by Vance Huxley
Harold hugged. “I’m sorry but my brain doesn’t really function too well these days.”
“Nor mine apparently, when facing scroats. Luckily yours works fine then, so we’re a team.” Liz sniggered. “The shoppers seemed happy enough with you. Now what did you come for?”
Harold perched on the bench and that brought a little smile. “The shoppers. They’re a bit hyper still and might do something silly.”
“No they won’t, because Emmy reckons they all agreed afterwards. The Ferdinands weren’t real gangsters, and were crapping themselves that you’d come up behind them. The local variety of scroat is a tougher proposition. It did perk everyone up nicely though.” Liz picked up a spear head and inspected it. “I’ve had another go at tempering steel but I’m running out of charcoal again. Every time I have to leave it, I have to spend time, sweat and charcoal getting back up to speed before making any more progress. I’ll get it in the end, but even then I could do with some real gear. A proper anvil and a decent forge, so I can make a machete.”
“You do good work Liz. Those bolts go in pretty well.”
“Those are just case hardened. That’s just the outside which is all right to punch through, but not for a blade.” Liz knocked the spear head against her hammer. “See? That should sing like this.” She repeated it with a knife taken from a gangster, and even Harold could tell they sounded different.
Though one thing struck him. “Case harden means hard for punching through? How small can you case harden, what metals, and does the metal deform after punching through something?”
“Very small, iron usually, and probably if I didn’t case harden it all. Why?”
“I’m not sure. That depends on what you can actually do, and if I can use it. What can I draw on?” Harold looked around.
“No paper in here because sparks and paper like each other too much. Here, slate and a bit of chalk?” Liz passed them across. “I usually get the idea without a diagram, but I’m always willing to learn especially when I’m sweaty.”
“Sooty slut.”
“Wimpy wuss.”
Chapter 12:
Recruitment Drive
Daisy stuck her hands on her hips in a definitely familiar pose. “That’s not a pumpkin!”
“It is, you saw them grow.” Curtis sounded indignant but the rest of the adults were trying not to laugh. “You grew one.”
“But pumpkins are this big. Hooooge” Daisy spread her arms wide, and looked again at the selection. “Which one is mine?”
“You grew this one.” Curtis pointed.
“Can I trade?”
Curtis glared at Patty. “This is your fault, letting her listen while you sell knitting.”
“It keeps the customers polite. Works for me as well when I get tempted to chew one out.” Patty smirked. “Come on, let’s see you trade with a five-year-old.”
“Not a chance. I haven’t got enough shirts to risk losing one. Which one Daisy? Just one, because the rest are entitled as well.” Behind Daisy the other children under ten waited impatiently. “You only get first pick because you helped to grow them.” From the way little eyes lit up in the queue, Harold thought Curtis would get a lot of help with pumpkins next year.
“That one please, because it isn’t as wrinkly. Uncle-Harold and Uncle-Casper can make gnashy teeth in that smooth bit.” Daisy picked up her prize and turned to Casper. “I’ll need two candles this year please, because this is smaller than tin monster last year, and needs scarier eyes.” Casper led her away, gently shaking his head and hanging onto two adolescent dogs on leads.
“Just remember, Harold. Save all the innards because we need them for pumpkin pie, pumpkin soup, pumpkin chips, pumpkin ice-cream, pumpkin…”
“Stop it Patty. Though I will expect the seeds back or there’ll be no pumpkins next year and then you lot can face the wrath of this lot.” Curtis waved at the other children picking out pumpkins. He frowned. “Maybe not all of the seeds; I think roast pumpkinseeds are good for you.”
“I’m forever surprised by the number of things that seem to be good for me.” Patty glared. “Setting into a salad is bad enough, but finding that the flowers grown with it are also good for me is a bit borderline.”
“There’s no need to get bitter, just because you can’t find any more deer.” Emmy ducked away from a half-hearted swipe. Harold managed a real smile because the rest were definitely cheering up since he’d come over all Soldier Boy, as Liz called it. Then he frowned, because that wasn’t a big pumpkin and Daisy would want the full set of carved ears, eyes, nose and lots of teeth.
