‘The mayor has allowed us to set up operations in that old fort upriver.’ Turning to René, who was standing on the bank, he said. ‘René, we need to get to the barracks of the old fort, can this barge take us up the river?’
‘No, Captain, that is not possible at this late hour. Here are the keys to the old barracks just below the fort. You will have to make your way up there on foot. Just follow that narrow road,’ he said, pointing to the fading light.
‘No problem, René. Thank you for your charming company.’ He turned to Shredder. ‘Get the men to kit up, time for a little route march.’
‘Kit up, men, we are moving out,’ Shredder shouted.
• • •
Shredder and Gibbs walked ahead of the men along the narrow tree-lined dirt road. Spirits were high as the soldiers were out of flooded London and back in the field. They slowly made their way upward in the direction of the fort of Charlemont, the road repeatedly swerving back on itself as they climbed.
‘What was all that about then, the sudden change in attitude from René?’ Shredder said.
‘I believe I insulted his security coverage of the plant,’ Gibbs said. ‘And I got the impression that they were hoping that we would leave as soon as we arrived after seeing what great security they had.’
‘Tough luck on that one. By the way, the boys are asking what the purpose of our mission is and whether we will see action?’
‘We’re here to observe and train up their men, but I have a feeling that there will be fireworks down the line,’ Gibbs said, lowering his head and increasing the pace.
The group trudged along the old road that ran above the winding river, with the wall of the fort on their right-hand side and the sharp drop down to the river, on the left. Then they turned up a smoothened cobbled road, which went through a crumbled down portcullis, and started the final short climb towards the fort that towered over them.
They passed through the moss-covered gate, most of which had long since eroded away, up into the grass-lined banks that made up the empty moats. The second gate was intact but unlocked, and they passed through it, into a large open area that once must have been the parade ground. There was litter lying around and other signs of habitation although no one to be seen. Continuing across the parade ground, they walked up to what used to be the Caserne Rougé, a long building used for a century as the main barracks. Gibbs walked to the main door and tried the key in the lock. With a little force, the old lock turned, and they gained entrance to the musty room that would be home for a while.
Entering the large dark rectangular hall, they inspected the six small rooms that led off it. There was a large stone fireplace at the one end, which someone had recently lit a fire in. Above them, the wooden roof beams were covered in droppings from a family of pigeons that sat on a beam, blinking at the new occupants.
‘Shredder, Killey? Get the operations and communications area set up. Get the radio working then split up and take a few men and do a sweep of the area. Send two men to make this place a little more hospitable, and I want everything set up and secure before nightfall.’
‘Yes, boss,’ they said.
‘Damn. It’s good to be out on operations again, isn’t it?’ Killey said.
‘It sure is, mate.’
• • •
The short, stocky figure of Gibbs’s second in command walked up to him as he was studying an area map that they had placed on a few old planks, raised up on empty ammunition cases. ‘We are being watched, boss,’ Shredder said.
Gibbs lifted his head. ‘Is it René or his men?’
‘Not really sure. It seems to be two men in civilian clothing. Killey spied them tracking us as we turned off the main road and has been monitoring them ever since,’ Shredder said.
Gibbs straightened. ‘Okay, keep an eye on them. I’ll have a chat with René or the mayor in the morning.’ Shredder turned to leave.
‘Actually Shredder, change of plan. Tell Killey to take two men, outflank our voyeur friends and bring them in. I want them alive and unharmed. Let’s have a chat with them before we hand them over to the mayor as a present.’
Thirty minutes later, Gibbs heard shouting and got up from his green army bunk just as Killey and two others walked onto the parade ground, with a stranger walking ahead of them, his hands bound behind his back. They walked him over to the barracks.
‘Prisoner, alive as ordered, sir,’ Killey said with a smile.
‘Where is the other one, Killey?’
‘He got away, boss, quick little bugger. I would have shot him in the leg, but it was not allowed.’
‘Take him into that room and tie him to one of the old chairs,’ Gibbs instructed. ‘I’ll be right in.’
