Danger Close

by Charlie Flowers

  Bang-Bang had a screwdriver in her mouth and that serious expression. She was speaking around it. ‘It doesn’t matter where you go in the world, you can never find the right Allen key.’

  I produced the Allen key.

  ‘It was in the van, babes.’

  She took the screwdriver out of her mouth. ‘You’re marriage material, Sabir.’

  She took the key and started working on the sight. ‘OK so here we have my AKS-74U and a sight that we can’t put on the carbine, oh no.’

  I hunkered down and watched. To our left was the issue loadout - four magazines in pouches, two oil cans and a little AK cleaning kit. Bang-Bang was muttering. ‘So in one hand I have a Kobra red-dot sight, and in the other an AKSU. Spoon - fork, fork - spoon…’ She slid the side mount apparatus onto the slide rail on the left hand side of the carbine and pushed down the lever. ‘And now, I have a Picalilli Rail.’

  ‘Babe. It’s a Picatinny Rail.’

  ‘Yeah one of them.’ She got the Allen key and worked on fitting the Kobra sight to the rail. ‘Sorted and it’ll hold zero, or so I’m told. Check out the CQB setting. Rounds will land between the three bars.’ She cycled the button on the sight and handed it to me. I tracked the weapon back and forth. It looked good. ‘Nice. Now you’re an expert, you can fix mine.’ I handed her my AK. She gave me that look. I took the cue and went back to the ops centre.

  The staff were busy turning the centre into a replica of the main HQ back in London. In the time I’d been next door, they’d laid in loudspeakers for various command channels, new blown-up aerial photos, and three briefing boards, one each for callsign shouts, codewords and tomorrow’s order of battle. Dinger was jotting an entry in the duty log. He looked up at me. ‘They’re just kids, Riz. Are they any good? I mean when it really falls apart?’

  I shrugged. ‘They may be shortarses but they’ll kill, don’t you worry about that, Dinger.’

  ‘Let’s hope so.’

  ‘Besides, they’re all in Military Stabilisation Support Group, haven’t you heard?’

  ‘I had. Strange days.’

  There was a green flash and a scream behind us. We turned. Roadrunner was beating Maryam around the head with a manual. ‘It’s a dazzler! Leave it alone. Turn that button off you gaylord! It’s a laser, it dazzles! Get me?’

  11pm found me wandering between the various vehicles in the drill square; SAS Range Rovers, Army Signals four-tonners laden with radio kit; a few BMWs from the top brass. I bumped into Fuzz, Calamity and Bang-Bang poring over a city map of Birmingham spread over a car bonnet. Calamity was smoking. Bang-Bang was chewing the last of her Hollywood gum. She leant into me and smiled. ‘Can’t sleep either babe. Tomorrow is going to be the mother of all battles.’

  ‘Did you see the local news? 2000 UAF being bussed in.’

  ‘Yep. It’s gonna be a fuckup.’

  Calamity was pressing buttons on an Army Bowman radio. ‘This is not going to work. Nope. Don’t understand it. We’ll take one for form’s sake, and one Airwave handset, and keep our Binatones. Go with what we know, yeah?’

  The girls nodded.

  I cleared my throat. ‘You lot. We need to try and catch some Z’s. At least try?’

  Over by the nearest MH-6 a voice called. An RAF Flight Lieutenant was sitting by the chopper, with a tarpaulin in front of him. He was cleaning some cut-down special weapons.

  ‘So, these are our new Black and Tans, huh?’

  Calamity threw down her cigarette stub. ‘Is he being racist?’

  I held her back. Bang-Bang eased herself off the bonnet and smiled at him. ‘Nope, we’s just God-fearing, mosque-going folks.’ She grinned and popped some gum.

  The Flight Lieutenant got up and wandered over to the map, bringing a penlight with him and a carbine SA80 which Bang-Bang grabbed and started cooing over. Calamity eyed him warily. He flicked the penlight over the map and spoke to everyone and no-one in particular.

  ‘I’m Cope from Joint. I’ll be one of the people flying top cover tomorrow morning. Show me what to look for on this and what frequencies we should be on.’

  Behind him Fuzz had got into the MH-6 he’d left and was steering the nose cameras right and left and waggling the control surfaces. I glared at her and she got back out and walked over with a butter-wouldn’t melt look, hands behind her back. Our new arrival was watching Bang-Bang trace the march routes on the map as Calamity read from two printed out itineraries. All lines converged on the city centre, the Bullring, the train station, and then seemed to veer off to one or both main mosques.

