This was all before rehearsals started. Again, if the objective was in a building, a life-sized model has been known to be constructed to practise and rehearse in, and if there wasn’t the time, then pallets and containers could be laid out to approximate the building’s floor plan. The team would then rehearse over and over, as many times as possible, the plan changed and honed whenever problems were identified, until every member of the team knew exactly what their task was, where and when they had to be at any given moment and what risks and threats might arise.
All this planning and rehearsing meant that when the mission was being executed, it was almost second nature to the team and that raises the prospect of a successful mission considerably.
Most of that planning has gone out of the window for this mission, as we haven’t got the resources or the time, so Dan and I concentrate on compiling a more basic plan, but still as detailed as possible. We need to know as soon as possible any equipment we need that isn’t here already so we can get it here in the tight time frame, and that’s going to include at least two helicopters. We also need to brief the team sooner rather than later so that they can process the plan and understand their tasks.
As Dan and I work, Josh and Alice look on but at a distance, not wanting to distract us or break our concentration. They are there if we need them and occasionally, we do ask them for help, to get us some information or equipment like the large map of central London that is now spread out on the table.
We are so engrossed in our task that we don’t see Sergeant Dixon approach us.
“Reporting as ordered, Sir,” he says, standing to attention.
“Thank you, Sergeant, at ease. Our mission’s objective is to retrieve a safe from a building in the Paddington area of London.”
“From Orion Securities, Sir?” he asks, taking me a bit by surprise, which he sees. “Excuse me Sir, but I Googled you when I heard we were being assigned to you.”
“Fair enough Sergeant. Anyway, the safe we are retrieving is secured to the floor of the building by thick welded brackets. Its size is about 750mm wide by 500mm high,” I tell him, holding my hands apart to show him the approximate size, “and it’s probably 400 deep. As a demolition’s expert, what do you suggest, to break it free from the floor?”
“That’s quite a big safe, Sir, it’s going to be very heavy. I would suggest leave the safe and take the contents. I assume it’s an electronic one, Sir.”
“Yes, it needs a thumbprint and code, it’s not going to be easy to open,” I tell him.
“Do you know the make and model, Sir?”
“No, I don’t,” I confess.
“It had a logo on that said ‘SecLock’,” Dan interjects.
“That’s the make and it’s manufactured in the UK,” the Sergeant tells us. “With the right equipment, I should be able to crack it but it could take time. The easiest way could be if somebody with some clout got in touch with SecLock and got them to tell us how to open it; the least they can tell us is the model, they will have a record of the sale to Orion, no doubt.”
“Very good Sergeant, Lieutenant Winters will be able to help with that.”
“I have the feed up,” Lieutenant Winters announces, interrupting Sergeant Dixon’s and my discussion about the safe.
“Get what you need to get that safe open,” I tell the Sergeant as I turn towards the Lieutenant.
“Yes, Sir,” he says as I move towards the end of the table showing the feed. Dixon follows me, and he, in turn, is followed by Dan, Josh and Alice.
In moments, the whole team is gathered around the table, the Lieutenant remains seated and I stand next to him, not taking the spare chair on the other side of him but wanting to be on my feet to see this.
The view on the monitor is very clear and it shows a view from high above a road with two lines of vehicles moving along. The images must be being transmitted from a drone flying overhead, because from the left of the screen we see Apaches moving slowly towards the lines of vehicles.
“Where is this?” I ask the Lieutenant.
“This is the North Circular Road, between Ealing and Acton,” he tells me.
The vehicles look like a mix of military transport trucks and normal civilian coaches to the right of the road, and on the left, moving in the same direction is a line of Assault vehicles. At least some of them are Challenger Tanks, although it is hard to be sure from the height we are looking down from. I suppose it makes sense that coaches are being used when you consider how many troops are being moved into position, all at once.
Then it starts to happen; the vehicle, which is a truck, stops at the back of the line and troops that look like ants from this distance start spreading out from the back of the truck. After a short pause, the truck starts moving again before stopping to let more troops disembark. As the line of vehicles stretches out, more of them come to a stop and more troops hit the ground, and I am sure this is being repeated all along the North Circular Road. Each time troops disembark, one of the Assault vehicles also stops until the troop carrier is out of the way. It then turns East into the nearest main road that leads deeper into the city and the troops move East too, following it. The Apaches then fly forward, taking up a position in front of the tank that’s leading the troops; they will be relaying reconnaissance intel to their unit on the ground and will be able to respond first if any targets present themselves.
Chapter 10
Only a very short time ago, Private Jason Robbins had made the mistake of thinking that he had landed a cushy number in Terminal 4 of Heathrow Airport. He had been posted, virtually straight off the train from Scotland, to a conference area in the terminal where he had mainly been tasked with escorting VIP’s and top brass around the terminal and making sure they arrived at their desired destination without getting lost in the large terminal. He had done a good job, he thought, he had very quickly memorised the layout of the terminal and hadn’t led any of the dignitaries astray. He had been polite, courteous, efficient and hadn’t spent that much time in the food hall, but that seems like a distant memory now.