Shredder and Gibbs left the captured man alone with his thoughts for a while before they went into the dark room. Gibbs walked over and opened up the solitary window’s cracked and peeling shutters. Moonlight streamed into the room and onto the man sitting in the chair. He wore old green long pants and a t-shirt under a dark brown leather jacket. Shredder pulled up another rickety old chair and positioned it in front of their captive, then walked over to a gas lamp, lit it and brought it closer.
‘Do you speak English?’ Shredder asked. The prisoner looked down to the ground.
‘What is your name?’ Shredder asked. The man remained silent and looked up into Shredder’s eyes. A small smirk appeared on his face.
‘Let’s not play hard to get here, sonny. You are not in a great position here. What is your name?’ Shredder asked again.
The man remained silent. Shredder looked across at Gibbs, who nodded subtly at him. In a split second, Shredder smashed a punch into the man’s midriff, knocking him and his chair over. He moved around the man and picked him and the chair up again. The man grimaced in pain and wheezed as he tried to breathe, the wind knocked out of him.
Shredder positioned himself behind the prisoner as Gibbs sat down in front of him.
‘Look, we can do this all night,’ Gibbs said. ‘Make it easy on yourself. What is your name?’
‘François is my name,’ the man said in broken English.
‘See, it wasn’t that difficult, was it?’ Gibbs said. ‘You thirsty, François?’ The man nodded.
‘Shredder, be so kind to get François here a drink of water.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Now tell me, Francois. Do you work for Mayor Magne?’ Gibbs asked.
Gibbs saw a flicker of recognition in the man’s eyes. ‘No, I do not.’
‘Who do you work for then, and why were you spying on us?’
‘I’m with the European Resistance,’ he replied.
‘Resistance?’ Gibbs frowned. ‘Resistance to what?
‘Against the domination by the forces of the GGC,’ he said.
Gibbs sat back and thought for a while. ‘Tell me about this resistance, Francois,’ he said. Shredder entered the room with a jug of water, and Francois’s gaze nervously followed him to the table by the wall. ‘You are not carrying weapons, so how can you possibly be part of the resistance?’
The man frowned, and his shoulders went back as he puffed out his chest. ‘We are here to spy on your movements and report back to headquarters in Germany. Vargen has sent us to Givet to spy on you and to try and convince as many men as we can, to resist all attempts of joining the GGC.’
‘Who the fuck is Vargen?’ Shredder said.
‘Our founder, and leader.’
Chapter 21
Nice, France - 2028
On a warm morning, and without fanfare, the Khalil slipped into the port of Nice just before dawn. The mood lifted tangibly in the hold as the noises from the harbour filtered to them, men shouting in a foreign language, dogs fighting and barking, and countless gulls screeching overhead.
‘We are here, my brother,’ Chilemba said to Jackson, placing his hand on his shoulder.
‘At long last. We’ve dreamt of this for many years. Our new life begins today,’ Jackson said.
>
The joy, however, slowly ebbed away as the hold door remained shut. They waited in the metal hull, and the temperature climbed. After four or five hours, the noise increased on the pier outside. Eventually, the grinding sound of the opening door broke the suspense.
Al-Mateeq appeared and climbed down the stairs. ‘Wangai? You and your men bring your sleep mats and put them on the deck. You will be off the ship first. Hurry up, you skinny hyenas.’
Standing at the bottom of the gangplank, with his brown pants tucked into leather boots and billowing cotton shirt flapping in the breeze, was Captain Nasri, arms folded and scowling at each man as they stumbled off his vessel.
‘All of you follow me. Do not try and run, or you will be shot, is that clear?’ he said, looking at Chilemba’s men. They all nodded.
The group approached a large, five-storey building that once was one of the most exclusive hotels in Nice. They entered the old marble reception, which was cool and dark, with thick white marble pillars all around the reception area, interspersed with large rotary ceiling fans. Captain Nasri and Al-Mateeq spoke to another large Arabic looking man, before ushering the group through double doors into a large carpeted conference room. The smell of urine and sweat pierced their nostrils, and the doors were quickly locked behind them. Chilemba went over to the side wall and sat on the floor, everyone followed.
