by Leo Nix
Lieutenant Donata motioned for his comms NCO and radioed back to base to expect a special visitor.
Blondie had no idea who had taken the prisoners but she did know she had to make up time and catch them. Prisoners, radios and code books, all valuable items for the church to exploit. She pressed on hard, riding just in front of the black storm clouds.
Not far ahead, Lance Corporal Jaina was pulled over in the same sandy creek bed where they enjoyed their lovemaking on the drive in. Poole and his wounded mate were stranded in the Jeep while Jaina took a ground sheet into the bushes and slid back into her real-life fantasy. Little may have been awkward, unattractive and geekish but he made up for it with his enormous sexual apparatus.
“Poolie, can you tell them to bloody shut up with it already?” groaned the wounded Slimmy Lahotski. Poole was struggling to escape the zip-lock plastic ties securing his hands to the Jeep. It was useless. To make things worse they could now hear a bike approaching from the north.
“Shit, there's more of the bastards coming,” said Poole, struggling even harder.
The Jeep was pulled up just within sight of the road. Blondie saw it as she rounded the bend and silently rejoiced at her luck. She pulled her bike over next to the vehicle and quickly recognised Poole and Lahotski. As she took her helmet off she placed a finger to her lips. They both saw her at the same time and silenced what they were about to say.
“Poole,” whispered Blondie, “where's the driver? What's happening?”
“There's two, male and female, youngsters. They're screwing in the bushes over there,” he said softly, pointing with his chin.
Pulling her pistol from it's holster inside her jacket, Blondie walked towards the sounds of lovemaking. She saw Jaina, her protégé, mounting a fat boy that she recognised as Little.
'Well I'll be. This is just perfect,' she thought. Blondie watched curiously, not with sexual interest, but as an entomologist would study an insect's mating. Eventually, with loud grunts of pleasure and relief, Little climaxed and Jaina lay on top of him breathing heavily.
Blondie stepped into the clearing, her pistol pointed at the two.
“You've had your fun. Stand up, both of you, put your hands in the air.” With a scream Private Little pushed Jaina off him and struggled to get off the ground, he stood at attention. His enormous, limp penis failed to follow suit.
“Sir, I was…” Little stopped talking and looked at his assailant. “It's you, Tajna Služba, you could have warned us.” He realised how rude that sounded and stood up straight again not quite realising he wasn't wearing any pants. Jaina swung smoothly into a standing position, she reached for her clothing then calmly began dressing.
“Hi, Blondie, it's been a while. Have I got something for you!” She smiled delightedly as she handed Little his clothing, motioning for him to dress. “I've got two prisoners, a captured radio and their code book. I've got the grand slam!”
“Jaina, look at me, darling,” said the Tajna Služba smoothly. “This is that time we spoke about, it's time for you to come with me.” Blondie put her pistol back into it's holster and walked with Jaina to the Jeep.
“We're not going back to the base camp we're going to join Sundown's Commando. Are you with me?” She looked at Jaina seriously and saw her look at the private, now walking towards them, head downcast like a naughty boy. Blondie sensed what was going to come next.
“Can I take him with me?” Jaina asked softly, almost intimately.
“Little? You want me to take Little with us? Is that what he wants?” she asked, playing the game.
“Little, we're not going back to the church any more, we're going home with Blondie here. She can protect us. Do you want to come with us?” Jaina asked with a warmth and compassion that even touched Blondie's stony heart.
“No more church? Are you fucking kidding me? If you said you were going to the moon I'd go with you. Yes, Tajna Služba, if Jaina goes I'm going too,” he said with an enthusiasm neither Blondie nor Jaina had heard before.
'Wonders never cease, sex doth maketh the man,' thought Blondie with a wry smile.
Sundown kept his demon in check but right now his resolve broke and he opened the door. What he saw was the demon's plan: a flash of movement as he jabbed his rigid fingers into the general's voice box, crushing it against his vertebrate. The fragile set of thin bones and cartilage struck the bones in his neck and stayed there, a mass of blood and shattered jelly. The general clutched at his throat and collapsed to the ground, a strangled wheezing sound escaped his blue lips as he died.
