The Journey of Kyle Gibbs Box Set

by Wayne Marinovich

  Gibbs got to the foot of the stairs and turned to brief his men before they got on the plane. ‘Right, men, as you have heard we have a mission to Poland. We will be escorting a scientific research team and their work safely back to London. The plan is still to do this by air, but we have been warned about increased resistance activity in the region of the airport so we might have to switch plans and journey by land from Warsaw to London if the need arises. I will give you more detail when we get to Warsaw in about four hours.’

  Gibbs sat in the front row by himself, alone with his thoughts. Why had Vargen lured him away, only to subdue him, and then let him go? Gibbs liked to know who his enemy was, have a strategy to neutralise the enemy, execute that plan and then head home. Even though he didn’t have all the answers, an idea started to formulate.

  ‘Shredder, Killey!’ Gibbs shouted, gesturing for the men to come and sit with him.

  ‘Boss?’ Killey asked.

  ‘Seeing that the Phoenix Council and GGC seem so intent on controlling the entire planet, I have an idea how we can hurt the bastards who set us up,’ Gibbs said.

  ‘What are we doing then? Are we going AWOL?’ Killey asked.

  Gibbs shook his head. ‘We have been friends for a long time, so I am not asking you to go through this with me again. You will have to make your own choices here,’ Gibbs said.

  ‘Shut it, you idiot,’ Shredder said. ‘Let’s go and kick Grand Founder arse.’

  ‘I’m sure there are chutes somewhere on this old bird, we could bail out of here and go and look for your lady,’ Killey said.

  Gibbs smiled. ‘Cheers, lads, your support means a lot, but we don’t need to be jumping out of any aircraft.’

  ‘What’s the plan?’ Shredder asked.

  ‘The Phoenix Council is going to huge expense to send a Guard unit out to babysit a group of university geeks and their precious documents. It must be for one of two reasons. It’s valuable to them to have it in their grubby little mitts or valuable enough to ensure that nobody else gets their little paws on it,’ Gibbs said.

  ‘So we are going to steal it from them?’ Shredder said.

  ‘In a manner of speaking, yes. We are going to try and contact this Vargen character and then hand the documents over to him. That way we can make sure one of the GGC’s enemies prospers. It’s a way to stick it to the man who imprisoned us,’ Gibbs said.

  ‘He’s going to come after us again,’ Killey said.

  ‘I am counting on that.’

  • • •

  A lone beaten up truck spluttered along a winding country road. Most of the occupants were asleep leaning up against one another in the back of the truck. Chilemba’s head was nodding as he slept and abruptly snapped him awake when the driver jumped on the brakes to swerve, avoiding a large hole in the road. They’d stolen the truck from the motor pool in Givet and had managed to steal a couple of drums of fuel for the trip.

  Chilemba wasn’t sure if it was the fumes from the diesel drums, lack of sleep or the pain in his leg, but he kept feeling drowsy. Looking up at the sky, an old plane flew overhead, the sun reflecting off its shiny tail like gold.

  Chapter 42

  North of Warsaw, Poland - 2028

  The DC-3 Dakota taxied to a stop next to a small wooden building. As the pilot looked back into the cabin area, he could see that most of his passengers were still asleep. Everyone but the leader of the Guard unit he had been transporting.

  ‘Captain, we’ve arrived,’ the pilot called to the dark-haired brooding man, slumped in his seat.

  ‘Thanks, Captain, how long until you have to head out again?’

  ‘New orders have been radioed through from the GGC operations room, and I have been told to wait for you here. When you return I’m to transport your team plus another four passengers directly to London,’ the pilot said.

  ‘Great. We are in no hurry then. I’m expecting someone to meet us to escort us into Warsaw itself,’ Gibbs said.

  ‘Good, then perhaps a few of your men can help me refuel this old girl while you wait. It is a bitch of a job for two people to do,’ he said.

  ‘Sure, no problem,’ Gibbs said.

  They disembarked into the ankle-high grass of the airstrip. The length of the field was surrounded by farmland, with a kilometre-long row of pine trees down the one side. ‘Killey, Shredder, get over here,’ Gibbs called.

