There were three broadcast units there. Perhaps they had felt safer at the back. One of these units had been killed in the fighting; the photographer and reporter were sprawled next to each other amidst the civilian dead. The second group was walking about the field of dead as if it was nothing special. They were filming the cats and the bodies, and they were being ignored. It looked as if Gloria had been right about the cats’ attitude about pressmen. They did want this to be reported back in London.
Only the photographer of the third group still seemed to be alive. He was standing in the middle of a circle of cats, apparently talking to one of them, probably the leader. The reporter’s handheld microphone was in the hands of this leader. The body of the reporter lay at the feet of both of them.
‘Michael,’ Charles said insistently, ‘can you pick up the feed? I want to hear what they’re saying.’
‘I can do that,’ Michael replied quickly; ‘what network are they from?’
‘Network…’ Charles replied hastily, ‘I don’t know; can you see?’
‘I think it’s Triple N again,’ Michael replied after a moment. He sniffled again. ‘I’m not totally sure, but that’s who I’d choose in their position, and I think the photographer looks familiar. I think he was on our tank earlier.’
‘Look,’ Charles insisted, ‘don’t talk about it; just tune my scanner into it. If it’s not the right one, circle through them until we find the right one.’
‘Yes, sir,’ Michael replied.
‘Well,’ a voice began, coming from the small speaker beside Charles’ monitor, ‘we’ve just heard the sound of an explosion from somewhere behind. Although it’s not clear, I think part of the wall has been deliberately demolished. It could be…’
‘It’s not them,’ Charles said quickly. ‘Try another.’
‘They’ll be finished by the time you find them,’ Gloria muttered to herself, and then wished she hadn’t, as she needed all her concentration to take the next turning. They were very near the arch now.
‘It’s finished already,’ Charles replied to her. ‘They’ve let the photographer go and are heading to the rear of the convoy.’
‘So there’s no point trying anymore?’ Michael said hopefully.
‘Keep looking,’ Charles said insistently, ‘while I teach you that nothing you ever see on the newspaper or on the holoviewa is ever live. There is always a delay of anything up to three minutes, especially in a situation like this. It allows them to edit things if necessary.’
‘Wish Colonel Davis hadn’t given away any of our secrets too, right, sir?’ Michael commented with a grin in his voice. Then his voice became more morbid as he added, ‘Wish they had the same policy over filming the dead. Oh, here it is, one of the LNC units!’
‘No,’ said the reporter adamantly, ‘N-no, I will n-not inter-v-view you.’ The camera was fully on the figure the reporter was talking to. The figure looked human, with none of the stripes that were normally associated with his race. His teeth looked half developed, barely any different than those of a human; even for those with Elite training he would be difficult to detect that way. Only his eyes stood him out as a cat, and even they were pale by comparison to the others.
‘Holy shit,’ Michael suddenly blurted out, ‘it’s, it’s…’
‘The Lesser Patriarch,’ Charles finished for him, ‘the second most wanted cat in the country. It would take someone like him to arrange this sort of ambush. Let’s hear what’s happening.’
A few cats had gathered behind the leader, who seemed to be waiting patiently.
‘I-I-I d-don’t care h-how….’ The reporter gulped loudly.
The Lesser Patriarch seemed to sigh; he turned his head to the cat immediately behind him to the left. Anything that was said was lost. As he turned, the faint stripes that the Patriarch did have seemed to become a little more prominent. They were a very slightly different color than the rest of his face, making them almost impossible to see for someone who didn’t know what to look for. Charles was a member of the Elite Guard, and even he, trained to be observant about such things, was having trouble making them out.
‘Oh, okay.’ The Patriarch seemed disappointed, his voice barely audible to Charles or Michael in the tank, especially with the engines in high gear.
The cat to the left of him then raised a laser pistol, and the camera flinched downwards as the photographer must’ve instinctively ducked. There was a flare of laser, and then the camera turned as the photographer must’ve looked around in time to see the reporter fall in a heap at his feet.
There was a quick glimpse of cats standing on the far side of body, forming part of the circle that must now surround the photographer. One of these cats bent to pick up the microphone from the body and handed it to the Patriarch. The camera panned to watch the handover of the microphone, the picture getting a little shaky as the Patriarch came back into focus.
The Patriarch almost sounded educated as he spoke into the microphone clearly enough for everyone to hear. ‘So, about that interview.’
‘S-sure,’ the photographer said eagerly. The Patriarch had put the microphone so it would pick up the photographer’s words. ‘Anything you say.’
‘Good,’ said the Patriarch, ‘good. Well, not so much an interview, more a monologue.’
The camera shook a little then, indicating perhaps that the photographer was nodding his agreement.
At this point Charles half expected the network to cut it. The reporter had died to stop this from going ahead; the least the network could do would be to stop it before the cats could spread their propaganda. Charles was of two minds, though. On the one hand, he wanted to hear what the cat had to say, but on the other he wanted the network to stop broadcasting before the population of London got whatever subversive message the Patriarch might be about to deliver.
