Broken Arrow ac-8

by Paul Kane

  It was as he swept across this devastation that Bill saw something else. Someone he recognised down there, hood back and sprawled out on the ground. He was injured, that much Bill could tell — hasty field dressings made from strips of cloth covered his thigh and shoulder. But whether it was more serious than that, whether he was… Bill shook his head. He couldn't be, not Robert. Ever since Bill had first seen him in action he'd had a mental picture in his head of him being indestructible, and his reputation as a living legend did nothing to hamper this. But he wasn't some kind of superhero. He was just flesh and blood like the rest of them.

  Which meant he could die. There, it was in Bill's head before he could shake it. But he wouldn't find out by staying up in the air like this. Quickly, Bill searched for a place to set the Gazelle down. It wasn't easy, everywhere he looked there were the carcasses of fighting machines or the ground was too churned up for a stable landing, but eventually he managed to find a small area of flat ground.

  "Back in a sec, girl," he told the chopper, grabbing both his shotgun and one of his newly acquired AK-47s. He had no idea whether there were any Russian soldiers in hiding, waiting for someone to come along, so he wasn't taking any chances.

  Cautiously, Bill picked his way across the field, hurrying when he got closer to Robert's position. Taking one last look around him, pointing the guns in every direction, he crouched on the floor beside Robert. Putting the machine gun on the ground, though still ready with his trusty double-barrelled shotgun if he needed it, Bill checked the side of Robert's neck for a pulse. For a second he couldn't find one, then he realised he was panicking, feeling in the wrong place. He calmed down and brought his fingers up higher, to the crevice between the chin and neck. There it was, a faint beat. Robert was still alive.

  Bill let out the breath he'd been holding. They'd had their moments in the past, but this was still the man who'd saved his life. The man he'd gone into battle with at the castle. "Rob," he said, slapping the man's cheek. "Rob, can ye hear me?"

  There was a flicker under Robert's eyelids.

  "Rob?"

  Robert opened his eyes, though they were still practically slits. "Not… not dead…" he whispered and Bill almost missed what he said. The man sounded surprised, like he'd been expecting to wake up at the Pearly Gates.

  "Naw, but ye doin' a good impression of a dead man. Look at the state of ye, lad."

  "B-Bill?" Robert managed, as if he'd only just realised who was talking to him. "Is that you?"

  "Aye."

  "W-What are you-?"

  "Later," Bill promised him. "Along wi' the 'I told ye sos'." He felt bad right after he'd said it, but if Robert had only listened to him… "Right now I reckon ye need them wounds lookin' at. Get ye back to Mary."

  "No," said Robert, louder than he'd said anything since Bill found him.

  "No?" Bill couldn't understand that. Surely Mary would be the first person he'd want to see, they'd been as thick as thieves since they met. Plus she had all that medical knowledge.

  "S-Sherwood," Robert said.

  "Eh? What d'you want to go back there for? Ye really have lost it."

  Robert wouldn't — or couldn't — explain. He just said: "Please."

  "But-"

  "Please," Robert repeated more emphatically, and placed a trembling hand on Bill's arm.

  "All right, but let's get yer wounds dressed properly first. I've got a medical kit in the helicopter."

  Robert nodded, then winced in pain.

  "Ye know," said Bill, standing. "Yer one stubborn man, Robert Stokes."

  "Look… Look who's talking," wheezed Robert, a slight smile playing on his lips.

  Bill shook his head and went off back to the chopper.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Mark had been having the most serious conversation of his life when it all hit the fan.

  Stupidly, he'd figured now was the perfect time to talk to Sophie. Dale was out of the way — though it still smarted that Robert had chosen to take him along and not Mark — plus the place was more peaceful than it had been in weeks. Plucking up the courage had proved to be more difficult. He would rather have faced another dozen of the men in robes than come out and tell Sophie how he really felt. Fighting was much simpler than dealing with all these emotions.