After a few hours, the doors opened, and Captain Nasri strode in, accompanied by a slim, well-built white man. They walked over to the group of Africans. ‘All of you get to your feet when we enter, is that clear? You are in Europe now, so will need to learn manners.’
Chilemba and his men got to their feet and lined up against the wall.
Captain Nasri and the man had a brief discussion in French before the man walked up to the group and performed a military type inspection. ‘Thank you, gentlemen, you may now sit down again,’ he said in a faint high-pitched voice.
He then returned to Captain Nasri, and the two men started arguing again as they continued to point at Chilemba and Jackson. After a few minutes, they nodded and shook hands.
Captain Nasri walked over to Chilemba and his men. ‘This is Mr Rubert. We have agreed on a price for you, and he has bought the debt you owed me for bringing you here. He is, therefore, your new owner, and you will work for him until your debt is fully paid, then and only then, will you be free. Do you all understand?’ The men slowly nodded their heads.
The slim European man stepped forward. ‘Good day to you all, as Captain Nasri said, I am Alain Rubert. You are to address me as Mr Rubert or Boss. You’ll be expected to work for me until the value of your debt is paid. We will now leave Nice and head north to your new home. Everyone, please follow me to the trucks outside.’
• • •
The bumping and swaying in the back of the old army truck went on for hours. There were bricks and wooden planks in the back of the cab, and the men had fashioned short benches to sit on, easing the jolting as they drove through the potholes. Six strangers had been included with Chilemba’s group, and he studied them all individually, trying to gauge the type of men they were.
Holes and tears in the tarpaulin which covered the back cab allowed them a narrow view of the passing countryside.
‘Brother, it’s as green as the missionaries told us. Look at the puddles of water, left on the ground from the last rain. Even the land is tired of drinking,’ Chilemba said.
‘Yes, brother, the cows that we just passed are fat like I hope my wives will be,’ Jackson replied, and they both laughed.
‘A few years of labour and we can begin making a life for ourselves.’
Jackson nodded. ‘I only hope we don’t get fat and soft, digging holes and ploughing fields for these men.’
Chilemba’s attention kept being drawn to three of the men who were also on the truck with them. Shifty eyes and whispered remarks separated them from the others, who were all getting acquainted. Instinct told him that the men were up to something.
A few minutes later, when the truck stopped, the three men stood up, and one by one jumped out the back of the truck. Chilemba stood up and looked through a hole in the canvas. The fugitives were now running through a large open field heading towards a wooded area on the horizon. Warning shots rang out as the guards fired above the escaping men’s heads, but they kept on running
Chilemba heard the voice of Alain Rubert shouting at his men in French. Chilemba turned to Jackson and said. ‘Come, brother, time to make our mark and impress these people.’
Jackson followed Chilemba and jumped out of the truck. The guard nearest to them lifted his gun and shouted something in French. Chilemba raised his hands.
‘We want to help capture those men,’ he said, as the man kept his rifle trained on them.
Alain ran up to them. ‘What is going on here? Why are you out of the truck?’
‘Let us help you catch those men,’ Chilemba said.
‘What, so that you can try and run away to join your friends? Do you think I am stupid?’ Alain said.
‘They are not our friends, Mr Rubert,’ Jackson said.
Alain Rubert looked at the two men in front of him. ‘Why would you help us to capture men from your country?’
‘We left our country to make new lives for ourselves in this place. We will work for you now until our debt is paid. Let us start working that off now.’ Alain looked at him and considered the proposal. Before he could speak, Chilemba continued. ‘Jackson and I have hunted and tracked down many men in our lives. It is what we do.’
Alain thought for a minute and then called to a soldier standing near the side of the road. The man ran up and saluted Alain. They had a brief conversation in French, and then Alain turned to Chilemba.
‘This is Sergeant Etienne Leclerc. He is a fine soldier and will go with you two, to capture those three men. I need all of them alive. Do you understand?’ Alain said.