  ‘Do we know which mosque the demonstrators are going for yet?’

  ‘Nah. That’s why Duckie will be in the middle of them. The second she finds out, we formate on that mosque.’

  Cope started sketching on the map with a Lumycolour pen. He began talking to his new rapt audience of Blackeye commanders. ‘Right. Those two MH-6s behind us, loaded, have a sortie time of no more than three hours. Once we put them up, three hours afterwards we have to fuel them up, so I’m figuring we bring in an ALARP at Birmingham International care of Squadron…’

  Calamity spoke. ‘What’s an ALARP?’

  ‘Airborne Land Refuelling Point. It’ll be a Chinook from 7 Squadron with fuel tankage. OK what will you ladies be doing tomorrow?’

  ‘Drivin’ around, running over Infidels, shooting lots of guys, hunting a tanker… defending the mosques inshaaaaaaaarrrrllah.’

  ‘OK. We are tasked to take out vehicles from the air with our onboard AW50s, but we can’t go brassing up everything and blowing everything to hell.’

  Bang-Bang grinned again. ‘We can.’

  ‘I bet.’

  Midnight clicked on the wall clock. No use, no way I could sleep. In front of me were the standard UK Land Orders, which I knew by heart. “Army Division and Regional Brigade HQ will continue to act as Focal Points, but TAOR HQ, when activated, will take over the responsibilities of Nodal Points for all establishments within the TAOR. Details of the Wartime Focal Point System are in Part 1 of the United Kingdom Commanders-in-Chief Committee MHD Plan.” It depressed me slightly. I knew that, silently, and all around me, the UK military rule plan was rousing itself from its slumber and red telephones were being dusted off. It would take a few days to grind into full swing, but grind it would. I was watching YouTube videos of previous EDL and UAF dust-ups, trying to see what to expect. Cope and Briney brought some paper mugs of tea over.

  ‘Any ideas Riz?’

  I stretched the kinks out. ‘No, not really.’

  Briney jerked a thumb at the growing infestation of displays and printouts. ‘There are three separate command centres for tomorrow including this one. West Midlands Police AND the local council and emergency service’s Regional Ops Centre, plus the Regional Civil Contingencies Committee being dragged out of their houses. Whoever approved this setup has obviously been listening to Emperor Mong. I can’t believe they can invoke half the Civil Contingency Powers and not bring themselves to ban static demos.’

  Cope spoke up. ‘One reason they can’t put a blanket ban on demos yet is because of the counter-protests. The local pols can’t be seen to alienate their voters. You can’t ban one side without banning the other, and they want their voters to be able to have a pop at the EDL.’

  We all looked at him in disbelief. I shook my head.

  Cope shrugged. ‘Unions.’

  ‘What a mess.’

  Briney laughed. ‘What happened Cope, did you read a book?’

  ‘Better than that, Briney, I majored in political science before I joined the RAF. Listen - councils are unions and unions are council. And the unions want their day defending the city.’

  Briney shrugged. ‘S’all bollocks.’

  The local news came on. Something caught my eye and I turned it up. A Texaco tanker had been hijacked at gunpoint from a filling station in Bromsgrove.

  This was it. The newsreader was showing CCTV images of two men who’d been wearing police uniforms an
d high-viz jackets. One was Lionheart. Chris Fletcher. ‘KTS says positive match, Riz. That’s him.’ It was. They’d pulled in to the forecourt in a white car with blue lights on the roof, bold as brass, pulled the driver out and driven it away. The onboard tracker had been deactivated within minutes. I clapped my hands to get the centre’s attention. ‘Guys! They’ve surfaced! Get the local news on the wall. Are the planes up still?’

  A signaller placed his hand to his headset and nodded.

  ‘For now, yes. Thoughts?’

  I looked at the dioramas and smiled. ‘Yes. A good one, or at least this is how I’d do it. This might be the only break. I reckon I know how they’re gonna get the tanker truck where they want it. They’re going to drive the police car ahead of it. That’s what we task the planes to look for.’

  Pixie held a headset to her ear. ‘Yes. That’s them. We’ll grab those screenshots. Wait one.’

