‘The one going to Southampton Docks?’
‘Yep. Except it ain’t,’ he said with a smirk.
Gunnymede arrived at the corner of a building breathing hard and crouched to inspect a wide open space the size of a football field. Several warehouses and pieces of heavy machinery were dotted around. Lights outside warehouse fronts and above signs provided patches of illumination.
He took a sweeping look through his imager and found several figures beyond the far side of the clearing on the top of an elevated road. It was the pipe jetty that ran from the centre of the terminal to the landing stage six hundred metres further on. Gunnymede could make out rifles in the hands of the figures. It certainly required investigating.
He cut directly across the open ground setting off at a brisk walk. He was halfway across when the throaty sound of an engine starting up inside one of the warehouses paused him. A light came on as a vehicle drove out. Gunnymede dropped to a knee, looking for somewhere to head for. There was nowhere nearby and he decided to remain still in the open rather than risk being seen while moving.
It was a forklift truck with a single headlight, two men on it and headed in the same direction as Gunnymede. As it drew parallel, Gunnymede could see one of the men was holding a rifle. The passenger caught sight of him and nudged the driver to make a turn. The forklift swung sharply round and Gunnymede was bathed in its headlight.
Shit!
He started to run. The vehicle followed. Gunnymede changed direction but the driver adjusted. It was getting closer. Gunnymede ran backwards, aimed above the headlight and fired a short burst of bullets that were silent above the sound of the vehicle. The forklift continued to come at him. Gunnymede changed direction but this time the forklift didn’t adjust. As it drove by the men were slumped over the controls.
He expected it to slow to a halt but it continued on at full speed. A swift projection of the vehicle’s route was a sudden cause for concern. It looked like it was heading towards a telegraph pole. Gunnymede concentrated on willing it to miss but it struck the pole with a wallop, snapping it at the base with a heavy crunch that would’ve been heard by those on the pipe jetty. The pole toppled but then stalled, the high tension wires holding it off the ground. But the collision didn’t halt the vehicle. It merely altered its direction.
Gunnymede groaned as he projected its new path. The bloody thing was heading towards a large propane gas container behind a flimsy wire fence. He considered running to it in the hope of stopping it but it quickly became obvious he’d never make it in time.
The forklift ripped through the fence and one of its prongs pierced the tank. Liquid gas burst out as the forklift ground to a halt. And then the really really bad news came. Several of the high tension cables holding up the pole snapped and sparks cascaded as the electrical cables fell across the tank.
You have to be kidding me!
Gunnymede hit the ground flat. The explosion was deafening as the tank blew apart and an intense white flame shot into the night sky, bright enough to be seen from the space station.
Gunnymede hugged the ground as the fiery blast ripped over him followed by pieces of debris dropping all around. When the intensity subsided he looked up to see the forklift consumed by a roaring fire.
He got to his feet and ran hard to get off the open space, ducking amongst a collection of machinery. The explosion would no doubt alert the terminal security who would more than likely contact the emergency services.
So much for sneaking.
Krilov was watching the ship close on the landing stage when the explosion occurred, Jedson and Bethan nearby. They all turned to face the distant boom and see the incandescent plume reach into the night sky.
Krilov shouted for his lieutenant to call the checkpoints and find out what it was.
‘What the bloody hell was that?’ Jedson said as he turned up his police radio. Comments were exchanged between various police teams reporting the distant fireball but no one seemed to know what it was.
Krilov’s lieutenant jogged over with a phone to his ear. The team on the ramp didn’t know what had caused the explosion and he couldn’t get a reply from the men at the gate.
Krilov ordered the ramp team to check it out and barked a command to the others to stay alert. He turned his attention back to the ship but a feeling of concern nibbled at him. Something wasn’t right. The tediously slow process for the vessel to come alongside was suddenly irritating him.
Gunnymede stepped out of his hiding place to take a look towards the pipe jetty. He could see figures moving about but not very clearly. He needed a bigger picture.
