by David Gullen
Halifax stepped over the trunk and sat facing the other way.
‘There’s nothing here, Halifax.’
‘How do you know that?’
‘The birds are scratching around, nothing smells bad, there are no tracks. We’re alone. Gould is up ahead.’
Halifax scowled uneasily. ‘I’m from the urban jungle, Wilson. These places full of wolves and bear spook me out.’
Wilson offered some dried fruit and nuts to Halifax, who declined.
‘You eat a lot of brown rice?’ Wilson said.
‘No. Why’s that?’
‘A diet of exclusively brown rice will send you mad. It’s common knowledge. That’s why all the hippies went loopy back in the Cold War.’
‘That so?’
Wilson chewed on the dried fruit. ‘Nothing more dangerous than a pissed-off hippy.’
‘What about a pissed-off wolf?’
Wilson swung his legs over the trunk so he sat on the same side as Halifax. ‘Wolves are scared of folk. They’re smart, they know we’ve got guns.’
‘And bears?’
Wilson scratched his head and grinned. ‘How quickly can you run?’
‘It doesn’t matter, nobody can outrun a bear, man.’
Wilson looked Halifax in the eye, then winked. ‘I don’t have to.’
After a moment Halifax laughed. ‘Bastard.’
‘Look, you’re right, if you can’t get away from a bear you don’t have much chance. Running is a mistake. Stand tall, look as big as you can, show no fear. You put your back to a tree and hope he tries to maul you. That way the bear rakes the tree with his claws instead of your back. Meanwhile you get busy with your knife. All you got to do is keep away from his mouth.’
Halifax’s face had a waxy sheen.
‘You do have a knife?’ Wilson said.
‘No problemo.’ Halifax showed Wilson one of the biggest knives he’d ever seen.
After another hour walking they both felt the change in the woods, a growing silence that slid into a brittle emptiness. Ten minutes later they came across Andriewiscz’s forward supply dump and the scatter of dead soldiers.
‘Gould didn’t do this on his own,’ Wilson said.
Wordlessly Halifax took an assault rifle from one of the dead soldiers, a handgun from another. He began stuffing his bag with ammunition.
A large dugout was close by, roofed with corrugated plastic under a foot of earth. The entrance stepped down into the dark, a black void that gaped like an empty eye socket. Wilson shone a flashlight inside, gave a choked cry and turned aside. Halifax looked at him quizzically. Grim faced, Wilson shook his head and walked away.
The main dump was a short distance beyond the bodies, three wide zig-zag trenches with side walls reinforced with more corrugated plastic and the entire thing draped in thermally neutral netting. One trench was a fuel dump, the next stacked with low calibre ammunition, grenades, uniforms, clothing and field medicine kits. The third held heavy ordnance – tank and artillery shells, RPG and mortar rounds. Alone at the far end was a bulky silver-grey insulated case three metres long. Wilson unclipped the case tags and raised the lid. Inside were two slim missiles with four-finned tails. Beside them in the foam were the red-painted nose cones – the warheads. Black and red wires ran from each one to heavy-duty solid-state batteries. All of a sudden Wilson felt cold. He wanted to sit down, he needed to piss. To his own amazement he felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise up.
Halifax tramped up to Wilson. ‘What the hell are those? Anti-aircraft missiles?’
‘I wish.’ Wilson pointed to the radiation decals.
‘Holy shit, these are nukes?’ Halifax let out a low whistle. ‘I thought they’d be bigger.’
‘Nukes would be,’ Wilson whispered. ‘These are A/M. Anti-matter.’
‘No way,’ Halifax laughed nervously. ‘There’s no such thing. They’re more illegal than… Shit, they don’t even exist.’
‘So everyone keeps saying. Now we’ve found two.’ Wilson traced the air above the wires with his finger. ‘Half a gram of super-cooled liquid anti-hydrogen suspended in vacuum inside a miniaturised superconducting magnetic torus. This battery’s a long-term assist for the warhead’s on-board power supply. It’s good for years, maybe decades.’
‘We can’t just leave them. What if a racoon took one? We should turn them off.’
‘It’s the power that’s keeping them safe. Out here we daren’t touch them. It’s like having your own Shake ’n Bake Tunguska. We do something stupid they’ll hear it all the way to Cincinnati.’
