by Paul Kane
The time for jokes, the time for talking, the time for arguing and recriminations, was long over. They knew they may not be together again.
As they kissed, the world fell away. Both Robert and Mary wished that this moment would never end. She took his hand, and led him up to the entrance of the castle; then finally up the stairs to their room, where they would try and make the next couple of hours last an lifetime.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
THE ARMY WAS using open ground to travel between urban locations. That much they’d been able to ascertain from radio messages. And they had a rough idea of where they were, too: somewhere between Doncaster and Gainsborough.
Robert had sent out advance scouts to get a proper sense of the route the war machine was taking now that they’d regrouped and were heading for Nottingham. It had allowed him and his men to lay in wait, to prepare for the confrontation to come. But, as dawn broke and they watched from behind a scattering of trees, it would have been easy to mistake this for a normal winter’s morning in the English countryside.
Holding up the binoculars, Robert scanned the horizon. Nothing to see yet. He glanced over his shoulder at the division of men with him, some sitting on horseback, others standing leaning on their bows. There were more ringing these fields, spread out to cause the maximum confusion when the Russian troops arrived. Robert was just about to put the binoculars up to his eyes again when he heard Dale on the left of him say: “Listen... Do you hear that?”
Robert could hear it, even feel the vibrations coming up through the ground. Something was coming, something big. No, as he brought the binoculars up and focused on the spot he’d been watching, Robert realised that many big things were coming.
The jeeps were first, cresting the hill, bringing with them men swarming like ants – each wearing a grey uniform and carrying a machine gun. Then came the back-up: tanks. More than De Falaise had dreamed of. More than Robert had ever seen, and there’d been a fair few in the Frenchman’s command. But that wasn’t all. Armoured personnel carriers and other armoured vehicles. Then there were the motorbikes, their drone almost drowned out by their larger companions. They nipped in between, churning up the grass beneath.
“Jesus,” said one of the men behind Robert. “How are we supposed to fight that?”
Robert had to admit, although he didn’t show it, he’d expected something slightly smaller; more in keeping with what they’d dealt with before. A part of him was now wondering if he’d made the right decision, bringing these men – some of them only boys, like Dale – out here to face such odds. And Tate’s words came back to him:
“I wouldn’t be the first one to say this, but are you sure you shouldn’t take some of those things along yourself when you meet this army of yours?”
Those things, those reminders of De Falaise and his rule... But when you were fighting men like De Falaise, shouldn’t you meet them on a level playing field – even the odds as much as you could? Robert shook his head. That wasn’t the way – he was sure of it. Old Eric Meadows had been sure of it... He just had to have faith that his plan would work, that they could catch bigger prey with the same methods he’d used back in the forest.
“We’ll fight them,” Robert said in answer to the man’s question. “And as long as we stick together, we’ll win. They won’t be expecting an attack like this one.”
“Too right!” said another Ranger. “Who’d be crazy enough to do it?”
Robert looked over his shoulder once more and grinned. “We would. Now ready yourself.”
“Time to get up on stage and do our thing,” Dale said, though all the usual cockiness was gone from his voice.
“That’s right,” said Robert. “Time to do our thing.”
IF IT WAS going to happen, it would happen here. Bohuslav was counting on it.
As he rode in the lead jeep, he surveyed the ground in front of him. They were out there somewhere, he was certain. Did they not think that their little attack would be anticipated? Far from being herded into this stretch of countryside, he and his men were actually hoping to bring Hood’s forces out into the open, let them do their worst, then wipe them from the face of the Earth. They’d allowed themselves to be seen, allowed the radio messages to get through without interference, purely for this purpose. Hood’s scouts had even been spotted trying to determine which direction their army was heading.
Oh, was he in for a shock.
Yet Bohuslav didn’t really want to be here. As much as he loved the thrill of slaughter – though it would never replace the kick he got from capturing and killing people one to one – he was uncomfortable about this whole operation. He was proud the Tsar had left him in charge, but couldn’t help wishing he was with his superior right now; the thought of that bastard Tanek whispering in his master’s ear was almost too much to bear. Bohuslav knew the swarthy giant was trying to worm his way in, and there was only room for one second, for one murdering psychopath on the team. Once this was all over, Tanek might well find his throat being slit in the night... if Bohuslav was quick enough to take him. He remembered back to the hovercraft. Not much scared Bohuslav, but the thought of killing Tanek was terrifying and exhilarating at the same time.
But that was for the future. Right now, there was one small thing to do and he needed to stay sharp to accomplish it. Bohuslav must rid the world of this new Robin Hood.
No sooner had Bohuslav thought this than he saw something down below, not much bigger than his thumb from this distance. A man on horseback – who had appeared, quite literally, out of nowhere. His head was bowed, and he had a cowl pulled over his features.
He had a bow slung over his shoulder, and a quiver on his back. He also had a sword by his side, dangling near the horse’s flank. He looked like he’d stepped out of a time warp. In no way, shape or form a match for any of Bohuslav’s soldiers or their weapons.