He reached behind his neck and pulled a toggle. The cover of the pod dropped away to reveal a drone the size of a dinner plate. Its four small propellers burst into life, automatically unlocking it and it zoomed skyward, ascending to a hundred feet above him where it remained. His flip down screen switched to drone view.
A ball on the end of a cable attached to the drone pack hung over his shoulder. On it was a toggle that altered the drone’s direction. A push brought it into static hover wherever it was and a double push brought it back to its default position above Gunnymede. After some fumbling and direction challenges he managed to send it towards the pipe jetty.
As it arrived, his drop down showed the drone’s point of view – a handful of men heading down the ramp to ground level. Two of them left the group and jogged in Gunnymede’s direction. He stepped back into cover as they passed him by, heading towards the burning propane tank. He turned his attention back to the ramp and pipe jetty. Since it led to the estuary and the men appeared to be guarding the route, it was probably where he needed to be. Question was, how could he avoid the men.
He checked the map on his phone that showed the landing stage and the pipe jetty road leading to it. His location was marked. The pipe jetty was the only way to the landing stage since it was suspended above ground and the water.
The pipe jetty it was going to have to be and, therefore, through the men.
Gunnymede took aim on the cluster of figures arriving at the bottom of the ramp, exhaled, paused his breathing, and fired a series of silent shots. One of the figures dropped and the others scurried for cover firing randomly in all directions. After some indecision, they all ran beneath the pipe jetty to the other side. Which actually wasn’t too helpful because they were still in the area and he needed to get by them.
He sent the drone to the other side of the pipe jetty and saw where the men had gone to ground in a group. They needed flushing. He raised the end of the G36, assessed the angle and fired the grenade launcher. The weapon popped loudly as it recoiled sharply. The high explosives shell landed this side of the pipe jetty exploding on the road.
Crap.
Gunnymede shoved another shell into the breech and angled the weapon again, adjusting for the drop of the last shot. He fired while looking through the drone’s imager. The shell landed several metres behind the men splattering them in shrapnel. When the flash dissipated it didn’t look as if the grenade had inflicted much damage because they all seemed to be moving and firing their rifles, again in every direction.
Krilov stood on his bollard facing the sound of gunfire and explosions. It was clear that whatever was happening was a direct threat to his operation.
Krilov’s lieutenant was on the phone nearby. ‘They’re under fire,’ he called out.
‘I know that, idiot,’ Krilov shouted. ‘Give me the situation? Who is attacking? Numbers? Vehicles? Jedson!’
‘It’s none of our people,’ Jedson shouted from where he could see the flash of gunfire.
‘How is that possible?’ Krilov shouted back.
‘I don’t know but it’s not the police or military.’
‘They don’t know who it is or how many,’ the lieutenant called out. ‘They say they’re surrounded.’
‘Tell them they must hold that road!’ Krilov faced the ship that was closing in on the landing. ‘Throw the lines!’ he yelled at th
e crew lining the deck.
Gunnymede edged closer to the ramp. He could see men running but not away from the pipe jetty as he’d hoped. The ones that had gone the other side were coming back and heading up the ramp. He fired a burst into them. One of them went down and the others found cover behind a stack of oil drums and pallets. They would have to be dealt with before he could pass.
He moved the drone above the men and studied the bird’s eye view, comparing it to his own. From the air he could clearly see each man but not from the ground. He came up on aim for the first of them and fired a series of bursts into an oil drum. The drone image showed the man fall and lie still. He moved to the next behind some pallets. A couple of short bursts dropped him. He shot the last two with the same ease and searched the drone’s image for any signs of life. There weren’t any and he moved the drone to the top of the jetty to see the remaining figures running along it towards the landing stage. As far as he could see there was no-one left alive at the ramp.