“No!” Sundown said loudly to his demon, forcing him back, beyond the world of the living. “I won't let you do that!”
The general blanched and stared at him. “Are you all right, Sundown? It's not the end of the world you know, a simple court martial and demotion. My goodness man, you rose from nothing and you're going back to being a nothing,” said the general struggling to get his feet on the ground from his high chair.
“No!” shouted Sundown again, but this time it was directed at the general himself. “It's you who are under arrest for treason and withholding vital armourments and equipment necessary for the safety and security of the people of Australia. You have failed in your duty to serve those you have sworn to protect.”
Sundown looked at Thompson calmly. “Can I rely on your support on this, Colonel Thompson?”
“All the way, Colonel Sundown.” Lieutenant Colonel Vic Thompson replied, he leaned his elbows on the desk. “I guess we'd better get those ASLAVS and Bushmasters out of storage now.” Vic smiled not bothering to even look at the now stuttering general. He walked to the door and called for the guards to arrest the general.
“I say! That's not how this was supposed to happen. I say! Guards! Arrest these two! Not me you pair of buffoons!” He stood and stared as the two guards, both from the Vic's own cavalry section, grabbed him by the arms. They lifted the general off the ground and carried him towards the door.
Sundown walked around the desk and called for Corporal Hassam, the duty NCO.
“Good morning, Corporal Hassam, I see your wounds are healing well. The general is to be placed under house arrest. Please search his house for weapons and anything that may harm him. Would you kindly find the medical orderly and ask him to attend the general. And please, send Sergeant Tobi to gather Headquarters staff here for a meeting in five minutes.” Sundown rubbed his chin for a moment, “and I think a general parade in one hour would be appropriate as well, thank you, corporal.” He was calm, focused and hid the excitement he felt deep within.
The corporal saluted smartly and said, “Yes sir. I gather you will be taking command of Third Army now, sir?”
“Yes, that's correct, Corporal,” was Sundown's dour reply.
“Thank the good Lord for that, sir. I shall pass the word around. The boys'll want instructions for our upcoming offences now, sir.” The corporal had a huge smile on his face as he saluted once more and went off on his errands.
They could hear him as he walked past the duty clerk's desk, “General Sundown's now running the show, he's called the command to parade in one hour. Now we're going to see some action!”
Corporal Hassam pulled on his rain cape as the heavens opened and the rain came down.
'Blast.' he said to himself, 'just when we get to see some action this has to happen. It better clear up by this afternoon or we might get rained in.'
But what was annoying for the Alice Springs Command and the Revelationists bogged on the Birdsville Track, was a God-send for Chan and John's patrol, now stuck in the desert, fighting for survival.
Chapter 20 - Relief and Rescue
The bike patrol were on their stomachs watching the Stosstruppen platoon empty from their four wheel drives. Two squads of what appeared to be about twenty soldiers, immediately went into skirmish formation, spreading out to the wings, rushing forward under the covering fire of their comrades behind them.
“Forward, they're just over that sa
nd dune,” came the cries from one of the officers directing the attack.
The rain fell in spits and spurts not quite knowing what it wanted to do. The four wheel drives were heavy and sunk into the boggy ground. They were slow going, every time they were ambushed it took them an hour or more to catch up to the commando bike patrol.
Chan's hand was bleeding from a gun shot wound so John took over as their 'sniper master'. He was just as good as Chan anyway, he said.
John had his scope on the officer's heart and pulled the trigger. The shot echoed in the morning light and the skirmishers all dropped to the ground.
Chan stood with Halo and Doff who emptied their magazines into the scrubby desert where the terrorists were hiding. John fired again and followed it with a third shot. He ducked down below the level of the sand dune they were hiding behind.
“Damn, they're good,” he said softly, “I should know, I trained with this lot.”