Nevertheless, the sight of that lone figure gave Bohuslav pause for thought. He didn’t fear him, at least not in the same way he did Tanek (though he would never admit it). But it made the serial killer at least think twice about giving the order to attack.
Is the man insane? he wondered – which was rich, coming from someone who used to have imaginary conversations with his gagged and bound victims. Or, Bohuslav thought, does he know something we don’t? Does he have something up his sleeve?
When all was said and done, this was the person who’d defeated De Falaise’s army. A different fight, a different place, but Bohuslav couldn’t help thinking: what if...
Then he smiled. If Hood wanted to play, he would oblige.
So Bohuslav ordered one of the T-90 battle tanks to target the man and blow him to kingdom come.
ROBERT HELD HIS position.
They’d be firing any second, but this was more than a matter of drawing a line in the sand, showing both sides what they were up against. It wasn’t about weapons, either, or about who was right and wrong. It was about courage, standing up for something you believed in.
Even just as an image.
Robert patted his horse’s neck, holding her steady. Then, right at the very last moment, he pulled the steed around and rode her away, back out of range. He heard the shot from behind, the whizzing sound as the shell flew through the air.
It exploded in the spot where he’d stood only moments before. The animal protested, but was used to this type of noise. Robert urged her back round and they stood there again.
This time, though, Robert held up his hand – and dropped it again. Giving his order, as the commander of these troops must have done.
Like snowflakes they fell from the sky. Huge rocks, raining down on the vehicles from strategic, hidden positions on either side. From catapults they’d brought with them, made over the last few months to defend the castle, but wheeled and easily transportable. The rocks landed heavily on the tanks, jeeps and other armoured vehicles, not doing a vast amount of damage, but proving that they weren’t as toothlesss as they’d seemed.
It al
so had the effect of provoking the army into rushing them. Now the jeeps, bikes, tanks and armoured vehicles were moving forward into position. They began firing at the trees, but Robert’s men were well-camouflaged. There was nobody apart from Robert on the battlefield for the vehicles to engage yet.
That’s how it would stay for a little while, until they’d finished sending their message.
From the trees now came hails of flaming arrows. They hit the vehicles, exploding on impact – their tips filled with a special sulphur brew. The flames spread across the metal, engulfing some vehicles almost entirely. Mini paint bombs broke against windscreens and viewing slats, obscuring vision. One driver rammed his jeep into the side of a tank, scraping along until it got in front and the bonnet of the smaller vehicle was crushed under the tracks of the other.
Meanwhile, the bikes, jeeps and other vehicles with tyres were discovering the presents Robert and his men had left in the field. Clusters of barbed wire burst tyres and tangled up around them. Bikes wobbled and keeled over, jeeps ground to a halt, armoured vehicles could do nothing but sit there and offer covering fire.
Others were introduced to holes the men had dug and covered over: not deep, just enough for the vehicles to dip forward into and be brought to a standstill.
Now came the second wave from the catapults: large gas canisters that hit the vehicles, to be struck by more flaming arrows, igniting the gas. The landscape turned into a field of red and yellow mushrooms. Black smoke was laid down in front of Robert.
He took hold of his bow, grabbed an arrow out of his quiver and nocked it, feeling the familiar tension of the string. Welcoming it like an old friend.
Armed men broke through the smoke. He shot the first one in the knee, the second in the shoulder. Given a choice and when not backed into a corner, he would always choose to incapacitate rather than kill.
Robert nodded and his men broke free of their cover, some on horseback, some on foot. The firing started moments later, the Russians letting rip with their machine guns.
Robert’s men raised their shields; specially made by their blacksmith Faraday, steel plate more than 16 mm thick: bullets would make a significant dent in them, but not penetrate. Sparks flew as the bullets pinged off them. Several of the horses were hit and went down, taking their riders with them. Robert saw some of his men get hit and drop to the ground... only to wait until a Russian soldier was near enough and get up again, to take him down in hand to hand.
He grinned again: each man had the extra protection of specially adapted vests – hard metal-plates fitted into ordinary bullet-proof vests like the ones armed response units wore, found in old police facilities. It would give added protection against machine guns and shrapnel. Robert himself was wearing one, and was glad of it.
The smoke was clearing, making this a fight of bullets against bows. Arrows struck the Russian troops, hitting them in arms, legs, necks and taking them down. Flaming arrows set them alight and took them out of the battle altogether. Robert looked down and caught sight of Azhar engaging a couple of foot-soldiers, dodging bullets and slicing them with his sword.
Suddenly an AFV charged through, its tyres ripped to shreds but ploughing forwards anyway.
“Dale,” shouted Robert, “with me!”
Leaning forwards, they urged their steeds on through the combat. An explosion off to their right almost caused Dale’s horse to rear up, but he kept control. The cannon on top of the AFV was spitting out shells one after the other. Robert nodded for Dale to give him covering fire, taking out the armed men on the ground now flanking the vehicle. The AFV turned and started ploughing diagonally through the fighting.
