by Vance Huxley
Harry laughed, he couldn’t help himself. “God almighty Cyn, everyone in the hotel notices you.” That was true. The young woman was happy to indulge in a little light banter with most of the squaddies. Those who got a bit crude were simply ignored, not just the comment, but permanently.
“Mmm. But there’s noticing, and there’s doing something about it.”
“What, like barging into your room?”
“You might get a bit of a shock if I sat up.” Cynthia smiled again, “You might lose control.”
“Well you don’t seem to have that problem.” Harry grinned at her. There was definitely something between them, now if only he could get some leave. “If I ever get some leave, I’m going to take you dancing, and then find out how much control you have. Maybe find out how much Cyn there is in Cynthia.”
Cynthia’s eyes lit up. The young woman stepped in close and bent over the bed. Her lips met Harry’s, very firmly, and her hand ran down his chest although it stopped short of the covers. Then she stepped back fast enough to avoid Harry’s arm. Instead of capturing her, his hand ran down her back and round her thigh. “There. Now you you’ve got a hint. So when do you get leave?”
“Damnation, I wish I knew. Not soon enough after that.” Harry took a grip of the covers. “In fact I’m half tempted to risk a visit from Sarge. More than half tempted.”
Cynthia giggled and headed for the door. “I wouldn’t want poor Sarge to have a heart attack. Drink your coffee, it’ll get cold.”
Harry’s brain kicked in. “Wait a minute. Have you lot got a TV or a radio?”
“Just a little radio. One of those you say is an officer came and took the manager’s TV. Why?”
“It’s just that we’re a bit behind on the news. So if a portable TV turned up, maybe in your room or someplace?” Harry grinned.
“Ooh, I wish. Cullen would insist it went in the manager’s flat, in the lounge. I daren’t take you in there, on the settee.” The wicked grin was back. “All those soft furnishings, I wouldn’t want to shock the rest.”
“We could sit and hold hands?”
“Boring, but you’re on.” A bright smile and then she was gone.
Harry didn’t drink his coffee until it was luke warm because he was sat there thinking about those hot lips and Cyn’s hand. Damn. He’d been out in Kuwait too long. Then Harry rushed his shave and shower and made it downstairs on time. He spent the rest of the day very aware of every time Cynthia was nearby. Twice he caught her watching with the tip of her tongue peeking out.
* * *
Three nights later Harry sat and held Cynthia’s hand while the other off-duty staff sniggered. They thought it was hilarious that he sat and watched the news, but once it started they were all riveted, and really worried.
Harry looked around the room. “Don’t mention this lot to the other soldiers, all right? Then it will get to the officers, and you’ll lose your TV again.”
Cullen was worried. “Will this get us into trouble? The telly?”
Harry smiled. “You haven’t been told you can’t have a TV, and we haven’t been told not to watch it, officially. Just as long as everyone keeps quiet?”
“What about Santos? Corporal Menzies?” The quiet girl with tanned skin and a Spanish accent ducked her head when Harry looked her way.
“I’ll tell him.” Harry smiled. “He might want to watch the morning news.” There were a few sniggers but the girl didn’t reply.
Though Menzies did go to watch the morning news once he knew.
* * *
The news was truncated and definitely being censored, but still confirmed that the world was in a bad state and getting worse. Harry and Menzies talked to the staff while watching their separate servings of daily news and collected the background as well. Harry at least really did hold hands while watching.
Harry was always walked back to his door by Cynthia, which she thought funny because the boy was supposed to walk the girl home. The goodbye kiss at the door was getting a lot more friendly though, and Harry was glad that his room was up here away from the main rooms. There weren’t so many soldiers were wandering about here though the pair had to break off sharpish a couple of times.
* * *
“It’s a real mess. Nukes?” Menzies had been catching up as well.
“The ones on the Israeli border were maybe dirty bombs, not proper nukes. Enough to make the country uninhabitable though.” Harry was shaken by that. Poisoning the land with radioactivity just so your enemy can’t live there was a whole step beyond scorched earth tactics.