  But, eventually, he decided he couldn't put it off any longer. They were facing all kinds of threats; he might not get the chance to say anything later on. What was the worst that could happen? She could shoot him down in flames, that's what. Her emotional bullets doing more damage than real ones ever could.

  Mark had thought about Sophie a lot, even before she came to the castle. He'd even wondered whether it was worth going out and finding her himself, to see how she was after he'd been dragged off by De Falaise's men. But then she'd followed him here. It had to be a sign, didn't it? Some kind of omen?

  But Dale had come along before Mark had a chance to say anything. Dale with the good looks and stories about gigging; Dale with his guitar, making up songs to impress her. How could Mark hope to compete with that? For starters, Dale was older and much more experienced. He knew what to say to girls.

  Whereas you'll probably make a balls up of this, he told himself as he went in search of Sophie. Just like you do with everything.

  Then she'd found him again. Coming round a corner, he'd bumped right into her, almost knocking them both over. "Sophie!"

  "Hey, it's all right. No harm done. Although if you do it again I might just have to retaliate, soldier boy."

  Soldier boy, thought Mark. There's that word again. That's all I am to her really, a boy. When we first met, all she'd talked about was The Hooded Man, though she didn't know then how old he was. Imagined him closer to Dale's age.

  "So," she continued. "Whatcha doing?"

  "Oh, er…" Mark scratched the back of his head, losing his hand in his tangle of dark-blonde hair. "Nothing, I was just… Sophie?"

  "Yeah."

  "Can I talk to you?"

  "I thought that's what you were doing," she said and gave another little chuckle. "No, I'm sorry, I'm in a daft mood today: go on."

  "Somewhere a bit more, I don't know, private?"

  Sophie looked around, there was nobody in sight. "Sure. Inside?"

  Mark shook his head, then gestured for her to follow him. They walked down the steps to the overgrown grounds, the place that had once been a recreational park with a centrepiece of a Victorian Bandstand. That was still there, and it was where Mark chose to make his confession.

  Sophie sat on a bench, then watched as Mark paced in front of her. "Sophie… I…"

  "Mark, what is it? You can tell me." He looked at her; that freckled face the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. How could he upset her?

  "No. It doesn't matter."

  "Obviously it does or you wouldn't have brought us down here."

  He stopped pacing. "Sophie…"

  "Come on, Mark, just tell me."

  He swallowed hard. "Okay. We're friends right?"

  She laughed again, only this time it was a kind of 'I don't believe you just said that' laugh. "Of course, silly. You're like my best friend, Mark."

  His smile came out wonky. Best friend is good. But is that all we'll ever be? And if I say this, will it ruin that friendship forever?

  "What's all this about, Mark?"

  He decided to risk it.

  "Sophie, I really love you." There, it was out.

  "Well, I love you too."

  Now that he hadn't been expecting. "What?"

  "Course I do. We've been through a lot together, Mark." He couldn't believe what he was hearing. "We'll always be friends and I'll always love you to bits."

  Now he could.

  "Sophie, what I meant was… When I said I love you, I meant…"

  She looked blank, then the penny dropped. "Ooh. I see."

  Mark stared down at his boots. "God, this is awkward."

  "Listen," she began, getting up to join him. "I don't want you to
take this the wrong way. You're incredibly sweet but…"

  Don't say it, please don't say it. You're loading up the gun, about to shoot. Soon there'll be flames everywhere. Crash and burn, Mark, crash and burn.

  "…but I'm not looking for anything like that right now."

  Mark looked up. "You mean with me?"

  "I mean with anyone."

  "Does that include Dale?"

  Sophie laughed again, then she saw he was serious. "Dale?"

  "He's older, you spend a lot of time together."

  "Mark, there's nothing going on between me and Dale, I promise you. I'm just happy to be alive right now, happy to be here. I need to be around people who make me feel safe."

  "But Dale-"

  "Oh my God — Dale's a laugh, Mark. I like his company, that doesn't mean I'm going to jump into bed with him!"

  "I didn't mean…"

  "My sister went out with plenty of men like him, before…" She looked sad for a moment, remembering. "Trust me, I'm not looking for a guy like that."

