Stone Army

by J. D. Weston

  “Thank you, Sergeant,” said Kane, returning the salute. “At ease.”

  “Stand at ease,” barked Jones.

  The squad reversed their move, returning to the more comfortable position with their hands behind their backs and feet shoulder-width apart.

  Kane eyed his men, admiring their chiselled features, strong bodies and the determined looks on their faces. He turned to the left, moved his hands behind his back, and paced to the front of the squad. Then he stopped in front of the first man, the tallest and broadest of them all.

  “Name,” said Kane.

  Without moving his eyes, the man stood to attention then replied in full volume, “Bravo-one, sir.”

  “Are you ready, Bravo-one?” said Kane, his voice low but clear.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Do you know what God has in store for you tonight?”

  “Victory and honour, sir.”

  Kane cocked his head at the reply, surprised and impressed.

  “Good. At ease,” said Kane.

  The soldier returned to the at-ease position.

  Kane continued his inspection, eying the men’s boots, belts and uniforms as he passed. He stopped at the last soldier in the front rank, a squat man who appeared as wide as he was tall.

  “Name?”

  The man stood to attention with precise movements, showing the result of years of training.

  “Alpha-two, sir.”

  “Alpha-two,” said Kane, “which way around did you enter this world? Feet first or sideways?”

  “Head first, sir,” replied Alpha-two.

  “Is that right?”

  “I wanted to see where I was going, sir,” replied Alpha-two.

  “That’s always a good idea,” said Kane. “Tell me, Alpha-two, who do you follow?”

  “I follow you, sir.”

  “Just me?”

  “And Sergeant Jones, sir.”

  “Who?”

  “Charlie-two, sir.”

  “And what about your squad?”

  “I don’t follow them. I stand beside them, sir.”

  “Good answer,” said Kane. “And God? Where does he stand?”

  “He carries me, sir,” said Alpha-two. He allowed himself a smile, but then corrected himself.

  Kane nodded. “At ease, Alpha-two.”

  The soldier returned to the at-ease position.

  Kane strode straight-legged to the front of the squad, letting his heels click on the concrete with each step. He stopped, eyed Jones, and then stood silent for a while; it was a method of finding weakness in the squad. Uncertainty caused the weakest of men to shuffle, a natural movement he’d picked up many years before his own dishonourable discharge.

  When he spoke, he projected his voice with authority. It was loud enough to be heard, clear enough to be understood, but quiet enough to ensure that each man strived to hear him.

  “I have never been so proud,” began Kane. “I have served in Afghanistan, Europe, and all over our Queen’s empire, and never before have I rested my eyes on such capable men with such strength and determination.”

  Each man remained still, their eyes facing forward, accepting the compliment in silence.

  “You all know what we have to do tomorrow morning. You all know the dangers. In eight hours from now, the prime minister of France will arrive here in Saint-Pierre. All hell will break loose. You will remain calm. You will not stand down. We will be victorious. Is that understood?”

  “Yes, sir,” said the squad in unison. Their voices echoed off the walls of the courtyard then faded as each man waited for Kane to resume his speech.

  “Some of you may not survive. I wish I could sugar-coat it. But it’s a fact. You’ll be up against some of the most patriotic, determined and ruthless individuals you ever came across. But that’s what they are: individuals. They’re not an army. They’re not like you. They don't have your training, your strength, and they don’t have this.”

  Kane produced a single vial of prototype SFS and held it up for all to see.

  “For six months, you’ve all been guarding this place, and for good reason. What I have in my hand will transform you. You think you’re strong now? You think you’re ruthless? Hard? Unstoppable?” Kane continued to hold the vial of red liquid high in the air, and met the eyes of each man as they stared at his hand. “No. You’re wrong. But once you’re charged with this, once this chemical finds its way into your blood, and the rush of battle hits you, nothing will stop you. I know the feeling a man gets when he puts his life on the line, as do all of you, when adrenaline takes over and you’re so fired up you charge into battle screaming the Lord’s name.”

