Capital Falling (Book 3): Resurgence

by Winkless, Lance

  The barrier is so close, two or three meters away, but I’m stranded; there is no way to get through it. My head turns both ways, looking for a way in or for something I can climb up. There is nothing.

  Bullets hit behind me, forcing me forward, closer to the barrier. Rabids screech at my back as they are shot full of bullets, I’m sandwiched between the barrier and the enemy. Desperately, I look up to the men above for them to help me, nobody looks down. All I see is rifle muzzles pointing and shooting.

  A light catches my eye, above and over to my left; is it signalling me? I move without thinking about it, towards the light, climbing over a pile of bodies and down the other side, anything to get to it. I step on a leg, and it rolls as my foot pushes against it and I fall forward, landing on another cold blood-soaked body. Scrambling to my feet again, I jump over the body only to land on another. I keep my footing, just—and look up. Two faces look down at me. ‘Friendly’, I mouth at them, if they can even see my mouth under the dust, blood and dirt it is caked in.

  Arms reach down to me and I reach up and grab hold of them quickly before they change their minds. The arms pull me slowly up, my boots scraping against the barrier, trying to help with their efforts. The loud gunfire attacks both of my ears as I am hauled up and over the barrier.

  The two pairs of strong arms keep hold of me as I come down the other side of the barrier and am taken down to the ground. My head is spinning as my feet reach the ground. I don’t even feel my hands being secured behind my back with zip ties until I’m released from the men’s strong grip and my legs give way.

  I go straight down before the two men can get hold of me again. Luckily, my arse takes most of the impact and I roll backwards onto my back.

  “Get him up and take him to the rear,” I hear somebody order in amongst the noise of battle.

  Strong hands grab me again, pulling me up to my feet. I just about manage to use my legs to walk, with the support of the two men as they guide me away from the barrier.

  I’m plonked down on a sandbag and eased backwards so that my back is supported. The sound of the battle is lower, and I look around, trying to get my bearings. I seem to be in the middle of a big square. The battle is on my left and in front of me is another barrier with another on my right. Both have troops stationed all the way along them. In the middle of the square is a crane platform, the arm of which rises high above me into the sky.

  Personnel are buzzing all around. The two men who brought me here don’t move from my side.

  “Water,” I manage to say through my dust-clogged, dried-up mouth, looking up to them.

  One of them moves away and comes back with a bottle of water. He unscrews the top and puts it to my lips. I fill my mouth, swirl the water around and then spit it out onto the ground in front of me. The bottle comes back and I drink the water down.

  “Thanks,” I say when I’m finished. “Is this necessary?” I ask, motioning to my zip-tied hands.

  “Yes, Captain Walker will be over to see you as soon as he can,” one of the soldiers informs me. There is no point arguing with him; he has his orders.

  Time passes with no sign of the battle quietening down and no sign of their Captain. My arms are going to sleep behind my back, and I need to get moving, so in the end, I have to say something.

  “Listen, lads, I’m Captain Richards, carrying out a mission for Colonel Reed behind enemy lines and I need to get back to Heathrow. So, either get your Captain or release me, that is an order.”

  The two young men look at me raising their eyebrows and in the state I am in, I can’t blame them.

  “Sorry, Sir, we have our orders,” the slightly older-looking one says. “Anyway, Heathrow is compromised, last I heard it was being evacuated.”

  Blood rushes to my face and my stomach churns at the squaddies’ news. Images of Josh, Emily and the others flash through my mind.

  “What, Heathrow is compromised, how?” I say desperately.

  “I don’t know, that’s just what I heard.”

  My body swings forward, giving the momentum I need to get to my feet. I’m up before the two men can react.

  “Take me to Captain Walker, immediately, Lance Corporal,” I order.

  The Lance Corporal looks unsure of himself, but he stands his ground and refuses. I go to walk back toward the battle but both men take hold of my arms to stop me. I don’t struggle, I act if I am surrendering to their will and move back voluntarily to my original position. The two men release my arms but move in front of me in case I try it again.