“Got it wrong though, the stupid bastards. A shift of wind and now Gaza glows in the dark as well. D’you reckon the Iranians really gave Hamas or whoever the materials?” Menzies looked at another paper. “This one reckons the Pakistanis sold some.”
“The Israelis thought it was Iran, and they certainly lashed out before leaving. Iran is back in the stone age, and will be lucky to find anywhere to live that isn’t radioactive. Maybe they’ll have the same problem as the Israelis.” Harry paused. “Crap, that was deliberate then. Eye for an eye is definitely Old Testament and the Israelis go for that. Egypt isn’t much better so maybe the Israelis thought the Egyptians did it. Though the Egyptians haven’t got nukes, have they?”
“There’s no proof it was Israelis who put a nuke in the Aswan dam. Though the radioactive flood pretty much wiped out Egypt as a viable nation for a thousand years or whatever. All the fertile land along the Nile is poisoned, and every town along the route flooded with radioactive water.” Menzies hit the bed with his fist. “I know they were pissed, and could understand them blowing the locks on the Suez Canal, but not that, not the dam.”
“It might not be them, the Israelis. It might be whoever dropped a nuke on Mecca and both that and the dam happened after the Israelis had evacuated.” Harry frowned. “Those who could evacuate before the lunatics ran over them. Mecca could be the Indians since they were truly wound up when the Pakistanis started. Maybe they decided to thin out all the Moslems, not just their neighbours.”
Harry looked at the notes he’d jotted to help him remember. “You mean the limited nuclear exchange? Whatever idiot coined that has never been in one. Though India and Pakistan have still got enough soldiers to plough Kashmir into mud.”
“Did you get anything on China? Russia’s supposed to have come apart with Army groups declaring independence and trying to grab oil reserves or military bases.” Menzies had notes as well. There had been a lot of catching up to do.
“Not much on China. Just the rumour that all the satellites and mobile phones going down was them, launching ball bearings into orbit of all things. To stop their own people talking to each other. Then unconfirmed reports of Army units rebelling.” Harry grimaced. “As long as them and the Russkies don’t decide they like the sound of limited nuclear.”
“They wouldn’t have the fuel to take advantage.” Menzies rolled his eyes upward. “Please Lord I hope not. There sure isn’t much fuel here at home. D’you reckon the cities here are as bad as they say?”
“We’ve seen London. I’ve finally got a letter from my sister, Sharyn, and she’s worried about shortages and riots. The bloody phones don’t work to actually talk to her.” Harry was really worried about that. He really didn’t want Sharyn and the kids caught up in something like this lot. “The bloody letter had those black lines in it so she told me something I’m not supposed to know. It’s England, for Christ’s sake.”
“Not just you. Now some mail has come through a lot of the men are complaining about bits being censored. I know we’re Army, but there’s also free speech.” Menzies glowered at the floor. “My parents are moving out of Sheffield. They’re heading into the countryside. To someplace in Lincolnshire called Market Rasen where nothing ever happens according to them.”
“I’ll tell sis to do the same if it gets worse. If the bloody Army don’t cross it out.” Harry wondered about that. Since he was back in England, he should have been
able to stick a letter in a post box. Not anymore. The Post Office had stopped collections and deliveries which it never did, not even in wartime.
Catching up and the news each day gave them food for thought. Though a lot of the news was enough to give them indigestion. Cynthia was definitely a distraction, a really welcome and pleasant one.
Chapter 3:
Riots and a Broom Cupboard
The nightly riots dealt with keeping Harry distracted from the state of the country. There wasn’t time to think of much else in the next week except the constant barrage of bricks and lumps of timber. That was bad enough, but the constant threat of gunfire was causing a trickle of really serious injuries or deaths.
A sergeant stopped on the way past. “We’ve got gunfire again. Next street this time.” Harry’s squad were having a drink as there was a break in the assault.