Robert pulled on the reins, then rode his horse up alongside the armoured vehicle. When he judged it was close enough, he jumped from the saddle onto the side of the thing, landing near the back, and his horse rode off without him, away from danger. He almost slipped down and under the wheels, but his hands found purchase on the rails bolted to the metal. A stray bullet twanged off the plating near his head – whoever had fired it obviously reckoning that they couldn’t do the AFV any harm but might be able to dislodge the Hooded Man. Robert risked a quick glance over his shoulder and saw Dale take out the shooter with an arrow to the back.
Shot! he thought, then concentrated on getting himself stable. Robert clambered around on the side of the vehicle, looking for a way in, but the hatches seemed to be sealed tight. The cannon on the top swung round in his direction, until he was staring down the black hole of the stubby barrel. Robert dropped down again just as it fired, almost slipping under the grinding remains of the tyres, but somehow swinging himself back along the side so that he was closer to the front. He kept himself low, avoiding the cannon, and climbed round to the front of the vehicle, left hand gripping a rail.
Two metal flaps were open at the front, obviously so the driver could see. The AFV went over a bump, jolting Robert upwards. His shoulder took the brunt of the impact. He let out a grunt, but it just made him more determined to put an end to the vehicle’s run.
With his free hand, he pulled out his sword – then, wincing as he did so, swung round and shoved the weapon into one of the viewing slats. He had no idea whether he’d hit anything, until he felt the end of the sword slide into something soft. When he pulled it out, there was blood on the tip.
The AFV veered wildly to one side, away from the battlefield, heading towards some trees. Robert didn’t have the luxury of waiting this time; he launched himself off the vehicle, hoping he’d roll far enough out of its way that he wouldn’t be crushed. The hatches opened as the men inside scrabbled to flee the vehicle. The first tree it hit didn’t stop it, but the second tree was too much for it, and the AFV shuddered to a halt.
Robert rose, barely having time to recover before he felt a presence at his side. He ducked and turned as gunfire passed overhead, then brought his sword round and struck the man on the calf, digging the blade in and sending him toppling over.
Sheathing his weapon, Robert had his bow out again and was shooting quickly: left, right and centre, putting as many of the armed men out of action as he could.
He noted, with some satisfaction, that his troops were all doing the same: picking targets off with the bow or, in close combat, their swords or knives. He also saw something that gave him pause – bodies of Rangers, laying on the field. One’s head had been blown almost totally apart, another had been practically cut in half by enemy fire. Robert dwelled on them for a second longer than he should have, but then ground his teeth, setting his jaw firm and raising his bow, felling another three Russian soldiers.
More jeeps and armoured vehicles – including tanks – were skirting the traps, wise to the barbed wire and trenches now. A group of Robert’s men, about eight in total, charged the side of one tank carrying a tree-trunk like a battering ram. They rammed the wood into the tracks of the tank, jamming its progress. Another team did the same at the other side. A further team threw Molotov cocktails against the vehicles.
Robert fired at a jeep heading in his direction, just as he had done the first time he’d engaged in combat like this, back when the market near Sherwood had been under attack. Then he hadn’t been able to believe what he was doing, going up against a squad of the Sheriff’s men on his own. Now, it seemed like second nature. They were fending off an army, but he wasn’t alone any more. That made all the difference.
That might make the difference between winning and losing.
WERE THEY WINNING or losing? Bohuslav couldn’t even tell.
What should have been a cut and dried thing had suddenly turned sour. Their enemies were using tactics the men had never come across before, but he certainly had. They were the methods of trappers, of hunters. What should have worked in his side’s favour – the wealth of armament at their disposal, the sheer number of vehicles – was actually turning out to be their Achilles Heel. Hood’s men were more manoeuvrable, running or riding – on fucking horses, for sanity’s sake! – between the beh
emoths, bullets bouncing off what looked like home-made shields. And body-armour! Tanek had conveniently left that detail out of the preparations... unless he hadn’t known? It made them harder to kill, or harder to kill quickly, at any rate.
Hood’s men were also able to handle close-combat fighting much better than his, probably because they’d never had to do it before. When the Tsar’s troops entered an area, they usually obliterated everything in their path long before it got to that stage.
Bohuslav cursed under his breath in his native tongue, as another explosion went off outside the jeep.
He looked through the windscreen at what was going on ahead of him, and the certainty he’d had when he arrived began to wane. But there was something Hood and his men didn’t know – apart from their plan, of course, apart from what was going on while they were all here. Bohuslav had hoped to settle this without having to fall back on them, but the Tsar had brought some special little toys over with him just in case.
Four Kamov Ka-50 single-seat attack helicopters, also known to those in the trade as ‘Black Sharks.’ Each boasted laser-guided anti-tank missiles located under the stub wings, and 30mm cannons fixed semi-rigidly on the helicopter’s side. One of the most lethal pieces of military hardware known to man. Granted, they weren’t being piloted by the most highly trained individuals – at least not as highly trained as they would have been pre-virus – but they knew enough to get the job done.
The time had come to finish this, and if his ground forces weren’t capable... Bohuslav reached for the radio, knowing now with complete certainty who would be the ultimate victors here today.