  The left-hand wall display was now divided into two sections, one marked “Champion”, the other “TrapWire”. On the TrapWire side, mugshots and photos were starting to go up, with names marked underneath and affiliations. It was starting to come together.

  I got onto a table and whistled to get the room’s attention. ‘Guys. TROOPS. We have a lead. The enemy may have slipped up and we might have our first stroke of luck. We are looking for a fuel truck AND a police-type car with it. I reckon the police-type car will be leading it in. Let’s get looking. Birmingham city area.’ I indicated behind me to screens. ‘These are the ringleaders to look for tomorrow. Jean-Pierre Jesko. Davey Smythe and Ray Connelly from Combat 18. Westey aka Pierce Drury from the North West Infidels. Bahadur Singh Briah from Sikhs Versus Shariah, and finally… Lionheart himself - Chris Fletcher. TrapWire will flag up hostile reconnaissance, and the GCHQ systems will analyse the Champion feeds using their facial recognition software.’

  A text popped up on my phone. The Colonel. It read “The PM has signed off on this just now. All yours.”

  So that was it. Military Aid to the Civil Power was in effect.

  Fuzz went to the front of the auditorium and clapped her hands. ‘Listen UP. Camper wagons will head off to mosques. Raggydoll’s lot will stand to at Birmingham Central. Holly and the rest of us, Green Lane. Custom Fords go looking for the tanker. SAS stand off near the demo and liaise with police. We go?’

  Dinger nodded. ‘We’re go. Ok, final ops orders. I’ll go over Ground, Situation, Mission and Execution, Service and Support and Signals in a second. Synchronise watches at… time hack, 01.12 Zulu.’

  The Blackeyes looked at him blankly and Bang-Bang laughed to herself. ‘Dinger. They don’t have watches.’

  ‘Ah. OK. Well, synchronise your iPods then, or whatever kids have these days.’

  ‘Good. We’re set. Listen to Dinger.’

  41

  0611 Zulu

  October 7th 2012

  Zero Day

  Outside the rotors were turning on the MH-6s and their navigation lights were strobing. We formed up and ran outside in lines into the dewy dawn air to our respective transports. Our drivers had started the engines on the vehicles. Roadrunner revved the Capri and it barked like a rabid hyena. Hanging in the tiny rear window was a yellow sticker reading “Baby On Board.” Calamity jogged past and grabbed my hand. ‘Till the final RV bhai.’ She held up the severed ear she kept on a lanyard round her neck. ‘Lucky charm!’ She jumped into the Cosworth and cranked the mill to join the chorus of rotors and engines. Dinger whacked my arm as he ran past and shouted ‘fucking Irene!’

  Yeah, I thought to myself, we all know how that operation panned out. I looked down at the Thales MBITR secure personal radio Cope had given me to talk to them on their channel. I switched it on and tested the channels. Good to go.

  Bang-Bang came over, racking the action on her carbine and clicking the safety up. She gave me a wry smile and we watched as the helicopters lifted into the dawn air, their landing lights strobing the main road and the trees in flashes of red and white. And they were gone. She turned to me. ‘So we live to die again, huh?’

  I shrugged. ‘Fisabillillah. That we do.’

  ‘So be it. I’m taking my lot to stand off at Green Lane mosque, we’ll formate on there and lay in defences, you cool with that?’

  ‘Cool with that, Holly.’ We hugged. She gave me a slow kiss and a long look. ‘Fisabillillah. Make sure you say your prayers hun, and don’t forget your horror bag.’ I laughed as she handed me the standard British Army brown paper bag with God only knew what kind of packed lunch. She flipped out a salute and left for a van.

  1012 Zulu

  The sun rose on the city and the last battle began, although its participants didn’t know how bad it was about to get.

  Our vehicles had been parked in Star City car park for the last three hours. I’d managed to pray between the vehicles and made extra duas for everyone today. We’d been working our way through our horror bags and thermoses and we watched through binoculars and TV monitors as the day unfolded and then rapidly unravelled as the demo elements slowly collided. We had the side door on the surveillance van open so we could watch the screens and the urban terrain towards the Bullring. Tweetdeck was going mental. Raggydoll was manipulating the desk controls, and a display zoomed in and held on dozens of banners. I could see an Infidels banner with the infamous Fourteen Words on it. “We must secure the existence of our people and a future for White Children.”