  "Then there's still a chance?"

  Why can't you keep your big mouth shut, Mark? If you push it, she'll tell you — and this way you can live in hope.

  "No… I don't know. Not right now anyway. Look, this is starting to make me feel uncomfortable."

  "I just wanted to-"

  "Mark, just drop it. Please." She made to leave. Mark stood in her way.

  "Sophie, just let me explain."

  "Mark, I said drop it!" Something in her eyes told him to do as she asked. This had gone from talking to arguing and Mark couldn't see the join. He got out of her way.

  Almost immediately Mark changed his mind and went after her, but she had a lead on him and was heading for the steps. In fact she was racing up them; he'd really upset her.

  His head was telling him to leave this alone, yet his legs were still carrying him forwards. Perhaps that was his immaturity. In the same situation Dale might let her calm down, talk to her later. But he wouldn't have created this situation in the first place! All Mark knew was that he wanted to make this right again.

  He was part of the way up the steps when he heard the explosion, felt the earth tremble beneath his feet.

  Sophie! was his one and only thought.

  His legs worked harder, getting him to the top. His eyes scanned the area quickly, as he shouted Sophie's name. Then he saw her. She was on the ground, had been blown over by the blast. He raced across and checked her for wounds. She didn't seem hurt, just extremely shaken up. He couldn't help thinking about her words not ten minutes ago:

  "I'm just happy to be alive right now, happy to be here… I need to be around people who make me feel safe."

  "Sophie, are you okay?"

  Eyes wide, she nodded. "Mary," she said, pointing. He followed her finger and saw the gate to the caves wide open, smoke coming from beneath. "I saw her. She was trying to get out."

  Mark left Sophie and ran over. He had time to glimpse a figure on the stairs, with long dark hair, partly buried under the rubble. There was blood on the walls. His hands went to his mouth, but before he could do anything about it, there were more explosions — this time coming from near the castle entrance.

  The first volley of shells hit the side of the castle wall, fired by tanks and armoured vehicles coming from two directions.

  Mortars were also fired into the grounds, their purpose to send the enemy into turmoil, taking some out in the process. The guards positioned on the walls and at the castle's front gate did their best to fight back, but they were unprepared for an attack of this scale. Robert was supposed to have slowed the army's progress at least. The fact that they could have split into two, that they had enough weapons, vehicles and men to do that, hadn't been a serious possibility.

  Until now.

  It wasn't long before the side gates were breached, an AFV smashing through them, busting them wide, allowing smaller vehicles to follow; jeeps and motorbikes. The Rangers assembled in the grounds shot at the vehicles with flaming arrows, the concoctions attached exploding on impact. But seconds later machine gun fire from the mounted guns dropped many of these. Men entered the grounds, overrunning the place — not just soldiers, but men in robes. Members of the cult.

  Robert's troops stood more of a chance against these, swords clashing with machetes, but again there were just too many. Slash after slash, those who were defending the castle fell, and a path up towards the castle keep itself was cleared.

  A rocket blast hit the side of the castle, but oddly it didn't seem to come from the outside. It appeared to have been fired by someone in the grounds, its tail winding down towards the Middle Bailey. Masonry dropped on people below, taking out more fighters.

  From an AFV near the back of the convoy, they watched all this with satisfaction: Tanek, The Tsar and the twins. Tanek was itching to get out there, to take his place with the men on the ground. To, as he put it, 'crack some skulls'. The Tsar insisted he wait a little while, at least until they'd put down the first wave of resistance.

  Tanek huffed at that, and watched for his opportunity to leave the vehicle.

  Tate, Jack and Gwen were still inside when the first set of explosions came.

  Tate told Gwen to go to one of the rooms while they checked on the situation. Ordinarily, he knew she'd argue, but she had Clive Jr with her so she did as he suggested. She could protect him better inside.

  When the Reverend and Jack stepped out of the castle, they could scarcely believe what they were seeing. Already the grounds were flooded with enemy foot-soldiers. "Where are they all coming from?"