  In one swift motion, I raise my arms as high as I can behind my back and then pull them back down as hard and as fast as I can, leaning forward at the same time. My wrists hit my lower back area and the zip ties’ plastic locking lever snaps, releasing my hands. My Glock is in my hand before the two men have a chance to raise their weapons. I take a step back with the gun raised.

  “Sorry lads, but I need to see your Captain,” I say looking at the two confused men, who are wondering what just happened.

  “What’s going on here, lower that weapon,” a man dressed in a Captain’s uniform orders from my left.

  The two squaddies immediately stand to attention, with embarrassed looks on their faces. I lower the Glock and wait for the man who I assume is Captain Walker to arrive.

  “Captain Walker?” I ask.

  “Yes, who are you and what on earth were you doing out there?” The tall confident Captain asks.

  “I’m Captain Andy Richards, with Special Forces. I am on a mission under Colonel Reed’s direct orders.”

  “I thought you were retired Captain?”

  “So did I, Captain. What can you tell me about what has happened at Heathrow?”

  “You two are dismissed, return to the front line,” Captain Walker tells the two squaddies, who immediately salute and march off.

  “Heathrow has been breached, Captain Richards, and is being evacuated as we speak. Command is now off-site. That is all I know at present; I have my hands full here.”

  “I have to get there now; do you have transport?” I ask him.

  “Heathrow is compromised; there is no point going there. Perhaps...”

  “I left my children there, Captain.” I cut him off.

  “Oh, I see.” Captain Walker thinks for a moment, before saying, “Follow me.”

  Captain Walker turns and strides back in the direction he appeared from. He stops at a transit van with aerials protruding from its roof and opens the back doors.

  “At ease,” he tells the man and woman inside the van. “This is Captain Richards, see if you can help him arrange transport out of here, understood?”

  “Yes, Sir,” they both say, looking at me as if I am a tramp.

  “I will have to leave you in their hands, Captain, I have to get back to my men.”

  “Thank you, Captain.”

  “Good luck, Richards.”

  “You too.”

  Captain Walker walks off. I didn’t even ask him how his operation is going, but I have other things on my mind. The man and woman in the cramped space in the back of the van look at me for orders.

  “Can you arrange a helicopter to get me to Heathrow?” I ask them.

  “Sir, comms are very sketchy at the moment, and we haven’t been able to get hold of flight command for the last twenty minutes,” the female Corporal informs me.

  “Shit. Can you contact the air support currently up in the air directly?” I ask.

  “We have their channels, yes Sir.”

  “See if you can raise Flight Lieutenant Alders,” I tell her.

  “Yes, Sir, it could take some time to go through the channels, that is if he is even flying at the moment, Sir.”

  “I understand that, Corporal. Give it your best shot; it’s urgent. I’ll be back in a minute; I’m just going to get some water.”

  I bring back three two-litre bottles of water and stand at the back of the van while the Corporal and her colleague chatter away. I wash my han
ds off with half of the first bottle, then use the rest of it, pouring it over my head while I lean forward, running my other hand through my hair at the same time. Pieces of debris and God knows what else run out of my hair and onto the ground. I do the same with the second bottle as more debris falls out of my hair. I scrub my face also as best I can, using up the rest of the bottle.

  Finally, I shake the excess water from my head like a wet dog, before wringing my hair out with my hands. My hair and face feel much better when I’m finished. There is nothing I can do about the dust scratching my body beneath my clothes, as tempting as it is to strip off and use more bottles.

  The third bottle, I take a big drink out of and use it to swill down another two energy bars. I am not hungry in the slightest; I need energy though and force them down while I wait.

  “Sir, I have Flight Lieutenant Alders” the Corporal informs me.

  “Pass me the headset,” I say moving forward to the back of the van.

  “Alders is that you, over?” I say into the headset.

  “This is Flight Lieutenant Alders, who is this, over?”

  “It’s Captain Richard, back from the dead, over.”

