by Vance Huxley
The weapon fired again but not at Harold and a second one joined in. Harold raised his rifle. His few rounds weren’t going to be enough because others would pick the weapons up. Harold laid the sights on one of the flashes and moved the point of aim back a bit. “Shit!” Harold almost fired in pure reflex but now he wasn’t going to be required.
There were less tracers, but the brick walls flying apart explained why. There was serious weaponry up on the bypass. A light cannon for starters. Harold felt a cold chill up his back. If there were tanks as well then he hoped the Army were worried about collateral. The muzzle blast alone could hurt people. Especially if the Army came off the bypass and started firing between these houses.
The cannon fire moved along the line of derelict housing and the previous reluctance to fire without a clear target had disappeared. Harold mashed the button on the radio. “Matthew. Cease fire, tell our lot to not fire anything! One muzzle flash right now and some trigger happy oik up there will blow the house apart.” Harold gave the same message to Casper, who reported movement at the far side of the caravan park.
Then he said “Oh shit” and the radio went quiet. Harold tried to see or listen but the cannon was still hammering, and had been joined by another. Several machine guns were lashing the places smashed by the cannon with short bursts of tracers. Harold relaxed just a little, because nobody would be charging out into that.
Harold winced and raised his arm, but the light and heat were about sixty yards away. A large section of the housing that had been smashed by the cannon caught fire. Not caught fire, it ignited into an instant inferno and Harold didn’t need the smell. Napalm had been dropped on them.
“What’s that?” Berry was terrified and there were shouts and a scream from below.
“The RAF are burning the bastards. Keep down in case it drops nearer.” Harold kept down and passed the same warning over the radio. Then he sat and hoped the RAF were only using helicopters. If the jets came in napalm wasn’t precision, the canisters bounced all over the place. Collateral was even more scary when you were the possible subject.
“They’re coming Harold. Hundreds of them, maybe thousands.” Casper’s voice was sober and didn’t have much hope. “We’ll hold as long as we can. Cheers mate. Get the hell out with who you can and good luck.”
Harold half-rose to go and help, but a group broke from the wrecked houses opposite. “Harold, they’re coming.” Nigel’s warning was heeded because seconds later one of the group stumbled with a shaft sprouting from his chest. The damaged housing this end wasn’t on fire and this lot weren’t waiting for napalm. Blind panic or just pure hatred drove them out across the open ground and Harold emptied the clip in a roll of four quick shots.
“Save the pistol.” Nigel had fired but he’d probably missed as the remaining men were still twenty yards out. Two more toppled with shafts in them though one was struggling to get up with a crossbow bolt in his leg. Harold got the next clip in, his last, and took a second longer for each shot now. Five men went down hard when he hit them as did three men behind them.
Another five or six went down, some with shafts in them, then three more and Harold wondered where the extra bullets were coming from. The Army marksmen, maybe, since they weren’t needed elsewhere? The last four broke and ran sideways, off across the car park. “Leave them, save your ammo. If any of the wounded try to come this way or use a weapon, take your time to make sure and kill them.”
“OK Harold. Do you think they’ll come again? I’ve used up over half my arrows.” Seth sounded worried and had the right to be. Orchard Close didn’t have the firepower or ammunition to stop these numbers if they didn’t attract Army fire by using firearms. Harold was down to two shots in his rifle.
Above the roar of the flames Harold could hear firing from the other end, the gate. He took the rifle into the other room. “There’s two shots left in here. Wait until they’re close and they’ll go through two people. I’m going to the gate.”
“Why Harold? What if they come again?” There was no hint of the cheery brewer left in Berry’s pale face.
“All those bodies should put them off trying here again. There’s a big attack on the gate so I’m going to try and help.” Harold showed the handgun. “It’s going to be close and furious and this will help.” He scooped up his stick and headed down the stairs.
“How’s it going?” “Is it over?”