  ‘What’s up, boss?’ Killey asked.

  ‘The captain and his co-pilot need muscle power to help pump fuel from the fuel barrels into the wing tanks. I thought you two and the rest of the men could do with a little exercise,’ Gibbs said.

  ‘Funny thing, boss, we were just saying how we felt like pumping fuel,’ Killey said.

  ‘Captain, why don’t you and I go and wait in that small building over there? It is going to get hot out here,’ Gibbs said and smiled as he walked away from the plane. The pilot followed him, and they wandered over to an old building that had at some point served as an air traffic control tower for the small airfield.

  ‘Damn, I left my satphone on the plane, and I’d better check in with the GGC,’ said Gibbs.

  Gibbs rummaged around in his bag for a while then wandered around to where his men were already pumping fuel, under the watchful gaze of the co-pilot. ‘How are they doing, Lieutenant?’

  ‘Great, sir,’ he laughed.

  ‘Why don’t you head over and join with the captain and me, no point in you hanging around, it will take a while for them to fill up both wing tanks.’

  ‘Sure, sir,’ he said and wiped his hands on a dirty rag before heading off.

  Gibbs turned to the two men standing over the barrel of fuel. ‘Right, gents, time to make sure this old girl is unsafe to fly back to London.

  ‘You have anything specific in mind, boss?’ Killey asked.

  ‘We have to make it look like it happened sometime this evening when we are not around, so nothing that looks too obvious. It must be detected in the pre-flight inspection, so leave the engines and fuel tanks,’ Gibbs said.

  ‘There is that large rudder on the tail or these fuck-off big ailerons on either wing. They will check whether those move before taking off,’ Killey said.

  ‘Good call. There must be cables or rods that move those things. Snap them or even better, remove them if you can. That should keep those pilots entertained,’ Gibbs said. ‘Hopefully, the blame will be firmly placed at the feet of the resistance.’

  • • •

  A grey pickup van bumped its way along the dirt road towards the plane and screeched to a halt in a flurry of dust. A young man, dressed in jeans and a Jack Daniels t-shirt, jumped out and walked over to Shredder and Killey. He chatted with them for a while before turning to meet Gibbs, who had left the ATC building.

  ‘Captain Gibbs, I am Pavel. I work for the Warsaw Warlord,’ the young man said in broken English as he stuck out his hand.

  ‘Hello, Pavel.’

  ‘I’m here to collect you and your men to go back to University,’ he said.

  ‘Let’s get all the kit loaded then.’

  They loaded the large Bergens, weapons and ammunition boxes into the back of the grey pickup van. After twenty minutes, they were all loaded up, and the little van bumped and jarred along the gravel back roads finally making it to what had once been the main road in the industrial north of Warsaw.

  They saw the occasional group of people scavenging and trading in and amongst abandoned factories that once drove the country’s economy. They were relieved to finally reach the banks of the Vistula River after the constant misery they had encountered and transferred themselves and all their kit to three motor launches.

  After nearly an hour on the river, the launches pulled up to an old wooden jetty. They kitted up and made their way through the abandoned streets of Warsaw. Gibbs had expected to see more flooding in the city, similar to the cities where large rivers passed through them, but they were clearly moving onto higher ground. They walked for about forty minutes
before stopping at the main gate of a large marble building with big white pillars in the front of it. Passing through the security gate, they made their way up the front steps to a large wooden door. Pavel banged the big brass knocker, and after a few minutes, the door swung open.

  Gibbs and his men walked through the doorway of the University of Warsaw. The large ornate reception area with large fresco paintings on the ceiling and walls was run down and dusty, and it had dark passages and hallways leading off in all directions. A short, robust man appeared from one of the hallways with a well-armed man in tow. Smiling, he walked up to Gibbs. ‘Welcome, Captain Gibbs,’ he said. ‘I am Aleksy Kowalczyk, the GGC appointed Warlord of Warsaw.’

  ‘Pleased to meet you, Aleksy,’ Gibbs said and shook the man’s small sweaty hand.