Chilemba nodded. ‘Yes, sir, we understand, if we bring them back alive, will you take money off the debt we owe you?’
‘We can discuss that later, first capture those men,’ Alain replied.
The three ran across the old tar road, up a grassy bank and then into the vast wild green field. Chilemba naturally drifted to the front as they ran and worked up to a fair pace. Tracking the men was easy for the tall Kenyan as the trail left by the three fugitives, although invisible to the untrained eye, was clear to him and Jackson. The wild grass and flowers had been broken off by the footfall of the running men and had not had a chance to recover or settle back into their normal positions.
After thirty minutes of crossing expansive uncut grass fields and clusters of small hedges and bushes, Chilemba slowed down and stopped in a freshly cut field. Etienne Leclerc joined them after a few minutes, breathing heavily. ‘Why have you stopped?’
Chilemba pointed to a large wooded area. ‘They are in there. We must move with caution.’
‘How do you know that they are in there?’ Leclerc asked.
‘The spoor heads that way, and it is the only cover for miles. It is also where I would lay an ambush if I were them,’ Chilemba said.
‘You sure?’ Leclerc asked. Chilemba nodded, not taking his eyes off the trees.
Leclerc looked at Chilemba, and then his hand moved to the revolver on his hip. He slipped the leather holding strap off the weapon and then reached around behind his back and pulled out a dagger. He looked down at the long shining blade before passing it to Chilemba.
‘This hunting knife belonged to my father. I want it back after we catch these men,’ he said. Chilemba nodded and slipped it into his belt.
‘We enter the woods together and then spread out. They have no guns or knives, so will probably have branches or sticks. Jackson, find yourself a weapon when we enter.’
‘I can handle any dog with a stick, with these bare hands.’
They approached slowly, studying every tree and bush in the wooded area for movement. ‘It is denser than I thought so be extra
careful,’ Chilemba said and signalled for them to fan out. Leclerc went off to his left, his revolver drawn, and Jackson to the right. A hundred metres into the trees, the trap, was sprung.
A tall man came at Chilemba swinging a piece of broken off branch, roaring at the top of his lungs. Chilemba steadied himself then swayed out of the way of the swinging piece of wood. It passed with millimetres to spare, taking the attacker off balance. Chilemba swung a thunderous left hook into his exposed ribcage. His attacker let out a loud moan as his lower ribs cracked under the force of the blow. His head was close to Chilemba’s and before his attacker could recover Chilemba hit the man’s cheek with his head. The man groaned and slumped to his knees, his breath seeping away as the pain from his ribs overwhelmed him. Blood seeped from a large wound on his cheek, running down the side of his face. He held up his hands in submission.
Chilemba pushed him down to the ground. ‘Stay down, you dog, or I will slit your throat.’ The man nodded and lay motionless on the ground. Chilemba looked across the clearing to see his friend, Jackson, taking care of his attacker without much fuss, immobilising him face down with a knee to his back. He looked up at Chilemba and simply nodded.
Chilemba looked around to find Leclerc on the ground with his attacker choking him. Chilemba ran towards the two, drawing the knife as he ran. He could see Leclerc’s face was distorted and crimson red as he tried in vain to break the man’s vice-like grip around his neck. The attacker only knew of the approaching Chilemba when he was tackled off the struggling Leclerc. Chilemba rolled off the man and jumped to his feet. The attacker also rose to his feet and spun to face Chilemba.
The intense hatred in the man’s eyes slowly dissipated as he looked down to see a hunting knife protruding from his ribs. A crimson mist started to bubble from his mouth as he coughed and slumped to the floor.
Chilemba went over to Leclerc and helped him to his feet.
‘You okay, sir?’ Chilemba asked.
Leclerc nodded and struggled to speak. ‘Is he?’ he started, nodding towards the man on the ground.
Chilemba shook his head. ‘He will die soon.’ Chilemba leant down, extracting the bloody hunting dagger. He wiped it clean on the dead man’s shirt and handed it back to Leclerc.
The Journey of Kyle Gibbs Box Set Page 39