  “That’s not possible,” Alders claims, sounding very doubtful.

  “I can assure you it’s me, Alders. I survived and managed to get out of the Orion building. I need your help, over.”

  “How did you survive? You were infected,” he asks.

  “I’m not sure, but I have and now I need a lift back to Heathrow. Can you help, over?” The headset goes quiet for a moment.

  “Heathrow is compromised and off-limits Captain. We are operating out of RAF Northolt. I’m just about to head back to refuel, over.”

  “Alders, my children are at Heathrow. I need you to drop me off there. You don’t even have to land. I’m at the Notting Hill Gate forward position; can you pick me up, over?”

  “Yes, Sir. ETA five minutes. Standby at the landing zone, over.”

  “I’ll be ready, Flight Lieutenant, and thank you, over and out.”

  I whip off the headset and give it back to the Corporal. She reaches for a pack of anti-bacterial wipes as I do.

  “Where is the LZ?” I ask her.

  “Over there,” she says, pointing, with a worried look on her face.

  “Thanks for the assistance, Corporal. Do you want the doors closed?” I ask.

  “Yes please, Sir.”

  I slam the van’s back doors closed, and turn and jog in the direction I was pointed in. Just beyond where the two squaddies had sat me down is a cleared area with a big white cross painted on the ground. I take a position next to it, put the bottle of water down and start to check my kit, my adrenaline starting to build again.

  Chapter 20

  Kit checked and ready to go, I stand scanning the sky, impatiently waiting for Alder’s Lynx to appear. Two Apaches fly over, both heading in different directions, getting my hopes up while I’m waiting. I have no idea where Alders is flying in from so my head turns this way and that at even the merest hint of a helicopter’s distinctive sound.

  Military personnel pass me by, looking, wondering what the dishevelled-looking man, armed to the teeth is up to, one or two even asking if I’m lost. Smoke wisps by me in the breeze, caught in the glare of the tall free-standing temporary LED lights dotted around. The sun is straining to break through the clouds above, but the smoke and dust help keep even the most determined sunbeam at bay. The sky has taken on a deep red colour in places, especially lower down near the horizon, as if Rabid blood has managed to stain the sky as well as the ground.

  Come on, Alders, where the fuck are you? I think, my impatience growing. How is it possible that Heathrow has been breached? It is a long way from the infected zone and had thousands of troops guarding it. No matter how many times I ask myself the question, I still don’t know the answer. It is academic now really, how it happened; the fact is, it has. The more important question is, are my children still there, Christine? I can only hope that they have been evacuated, but that is a big hope. I have seen it all too often in most of the conflicts I have witnessed. Civilians are of little importance to the people who dish out the orders, especially when those same people are threatened. It isn’t women and children first; it’s women and children last, if at all.

  A lynx swoops over my head, from the direction of the battlefront. This has to be Alders, it’s got to be, I think to myself on tenterhooks. Yes, Alders, you beauty! The Lynx pulls its nose up as it flies past the LZ, bringing its tail up and over to turn. Alders brings the Lynx in quickly, lowering it as he approaches, needing no direction from me. As soon as Alders touches down, I run across the LZ, head down to the co-pilot’s door.

  “Taxi for Richards!” Alders shouts as I climb into the cockpit.

  “That’s me, Flight Lieutenant, that’s me,” I shout back, as I sit down and strap myself in.

  No sooner have I shut the door and started to buckle up, than Alders starts his take-off. His ascent is rapid and smooth, I obviously don’t need to convey my urgency to him. Before I have even grabbed a headset, he is banking the Lynx around in the direction of Heathrow. He is busy talking into his headset, to what I assume is air traffic control, establishing his flight path. Visibility is too bad to only fly by sight across the city, especially with the number of military aircraft in the airspace over London.