All too quickly, the VIP’s that needed an escort had thinned out, until they virtually dried up completely and it was then inevitable that he, along with the other five members of his squad that were posted with him were reassigned back to his Brigade of the Royal Regiment of Scotland. They had all arrived back just in time to hear the briefing for the Operation, Operation Denial that they were to rapidly take part in.
Before Jason had time to properly register what was happening, he found himself climbing into the back of the transport truck he now found himself in, squeezed between and bumping shoulders with his mate Den on his left side and an unfamiliar squaddie on his right.
The Major who had briefed them earlier told them that they would be entering London from the West and then moving East into the city. Each squad was to exit the transport when ordered, go past the troops and barriers that were already stationed all along the North Circular Road and follow their armoured escort into the city. Their task was to eliminate all hostiles they had contact with and clear their area street by street and house by house if necessary and keep moving East. The briefing included a description of the area of London they were entering, a place called Acton, and squad leaders were given maps of London but there weren’t enough maps to go around the rest of the troops.
Jason finds his head is spinning as he sways around in the back of the claustrophobic truck, squashed in against the other members of his squad. There is no air, he thinks to himself, finding it hard to breathe; there are too many people in here for the oxygen and the heat is almost overpowering, sweat running down his back. At least three people have been sick on the floor that he has heard, and he is starting to feel nauseous. The smell of the vomit wafting from all around isn’t helping. Trying desperately to take his mind off the rising feeling that he is also going to be sick at any moment, determined to not suffer that embarrassment in front of his comrades, Jason tries to take his m
ind off it and think of something else.
Jason turns to look at Den, whose face is covered in sweat and is looking as green as Jason is feeling; his eyes look like they are almost glazed over too. Deciding that Den is at least as nauseous as him, Jason decides to try and take Den’s mind off his stomach at the same time.
“What time have you got, Den? Jason says loudly, above the noise of the truck, but Den doesn’t seem to register Jason’s voice. “Den, what time you got?” Jason this time almost shouts at him, whilst nudging him as best he can, already pushed up tight against him.
This time, some life returns to his mate’s face and eyes and Den pulls his arm up, which has been squashed down against the man next to him.
“I got ten thirty-five,” Den eventually says after struggling to focus on his watch.
“We should have been at our drop-off point by now. They said ten-thirty at the latest in the briefing?” I question Den, partly to try and keep him lucid.
“I dunno mate, but if we don’t get out of the back of this truck soon, I’m going to spew!” he tells me, without an ounce of humour in his voice.
“You’re not the only one mate, it can’t be much longer, try and hold it together,” I encourage him.
“I am, believe me!”
Jason suddenly has images flash through his mind of those war films that show men in the boats on their way to the beaches of Normandy being sick on the floor, or into their helmets. He never really considered what effect this would have on their ability to function properly, never mind go into battle and fight when they actually landed on the beaches. He understands now because all he wants is his bed and maybe a bowl to throw up in!
The truck comes to an abrupt halt and everybody jerks towards the truck's cabin, squashing them together even more. Light hits Jason’s face followed by fresh air as the curtain at the back of the track is whipped open, but this comes as only a tempered relief because it means they are about to exit and go into battle.
“Squad A7, move, move, move!” the Sergeant at the back of the truck shouts as the hinged rear barrier swings down and crashes against the back of the truck.
The light entering the confined space increases, as men start to jump down from the rear of the truck and Jason’s squeezed body starts to feel some relief until suddenly, he is looking at empty floor space with bright light beyond.
Jason’s jelly-like legs move him forward as quickly as they can. He pauses at the back of the truck’s ledge trying to compose himself, giving his legs a chance to prepare for the jump.
“Move it, Soldier,” rings in his ears as he jumps off into the air, concentrating hard in a desperate attempt to control his landing and not land on any of his squad that have not controlled their own landing and are splayed out on the road, their legs letting them down, still not recovered enough to make the simple jump they all have done many times before.
Jason staggers but manages to stay upright, sharp pains travelling up his legs as if he has broken the bones in his feet; his brain tells him that it’s because his feet were asleep, though. Beside him, Den lands, but his legs look like they aren’t going to hold. Jason grabs his arm, steadying him and pulling him forward at the same time, to get him out of the way of others that are jumping.
“Thanks, mate, I was going over then,” Den says.
Their squad looks a shambles right now, as the truck’s engine revs behind them, pulling it forward to its next drop off, a short distance up. Five or six of the team are still off their feet on the road, some trying to get up but others looking like they won’t achieve it, moaning and holding their ankles, while others are bent over retching.
“Form up, on me. Form up, on me,” Squad leader Corporal Ford shouts from the side of the road, adjacent to where a barrier is being moved from across a road that leads into the city, into the quarantine zone.