He was about to set off when he heard the crunch of footsteps behind him. He ducked behind cover as the two men who’d passed by earlier were heading back, clearly unaware of what had happened to their colleagues. Gunnymede waited for them to pass and shot them in the back.
He took a moment to inspect them. They looked like ordinary civilians dressed for an evening in the countryside.
With one eye ahead and the other on the drone, he made his way to the pipe jetty and up the ramp, ready to engage anyone still up for it. Several men lay dead. He took another close look at one of them. A young man in rugged civilian clothes who couldn’t have been more than eighteen years old, an M4 assault rifle still in his hands, his weapons harness filled with spare magazines. Amateurs. They probably knew as much about soldiering as the pope.
Gunnymede sent the drone ahead as he made his way up the ramp. It revealed those running towards the landing stage. The drone continued on to show a line of vehicles parked at the end of the pipe jetty where it connected to the landing stage. The stage was well lit with several figures on it. Gunnymede could only hope that was where he’d find Krilov and therefore Bethan.
The drone continued on to reveal a large ship coming alongside the landing stage. Gunnymede could only wonder what was going on. Was it the cargo ship with Saleem on board? Surely not.
Krilov gauged the distance between the vessel and the landing stage, inch by inch, anxious for it to come alongside. ‘Throw the lines,’ he shouted impatiently.
Several lines flew into the air. One of them reached the landing stage where it was hauled in connected to a heavy mooring warp.
Krilov’s lieutenant came running. ‘Boss, I can’t get hold of any of the men at the ramp.’
‘None?’
‘None.’
‘Who are they?’ shouted Krilov angrily. ‘Who’s attacking us?’
‘I don’t know, boss.’
‘What about the road, our route out of here?’
‘It looks clear. There’s no sign of the attackers. I don’t understand.’
‘When the vehicles are loaded I will lead the men ahead to clear the way,’ Krilov said as he pulled on his body armour. ‘Get everyone loading the cargo as quickly as possible!’
Jedson crouched behind a bollard. He realised Bethan was standing in the open beside him and pulled her down. ‘Where’s our boat, Krilov?’ he shouted.
‘Who makes this attack?’ Krilov shouted back.
‘I told you I don’t know!’ Jedson looked for Krilov’s lieutenant, saw him the other side of the stage and hurried over to him. ‘Where’s our boat?’ he asked. ‘The one that’s supposed to take us to Russia?’
‘Other side of ship,’ the man informed him before hurrying away.
Jedson went back to the cargo ship as it closed on the landing stage, all the warps now attached to bollards. He hurried back to Bethan. ‘I think the bloody wheels are falling off this one.’
The ship’s crew started handing crates to Krilov’s men on landing stage.
‘Get everything into the vehicles!’ Krilov shouted.
Saleem sat in the bowels of the ship in a grimy storage room illuminated by a bulb in a wire mesh on the wall. The room was beside the engine room and vibrated constantly. Not only was it noisy, the air was just about breathable. Five Daesh colleagues were waiting for him to give the word to disembark. None dare speak. They’d been on the vessel for two days having boarded in the English Channel from a fishing boat. They’d met for the first time in a house on the outskirts of Ostend, having travelled from various parts of Europe and the Middle East. Saleem arrived just in time to catch the boat. They’d been told he was a great commander with much battle experience and he was to be obeyed without question, on pain of death. Other than that, they had no idea what they were doing in England.
There was a heavy jolt and the room shook as the vessel bumped alongside. Saleem remained seated, staring at the air. He’d become far more serious since leaving Syria. During the worst madness of the desert campaign to capture Mosul followed by the retreat to Syria, he’d always been able to produce an amusing quip. But the weight of this task had grown heavy on him. Confidence in himself and his passion for the mission had not diminished. If anything, they had strengthened. His survival of the ambush in Russia had reinforced his belief that Allah was with him. He knew he’d succeed if he kept his nerve. This operation was the greatest single attack ISIL had ever put into execution phase since 9/11. Weeks ago it had still seemed like a fantasy. Now he was back in England. But he also knew the closer he got to the climax, the greater the obstacles would be.