  Another screen showed a local news running ticker. It was saying the EDL rally had been penned into Centenary Square and the UAF counter-demo had been contained in Victory Square. Shortly after 10am, the wheels had come off and everyone had broken free. Hundreds, thousands were swarming in. A mob had gathered outside the Brasshouse pub in Broad Street, and within minutes, fireworks had been thrown. Police had closed Broad Street to all traffic and re-routed buses.

  The radio staticked. ‘That was Gold. Reserves committed. That’s it. No more police. They’re just about holding the line now.’

  Another channel blipped. ‘Central for Riz.’

  ‘Riz here. What’s happening?’

  ‘Switch to 6. Tasked plane has spotted the two veh’s as you described, lead car and tanker. ANPR tallies.’

  I jumped back in the van and toggled to feed 6. There they were, a white tanker as small as a cigarette on the plane’s camera, and the little dot of the fake police car leading it in, its blue lights flashing. ‘Where is this?’

  ‘Heading into city centre fast on Red Two-One. They’re going straight round the demos.’

  I turned to Raggydoll. ‘You’ve got the van.’

  I flung off the headset, ran from the van and jumped into Calamity’s Sierra. ‘Go, Priya! Red Two-One!’

  She looked at me. ‘Fast or slow?’

  ‘Fast into town, warp speed. Then slow when we get there.’

  ‘OK. Talk me into Red Two-One.’

  Calamity hit the gears and we left the Star City car park in a spall of grit and aimed for the city centre. We checked our radios. Sadie was reciting to herself in the back seat. We rattled round the roundabouts and down onto the A47 into the town centre, accelerating. I got the laptop and radios working. The displays sparked into life and our trackers began to blink. The orbiting spy plane’s video feed came up. ‘OK… I have the overheads… we’re coming up to the target vehicles.’

  We sped faster and faster, past lines of police riot vans heading the other way, their blue lights flashing. We were heading into the inevitable. Above us one of the MH-6s thundered over and climbed, clawing for air and blowing litter out of the way. My secure radio beeped. ‘Cope for Riz. Heading in, waiting for weapons-free, over.’

  ‘Have that. Why are all the cops leaving over?’

  ‘All serials now out of action due to bringing in violent arrests. Line’s gonna snap in a minute. When we hit the demo it’s going to properly go off. It’s a lovely war. Out.’

  Calamity spoke out of the corner of her mouth. ‘Head for the Bullring?’


  ‘Yep luv, Bullring.’ We screamed past Aston University and a slight turn in the road and there it was. The centre. And the demo. A mass of flags and banners. ‘Slow down some Priya.’

  ‘See the target vehicles Riz?’

  ‘I do. We’re close. They’re heading in. Slow it some.’

  She slowed it. The engine grouched. We drove past a line of parked coaches. I could hear roaring crowds. We accelerated.

  Priya whooped. ‘Here we go!’

  And then screeched to a stop as we drove into the junction facing New Station and realised we’d driven into the riot.

  Hundreds of people were running, smashing, looting, scuffling. A kid wearing a Burberry cap fell onto the car and looked shamefaced as the bonnet dented. A burly Asian guy hauled him up by his collar and smacked him one. Suddenly a police people carrier ran into the back of our car and shunted us forwards into the middle of the junction, straight over the chavvy kids legs. Plastic smashed and crunched, and the kid howled. To my left a whole section of white guys yelled and ran at our car. There was a mutter of disgust from the rear of our vehicle and then Sadie fired her Dragunov and we all went deaf. The left rear passenger window exploded outwards and the lead white guy smacked to the ground in a puff of blood. The cartridge case flew between our seats and whacked off the inside of the windscreen and smoked into my footwell. All around the car the crowds boiled away and sought cover. I flailed around in my seat. ‘SADIE WHAT THE FUCK!’

  She shrugged and fired a second round through the police van’s mesh protector. Glass powdered everywhere. ‘Recognised him from the briefing photos. Target down. GO! DRIVE!’

  Calamity swore, revved, and went for the nearest gap in the crowd, crunching straight over the unfortunate chav. Our Cosworth reached 65 on the way off the ramp and the revs hit the high reds. Calamity knew this car well enough to swiftly double de-clutch into the next gear as the revs hit 6800, a split-second before the rev limiter cut in. The car sprang forward and the insane torque power bit. I got my phone out and rang Bang-Bang. ‘Holly. Got everyone in the mosque?’