  He paused to make sure he was holding their attention.

  “This little vial is just a prototype. We have a stronger, more potent version. But even this tiny vial contains enough SFS to fire that adrenaline into action. It’s just like flicking a switch. Each one of you will have the strength of ten men. Only then will you be unstoppable. Only then will you be the men you’ve been striving to be. When we win this battle, your names will go down in history. Not for the so-called crimes that we once committed, not for the infidelities that tarnished us and led us into the shadows, but for the honour you all deserve.”

  He paused once more to admire the looks on each of their faces: confidence, bravery, loyalty and trust.

  “Tonight, gentlemen, you are Kane’s Army. Who are you?”

  “Kane’s Army, sir,” they replied, louder than before.

  “Again?”

  “Kane’s Army, sir.”

  “And what do we want?”

  “Victory, sir.”

  “Good,” said Kane, allowing the noise to settle. He stood once more in front of Jones, coming to attention by bringing his right leg up and then stepping down beside his left.

  “Squad, attention,” called Jones, and the squad followed suit, their heels clicking on the concrete with unified perfection.

  “Tonight, gentlemen, we have strength on our side. We have cunning. And we have God carrying us on our path to victory.”

  He met Alpha-two’s eyes as the words left his mouth.

  “Tonight, gentlemen,” Kane continued, passing his gaze across his men, “we make history.”

  10

  When the Levee Breaks

  “Take off your pants. You are no use to anyone with your leg like that,” said Gabriella.

  “I’ll be fine,” said Harvey. “I’ve had worse.”

  “Harvey Stone, do not take me for some kind of feeble, little girl. Tonight we will face Kane’s Army and you are losing blood faster than your body can create it. Take your pants off and lie down on the ground.”

  Harvey didn’t reply.

  “That’s an order, Monsieur Stone.”

  “I don’t do so good with orders.”

  “So I gather,” said Gabriella. “I don’t do so good with partners who are bleeding to death. If you want to know how to find Kane, lie down and let me look at your leg.”

  Harvey dropped to the ground and peeled his cargo pants away from his thigh. The dried blood had stuck to his skin and the movement opened the wound further as he pulled the material free.

  “There’s water in the panniers,” said Harvey, gesturing at the two boxes either side of the bike’s rear wheel.

  Gabriella fetched the bottles of water then slapped Harvey’s hand away from his leg.

  “Lie back,” she said. “This will sting a little.”

  She ran her fingers around the five-inch wound on Harvey’s thigh, nodding when she saw that the mouth-shaped ends had begun to heal. Her practiced eye confirmed no sign of infection. So, using her slender fingers to hold the wound open, she washed the cut with the cool water. Beneath her hands, Harvey’s body tensed when the water splashed onto his pink flesh then eased as his body grew accustomed to the pain.

  “How you doing up there?” she asked, as she gave the wound another careful check.

  Harvey didn’t reply.
>
  “Give me your knife,” said Gabriella.

  Harvey’s head raised from the ground, a questioning look on his face.

  But Gabriella didn’t respond to his lack of trust. She held out her hand.

  “Knife.”

  With reluctance, Harvey pulled his knife from the sheave on his belt. He caught her eye, communicating some kind of warning, then spun the blade and offered her the weapon handle first.

  Quick as a flash, and before Harvey could complain, Gabriella grabbed a handful of his t-shirt and cut a long strip from the hem. She was halfway through the cut when she met Harvey’s eyes once more. This time, he offered the nearest she would get to an apology for not trusting her.

  “You need to raise your leg,” said Gabriella. “On three, you’re going to rest your leg on mine. Don't bend it. I don't want the bleeding to start. Are you ready?”

  Harvey blinked but didn’t respond.

  “One,” said Gabriella. Then she lifted his leg onto hers before he had the chance to tense his muscle.

  “Where did you learn to count?” asked Harvey.

  “At military school.”

  “You were in the military?”

  “I was a medic,” said Gabriella, remembering the times she had used the count to three trick on other patients.