‘I’d like to make you a very simple offer’ he began. ‘Right now thousands of my people are moving from Southend to London. Unlike your great hero Slim, they have no design to demolish the city. No, indeed, they will be after revenge for Southend, or Sou’nd, as you herd have taken to calling it. We will instead embark on a policy of slaughter. We know that many of you are already leaving the city in droves to get away from us. Scattering to the four corners of the country like the sheep you are! Do not allow yourselves to feel safe. If we don’t find enough victims in London to quench our thirst for revenge, then most likely we shall follow you wherever you go. If you destroy our city, then we will take yours. If you kill our people, we will slaughter yours. So what can you do to stop it? Slim Dorris is nothing more than a civilian. He has no more right than any one of you watching this to do what he is doing, to act as he is. Yet he puts all of you in danger for his own glory, for his own ego! The history books will record him as the perpetrator of all that befalls you. The rest of you will be but a footnote to his folly. There is no guarantee that he will even be able to complete the task he has set for himself, and even if he does, how many cats—’ he emphasized the word ‘cats,’ perhaps to show that he wasn’t scared of it—‘do you think will be left in Southend when he arrives? They’ve all left the town already. It’s empty and deserted, and they’re all marching with blood in their eyes to the city of London, all looking for revenge.’
‘The cats got through the roadblocks?’ Charles commented angrily. ‘Trust Colonel Davis not to give us any warning.’
‘It’s possible that the Patriarch is lying,’ Gloria responded.
The Patriarch paused for a moment and looked towards the wall. The photographer couldn’t help but turn to see what he was looking at. Soldiers had reached the rubble-strewn archway. They were pinned down as the cats turned all their firepower against them. The soldiers were obviously much better trained than the civilians, and they also wore body armor capable of absorbing fire from most of the weapons the cats had. Nevertheless, there was only one place through which they could attack, and that was the remains of the arch, around the first civilian transport and ov
er the rubble. Many of the soldiers were choosing to dig in instead and fight from what little cover they could find there, as the defensive fire from the cats was getting quite murderous.
The Patriarch then turned back to the photographer. He didn’t seem at all disturbed at the proximity of the soldiers; neither, for that matter, did any of the cats standing behind him.
‘So what am I suggesting?’ he continued. ‘If Slim Dorris will turn the remains of his strike force back towards London, then we are willing to forget this ever happened. The convoy will be allowed to return without harassment, and my people will return to their homes in Southend, leaving London alone…’
‘He’s scared,’ Michael commented. ‘He doesn’t show it in his expression, but he recognizes that we are a threat.’
‘Shut up,’ Charles replied, ‘I’m trying to listen.’
The tanks were into the streets of Benfleet now and charging through as fast as they could take the corners on those too-narrow roads. They really weren’t all that far from the battle now, but what they were watching had taken place at least three minutes ago and had been over for nearly that.
There was a very sudden and very loud bang. It was deafening even where the convoy was. It could probably have been heard as far afield as London, and in Sou’nd, the very ground seemed to shake with it.
Charles quickly looked at the others to see if any of them had a suggestion for what might have caused the bang. It sounded as if it came from the battle zone; it faded away quickly and there was no repeat of it. Charles was worried that the cats might have used some sort of secret weapon. ‘Michael, check the uplink and find out what that was!’
On the monitor the Patriarch’s monologue went on. ‘However, should Slim Dorris actually pass the border of Southend, then the gloves will be off and everyone my people see will be fair game. Up until now we have killed for food and only for food. If Slim will turn back, I won’t promise an end to the killing, but it will continue as it always has. We will take only those we need to survive. Otherwise it will be all-out war between our people. Some might say it’s a war we can’t win. Well, we shall see. Call him off and I will call off my people.’
‘I can’t see anything amiss at the scene, other than what we already know about, of course,’ Michael put in as the speech ended. ‘But the cats have all departed the area; we’re too late.’
The Patriarch then turned to the cat on his left again, but as he spoke he turned his head as if talking to all of them in the circle. ‘Order our people to get out of here. Their tanks won’t take long before they find another route, and we’ll need a head start if they decide to pursue.’
‘It will take time to pass the orders around, my Lord,’ the cat to the Patriarch’s left replied. He then bowed and walked towards the building nearest him. The photographer turned to see each of the other cats who had formed the circle leave, no doubt to issue the order to pull out to their sections.
The Patriarch turned back to the camera, though he appeared to be talking to the photographer rather than the network’s audience. ‘That was my son, my eldest living son. I really don’t want to lose him in this coming war, but if that is the will of the Goddess, then so be it.’
‘I-I-I’m sorry,’ the photographer replied.
‘You may go,’ the Patriarch told the photographer. ‘Don’t try and stop my people leaving the area and they won’t hurt you. I’d suggest you take refuge.’ The cats’ leader then turned to leave the photographer. Where he went after that was unknown, as the photographer turned his attention to the battle raging at the rubble.
Charles switched the monitor back to the uplink view and surveyed the scene. Many soldiers were lying dead near the archway; others lay among the civilians and others still were walking through the mountains of dead, checking every niche and cranny for hiding cats or survivors. He spoke more to himself than anything. ‘They hit us hard and then left.’ He sighed and then spouted an order for Michael: ‘Tell the soldiers to get that ancient tank out of our way, order the tow truck to start moving the civilian transports aside so we can get past, and order the rest of the soldiers to remove the rubble from the archway so we can check on those buried under it.’