Harry looked around but everything was fairly quiet. “The snipers will sort that. As long as nobody here gets brave while they’re gone.” Tonight the first two rioters throwing petrol bombs had gone down hard. The Army shooters were supposed to wound petrol bombers if possible. Too many nights under attack and too many squaddies burned or crippled or killed had lowered definitions of what was possible. “The bloody bricks are bad enough.”
The sergeant moved on but another voice rang out. “Right, Miller, get your lot back in line. If you’ve got the breath to natter, you’re rested.” The squaddies rolled their eyes and got up, quickly draining the bottles of water.
“Right Sarge. Where?”
“Relieve Menzies. Someone tossed a lump of concrete with reinforcing bars sticking out and two of his lot need patching. Watch out for whoever it is.” A snarl entered Sarge’s voice. “If you see him shout out, and we’ll snatch the bastard.”
Harry winced. That meant a squad charging into the crowd, using long batons to force a path to the target. Then the bloke would be hammered into submission and brought back to, presumably, prison. “Right Sarge.”
Menzies even had a description of the bastard, sort of. “Big bloke with a black balaclava.”
“That’s easy then.” Harry looked at the sea of rioters, and every third one had a black balaclava or something close.
“Sorry, but if you see a big bloke and he’s got a black shirt as well, jump forward and smack him sharpish. He chucked that from about three rows back.” Menzies gestured to the chunk of concrete and Harry winced at the lengths of steel jutting from the block. Then the squad was changing places with Menzies and his men, and there wasn’t time to think.
Right up until a sharp scream and Harry turned to see Pinter go down and roll on the street holding his face. The chunk of concrete studded in spikes told the story. Harry’s eyes moved across the crowd and he saw the retreating back topped by a balaclava. The world went a bit fuzzy around the sharp focus on that retreating head. “Willis, with me,” and Harry was moving. He closed the short distance to the nearest rioter and kneed him, then threw him to one side.
Someone at the side snatched at his arm and Harry whacked whoever someplace in the head with the rifle butt. He didn’t look where, just kept moving. The next rioter flinched as he was suddenly faced by six feet of rapidly advancing soldier and Harry body-checked him backwards. The soldier then shouldered the woman next to the rioter the other way and went into the gap, angling across towards his target. Sarge was shouting but Harry couldn’t hear what was said so he kept going.
A slash sideways with the bayonet and the man raising a lump of timber as a club screamed and dropped it, blood spurting from his forearms. The man stumbled back and went down and Harry trampled over him, keeping his eyes on that balaclava. Harry was now three rows deep and the next rioters were totally shocked to see a soldier.
He punched one in the face then slapped the woman who tried to grab his rifle. Something rang off his helmet and a hand grabbed his arm. Harry gave whoever it was his arm, elbow first as hard as possible, and grabbed his rifle two-handed again as the grip slackened.
Another hand took hold, then let go as quickly as Harry bulled forward, hitting the man hard in the chest with his rifle butt. Harry had nearly caught up with the bastard and the man must have heard something, because he turned. The eyes behind the balaclava flared in shock and his hands went up to defend himself. Before Harry could get through the gap and drop the bastard, two men hit. One grabbed at the rifle and another struck at Harry with a cricket stump. Luckily on the shoulder though it hurt like hell.
Harry butted the one going for his rifle and his helmet smashed the rioter’s nose, judging by the spray of blood. The man reeled back and Harry wheeled, bringing his knee across. It wasn’t perfect but the man with the cricket stump doubled over a bit and went backwards. Harry glanced up and the big man in the balaclava was backing away. This balaclava had a mouth hole and Harry saw the smile as the gap between him and that smile widened. A man and woman surged into the gap to confront Harry.
Harry snatched the cricket stump from the winded man and turned sideways. One foot went forward and the cricket stump went out, one end on his hand. With the turn and lunge as well, suddenly Harry could reach over three feet further, plus the length of the stump. Right between the two blocking his path.
The stump’s blunt point struck beneath the bastard’s smile. Far enough beneath to hit his Adam’s apple and the whole of Harry’s weight was behind the thrust. It crossed Harry’s mind that his tutor would have been pleased and then he dropped the stump and pulled back. Hands grabbed at him and Harry swung and kicked.