“Did you hit any, mate?” asked Halo, as he slipped his last magazine into his AK. He looked across to his left to make sure no enemy came around their flank.
“What do you think, smart arse. Three shots three kills, you bastard,” said John, a grim look on his dirty face. “I bet you couldn't do any better.”
“Wanna make a bet on that?” came back Halo. Just then there were more shouts and a grenade exploded ten metres away to their left.
“Skirmishers, left flank,” said Chan quietly. He pulled his last magazine from his webbing pouch and placed it within reach. “I didn't think they had any grenades left, looks like they do.”
There were noises front and left. Doff lifted his head then quickly raised his assault rifle to fire to the front then to the left. Halo joined him. There came screams of pain clearly audible in the grey light. Incoming fire forced the two to crouch back below the fragile sand ridge.
“The bastards will be surrounding us soon. That's when they'll grenade our position now they know where we are. I don't know why they aren't pushing forward like they were before,” said Doff softly. “Hey, Chan, I'm empty, hand me your spare magazine, mate, I'll put it to good use.”
John looked through his scope and fired again, “Four shots four kills,” he turned to Halo and said with another grin.
“Sarg, they were trained for assault, not to fight a long drawn-out action like this. Remember, the Deaths Heads have never fought a pitched battle until we met Sundown's mob. The Stosstruppen don't know defeat, no one has ever stood up to them like this before. They're like, you know, robots.”
John fired again. “Five shots five kills.” He kept score for Halo's education. “Put that up your butt and smoke it, Halo.” He said cheerily, it was a bit too bright for their precarious situation.
The hit-and-run bike patrol had been forced into a fighting withdrawal to this, their forth fuel and food cache. A running rearguard battle that had lasted since their dawn contact took out the Bushmaster. The wounded soldier on John's bike died during the withdrawal leaving Beamy, and the other soldier, Mugga, still in dire need of medical attention.
Chan and John made up wooden stretchers, like the American Indian travois, for their wounded. One end tied to a bike the other end dragged on the ground behind. It was a nightmare for both rider and wounded. The damn things caught on every bush and clump of sand.
The bike patrol ambushed the enemy countless times, but when they thought they'd knocked out the trucks, on they came once again. Doff finally realised the Stosstruppen had armour plated their truck engines. It explained why the Blaser sniper rifle fire had no effect. The enemy were slow but they kept on coming at them.
If it wasn't for the rain turning the ground into a boggy mess, the Stosstruppen would have easily overrun them. Carrying two severely wounded mates, compromised them to the point where each stretch was slower than the one before. With one bike now beyond repair they couldn't run any more, so they decided to hold their position, to the death. None of them thought to leave their wounded behind, it just wasn't an option.
Their first cache stop was supposed to be a place to rest up and see to the wounded. Instead, an hour after they'd sat down, they saw the four wheel drives approaching along their tracks. At each rest stop they would fill their fuel tanks, load up their bikes again and fire off a salvo or two. They set booby traps while they still had explosives and headed deeper into the desert.
While they were resting Doff had their mobile radio out, he got Halo to stand on the seat of his bike with the wire aerial held above his head. They picked up Sergeant Ahmet's Bushmaster and heard Assassin was on his way. The plan was to meet him here at cache four.
Now that the plan was compromised, and despite telling Ahmet they were under fire and about to be overrun, there was no way they could contact and inform Assassin. Where he might be was anyone's guess, he might even ride into the ambush and be killed himself.
The rain came down while they prepared for their final battle. One of the bikes had a rip in its front tyre so big it was torn from one side to the other, it was useless. There was no way they could fit all six of them on just two bikes. They all agreed they would stay put and fight it out, to the death if they had to.
“One in all in,” said John, who had guided them with pinpoint accuracy from cache to cache. “We can't go any further like this. One bike for three in this slush? Nah, it's not going to happen, is it guys. Well, it's been a short but good time knowing you all, I'm ready to die today.” He looked at his exhausted friends gathered around him. “Anyone with me on that?”