Halifax tugged at Wilson’s sleeve. ‘Just leave them, for Christ’s sake.’
By now Wilson was about as freaked as Halifax. ‘We’ll hide them.’
‘Yeah, hide them. Bury them deep.’
Wilson secured the lid and they carried the case from the dugout. Then he went back to the small arms cache. Among the stacks Wilson found a dozen cases of ammo for his FaF gun. As he reloaded he thought about the differences in capability of his own and Masters’ weapon, the gun Gould had used to destroy the mall. No matter, now he had an assault rifle of his own.
A few minutes later they were ready to go. Halifax had rifles slung over each shoulder and two pistols in his waistband. Grenades swung from webbing across his chest and his backpack was stuffed full of spare clips. Although he was weighed down with weapons, the big man looked more relaxed.
‘You sure you got enough?’ Wilson said.
Halifax thought about it, then put the guns down, removed the webbing and his jacket and taped two semi-automatic pistols to his chest. ‘Can’t be too careful.’
They moved out, taking the case with them. After a mile they came to a gully where a fast-flowing stream cut down through a fissure in the rocks. At one point the water leapt ten feet out over a ledge into a cold black pool.
‘Down there,’ Wilson said.
They manoeuvred the big box down into the shadows behind the falling water.
As they climbed out the far side of the gully they heard faint shouts. A moment later came the report of a distant gunshot. Silently they unslung their rifles and crept forwards.
- 56 -
War – What is it good for?
Quite a few things, actually. Starting a war can stimulate the economy, divert attention from bankrupt policies (or bankruptcy itself), improve national self-esteem, and impress the neighbours. Plus you get to play with all your expensive toys.
Victory or defeat, nationally speaking, war has been a win-win game for the developed world since the beginning of the twentieth century.
Lose and the rest of the world will rush to reconstruct your infrastructure, rebuild your industry and re-educate the population. It’s probably cheaper, simpler, and quicker than balanced taxation, realistic fiscal policies and parliamentary democracy.
Personally you’ll be hung upside down by your ankles and garrotted with piano wire, but who thinks of post-loyal scenarios like that in the heady days of first strike? Defeat is your final precious gift to an ungrateful nation.
If you win, well cool dude, you’ve won! High-five the man with more scrambled egg on his shoulder than an epileptic breakfast chef.
Free Your Inner Tyrant
(Pragmatic Advice for the Bitter and Twisted.)
LeBlanc’s men moved in pairs across a mile-wide front. Still inside Andriewiscz’s comms black spot they used low-power laser pens to communicate, the red lights flickering brief pre-arranged codes. Beyond the army camp they traversed open deciduous woodlands. The ground began to rise and waist-high bracken spread between thickets of birch and holly.
‘Those army boys talked about dogs, LeBlanc,’ Gould said as they waded through the bracken. ‘Robo-canines. How are we going to deal with them?’
‘They are smart and fast, though some people say they are unreliable. I say they have mini-guns and they are here. We have infra-red decoys, magnetic grenades and these.’ LeBlanc tapped the side of his head. ‘Let us hope
we do not meet them, eh?’
Gould looked across to Ayesha, who pulled a worried face, then winked and grinned. She moved easily, without any sign of tiredness. Two of LeBlanc’s men were to the left, the Old-fashioned Boys trailed a few yards behind on the right.
‘Morgan, Black, stay on the pace,’ Gould ordered. ‘Ayesha’s got a hot ass, I want your eyes elsewhere.’
‘I need to walk this far, I get a cab,’ Morgan grumbled. Beside him Black was too breathless to speak.
Ayesha turned and jogged backwards. ‘Time to quit smoking, guys.’ Her eyes went wide, she groped for her handgun. ‘Behind you.’
Morgan and Black pulled their guns and broke left and right. A silver javelin hummed out of the trees and skimmed Morgan’s head. Morgan cried out, clutched his scalp, and dropped. The lance hit the ground quivering between Gould and Ayesha.
Gould stared at Morgan’s bloody hat, pinned by the javelin to the dirt.
‘Where?’ Black turned and turned. ‘Where?’
Gould drew his own weapon. ‘Cover the flank,’ he told Ayesha. Something flashed in the corner of his eye. One of LeBlanc’s men grunted and lurched forwards, an arrow through his backpack. All around, men went to ground.
