“Lads’ll be pleased about that. They’d just started griping.”
“Keep things tight,” warned Alan. “We don’t know what we’re up against. I shall be paying them a visit tomorrow.”
“Friendly visit, sir?” asked the corporal.
“Of course, we’re not out to start a war. At least, not yet.”
“We’ll keep ’em covered, sir.”
“As soon as I know the next steps, I’ll inform you.”
With that, the OC, CSM and section commander, Corporal Brodie, pulled back into the undergrowth and made their way quietly back to link up with West again. The Lance Corporal stayed with his men, and Alan, Scott and West made their way to the Land Rover. A twenty-minute drive brought them back to the warehouse, and they were soon in the ops room.
“What now, sir?” asked the CSM.
“I want the commanders of Bravo, Charlie, Echo and Kilo sections, along with the commanders of Golf-One and Golf-Two here in the next thirty minutes. In the meantime, I’ll update the CO.”
“You have a plan then, Alan?”
“It’s forming, Scott, it’s forming.”
“I’ll sort the lads out then.”
Once orders had been issued, Alan took the handset off Scott and transmitted. “Hello Zero. This is Two-Zero. Over.”
The radio crackled. Alan didn’t have to wait long.
“This is Zero. Sitrep. Over.”
Alan looked at Scott who said what Alan was thinking: “He sounds pissed with us.”
CHAPTER 22
Commander Parry stumbled and Bell strengthened his grip, nearly dropping the weapon slung over his other shoulder as he did so. He supported Parry’s right arm as the man struggled to move his badly broken leg over the rubble. Bell looked over his shoulder, the rattle of debris as the dog skipped and jumped across the carpet of rubble as he followed the two sailors. The dog, a mongrel, had been following them for the last five hours as the two men put all their efforts in getting back to the relative safety of the submarine and get away from the bitter cold. Bell turned his head again, hearing a much louder rattle of pieces of masonry cascading from one of the many piles of rubble that littered the ground around and in between the shattered buildings of Portsmouth. This time there was no dog. He stopped for a moment, restraining Parry, as he scanned the building remains behind them. The dog had gone, but the sound of movement had increased. A figure darted from behind a partially collapsed wall and Bell slipped his arm from around Parry.
“We’ve got visitors sir.”
Bell dropped the weapon from his shoulder, placing it on the floor, then lowered the bags of supplies he was carrying, pulling the pistol from his pocket and checking the safety.
Parry wavered, unsteady on his legs, even with the crutch under his left arm, then staggered as he lowered himself to the ground, the crutch falling to the floor with a clatter. He pulled his pistol out of the holster with a shaky hand, not from fear, but as a consequence of the fever that was heating up inside of him. The open wound, although protected by a dressing, was clearly going septic and there was a real danger of septic shock setting in. He slumped as Bell crouched down next to him.
“You need to be ready sir, there’s more than one,” he warned as he saw two more people flit from building to building.
Parry lifted his head, held the shaking pistol at the ready as Bell reached over and released the safety. Looking up he could see half a dozen figures in the shadows and he shouted a warning, “clear off. We’ve nothing you want. Just leave us in peace and we’ll be out of your area soonest.”
There was no response and the figures appeared from their hiding places. He counted seven. He fired two shots, the sound shattering the silence, the intruders scattering wildly. He watched and waited, checked Commander Parry who was slumped forward, his injured leg at a funny angle, the pistol hanging loosely from his hand. More clatter of sound and he looked back to see the same figures lined up in a semi-circle about 200 metres away.
“Bugger off, the lot of you.” He fired a shot, sparks flew from a piece of reinforced concrete and the two either side skipped away. In the meantime, the others had widened the half circle and moved closer. He fired two more shots, one missing the nearest person, the second singing of into the distance as it was deflected from a half shattered wall. Two more shots fired as they moved closer, both missing, but forcing the group to scatter, but not stopping their advance.
He grabbed for the assault rifle at the same moment he heard the crunch of gravel behind him, turning too late as the blade of a spade struck splitting his skull, his body sliding to the floor as a second blow finished him off. He didn’t feel the pistol being prised from his fingers, or hear the two shots that killed Commander Parry.
The leader of the gang held the pistol aloft in victory, pulled the scarf down from his mouth and issued orders. “Strip ’em of everything, I want nothing left.”
CHAPTER 23
Scott swung the Land Rover off the road and onto the track, the forest on their right, the encampment up ahead. The blue civilian Land Rover came into view, still parked across the track blocking their way forward.
“Two-Zero-Delta approaching sentries.” Major Redfern informed the small force who had been watching the camp overnight, and who would now cover their backs.
“Two-Zero-Delta. Roger.”
“Here they come, Alan,” warned Scott.
Two men came round to the side of the blue Land Rover, one with an SA80, the second with a single-barrelled shotgun. Although their weapons weren’t held in a threatening manner, Alan suspected they were ready to move quickly should they need to.
The smaller of the two men waved them down, not that Scott could drive round the barrier without some difficulty. The men had chosen the spot, a choke point, well. Scott drove right up to the two men, only stopping when the smaller of the two men laid his hand on the bonnet of the army vehicle.
Alan didn’t wait for them to come to the window. He was out of the vehicle quickly and confidently, his assault rifle left on his seat, but with his pistol still in a holster around his waist.
“Hello, Major, how can we be of assistance to you?”
Alan studied the man: fair hair, five nine, smooth-skinned, and in his early forties. Ex-forces maybe, thought Alan. The man had recognised his rank. Glancing over at the second man, who had held back slightly, Alan could see the glistening skin, just above the scarf around his mouth, indicative of a recent serious burn. He looked back at the man who had spoken to him, a surgical facemask pulled down beneath his chin, who looked healthy and well fed.
“It’s more what we can do for you Mr… ” Alan waited for the man to fill the gap.
“Ah… Dawson, James Dawson.”
Alan reached out a hand, and Dawson reciprocated. “Major Redfern. My driver,” Alan indicated back towards the driver’s position, “is Sergeant Major Saunders.”
Scott responded with a nod.
“And your colleague?”
“Jack. Jack Tomlinson.”
“We’re naturally aware of your presence and my brigadier, Brigadier Bannister, asked us to drop in on you and ascertain your intentions.”
“Where’s the rest of your army?”
“Army? Why do I need an army?”
“Well, I thought—”
“You have no hostile intentions towards a government representative, do you?”
The man started at the use of the term ‘government’. “There’s a government?”