Exhausted, Chan and Halo grunted assent, Doff nodded and Beamy and the other wounded soldier followed suit.
“You can leave us behind you know,” said Beamy, but Halo and Chan looked at him in such a way that Beamy grinned, “Well give me a gun too then, I can shoot from down here.” But they had no ammunition to spare, they were all down to their last magazine.
John pulled the pistol out of his holster and handed it over. “Beamy, shoot the first two that come over the dune then shoot Mugga, and then yourself. If they take you prisoner they'll hand you over to the Priests, and those shit-heads'll torture you.” Beamy took the pistol and nodded, there was no grin.
Halo had his trophy Deaths Head SS knife stuck in the ground beside him now. “I'm almost empty. I've got my pistol and my knife, I'm ready.”
John sighted his sniper rifle over the top of the sand dune once more but before he could pull the trigger he was flung savagely backwards onto the sand. The hole in the side of his head slowly oozed black-coloured blood. His body stiffened then rolled face up - he was dead.
Halo and he had become close friends, in fact he was close to both of the ex-Revelationist. They always argued over who was the better soldier - and now his mate was dead. The commando's weapons master felt a sudden pang of loss rip into his chest and he let out a scream of anguish.
A blast of blind grief filled Halo and he started to stand up. Doff quickly grabbed him by the shirt and pulled him roughly to the sand. He had to forcefully hold him down. A splattering of sand cascaded down on them as the terrorists fired when they saw the movement.
“Halo, get a bloody grip, mate, John's dead! It's shit, I know, but now you have to get back to your flank and make the bastards pay for it!” Doff had seen mates killed in action, he'd just lost three that morning, he knew what Halo was going through. He also knew there was only one thing to do, fight back with vicious savagery until the pain eased.
“Fucking pricks!” roared Halo with such venom that Doff recognised that he was OK. It didn't really matter, it wouldn't be long before they joined John anyway.
Halo crawled to the edge of the flank position and peered through the scrubby bushes. His rifle was at his shoulder and every time he saw movement he fired.
“Six bullets six kills,” he whispered to John's ghost. They were now down to firing single shots and Halo knew he only had about five rounds left before he had to resort to his pistol, then they'd be throwing rocks.
The pat
rol were at a stand-off, neither side had the advantage. Their defensive position was well selected. Doff had arranged his men well and they had taken a heavy toll of the Stosstruppen since the initial assault.
They were backs-to-the-wall though, fighting for their lives and the lives of their wounded friends. The rain began to fall, heavier than before, a curtain of rain hid the enemy vehicles. It didn't stop them calling out and it sounded like they were going to continue pushing forward.
Chan was fighting back his own tears. He'd spent years in the church with his best friend, John. They'd done everything together since primary school. Each time he saw movement he fired, it only took a few rounds and he was out of ammunition. Chan pulled a grenade from his webbing, their very last one. His pistol was in his good hand and his other wrapped in a bandage ready to grab the grenade.
“Chan, why haven't they tried to grenade us out of existence?” asked Doff as he removed the half empty magazine he'd taken from John's AK.
The ex-Death's Head soldier sniffed back his tears and replied, “Could be they've run out, Sarg. Don't forget the factories that make bullets and explosives haven't produced anything in a year. The armoury depots are probably exhausted by now too. The armies fighting in the cities were first in line and the desert armies came last. It was expected the city would see the toughest action and the desert regions next to none.”
He wiped the sleeve of his shirt across his eyes, it made no difference with the rain falling so hard. He sniffed again and shook his head to clear it answering angrily.
“Another thing Doff, we had to pay for most of this out of our own damn wages. The city churches had millions of worshippers donating millions of dollars. The country regions had nothing like that. We had to make do for ourselves. That's why we didn't have many grenades and no armoured cavalry, it was too expensive. That Bofors was a gift from a private collector in Peterborough and the machine guns and other weapons we had to trade, borrow and prostitute ourselves to get. Some of the poorer kids could only afford a sling-shot.”