* * *
“Are you sure there’s no way to turn the skin, rind, shell or whatever from a pumpkin into food?” Harold poked at his portion. “Are you sure pumpkin pie should be like this?”
“That’s a pumpkin pie according to the only recipe we found, except for a bit of artistic license. Quite a lot really since there’s only egg powder instead of eggs, no cream, no nutmeg and only white sugar.” Sharyn cut a piece of hers. “Eat up or I’ll set Curtis on you, because pumpkin pie is?” She raised her fork like a baton to conduct the next words. “Good for you.”
“Maybe that’s the answer?” Hazel pointed at Wills and Daisy, both of whom had buried their pie in chopped up greens.
“I hope the soup is an improvement.” Harold brightened. “We could send our soup up to the soldiers?”
“No chance.” Hazel giggled. “They might think it’s an attack. I’m going for the extra greens option and don’t you dare mention cooking the rinds to Curtis.” She glared at Harold. “He might actually try it.”
“That one outside is already cooked, or will be by the time those candles have burned out. You can check as you go out.” Harold smiled innocently. “Once you’ve sorted out a trick or treat costume?”
Hazel blushed. “Stop it! I’m too young and anyway, if I did, it would be weird showing you.” She concentrated on dealing with the mound of green now hiding her pie.
“He won’t see what you wear next year, when you are old enough. Here Wills, let me help. Maybe there’s too many greens on there? You’ll grow soon enough.” Sharyn glared at Harold and he mouthed a silent ‘sorry’ and shrugged. She concentrated on persuading Wills that he couldn’t catch up with Daisy by eating more greens than she did. Despite never knowing his dad, Wills had been very subdued since Freddy died and had only now started to really engage with the world.
* * *
Sharyn stuck her hands on her hips. “If you’re staying home, why do I have to go?”
“Because one of the family has to be there and I can’t do it. Not this year. You already managed to go to dances.” Harold tried hard to smile. “You’ll be safe coming home because the dreaded Soldier Boy is lurking.”
“I’m safe coming home because Nigel can’t run away fast enough, just in case Seth catches Berry.” Sharyn snickered. “Too late I reckon, Berry already caught Seth.”
“So invite Nigel in for a nightcap.”
“No! What’s got into you?”
“I didn’t mean that sort of nightcap. I meant to talk to your brother to cheer him up, as a sort of gift for Berry and Seth. They won’t get up to much because they’ll be expecting Nigel home, but they’ll get up to it longer.” Harold did manage a smile this time. “Don’t tell Nigel the second part.”
“Cripes no.” Sharyn sighed. “What about Rob and Susan? They usually babysit and canoodle.”
“They can go to a dance for once, then walk each other home. They can canoodle on the doorstep as long as they like.” Harold shrugged. “Then go inside and canoodle some more.” Harold wasn’t going to the dance and had already told Rob to take Susan dancing, since Rob had healed well past being an invalid.
“Will you be all right?” Sharyn sighed. “On your own?”
“Fat chance. As soon as you leave there’ll be a voice coming down the stairs pointing out tonight’s story was too short, or Wills can’t sle
ep, or Angel needs a cuddle. I’ll have to cart Daisy back upstairs fast asleep before I get any peace.” Harold hoped so anyway. Despite Sharyn’s attempt to keep him occupied, the total lack of any angels or devils on Harold’s doorstep at Halloween marked the first of many bad nights the winter would bring. Sharyn had turned the TV up after the sounds of laughter were heard at the bottom of the street.
Tonight, Guy Fawkes, would be the second milestone. Harold had already helped to herd Daisy at the bonfire, and bobbed for real apples from Orchard Close trees, and this time he’d also had to herd Wills. Now Wills-Womble and the Firework Fairy were both theoretically fast asleep. The latter consisted of a dress made of multi-coloured scraps and was the only firework since there were no real ones. Barry might have made some, but bangs and flashes near nervous soldiers had been decreed a really bad idea.