Gould was in a half crouch. ‘LeBlanc,’ he yelled.
‘Hold them,’ LeBlanc said calmly. ‘Help will come.’ He unslung his rifle and fired twice, darted behind a tree and fired again.
Gould swept his gun in an arc, unable to locate the attackers. Black knelt over Morgan, his gun in a two-handed grip.
‘Black!’ Gould shouted as he saw a grey figure in the fir trees. Another javelin arced out of the firs as Black flung himself aside.
Gould fired at fleeting grey shapes. Movement flickered in a new direction, Gould spun round. A lupine para-human rose from the bracken and cast his spear straight at Gould’s chest. He watched it come, saw the flat arc of its trajectory, and knew it was going to hit him.
Ayesha snatched the spear out of the air, planted her foot and flung it back. But the wolf man was gone.
‘Christ! Where the hell did you learn that?’ Gould exclaimed.
Ayesha grinned and punched the air. A grey-furred shape bowled her over. Human and para-human struggled across the ground. The wolf man locked his elbow round her throat. Ayesha broke free. The wolf man kicked her stomach, Ayesha drove her fingers against his neck. The wolf man snarled and bit at her arm.
Gould moved left and right looking for a clear shot. There. His finger squeezed the trigger. His gun was struck away, a second wolf man was on him.
The para-human gripped Gould’s wrists and forced his arms apart. Gould was strong but the wolf man’s sinewy power was irresistible. The para-human twisted, kicked the back of Gould’s knee and threw him down. Gould rolled, snatched out his knife and slashed wildly. The wolf man barked laughter and kicked Gould in the head. Stunned, Gould staggered blindly backwards. Claws raked his stab vest, a blow numbed his arm, the knife spun from his fingers. Somewhere Gould heard shouts and gunfire.
The wolf man attacked again, a series of sharp, fast blows slammed into Gould’s midriff. Gould twisted and kicked, punched at the grey-furred muzzle. He blocked more attacks, grappled the creature and flung him off. Where was his knife? Gunmetal glinted in the crushed bracken. Gould hurled himself through the air, snatched up the weapon and fired point-blank into the leaping para-human’s body.
Gould pushed himself to his feet. The other wolf man crouched over Ayesha’s limp form, his back to Gould. Gould shot the creature and it collapsed across her. He staggered through the bracken and heaved the corpse away. Two great claw marks raked the left side of Ayesha’s face, one from just under her eye to her mouth, splitting her upper lip. The other opened her cheek from temple to jaw. Ayesha tried to speak and Gould saw her bloody teeth in the gaping wound. She tried to get up. Gould held her down.
‘Stay here,’ he said.
The wounds began to bleed. Ayesha’s mouth filled with blood, it poured across her cheek and down her neck. She swallowed and swallowed again, her eye wide, near to panic.
Gould gripped her shoulders. ‘You’re all right. Your cheek is cut. It’s not dangerous, but it’s bloody. Do you understand?’
Ayesha swallowed and nodded. She rolled onto her knees and spat a mouthful of blood.
Gould quickly looked around. Morgan sat slumped against a tree his arms loose at his sides, feebly moving his legs. A gun in each hand, Black crashed through underbrush firing wildly. Where were LeBlanc and his men?
Gunfire and bellows of fear came from behind a thicket of hemlock. Gould reloaded and ran around the trees.
One of LeBlanc’s men was transfixed to a tree, an arrow through his throat. Another limped towards LeBlanc with arrows through the shoulder and thigh. Eight feet tall, an ursine para-human burst from the trees. He snatched up the wounded man, tore off his arm and flung the parts aside. Rifle at his shoulder, LeBlanc fired and backed away. The bear man roared, shook his head, dropped to all-fours and charged. LeBlanc fired, retreated and fired, retreated and fired again. The bear man kept coming.
Gould emptied his own weapon into the bear-man’s flank. The creature toppled sideways, heaved half upright, and died.
LeBlanc looked at Gould, wall-eyed with shock. ‘Merde,’ he said, and reloaded his gun with shaking hands.
Moments later the forest was full of LeBlanc’s men.
Gould went back to Ayesha. She was unsteadily on her feet, the front of her jacket wet with blood, a sopping red rag pressed against her cheek.