  “Why did you leave?” asked Harvey.

  “Would you fight for your country, Harvey Stone?”

  “I’m different.”

  “How are you different? You’re British?”

  “Yes. But I…” Harvey paused before he said too much.

  “You’re what?”

  “I’m just different. That’s all you need to know.”

  “I don’t need you to tell me you’re different, Harvey. I knew it when I first saw you.”

  “When you were hiding in a ditch?” said Harvey. “Not very military, is it? Unless the French do things differently to the British?”

  With a tug of the make-shift bandage, Gabriella pulled the two ends tight, watching as Harvey’s face showed no signs of pain or discomfort.

  “You’re done,” said Gabriella. She jabbed at Harvey with the knife before spinning it in her hand and offering him the handle. “You didn’t even flinch. I could have killed you right here.”

  “If you were going to kill me, you would have done it long before you dressed my wound,” said Harvey, as he pulled his cargo pants up.

  Gabriella gave his body a farewell glance then met Harvey’s eyes as they caught her in the act. She handed him a bottle of water, a silent gesture, acknowledging that she meant no harm. Then she sat down beside him and looked out over the town of Saint-Pierre as the first evening lights turned on.

  “Is this why you brought me here? For the view?” said Harvey.

  “It might be,” said Gabriella. “Or I might be trying to seduce you.”

  The comment caught Harvey’s attention enough to raise an eyebrow.

  “Why don’t you seduce me with Kane’s plans?”

  “Are you playing hard to get?”

  “I’m playing impossible to get.”

  “The best guys always do,” said Gabriella. She tried to stand, but she dizzied and fell back to the ground, steadying herself with her hands on the grass. A fresh wave of nausea washed over her.

  “What’s wrong?” asked Harvey.

  “Nothing,” said Gabriella. “It will pass, I am sure.”

  “Is this the effects of the drug?” said Harvey. “You don’t look unstoppable right now.”

  “I said it will pass,” said Gabriella, a little sharply.

  Harvey didn’t reply.

  “Do you see the church tower?” said Gabriella, wiping her eyes and swallowing the acid at the back of her throat.

  “West of the marina?” Harvey replied, with one eye on Gabriella.

  “Yes,” said Gabriella. “Two-man sniper team. From there, they’ll see the entire armed procession coming into town. That’s the fall-back plan. Do you see the row of buildings on the east side of the marina where the police cars blocked our escape?”

  “Low-rise. What are they? Shops?”

  “Restaurants,” said Gabriella. “The procession will drive straight past them. One two-man team will take out the rear guard vehicles.”

  “What will that do?” said Harvey. ”Why not take out the front vehicles?”

  “He wants them to run. There’s a protocol when you’re guarding the prime minister. The security detail will be small. They will try to get the family out of the town. But if there is only one way out and it is blocked by Kane’s Army, they will have no choice but to continue to the marina.”

  “Two men plus two in the church tower? He’ll need more than that. How many men does he have?”

  “Less than he did before, thanks to you,” said Gabriella. “The final two-man team will ambush them from the fish market. They’ll close in as he approaches with the first team bringing up the rear. The prime minister will have nowhere to go.”

  “Who’s ordering the hit?” asked Harvey.

  “No-one knows but Kane and the man with the cheque book,” said Gabriella. “My guess would be the resistance.”

  “The resistance?” Harvey felt a smile creep across his tired face.

  “The resistance is still strong, Monsieur Stone. They are angry. Too long have they waited in the shadows.”

  “And what do you get out of this?” said Harvey. “If you don't want to fight for your country, why are you doing this?”

  “That’s easy,” said Gabriella. “I get Kane off my back, for one. But perhaps more importantly, I get to do something significant. It’s not every day you get to save your country, Harvey.”

  “And if we fail?” asked Harvey.

  “If we fail and the prime minister is killed, the country will fall. The revolution will destroy us.”

  “So there’s a patriot inside you somewhere?”

