vastly swollen ranks of hired paramilitaries had been little better than rabble. Sweeping the countryside for villagers and farmers, guarding Marts and convoys, and now clearing York and Glasgow, had honed some of them. These four had even managed to get them some armour and now discussed ways to transfer more, all part of their master plan to dispose of the professional Army entirely.
The other secret project involved training snipers by brainwashing some of the traumatised survivors of the clearances. Maurice, the spymaster, believed they could be turned into killing robots, programmed so they were otherwise mindless, but progress was slow and he needed more ‘volunteers.’ Once he perfected the technique, all of them had potential targets they daren’t ask the Army snipers to kill.
*
London – Cyn Palace:
While the gangs in the smaller cities fought, the Cabal and Reivers faced off against each other and the Cabal squabbled and plotted, some of the beleaguered inhabitants of London had realised the futility of shooting each other.
One group of gangs would have been of particular interest to Soldier Boy, if he’d known Cyn Palace still stood and some of the inhabitants had survived this long. The leaders of the five gangs were meeting to try and make sure they survived a little longer, specifically by extending their previous agreements to share arable land. Without Marts, any cultivated land in London became a valuable commodity and the school playing fields behind Cyn Palace were a real prize.