  ‘I have been fully briefed by the Phoenix Council about your role here. I’m not happy that this wonderful new find is not being kept here in my home country. However, I understand that I have no bloody choice but to surrender the documents to London,’ he said.

  Gibbs stared at the little man. ‘What’s all this fuss about, Aleksy?’

  ‘It’s possibly the most revolutionary find since the discovery of the combustion engine. We discovered the documents hidden here in Warsaw. It is, in essence, a type of fusion energy, abundant energy for the people. I will leave the dear professor to explain all the scientific details to you if you would like to know more,’ Aleksy said as he turned to lead the men down a long passage.

  Gibbs turned to Shredder. ‘Take Smithy and Pavel and have a look around outside. I have a feeling that we are being watched by you know who.’

  ‘Aye, boss,’ Shredder said.

  Gibbs followed the man and his armed escort through a maze of passages with black and white floor tiles and marble stairwells, before arriving at a large laboratory. There were old benches lined up throughout the room with high chairs for students. Bunsen burners, glass beakers and petri dishes were stacked at the end of each bench, hinting at a previous life as a chemistry lab. They heard voices coming from an adjacent room to the right of the main desk at the front of the lab.

  ‘Professor Friedmann, are you there?’ Aleksy called out.

  A tall, thin man dressed in the clichéd white lab coat came into the lab, followed by two other people. ‘Morning, Aleksy.’

  ‘Professor Friedmann, this is Captain Gibbs from the Phoenix Guard. He will be your escort on your journey to London,’ the warlord said.

  ‘Good day, Captain,’ the professor said and shook his hand.’ Welcome to Poland. May I introduce my lead researcher and assistant, Karolina Sonnet and Marek Walczuk.’ The two, who also wore white lab coats, nodded at Gibbs but looked warily at the heavily armed man standing behind him.

  ‘Professor, when you have time could you tell me what makes it so urgent to my employers?’ Gibbs said.

  ‘How long have you got, young man?’ the professor said.

  ‘All night, as it happens, Professor. It is wise to only start our journey in the morning,’ Gibbs said.

  ‘Why? Are you expecting trouble?’

  ‘Just a precaution, sir,’ Gibbs said.

  ‘We have makeshift accommodation here in the building as the professor and his team have been living here while they do their research. You and your men can sleep here too. It will also mean added security,’ Aleksy said.

  ‘I was about to suggest that, Aleksy. Professor, maybe later we could get together, and you can give me the rundown on the project,’ Gibbs said

  ‘It would be my pleasure, Captain,’ Professor Friedmann replied.

  • • •

  Later that evening, Gibbs caught up with the professor who was sitting on a temporary military bed reading a folder of documents. He looked up at Gibbs and smiled. ‘Hello again, Captain, please take a seat. How are you enjoying Warsaw so far?’

  ‘Just fine under the circumstances, and please call me Gibbs,’ he said. ‘So, what are you folks doing here that is so significant?’

  ‘We’re talking about a set of documents that were hidden from view during the heydey of nuclear development and the gluttonous days of oil and gas proliferation. It contains a discussion on two new elements that will allow for the creation of what used to be called cold fusion. We’ve been testing the process here and have had minor successes but need access to bigger and better test facilities to validate our findings,’ the professor said.

  ‘And London has these facilities?’

  ‘We have been told by the Phoenix Council that they do,’ the professor said.

  ‘It all sounds a bit foreign to me, Professor, but then again, I am not a scientist. What is the benefit of this new process?’ Gibbs asked.

  ‘Free, abundant energy, Gibbs. Using elements that are still abundantly available on this planet. At this point, we still struggle to contain the reaction on a smaller scale, for example within a nuclear car or truck engines, but in the short term, we could design small power stations that could run and generate energy without generating the massive amount of heat and toxic by-products. Small power stations the size of a car could, for example, power a city street or an apartment block,’ the professor explained.

  ‘That sounds like a fantastic bit of science, Professor. Why has it not been done sooner?’ Gibbs said.