  Gabriella considered her response. She lay back and let the cold sweat run its course then rolled onto her side to face him.

  “I am not a patriot, Harvey Stone. I am just a girl who longs for peace and a simple life. That is all.”

  “I don’t know how much longer I can hold on,” said Gabriella.

  Harvey slowed and pulled the bike into a side street one block away from the fish market. He killed the engine then let his mind adjust to the silence before stepping off, searching high on the rooftops for black uniforms against the night sky. But he could only see the dark clouds of a winter storm.

  The sound of a body slumping to the ground behind him caused Harvey to spin.

  Gabriella lay with her face on the concrete, unable to move. She gave a little moan as Harvey reached beneath each of her limp arms and pulled her out of sight against a whitewashed wall.

  He sat her up, loosened the top that he’d given her earlier that day, and felt for a pulse.

  It was racing.

  He placed his hand against her forehead and felt the burn of fever, damp to the touch but moist with a layer of cool sweat.

  “Gabriella,” whispered Harvey, checking left and right. “We need to move.”

  But Gabriella didn’t respond.

  Her head rolled to one side, and a line of thick saliva crept from her open mouth, forming a string that reached the ground. Seeing an alleyway between two boat yards, Harvey scooped her up in his arms, found a dark corner between two bins and lay her down out of sight.

  “Gabriella, wake up,” said Harvey, and gave her face a gentle slap.

  She moaned and opened her eyes. The dim light caught the moist tears that formed and rolled across her face.

  “What’s wrong with you?” whispered Harvey, aware that Kane’s men would be close by.

  “I need something,” said Gabriella.

  She reached out a shaky hand to cling to Harvey’s jacket.

  “You don’t need anything, Gabriella. Get yourself up. We’ve got work to do.”

  “I can’t,” replied Gabriella, letting her ha
nd slip from Harvey’s jacket and fall to the ground. “Go on without me. I just need to rest.”

  “This is what the drug does?” asked Harvey.

  “I’m sorry,” replied Gabriella, her body tensing as if every muscle in her body called for the drug. “Go on without me. I’ll be here.”

  “What can I do?”

  But Gabriella didn’t respond. Her eyes closed and her head fell against the wall. Her shallow breaths and racing pulse were the only indication of life.

  “Gabriella, what can I do?”

  Again, she offered no response.

  Harvey checked the street to the left and right. A few Christmas lights adorned the windows of whitewashed houses. The bare roads waited with open arms for the prime minister’s arrival. Only the trees that rocked in the growing wind gave sign that the scene wasn’t a picture postcard.

  Leaving Gabriella in the shadows, Harvey made his way along the road, keeping to the pockets of darkness. The first drops of the approaching storm dotted his leather jacket, leaving black holes in the dust.

  The aroma from the fish market hit Harvey before he saw the building. Two cats stopped in their tracks then fled when Harvey dropped from the chain link fence. He remained crouched, watching for movement or light, but found none. A single black SUV was parked beside the main building, which Harvey gauged to be the size of half a football pitch.

  Approaching from the shadows, Harvey stepped up to the car. It was empty. But the front was still warm. Droplets of rain fell onto its glossy paintwork, landing with the sound of tiny tapping fingers.

  Then, loud and alien in the night, a metal bar slid across the two sliding doors beside the car. The right hand door to the main building screeched into life. Harvey threw himself against the wall as a curtain of light spilled across the ground, illuminating puddles of rain that had already begun to form on the rough concrete.

  A man stepped out and exhaled, taking a breath of fresh air. The smell of old fish met Harvey’s nostrils stronger than before. Dressed in the familiar black uniform and black boots, the man turned his face up to the rain to refresh himself. On a strap around his neck, an MP-5 hung behind his back, and a handgun was fixed to his chest.

  He pulled a cigarette from a pack then stuffed them into his breast pocket before flicking open a zippo lighter. The flame cast a dancing orange light on the man’s rough skin then vanished as he slapped the lighter shut and pocketed it.