  Jack shook his head, and clutched his staff.

  It wasn't long before they encountered the first couple of men, running towards them. Luckily they were cult members, not soldiers. Jack and Tate looked at each other. Each was thinking: since when was The Tsar in league with the Morningstars?

  Then they were on them. Jack met a machete blow with his staff. Tate dodged his opponent, but seemed reluctant to fight. In fact, he only just got out of the way of the second swing, his face a rictus of fear.

  "Rev, look out!" shouted Jack, striking his man in the stomach, crumpling him up, and then slamming the staff down on the back of his head. Without drawing breath, Jack swung the staff around and smacked the cultist attacking Tate in the face. He went down backwards, dropping the machete. "Are you okay?" Jack asked Tate, who looked dazed. These guys really freaked the holy man out.

  "I… I don't understand," the Reverend said finally.

  "Me either. But let's figure it out later. Right now we've got to-" He dragged Tate down as a hail of gunfire tore into the wall behind them. The soldiers hadn't been that far behind, as it turned out.

  Leaving Tate, Jack ducked and rolled, coming up and striking one of The Tsar's men across the legs, sending him toppling over. Another he whacked in the side, then brought the staff around again to catch a third across the chest. Not seeing another way to tackle those coming up the steps, Jack grabbed a Kalashnikov belonging to one of the incapacitated soldiers and shot over the heads of the approaching troops. They backed off instantly.

  He returned to Tate, taking him by the arm. "Come on, we have to fall back!" It wasn't easy getting away with the Reverend's limp, and when they turned the next corner, Jack saw Mark and Sophie running to meet them.

  "Jack, what's happening?" asked Mark.

  "We're under attack, kiddo. And not just from those Russians — from the cult as well."

  "What?"

  "We don't have much time. Have you seen Mary? Adele?"

  "Adele, no."

  "But you've seen Mary?" said Tate. "She went looking for you."

  "Oh no, did she?" Sophie was choking back tears.

  "What is it?"

  "There was an explosion," Mark told them. "In the caves. Maybe the soldiers got in down there, I don't know. But… I think she might be…"

  Jack shook his head. "No way, not Mary!"

  "I didn't get a chance to check, there w
ere men coming up the steps," Mark told him.

  "There are men everywhere," Sophie added, with a worried frown.

  Jack gave Mark the rifle, then placed his hand on the lad's shoulder, squeezing firmly. "Anyone can see which way this is heading. It's Assault on Precinct 13, and you've gotta get out of here. Remember what Robert said if things went south."

  "But-"

  Jack looked at him sternly. "Do it, Mark — that's an order. Get Sophie out, get Tate out. I'll follow when I've checked on Mary and found Adele."

  Tate's hand went to his mouth. "Gwen! She's still inside." As soon as he said it, the castle took a hit. The shell punched out the top corner of the building, opposite where they were standing. Mark shielded Sophie from the dust, as Jack and Tate turned their backs on it.

  Coughing, Jack spluttered, "I'll find her too, now go!"

  "I can't leave her alone, not again."

  "Go!" repeated Jack, taking off himself.

  Sophie and Mark took an arm each and tugged, but the Reverend was still reluctant to leave. Then more soldiers found them, bullets spraying the floor. Mark lifted the rifle, but he'd never fired a gun in his life — hadn't even trained for it. But he'd been taken by surprise and had no bow and arrow with him, no sword or staff. He had no option other than to use the weapon he'd been handed. When he tried to fire it, though, all he got was a click as he pressed the trigger.

  Mark looked up and saw several soldiers all aiming their weapons in his and Sophie's direction. This was it. They were dead.

  Then, suddenly, he was being relieved of the rifle, and bullets were fired from it. Tate aimed for the men's legs, wounding but not killing them. Mark's jaw dropped, but he didn't have time to ask where the Reverend had learned to use one of those things, nor how his aim was so good. There was another wave of attackers coming, a mixture of Russians and cult members.