  ‘It was discovered in the 1980s, but the technology was bought out and hidden from view by the oil syndicate that used to be called OPEC. Imagine for a minute if we’d developed methods for controlling smaller reactions that could be used to power vehicles. The massive dependence on oil would have stopped a lot of people from getting very wealthy. My father was one of those men whose silence was bought, whose deaths were faked and who had to live life alone and with new identities on islands across the Pacific.’

  ‘You’re kidding, right?’ Gibbs said.

  ‘I wish I were.’

  ‘All those years we were fighting in the Saudi Wars and killing each other for the last few wells of oil, we could have had another peaceful alternative,’ Gibbs said. ‘Do you have proof of the cover-up? Not that it will do any good.’

  ‘Yes, I do. To cut a long story short, when my father passed away, a law firm holding the key to a security box at a local bank contacted me. I retrieved the box and got the shock of my life,’ the professor said.

  ‘I’ll bet it was a shock, finding out that your father was alive all this time,’ Gibbs said.

  ‘And that he’d been part of a team who’d invented cheap energy,’ the professor said. ‘I knew how important these documents were, but I was a little scared to publish them as the world began to fall apart around us. I couldn’t see how we could ever get the money and facilities to reproduce what was in the documents.’

  ‘You couldn’t reproduce it here, then?’

  ‘Not continuously, no, the closest working facility would be the University of Hamburg. Aleksy had already spoken to them, and their local warlord, but the Phoenix Council are adamant they want the technology developed and refined in London.’

  Chapter 43

  Hanover, Germany - 2028

  The truck lurched to the right to avoid an unknown obstacle on the road. The movement bounced Chilemba off the wooden, makeshift seat and woke him with a start, his body lying on the cold metal floor. He slowly lifted himself back into his seat and fought back nausea as he inhaled the fumes from the old rusty fuel drums. The benches were fixed down the sides of the back cab of the truck, with the five metal drums strapped to the floor, down the middle. Respite for those in the back only came when they had to stop to refuel one of the three trucks in the convoy when they could get out and stretch their legs.

  They’d just passed Hanover when René’s satphone rang. ‘Yes, we are nearing the rendezvous. No, there are no more incidents with the GGC. I have recruited men who fought for Christophe Magne in France, and we’re on our way towards your position,’ René said and switched the phone to his other ear. ‘Yes, we will. Goodbye.’

  ‘Will I meet th
is man called Vargen?’ asked Chilemba.

  ‘You never know, Chilemba.’

  A few miles later they turned off the old tarred road and onto a dry dirt track that led up a farmhouse which was set against a small hill. Chilemba closed his eyes as they bumped along the road, white dust billowing up from the back wheels and filtering in through tears in the canvas cover. Eventually, the squeal of the brakes heralded the end of the journey. They jumped down and stepped onto the large wooden veranda of the farmhouse, where they stood breathing in the fresh farm air. Their thirst was quenched by cold water that was in a barrel on a table next to the front door.

  ‘What are we waiting for?’’ Chilemba asked.

  ‘For other resistance fighters who are bringing more ammunition and explosives.’

  Half an hour later, seven men appeared from around the back of the house, carrying wooden crates and metal ammunition cases, which they loaded into the back of the trucks. Dressed alike, they all resembled local farmers in large baggy pants, Wellington boots, cotton shirts and coloured cloth caps on their heads. They nodded at René, then without a word, disappeared again.

  • • •

  Hours of boredom in the back of the truck was only punctuated by more pothole avoidance and the occasional farmer trying to beg a lift. It was the price to pay for using the back roads as they navigated their way around the occasional GGC truck convoy. Resistance pockets up and down the main road kept in constant contact with one another to let anyone travelling know where the GGC was. They’d just had the all clear from Hanover that the old E20 main road to Warsaw was clear, and that they should have an easy journey into the city.

  A mile outside of the small village of Dachowa they turned onto another small farm road and wound their way to another derelict farmhouse.

  The truck stopped, and René quickly got out from behind the wheel and walked around to the back.

  ‘Everyone out! We need to get the supplies inside the farmhouse as quickly as we can. Chilemba, I will leave you in charge of organising the supplies,’ René said.