“All right, I’ll go.” Sharyn picked up a broom made from real twigs and her witch’s hat, and waved the broom at Harold. “That joke of yours about the coven is fast becoming less than funny. I’ve been offered a black kitten.”
“Oh no, don’t curse me.” Harold cowered away, then straightened. “If I ever find thirteen of you around a cauldron, then I’ll worry. Now go on, you’ll miss the judging.” Harold sat back and sighed in relief when she left, then turned on the TV. The noise drowned out the music and laughter down the street where a big bonfire had been built on some of the cleared garden.
Unfortunately the Firework Fairy stayed fast asleep, so Harold only had the TV. TV that was rapidly becoming farcical in some ways, as more reasons were given for shortages.
“Without any people out in the countryside grey squirrels have increased in numbers to epidemic proportions. Whole plantations have been ravaged, and nearby crops raided. These trees were intended for charcoal, so there will be less for sale until the pests are eradicated and the plantations have recovered. All citizens are urged to conserve supplies.”
Onscreen a small plantation of firs seethed with small grey shapes, eating bark and twigs. The cameras zoomed in on trees with little of either left, bare skeletons. As the camera pulled back again a line of men in orange suits moved forward and Harold stared in disbelief. They were using catapults, nets and clubs, while further back guards with shotguns threatened the men, not the pests. The cordon of men tightened and yes, many squirrels died but the plantation of young trees was wrecked.
“The amount of ammunition necessary to clear the squirrels with firearms cannot be replaced, so we are using criminals to deal with the problem. Criminals because tests show these pests are infected with rabies and even more timber will have to be sacrificed to burn the bodies.”
“Mushrooms, we’re just mushrooms” Harold murmured, gripping his mug tighter as the next item started, because there were no squirrels around Orchard Close. One had appeared, investigating a scarecrow. After an argument when Curtis wanted it shot to stop the squirrel raiding the gardens, and several people wanted to catch and adopt it, Sooty scared the squirrel away.
The next news item showed a series of explosions and fierce fighting in, according to the caption, Newcastle. The soundtrack claimed the violence demonstrated how criminals and rebels were incapable of living anywhere without trying to kill each other. A tower block burned, with people throwing themselves from the top as the flames closed in. Below, the gangs looting the lower floors made no attempt to help, rushing to strip what they could before the rest burned.
The local news showed the usual scenes of shoplifters taken away in lorries, though this time in large groups. There were two instances of criminals shooting at the Army from the ruins. In one, the soldiers shot the lone gunman, in the other a helicopter arrived to burn out the attackers. Then something new, the Army taking in battered, ragged, desperate women. Instead of a lorry a minibus came to get them, with nurses in crisp white uniforms.
“The authorities are taking action to relieve the plight of some unfortunate women inside the population centres. These young women have been badly abused by criminals and perverts, and any other victims should try to make their way to the nearest Army post. These unfortunates will be taken to prepared facilities where they can be properly rehabilitated and become productive citizens.”
The picture of a smiling young woman sat on a park bench holding hands with a soldier made a stark contrast to the ruined city, and Harold could see the attraction. That nasty suspicious bit wondered why the government suddenly wanted a lot of badly used young women.
* * *
The five people in the bunker watching the wall-screen knew exactly why the women were needed. “Do they really believe that rubbish?” Joshua, the Army man, waved at the screen. “Squirrels?”
“They have to.” Nate smirked. “There’s nothing anywhere to dispute our version.” He frowned. “Though catching, penning and starving that many squirrels turned out to be a real pain.”
“Surely there’s some alternative news by now?”
“It’s Guy Fawkes so half of the animals are dancing round bonfires getting drunk or stoned and won’t actually see that, but will get the news about charcoal. There are some local independent stations with a strong enough signal to cover at most a small part of any city but they don’t have any real alternative information.” Nate waved a casual hand, dismissing them as irrelevant. “Perhaps a few local details, but nothing national, and we do want to cut down on the amount of charcoal sold.”