The men that can’t stand to move and form up are dragged from the path of the tracked Warrior assault vehicle that is turning to lead the way into the city, its cannon pointing the way.
Jason’s head is clearing as he breathes in the fresh air and his stomach is settling, a large gulp of water from his canteen helping. He checks on Den, who is looking a better colour and is alert, so he quickly checks his equipment ready for the off and Den follows his lead.
As the Warrior moves past the thirty members of A7 squad and past the barrier, crossing the threshold into the quarantine zone, Corporal Ford follows it in and his men fall in behind him, their senses heightened. Overhead, an Apache helicopter flies, tracking the Warrior on the ground, staying ahead of it. Its role is to scan the area below, find targets and attract the targets to it, getting them out into the open so that they can be engaged either by it or the ground troops, or both.
Jason finds himself on the left flank, his SA80 rifle gripped in both hands across his body as the Squad move down, spread across the road, following the Warrior. Almost immediately, he sees curtains twitching in the houses by the side of the road, as the poor residents who are trapped in the quarantine zone look to see what this new intrusion into their community is. Jason can’t imagine how these people must be feeling, trapped in their homes, unable to escape the pending doom on their doorstep—especially the people in the houses here, so close to the cordon, yet so far from safety. He knows they have been told by the authorities to stay in their homes and barricade themselves in as best they can, but it must take some courage to do that and not try and flee past the cordon. It must be even harder for the parents with their children trapped with them.
They have no choice but to stay put though; if they try to cross the cordon, they will be shot, the authorities have made that very clear and although it hasn’t been shown on any TV station, Jason has heard rumours that more than a few people have met that fate trying to cross. So, they have to stay indoors, there is nowhere else for them to go; to go outside would be too great a risk, as nobody knows where the Zombies are, and they could be just down their street or next door!
“What’s going on!” a voice shouts away to Jason’s left.
As Jason swivels around, he raises his rifle all in one swift motion, to see a frail-looking elderly gentleman in his dressing gown and slippers standing in his doorway. The man now has at least ten rifles pointed at him, but that doesn’t seem to faze him in the slightest.
“Please go back inside and lock your door, Sir, this is a military operation,” Den shouts back at him.
“Fuck that, Sonny Jim,” the man replies, “what the fuck is going on?”
“Sir, we are here to make the city safe, so please go back inside and let us get on with our jobs.” Den tries again.
“How long is that going to take, son?”
“I don’t know, Sir,” Den tells him.
“For fuck’s sake,” the elderly man says before turning around, going back inside and closing his door.
“You should become a politician,” Jason teases Den.
“Piss off!” is the only reply he gets back, as they move forward again.
Corporal Ford soon calls ‘Halt’, though, checking his map. He then tasks three men to break off from the group to recce Station Street, a smaller road, leading off this main road. He shows them exactly how much of Station Street is in their assigned area, how far they need to go before returning to the main Squad.
The three troops head off on their recce of Station Street and the main Squad move forward again. Only a short distance is travelled until another road junction is met and three more men are despatched down it. This is repeated as the squad moves along. The main Squad will not fall below six men, and when there are only six left, no others will be sent on recces until others return. When a road is reached with only six men remaining, the Squad will wait until others return. All Squad members have comms but everyone is under strict instructions to only use the comms when needed, since there isn’t enough bandwidth for anything more, with the amounts of troops that will be on the ground in London today.
Just as
Jason is starting to think the mission is going well, his stomach turns again but this time it’s because he hears the crack of gunfire in the distance. He immediately lowers to one knee as do the rest of the Squad, their heads darting from side to side, trying to determine where the sound is coming from. There were only a couple of shots fired, but is it coming from one of the streets that their Squad is in, do they need back-up? The Warrior in front of them stops when the Squad does, at least giving some protection from that direction; every member of the squad would like to be sitting inside that vehicle right now and craves the safety it offers.
“Where do you reckon that gunfire is coming from?” Jason asks Den, nervously.
“Not sure mate, but it sounds far off, wouldn’t you say?
“Could be, it’s hard to tell with all these buildings around, could be coming from a couple of streets over?” Jason answers.
Den swiftly and suddenly raises his rifle back up the road they have just travelled down and Jason follows his lead ready to fire, his heart racing.
“Hold your fire!” Corporal Ford shouts from behind them, “they’re ours.”
Jason’s finger moves away from his SA80’s trigger, as he too sees that it’s three of their Squad running down the road, returning from their recce. Bloody hell, he thinks to himself, I nearly opened fire on them, I got to pull myself together!
“All clear down Station Street Sir, but we heard gunfire, thought you may be in trouble,” the young squaddie named Pete announces quite calmly as the three get close.
“Okay, Private. Take covering positions, while I see if our eye in the sky knows where it’s coming from,” Corporal Ford orders and then presses his comms button to talk the Apache flying around some distance in front of them.
Capital Falling Trilogy Box Set [Books 1-3] Page 33