One of LeBlanc’s men ran over with a triage kit. Quickly and efficiently he sealed the wounds with cyanoacrylate and applied a self-adhesive dressing. ‘You’ll be fine.’ He clapped his hand on her shoulder and moved away.
‘You hear that?’ Gould said.
She stared at him hopelessly, like a child.
She was no use to him like this. Gould wanted to kiss her, but not here. He gripped the sleeves of her jacket. ‘Get it together.’
That got him a wavering nod. It would have to do.
Gould and Black discussed the situation with LeBlanc.
‘I lose two men here, a third by the river,’ LeBlanc said. ‘These are not Dawkins Dogs. They discover where our head is,’ he chopped at the air with his hand, ‘they try to cut it off.’
Some of LeBlanc’s men had set up a perimeter. Others studied the para-humans and their weapons. One of the biggest tried to draw the ursine’s bow.
‘At least Crane didn’t give them guns,’ Gould said.
‘Perhaps they have not yet made any they can hold,’ LeBlanc said.
Black spat on the ground. ‘Morgan is blind, you can see his brains through the top of his head.’
Gould’s voice was flat and hard. ‘Say your goodbyes.’
‘That’s just dandy,’ Black muttered as he walked away. ‘I get to do them both.’
‘So, Mr Gould, now we must decide,’ LeBlanc said. ‘Do we stay or do we go? I have lost three and that is okay. Three more and men start to think “How do I get out of this alive?” At the moment the decision is still yours.’
LeBlanc’s assessment was reasonable but it made Gould angry. He had just saved LeBlanc’s life, Morgan was dying and Ayesha mutilated. LeBlanc was supposed to ensure things like these did not happen. Instead, he was blackmailing him with warnings of mutiny.
Gould glared at LeBlanc. ‘You earn your money.’
LeBlanc looked up at Gould, his round face placid, his grey eyes mild and steady. ‘Very well. We are less than three kilometres from Crane’s lodge. As we have discovered, his defences are very adequate. From here we move as two units of twelve to reduce the enemy effectiveness. We maintain close contact, each group to support the other if attacked. We strike Crane from the south east, exit North West and rendezvous with our transport.’
Gould forced himself to think. He could find no fault with LeBlanc’s revised plan. ‘Agreed.’
‘We go fast, and the devil take the h
indmost. LeBlanc briefly looked towards Ayesha, drinking awkwardly from a water bottle. ‘We cannot wait for stragglers.’
‘There’s nobody here I give a damn about, except you and me,’ Gould said.
LeBlanc dipped his head in acknowledgement and went to brief his men.
Black sat with Morgan, both of them smoked cigarettes.
Gould found Ayesha.
‘Thanks for saving me,’ she said.
Gould gave a lopsided grimace. ‘Now we’re quits.’
Ayesha touched the dressing on her face, ‘You’ll have to turn the lights out from now on.’
There was a single shot from Black’s gun. Morgan’s chin slumped onto his chest.
‘Looks aren’t everything,’ Gould heard himself say. ‘Let’s go earn that two hundred Ozzie owes us.’
- 57 -
‘Mr Crane.’ Raymond St.John stood in the doorway. He struggled to form his information into words. ‘Ellen. There are gunmen.’
Whisky tumblers in their hands, Crane, Novik, Marytha and Benny paused their light-hearted conversation.
Crane spoke in a tight voice. ‘Raymond, tell me exactly what has happened.’
St.John clasped his hands together. ‘A man tried to shoot Ellen. He was killed by a para-human, a wolf woman–’ St.John looked close to tears. ‘She died too.’
Novik pushed his glass into St.John’s hand.
St.John gratefully swallowed the drink in a gulp and took a deep breath. ‘Ellen is heading back to the lodge, but she saw two more gunmen.’
‘That bitch trog, Snarlow,’ Crane said with cold fury. ‘I thought she might try something, but not this. Not my daughter. By God she is going to be sorry.’
‘Palfinger,’ Novik said. ‘Listen to St.John.’
Crane turned his icy stare on Raymond St.John.
‘Mr Crane, I said we would go and meet her.’
For a moment Crane’s teeth showed like a dog’s. Then his eyes cleared, he pushed his hand through his hair. ‘Yes, of course. Well done, Raymond. As always, you do the right thing while I stamp my feet. Open the vault, bring jackets and guns. We leave in two minutes.’