The deck would be busy for the first few minutes of docking, the Russians unloading their contraband. On leaving the ship, he wanted to go directly to the vehicles and depart right away. No hanging around. Therefore he’d wait until the bulk of the cargo had been unloaded. He would give it a few more minutes and then order the move to the main deck.
Gunnymede was crouched behind a heavy valve, looking down the length of the pipe jetty towards the landing stage trying to decide what to do. The firing had stopped but he would be seen as soon as he tried to make his way forward. He couldn’t stay there for long either. Those vehicles were there for a reason. The pipe jetty was the only way off and there was no way Gunnymede was going to stop them on his own.
He took out his phone and made a call. It rang several times. ‘For fuck’s sake pick up.’
‘Gunnymede?’ It was Aristotle.
‘The bloody ship is here!’
‘What ship?’
‘Are you insane? The ship!’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Am I sure?! Aren’t you monitoring it?!’
‘The police pulled off all surveillance when it entered the estuary as a precaution.’
‘What precaution?’
‘They didn’t want to take the risk of the ship detecting them.’
‘Whose brilliant idea was that?!’
‘One of the police undercover people said the ship would have sophisticated surveillance detection systems on board. If they knew they were being monitored, they’d dump their cargo. We would also risk losing Saleem. Where exactly is the vessel?’
‘The landing stage of the refinery. You need to get everyone over here now!’
‘I’ll get back to you,’ Aristotle said and the phone went dead.
‘Morons!’ Gunnymede shouted as he put the phone away.
Time was the factor now. Krilov might get off the landing before the police turned up. What that would mean for Bethan he could only guess. He had to slow down the show.
Oil was pouring out right in front of him from a bullet hole in one of the pipes that ran along the jetty. It wasn’t under much pressure but there was enough inside the pipe to keep it flowing. And that was only the one pipe. There were a couple of dozen of them. The pipes went all the way past the line of vehicles to the landing stage.
He checked his pouches for grenades. He had six left. He loaded one into the breec
h, closed the housing and held the rifle parallel with the pipes. The vehicles were easily in range. He just had to get the trajectory right. There was a slight breeze left to right. He made a fine adjustment and fired!
The round thumped into the night sky. Seconds later there was a splash as it missed the jetty altogether and landed in the water.
Useless twat!
Gunnymede loaded another. Aimed. Adjusted. Fired! The shell took a couple of seconds to arc back down and landed amongst the pipes beside the nearest vans where it exploded. He couldn’t see the oil spilling out of the torn pipes but knew that had to be happening and quickly loaded another shell. Oil didn’t burn. It was the vapour that came off it that burned and so it needed to be heated up. A couple of shells would do the trick.
He concentrated on replicating the same angle and fired. The shell landed further on but amongst the pipes again. This time the explosion ignited the oil. The interesting thing about oil fires is they can begin very small. As the temperature increases the more gas evaporates, the larger the fire becomes, the greater the temperature increases and so on, a vicious escalation where the heat becomes so intense the metal pipes themselves will melt.
The blaze quickly spread. Gunnymede fired another shell that hit its target sending globs of burning oil in all directions. Several men were hit by the stuff. Those on fire had little choice but to jump into the water. Some weren’t so lucky and were consumed before they could escape. One vehicle after another, including Jedson’s, caught fire as burning oil spread across the narrow road.
Gunnymede held his second to last shell. He loaded it, lowered the elevation to extend the range and fired. It exploded on the landing stage amongst those carrying heroin boxes, killing and injuring several of them. To add to the confusion he aimed the rifle in the general direction of the flames and shot through them with long bursts of automatic fire. Several of Krilov’s men and a couple of crewman were caught in the hail and went down. Heroin boxes were dropped as men scurried for cover.
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