  Before we leave the area, I manage to get a brief look down at the destroyed city around the forward position we have just taken off from. Notting Hill Gate is a smouldering pile of rubble ahead of the battlefront. Cars continue to burn in the road and tracer fire streaks up the blackened road as the fight continues. Dark destroyed buildings reach up each side of the road and beyond, some still burn while others just belch out smoke. Battle scars mount as I look out and across the city where other battles have taken place or still rage on, the destruction looks endless.

  A couple of taps on my shoulder bring my focus back and away from the horror as it shrinks through my window. Alders motions for me to put my headset on which is still in my hands and not on my head.

  “Jesus Christ, you really are back from the dead, Captain. No pun intended. What happened? Everybody was convinced you were infected, they said you were scratched? Josh was gutted!”

  “How bad was Josh?” I ask.

  “He wasn’t brilliant, he was gutted of course. He seemed to be handling it as well as could be expected when I left him if that’s any consolation. What happened?” Alders asks again.

  “I don’t know what to tell you, I thought I was infected too? I woke up a few times, feeling like I was turning into one of them; it was terrible. Then gradually, I started to feel better. I don’t know if it was the injections I’d had, if I wasn’t infected properly or if I’m immune somehow. I can’t explain it?”

  “Or you’re just one lucky bastard?” Alders says, smiling.

  I daren’t tell him that something about me has changed, that the Rabids think I’m one of them. He might get the jitters and take me back to where he found me and decide not to take me to Heathrow. I don’t know him well and I can’t risk it, not now.

  “What the hell has happened at Heathrow? That place was a fortress?” I ask him, desperate for some solid information before I dive into the fight again. I seriously doubt he will know anything about my children and the others, however.

  “I’m hearing that an ingoing transport got overwhelmed with Rabids, causing it to crash land. Unfortunately, the crash didn’t kill them, and it escalated from there. You know how hard these bastards are to kill. I haven’t been back since I was diverted to RAF Northolt. I have seen it from a distance, on my flightpath to Northolt; I could see the flames from miles away!” he tells me.

  “Shit,” I say quietly. “Do you know if everyone has been evacuated?”

  “I wish I had better news, but not many have, I’m sorry. Evacuating that many people with Rabids on the ground is proving problematic. I have heard through the grapevine that they
are going to take decisive action at Heathrow to stop the infection spreading out of that area.”

  “What action?” I ask.

  Alders looks sheepish, debating whether to tell me any more of what he knows.

  “Alders, my children are there!” I press him.

  “Okay, this is just a rumour, but last time I was on the ground at Northolt; something big was being prepared. I heard off an old colleague that he thinks it could be a tactical nuclear strike.”

  I’m speechless, but not totally surprised. A tactical nuclear strike is designed to be used on the battlefield, to surgically aid friendly troops. The warhead is smaller than a strategic warhead, used to destroy a large area such as a city. The warhead is still nuclear though, one has never actually been used tactically on a battlefield, never mind in a city and now they want to use one in London!

  “Any idea on a time frame?” I ask, pulling myself together.

  “I only know if they are going to do it, it will be soon. I won’t be hanging about, let’s put it like that.”

  “I appreciate the lift mate, believe me,” I tell him, my mind racing.

  “The least I could do. They will divert all air traffic before they do anything,” Alders tells me.

  “Shit!” I say urgently. “Where is the USB charging port?” I ask, quickly moving to get the two phones out of my front pocket. I should have tried the phones as soon as I boarded.

  “There’s one,” Alders points out.

  I plug the one end of Sir Malcolm’s charger in the port and quickly plug the other end into my phone. I wait, staring at the screen, willing it to show a sign that the phone is charging. Nothing happens, just as I suspected; my phone is fucked. I pull the lead out and stick it into Sir Malcolm’s phone. After a couple of seconds, the screen lights up to tell me the phone is charging. Patiently, I wait for a minute to let the battery draw some juice, then I press the power key. While the phone is starting, I pray that Sir Malcolm hasn’t changed his passcode. The phone starts, and I tap in six digits of his birthday backwards and the menu comes up. If only that number had logged into his computer at Orion, I wouldn’t be in this mess.