Harry thought they’d got him as more hands struck or grabbed hold. He lashed out and at least one got the point of the bayonet instead of slashes. He butted a woman, and used his knees and elbows but the crowd was squeezing in. Then the pressure eased and the savage faces around him changed expression. They were suddenly frightened and trying to back off, and then some were reeling away and falling. “Lose your way, Miller?”
“Sorry, Sarge.” Squaddies were pushing past in a tight group.
“Have you finished, or were you enjoying the view?”
“All done Sarge.” The squad started to retreat and nobody pushed them. This was the snatch squad with decent riot armour and shields and real batons. Long ones that would break limbs if applied ruthlessly. These soldiers were always ruthless after arriving too late for some of their comrades.
“Sorry Harry. I couldn’t keep up.” Willis had a black eye coming up and was having a bleeding hand tended to so it wasn’t for lack of trying.
“It’s OK. I lost it a bit.”
“Miller, a word.” Harry stepped to the side with Sarge, who gave him a once-over. “Bleeding marvellous. Not a scratch.” Harry could have argued because he could feel where he’d have some lovely bruises. “Did you get him?”
“He won’t be back.”
“How come?” Sarge wasn’t happy with that, but Harry was facing up what he’d just done. Anyone else could call hitting the man there a fluke, but Harry couldn’t because that thrust was training. For a moment Harry had been back in that bloody hole in the sand, and he’d lashed out and killed a man.
“He won’t be back, Sarge. I promise.” Harry needed to go somewhere quiet and possibly be sick like the first time, but that wasn’t going to happen. Not with Sarge lurking. “I could murder a pint.” It was out without thought.
Sarge laughed. “Me too. If you weren’t that Miller I’d push this, but I just saw how you got that bloody medal. Did you go apeshit then?”
Harry sighed. “Yeah, but I had bullets as well then.”
Sarge gave a low whistle. “Remind me not to argue over my pay. Have a minute and a drink. Of water.” Sarge moved off with a friendly nod. The first sign of civility Harry had seen from Sarge since they met on the plane.
“They were wrong. You don’t go green or split your trousers. I’m supposed to see if you’re OK.” Menzies grinned. “We’re having a quiet moment since some savage just trampled the poor citizens in front of us underf
oot.” His face sobered. “Did you get him, because Pinter’s maybe going to lose that eye.”
“I got him, but not official. Right?”
“That’ll do. We’ll sort a squad from our two, because Willis isn’t great so we lost two each. Though Willis will be fine tomorrow, and so will at least one of mine.” Menzies left a bottle of water and went. Harry followed him after a drink, but the rioters weren’t pushing now. Within the hour they gave up and backed off.
Then it was time to load up bodies and send the badly wounded civvies, those not rescued by their friends, to the camp. The camp that had been set up outside London, allegedly. The wounded civvies would receive treatment in the camp, apparently, but even the worst of them travelled in a truck, not an ambulance.
Pinter went in the ambulance with the other badly wounded soldiers and an armed escort. The ambulance escort now had loaded rifles since several emergency vehicles had been ambushed by gangs looking for drugs. London was coming apart at the seams. The squaddies drank their tea and staggered off to bed.
* * *
“Good morning Harry Corporal Miller.” Harry smiled before opening his eyes and started to sit up. He winced and paused. Cyn’s eyes went wide. “What happened to you?” Cynthia moved closer, looking at the bruise on Harry’s shoulder where the cricket stump had hit him much too hard.
“Careful.” Harry grinned. “Though if I sit up and you see the rest, will you come even closer?”
Cyn was back on balance. “Sit up then. I’ll try to resist.” She sniggered. “I’m still wondering just what a soldier wears in bed.” Harry sat up, carefully because a couple of those bruises were sore. Cyn’s eyes went wide, then twinkled. “Are there any more?”
“I could show you, but not until I’m on leave. They’ll probably have faded by then but you can see my scars?” Harry picked up the coffee. “This smells lovely.”
“What do you put on them. The bruises?” Cynthia was serious.