“Not yet but we stopped the attacks here. I’m going to the gate. If anyone gets over the wall here just keep them out of the doors, OK?” Harold grinned at them all. “If that happens I’ll be coming up right behind them.” He turned as the relieved smiles bloomed on worried faces, and let himself out. Harold really hoped he’d be coming back. Then he ran towards the gunfire.
Fifty or sixty yards along the street he passed the broken section of wall and scattered bodies where the attackers had briefly made it over. Four figures were trying to build the wall back up. “Get indoors. If that crap splashes over here you can’t put it out.” Startled faces looked at Harold, glanced at the flames and billowing smoke forty paces away, and ran for the houses.
Ten steps later Harold stopped, aghast. The deep bellow and the vibration right through his bones meant that there was a real battle tank firing up there. He pulled out the radio. “Casper, Casper. Get away from the windows. Duck, everyone. If they use a bloody shell Christ knows where the crap will hit.” There was no reply. Harold pressed Matthew’s button.
“What the f...what the hell was that, Harold?”
“Tank. Heads down, right down.” There was a whistle and a deep moaning noise overhead. “Really down, kiss the floor.” Harold turned and started to run back. Then he more or less kissed the tarmac as the road did it’s best to smack him silly.
The artillery or mortar rounds crashed down, then again, and again. Harold felt a wave of relief since they were well over, deep inside the damaged housing. He lurched to his feet as the radio crackled and Berry’s voice came on. “Harold. Harold! They’re coming Harold.”
“I’m coming Berry.” Harold ran flat out, cursing himself. He dived for the road again and the ground kicked back as more rounds ploughed into the houses, but still across that narrow gap away from Orchard Close. He was up on his feet straight away and running, and now Harold could hear shouting ahead. He really hoped the shots were Nigel. Then there were other shots, just a few, and Harold could see the corner house.
A crowd were around the door, trying to get inside while others were attempting to pull the boards from the ground floor windows. Harold stopped thirty feet away, propped the stick against his leg, and raised the pistol two-handed. “Oy, bastards!” Harold bellowed as loud as possible and then emptied the twelve rounds, six each side of the door. He didn’t want to hit the defenders. Harold got the other clip in and repeated the process as the men around the door turned and a group ran at him.
Then Harold grabbed the stick, dropped the gun, and went for them with blade and club. A line of fire bit his leg, and something hit his shoulder. Harold jerked his head back as a machete tried for his head and kicked a convenient leg bloody hard. Then stamped on an arm reaching for a dropped machete. Meanwhile he thrust and slashed and clubbed and flailed in a combination of training and ice cold rage.
Four loud shots from overhead and the bodies were thrown forward past Harold. The group hesitated as men went down, shot from behind. Someone shouted ‘charge’ and there were now spears and machetes stabbing and hacking into their backs. Bricks landed from above and attackers spread out. As they did spears and clubs reached past Harold to get at them. Reinforcements had arrived from the neighbouring houses.
Harold chased two of the attackers down the side of the house and got one before the other got over the partly broken wall. As he stood, head bowed and gasping for breath, the escaping man raced across the open space until he pitched forward with a shaft in his back. Behind Harold there were cheers and jeers, and they were voices he knew. Harold cleaned the b
lade and wiped off his stick, then used it to limp back towards the door.
“Hey, Harold. You’re crazy, you do know that?” Nigel was looking out of an upstairs window.”
“So is that daughter of yours with her bricks.” Harold smiled up at Nigel. “So are you, sticking your head outside with that bloody lot still flying overhead. Get indoors.” Harold came in sight of the door and paused.
“I’m just dealing with the wounded. The bastards killed Sue.” Isiah might be reclusive and have a limp, but he was methodically wielding a spear right now. He put the point about where the fallen man’s heart would be, then threw his weight on it until the point sank right in. Then he wrenched the spear clear and moved to the next, regardless of if the next target was moving or not. Beyond him Kerry, his wife, was performing the same task using a machete and going for necks. Both had faces like stone despite the tear tracks gleaming in the firelight.