“Definitely cut the charcoal, because some of the metal-working is much better than predicted. There is some really good steel being produced here and there, and we don’t want some bright spark to get ambitious.” Grace frowned. “So far it’s swords but with home-made explosives, steel could be used to manufacture real weapons in time.”
“They are not producing steel, though some are taking the scrap and shaping and tempering pieces into truly impressive edged weapons. Charcoal won’t allow anyone to build a battle tank or an anti-aircraft missile.” The Army man, Joshua, smiled. “Thank God.”
“No, but why waste resources on making charcoal that will be used to make more such weapons of any sort? Our soldiers have to go in there sometime, and get near enough to be hurt. I’m more interested in Newcastle.” Owen pointed at the screen. “That looks like success.”
Joshua scowled. “Sort of. The team did a perfect job in one way, but they brought fifty-three women and children out as well. Women and children with some very harrowing tales to tell.”
“So get rid of them.” Gerard frowned. “I thought these Special Forces were, I believe the quote was, ‘not prone to getting weepy over the plight of the scenery’ and yet they rescued the women and kids?”
“Yes. Worse, the officer in charge didn’t try to stop them.” Joshua sighed. “He probably ordered them to do it but that’s all a bit hazy because the only casualty allegedly made all those decisions. For disciplined forces that ten minutes or so is noticeable for a lack of clear reporting, and ends with the refugees being herded towards safety.” He scowled again. “Worse still, the strike team are really interested in what happens to the refugees, so I can’t send the whole lot off to Vanna. Special Forces personnel have to be intelligent and capable of working independently and that means they are also resistant to bullshit.”
“Let us have the details. We may have to revert to a mission that fails.”
“Be quick, because they might be close-mouthed to other units but not among themselves. The last people we should upset are the Special Forces.” Joshua pushed a sheet of paper to each of the others. “This is the problem, and isn’t in the official report.” He gave a wry smile. “Not now.”
“They were in a brothel or breeding centre?” Gerard frowned. “Maybe we can put them straight into one of our own brothels?”
“Not more brothels. I thought those were only a possibility yet?” Nate glared round the table. “I never signed off on that sort of thing. Brothels in Britain as an established part of society? I can’t agree with that.”
“They were in an involuntary brothel, but a collection of prostitutes is just a voluntary establishment not a brothel, Nate. Some of these might consider joining a voluntary version but others won’t and we now have a classic situation. Damsels and heroes.” Joshua shrugged. “Bringing the refugees slowed up the extraction. The team spent nine days getting out of there without being spotted, because all hell broke loose. Some of them definitely struck up friendships.”
Gerard sneered. “Not very professional.”
“Very professional unless you have a different definition of friend.” Joshua sneered right back. “We must be careful how this is handled, unless you want some very talented and inquisitive types wondering why their new friend stopped writing back?”
“Calm down you pair. We may be better off keeping the entire group in the barracks.” Owen tapped the single sheet of paper. “These women will probably end up absorbed as Army wives or girlfriends at least since alternatives are few and far between. The real problem is that we have more major warlords springing up.” Owen used the control to change the view to a map of the UK, with five cities highlighted.
“Five? I thought we cut the heads off all the crime organisations?” Gerard looked closer. “Liverpool? We need the docks working when ships start coming from the Falklands and Argentina, at least minimally, so we’ll have to quash whatever problem that is.”
“But quash them without collecting another couple of hundred refugees.” Owen sighed and indicated the screen. “These people are nothing to do with the old gangs; these are enterprising newcomers. Who would have thought the cities were full of potential gang bosses just waiting their chance?” The chairman chuckled. “It turns out the situation is closer to what the BBC has been saying than expected. The ruins are indeed still full of vicious criminals and a few are competent.”
“You’ve seen that.” Joshua pointed at the report. “Any men I send in will see a similar situation because the teams must infiltrate and observe to set the operation up.”