“Yes, we’ll pick up reinforcements on our way.” Major Redfern keyed the handset. “Hello, Two-Zero-Charlie, Two-Zero. Over.”
“Two-Zero-Charlie, go ahead. Over.”
“Good lads, they’ve been monitoring the net,” praised the CSM.
“I gathered you heard? Over.”
“Yes, sir. We’ve locked down and brought all transports inside. Scimitar manned and ready and the boys are keeping watch.”
“How many civilians with you?”
“About a dozen, sir. They’re all being monitored.”
“Good. Have call sign Golf-One get under cover, and assign two on foot to go with it.”
“Roger that.”
“Out to you. Hello, Two-Zero-Echo, you register that? Over.”
Zero-Echo, based in the town, acknowledged. “Where do you want us, sir?”
“Move to Zero-Charlie’s location. Come in from the south. The Tangoes are to the north of Charlie. But first let the civvy force know what’s happening. They’ll have no comms once you’ve left. Over.”
“Understood. What if they get a bit flaky?”
“Tell them their boss is on his way to take command. Out.”
The Land Rover headed down Chicksgrove Road, passed Place Farm, almost coming back on themselves just before the water outlet from Fonthill Lake, and headed west on Chilmark Road, a trail of dust left in their wake. Alan totted up numbers. “We’ll have eight from Zero-Charlie, four from the town, and four from the RGC. And we have Delta.”
“What about the Fox?”
“Good point.” Alan contacted the patrol. “Two-Zero-Delta, move Golf-Two to Charlie’s location and join Golf-One. Over.”
“Roger that.”
“And make it quiet.”
“Understood.”
“You’re right there, sir. Thing makes a right racket, even with a Jag engine.”
“Alan.”
“Alan,” Scott responded with a smile. “It’s not as if we haven’t been expecting it.”
“I know, but I would have preferred us recceing further out and finding them before they came to us.”
“You think they’ll be a bother?”
“They’re well armed and on the move. They’re either looking for some form of authority or a group to join or—”
“Scavenging and not caring who or what,” finished Scott.
The Land Rover swerved left as Scott nearly missed the turning into Mill Lane, the ground a lot rougher now. “Sorry about that.”
“The plods don’t have speeding tickets, but I do value my life,” Alan laughed.
“So what do we do?”
“I’ve been thinking about that. Do we wait and see what they’re up to, or pay them a visit?”
“They’re bound to pay a trip to Chilmark.”
“That’s what bothers me. I can’t see the PO wanting to keep the workforce inactive. He’s set a precedent now and needs to maintain it.”
“The lads are ready.”
Ahead, as they approached the gated and fenced entrance to the RGC, Alan could see four of his soldiers hanging around a Land Rover near the entrance, talking to the brigadier. Scott pulled up alongside them, and Alan jumped out. He threw Brigadier Bannister a quick salute.
“I’ve got Zero-Echo coming from the town, six of us here, the recce group and the eight men from the warehouse.”
“That should be enough,” responded Bannister.
The radio crackled in both Land Rovers, and Scott leant in through one of the open windows and picked up the handset. “Go ahead. Over.”
Alan and the brigadier joined him. They could hardly hear the voice at the other end.
“Who is it?” asked Alan.
“Two-Zero-Delta.”
“Have eyes on the Tangoes’ encampment. Seem to be settling down, setting up a temporary encampment. At least another four vehicles have joined them. A bus, would you believe it, one HGV, a civvy one, and two people carriers. At least an additional one-zero males. Over.”
Alan took the handset off Scott. “Just use the Prestel to respond, understood? Over.”
“Click… click.”
“Are the new Tangoes armed?”
“Click… click.”
“Moving to Charlie. Will join you at your location soonest. Over.”
“Click… click.”
“Two-Zero out.”
Once joined by Zero-Echo, commanded by the newly promoted Sergeant Thompson, the convoy of vehicles headed off towards the warehouse, Bennet moving from Two-Zero-Echo, taking over the driving from Company Sergeant Major Saunders. Two soldiers from the RGC itself had also boarded the OCs Land Rover. There were two warehouses under the control of the RGC. One was deep underground, secured and well hidden from prying eyes, which held the stocks that had been built up by the National Emergency Committee, at least when they were in existence before the nuclear strikes hit. Primarily stocked with raw sugar, sacks of flour, tins of corned beef, drums of oil and fat, it was key to the survival of the RGC and the people under its auspices. The location of this particular storage site, although critical to them, was unguarded, but checked discreetly twice a day. The second warehouse, the one they were heading for now, had been a civilian warehouse before the start of the war, owned and run by a civilian logistics company. It too had been stocked up prior to the missile and bomb strikes. Taken over by the Government, it had been stockpiled with provisions, but of the more traditional type like tins of beans and tomatoes — anything the Government could commandeer and stash away for use in the unlikely event of a major nuclear strike hitting the United Kingdom.
The convoy sped along the A303, the cross-country tyres of the Land Rovers purring rhythmically, only interrupted when hitting the occasional rut in the road where vegetation, plant life that was able to grow under the austere conditions, had already started to force its way through tiny cracks in the less frequently used tarmac road. There were so few vehicles on the road now; it was inevitable that plants would quickly reclaim lost territory.
Bennet turned the wheel of the Land Rover, avoiding the slalom of abandoned vehicles. The road was a dual carriageway, and a line of vehicles had been abandoned either side of the road after their drivers’ attempts to head west towards the M4 or M5 motorways had failed. Fortunately, two of the lanes, one in each direction, had been kept open for use by military and official vehicles during the short time before the first of the strikes hit. The entire network of major roads in the UK had become bogged down very quickly. Not only because of the sheer traffic congestion due to members of the public attempting to flee to somewhere they felt would be safer, or vehicles running out of fuel, but also because of the effects of the 300 nuclear strikes across the country. Most of the road networks in the United Kingdom went through or passed close to major cities and towns. These were natural targets of the Russian intercontinental ballistic missiles (ICBMs) and bombers. The hurricane-like blast wave, one of the deadly outcomes of a nuclear explosion, from the nuclear bombs and missiles striking the towns and cities, or airports and military installations, caused havoc on the arterial lifelines of the UK. And if any transport routes survived that then the effects of the super-nuclear electro magnetic pulse (super-NEMP) finished them off, the vehicles grinding to a halt. At least three of these weapons had been exploded 400 kilometres above the UK, burning out the electrics of motor vehicles, disrupting communications, and even affecting the military. Although the military throughout the world had done their best to harden their combat vehicles and communication equipment against the EMP threat, the truth was that, apart from in the early sixties, no real tests had been completed, for obvious reasons, to test the effectiveness of such measures. A few of the older vehicles, less reliant on the modern computer chips that controlled the majority of engine-management systems, were of a metallic construction providing added protection over their cousins made of non-metallic materials. Even though some vehicles were unaffected, the result was still one of the largest traffic jams in the world.