Isiah’s limp was more pronounced because he’d got a big cut on his left leg, and his wife had her left arm tucked inside her coat. Sue was laid across the entrance with dark stains on her front, and a coat across her face. Harold assumed it was Sue, because the fourth defender was by the wall at the end of the house, trying to rebuild it. Beyond him scattered figures were running across the car park as if the Hounds of Hell were on their heels.
Harold looked around and five figures were heading back down the road to their original positions. One was limping and another was holding an arm but there were no friends among the bodies lying here.
Finn came along the road from nearer the bypass. He’d been there with a pistol crossbow and a baseball bat as a last ditch defence. “Pippa and Robert are still back there with that little crossbow and clubs. I tried to get here, Harold.”
“It was all too quick, Finn, go back and get under cover.” More rounds moaned and whistled overhead. “One of those could still land short.”
“Crap. Really?” Finn looked at the debris being tossed up in among the ruins. Definitely ruins now.
“Go, scat, we’ve just been tidying up and now we’re going indoors.” Finn turned and walked quickly away, nursing his arm. Harold called out to the others. “Come on, indoors now where we’re safer.” He walked back to pick up the handgun and the empty clip. The empty brass could wait.
Sue had been pulled inside and the door was propped shut as soon as he got back. As well as possible since the door had been broken in and both the lock and hinges were torn free. The other three defenders were huddled together, bandaging and murmuring, and in Kerry’s case crying softly. “Thank you. All of you. I’ll be upstairs.” Harold hobbled up to the big corner bedroom.
Upstairs Seth was curled up in the corner, hunched around his upper arm, and Berry was trying to stop the blood. She was getting there but Seth had lost a good bit already. A cut off arrow shaft on the floor explained why. His white face looked up. “Oh good. Berry set off with bricks after I got hit trying to use your rifle. Nigel followed, with that gun.” He winced. “Then there was screaming.” He gestured to a loaded crossbow. “I was waiting to see who came through the door.”
“If you’d shot me I’d have slapped you.” Berry gave her efforts a critical look and kissed the bandage. “There, all kissed better.”
“My face hurts as well?”
Berry looked at Seth and smiled. “You finally asked. All it took was being nearly killed.”
“Hey, steady on there. Father present.” But Nigel was smiling. So was Seth when Berry straightened up again after making his face better.
Harold looked through the firing slits. “We all need to keep down and away from openings until this stops. You may as well sit and hold hands, Berry. I’ll send your Dad out if you like.”
“Not a chance. I’m not leaving her alone with him. She’s a pushover for a wounded hero.” Nigel ducked as he was quickly Berry’d. Then the three sat in a row along the wall. Harold limped downstairs to check on the rest and scrounge a bandage himself. The wadded cloth he’d stuffed through the rip in his jeans leg needed binding in place.
Then he came back up and settled down in the other bedroom to wait until the Army was done. The most worrying thing was no response from the gate, but neither was there any alarm from Matthew. Matthew reported that the rioters weren’t pouring down the inside road so the gate had held.
Twice Harold went to look out of the side windows, back into Orchard Close, when an explosion was in the wrong place. One house now had the roof blown off and the upper floors shattered. Harold tried to remember who lived there, and hoped they were with the defenders. The second short shell landed the other side of a boundary house so Harold couldn’t see the damage caused.
Occasional bullets or shrapnel and debris clattered as they hit the roof, since the Army were still firing into the chaos beyond the narrow boundary strip. Forty yards seemed a long way until someone was throwing fire and explosives about. Once again Harold berated himself for not knocking down those houses. Also for going off to the gate. Maybe Sue would be alive if he’d stayed? Or maybe the shrapnel whizzing about would have killed one of those repairing the walls?
Eventually the explosions stopped, though there was still gunfire from down by the gate. Harold had a good look out of all the upstairs windows. Berry was indignant. “The nasty gits fired the building as they ran.” The single story office on the big car park was burning.