‘Yes sir,’ Michael replied quickly. He began immediately to relay the orders to the respective targets. A little more than a minute later he swiveled his chair back to face Charles and reported, ‘There’s no reply from the tow truck, sir.’
‘Try again,’ Charles insisted. He moved the scanner to try and find where the tow truck was parked, and what he saw was a shock. ‘Er, cancel that order; they can’t hear you.’
The scene amidst the support vehicles was a heartbreaking one. The cats must’ve used some sort of explosive on their drivers’ cabins, and they had been unable to maneuver enough in the cramped street to stop the cats from doing this. The tow truck, the supply vehicle, the catering trucks, the broadcast truck, and even the Mariahs were lying broken in small piles of charred ash. By contrast, the Med Units and the meat wagons had been left untouched.
Charles wondered if they had been left because the cats did have some sense of honor, or if they had been left merely as a message, warning him that he would need these vehicles in the hours to come.
‘That must’ve been what happened with the bang we heard.’ Michael was in a state of shock at the scene. ‘I didn’t see them earlier. I only thought to check the main battle zone. It’s not like me to have made such an error.’
‘You didn’t get a lot of sleep last night,’ Gloria offered in his defense. ‘None of us thinks straight when we’re lacking sleep.’
‘Where’d they get such explosives from? And why didn’t they show up in the scanners?’ Charles asked after a moment’s reflection. When he gave his next orders, his voice suggested he already thought of himself as having lost the battle. ‘Get on to Colonel Davis; tell him what’s happened and ask him if he knows anything we should be aware of and tell him we need a cleanup team to remove the destroyed vehicles. In the meantime, leave two transports of soldiers here to protect the Med Units and the meat wagons as they do their appointed tasks and clean up this battle zone. We have our own job to do.’
‘If it’s any consolation, sir,’ Gloria commented, ‘I don’t think the cats will be able to hit us as hard again.’
‘I know, Gloria,’ Charles replied, ‘and what they did hit was the relatively soft part of our convoy, the part that would be easiest to hit and would reflect on us the worst for losing it in the media. Next time I get command of a convoy like this, remind me to leave a few tanks to protect the rear. Just one tank at the back of the convoy would’ve made all the difference. Let’s go.’
The tanks turned around and headed for the archway they had just come through at a more somber pace. There was no point in them heading on to the battle zone now. The cats had already left the area, and with the way cats seemed to be able to merge into their surroundings it would be pointless to try and give chase. Besides, that would distract them too much from their mission.
A few minutes passed before anyone spoke. When someone did, it was Michael. He swiveled his chair round to face Charles again before speaking. ‘Seems the Colonel is keeping up with events via the newspaper. He’s a little disappointed with what’s happened; I think it actually surprised him.’
‘So what news?’ Charles asked. ‘Has he been holding anything from us?’
‘He confirms that around sixty stealth suits were stolen from the army research labs the other night. He said he didn’t know about it yesterday or he would have warned us then. It seems the labs are embarrassed about the break-in and are trying to play the whole thing down.’
‘Makes sense, I suppose,’ Charles replied, sighing. ‘I wish they wouldn’t keep us in the dark, though. Did he say anything concerning the explosive devices? They weren’t supposed to have anything that could hurt us, and I’ve lost half the convoy.’
‘He says he doesn’t know anything about the bombs. The research
lab had nothing like that in their storerooms, and as far as intelligence goes the cats shouldn’t have anything like that either. He does say that it’s possible the research lab is holding out on him again as they did about the stealth suits, but he thinks it’s unlikely after what has happened.’ Michael swiveled back to the control board.
Shortly after the remains of the convoy found their way back to the rail lines and continued their journey along them, virtually the whole convoy was silent. The only reports that came through to Michael were the ones that they were required to make. The cats, who had seemed to be just toying with them before Benfleet, had finally hit them hard, and morale was rock bottom.
Benfleet and Leigh were contiguous, despite the wall. However, the route via the old rail lines avoided getting too close to the town and went through surrounding fields.
During this part of the journey they passed the remains of a very old castle on the north side of the lines on the top of a fairly steep hill. It had been renovated many times, but always seemed to be on the verge of falling down. Indeed, there seemed to be little left of it except an old wall, what looked like a dangerously placed rock, and a tower with a large gash in its side which ate more than half of it and extended for its full height.
They were actually moving through farmland now. Of the land that had once held the rail lines, one side was had been reclaimed by the farmer, a pitiful piece of land for a man whose farm had originally extended on both sides of the rail lines as far as the hill on one side and the river on the other.
As they continued east, the river on the south side moved steadily closer and closer to them. That river was the Thames.
The station at Leigh no longer existed. All that remained was the badly eroded embankment that had once held the rail lines and one of the platforms from which a person could overlook the bank of the river Thames. There had been a sort of stony beach here, and a few fishing huts lined part of it as they approached where the station had once been.
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