“It’s just that Berry. Sheer nastiness because they got whupped. I don’t mind really because they missed the garage at the side. That was what I was worried about or I would have let the first lot get on with it.” Harold smiled. “We haven’t got many vehicles so the fuel should last for ages.”
“Sal said the underground tanks were empty because the petrol pumps said so.”
“Technically, because someone must have pumped until it said empty before breaking the pump itself. There’s a lot still in there but it will need straining. We’ve got diesel and petrol for a while if we’re careful.”
“Can’t you bring it inside here?” Seth seemed a bit better, the hand holding must be healing as well.
“We would need too many cans and then one spark and we’ve lost the lot. With that wide open tarmac we can stop anyone nicking it.” Harold grimaced. “We can when I reload all the empty shell casings. I’ve got two left.”
“I used all mine up.” Nigel looked at the floor. “I’ll do the housekeeping in a bit and collect them.”
“There’s more on the road outside and probably outside the wall. With luck we’ll now have a tomorrow to sort all that out. Or maybe day after tomorrow because none of us will sleep tonight.” Harold went to the door. “Nobody will be coming across the cleared section tonight because the houses at the other side are a raging inferno. I’m going to the gate.”
“Why?”
“I can’t get a reply on the radio. I’ll take mine and get back to you. I can’t reinforce them because we’ve got nothing left.” Harold waved at his rifle. “You’ve still got two in that.”
Seth pointed at three shafts. “We’ve got some arrows for the crossbows.”
“They’re bolts according to the internet.”
“Yes dear.”
“Dear!” Berry glared at Seth. “Do you want a slap?”
“Please?” Seth was grinning.
Berry looked at her Dad. “Hey, I’ve found a volunteer. You might get a break.”
“As long as you keep holding his hand so it doesn’t get into mischief.”
* * *
Harold left them to it and limped down and out of the door. The three downstairs were actually asleep though one roused as Harold scraped the door open and jammed it shut again. He limped down the road, looking at the houses either side. There were more broken windows but not too many, and there were broken tiles here and there.
Harold paused where the shell or mortar round had landed between the boundary houses. The original broken down section of boundary wall had a big bite out it and a chunk of the house wall
nearby had been blown in. There was a body hanging over the edge of the exposed upstairs floor. Harold thought of going up there, but not yet. Not until he found out the problem at the gate.
Matthew was stood outside the house he had been defending. His good arm was round Bess and both hers were round Matthew. “Hi Matthew. How is everyone?”
“Sharyn is fine. I’ll let her know you’re hobbling but mobile. We’ve got one dead and four wounded in here, mostly from when that machine gun thing fired from over there. There’s more dead and wounded along the way.” Matthew gave a little smile. “If there’s more trouble I’m standing behind Bess. She’s a maniac.”
“Not really. I think a lot missed. I’m sorry Harold but I got frightened and forgot the single shot thing.” Bess looked sorry, and shocked, and was hugging Matthew tightly. “I used them nearly all up.”
“But she scared the hell out of those she missed, and we got those.” Matthew gave Bess a hug, and smiled at her. “We made a good team.”
“Still nothing from the gate?”
“No, I was considering going there but didn’t want to leave here.” Matthew glanced back up at the house. “We managed to hang on to this place and I wouldn’t want to lose it now.”
“Fair enough. We’ll stay in position until dawn at least. Take turns to get some sleep if you can.” Harold left them with a little smile. Being under fire together seemed to be breaking down boundaries.
* * *
The gates looked reassuringly intact. The smoke beyond was thick and as it drifted over stank of napalm and burning meat. To Harold’s great relief Casper stepped out of a house. “Hello Harold. Lost your way?”
“No you lump. I can’t seem to talk to you on this anymore.” Harold waved his radio.
“Ah, sorry. My fault.” Casper gave an embarrassed shrug. “I put the radio down because I thought we were about to be overrun, and it dropped to the floor.” Casper waved a hand upwards to the house. “It popped open and the batteries rolled out, and one went down between the floorboards. We’ve been too busy to rip up the floor to find it.”