Gone Underground

by Phil Brett

  ‘We’re health and safety. We make unannounced calls to extraction plants,’ announced Roijin.

  Fat boy and scary woman both laughed. ‘You’ve picked a great day to visit. Well, come along and see how ‘elf and safety we are ‘ere.’ He used his machine gun to indicate that we were to go into the office to our right.

  We did so, finding a group of terrified staff, who obviously had been struck a few times, being shoved towards an exit by four more khaki and red clad “militia” men.

  ‘Wait!’ shouted our fat guard. ‘We’ve got four more ‘ere!’

  Both the militia and the staff stopped and faced him.

  His attention was drawn to one of the technicians, a young white woman who had a severely cut lip. But it wasn’t her facial injuries which concerned him. He could see that her blouse was torn, as was her bra. ‘What the fuck is this? I said we’d have none of that funny bollocks here.’

  One of the guards, a ginger lad with a NWC arm band the size of bandage, stuttered a fearful apology. ‘I didn’t do anything. Just a bit of fun.’

  Our fat guard waddled over to her to cover her up by pulling her blouse across her breast. Instinctively, she touched his arm, as if to push it away. He snarled abuse and swung his machine gun across her face. A scream pierced the room. I could feel both Victoria and Roijin tense up, wanting to act. But they didn’t. Scary woman had her rather large gun pointing at our backs.

  ‘Listen, bitch. You’ve got me wrong. It isn’t that I care about your welfare, but I don’t want it looking like we’ve been sexually abusing you. Giving you thump, mind, is perfectly okay.’

  ‘Fascist,’ Cole hissed.

  She was right. They were. They were agent provocateurs, although it was unlikely they describe themselves as such. Wouldn't know what the word meant, let alone be able to spell it. They were pretending to be on our side, and so, in their warped view of our morals, sexually harassing women was not permissible. Beating the shit out of them was fine and dandy.

  Ignoring Cole and the weeping woman, he turned and addressed the “militia”. ‘Remember what I said – when we leave the building, the CCTV will be on us, so mind your language. Talk as if you are NWC wankers. Remember, these communist faggots are now to be called anti-revolutionary scum.’

  He laughed. So did his pals. ‘Now, I don’t know where Andy is, but we’ve got to get cracking. He’ll be okay. So, come on. You know what you gotta do.’

  ‘Yes, Dog,’ they replied.

  So this was the fabled dog. The Dog.

  We were all led out. Victoria and I helped the woman, trying to reassure her. With my silk pocket handkerchief, I tried to stop the blood pouring out of her nose. Roijin took hold of Janet’s arm. And so, our great rescue squad meekly joined the rest of the extraction’s full complement of employees to the middle of the car park. They were huddling together through a combination of fear and the cold. Whilst we had been underground, the snow had increased.

  There must have been over a hundred cowering workers standing in front of over a dozen fake militia. As the fat fascist we now knew to be Dog had instructed, the “militia” were now shouting NWC slogans and abusing us, accusing us of being reactionaries. Personally, I didn't find them that convincing. All seemed to talk in music hall 'cockney'; pretend working class.

  Scary woman asked Dog if that was everyone. He looked around and started to count. This might take some time. He’d get stuck on the high numbers.

  ‘It’s enough,’ he finally replied, probably giving up after reaching the twenties.

  The militia were now lining up and looking very much like a firing squad. Dog glanced at his watch, then looking up at the grouped frightened members of staff in front of him, he cleared his throat. Then, in a booming voice, he announced, ‘You have been caught sabotaging this power facility and setting of a bomb and corrupting the safety systems so as to poison the water table and the plants and animals which rely on it. Not to mention, endangering the lives of thousands of local people.’

  ‘These undemocratic acts must not be allowed to continue. That is why the United Revolutionary Socialist Party, on behalf of the National Workers Council, have decided that you must be punished to set an example. We've 'ad enough. 'Been too polite. This place is vital and important to keeping our lights on."

  Assorted rifles, pistols and machine guns were raised to threaten a hail of bullets to give out the aforementioned punishment. A few of the staff gasped and begged for mercy. Terror filled their eyes.

  ‘Loss of life is regrettable, but this must stop. So, to this end, for the sake of protecting the revolution, you are to be executed—’

  The three of us exchanged a look.

  ‘Excuse me!’ shouted Cole, walking towards him. ‘I'm afraid you are mistaken there comrade. The party has line has consistently been that fracking must stop. That it did not on day one was solely due to the NWC delaying the vote. We do not regard it as being either vital or important. I really don’t understand. You said that the party is acting on behalf of the NWC, but how is that possible? Surely, the party cannot work on behalf of the NWC. Party members either act for the party or, if they are doing so under instruction from the NWC, then they doing so as the NWC. Do you follow? Where was this decided? Who decided it?’

  Dog momentarily looked surprised. Cole continued, ‘What my comrades and I don’t understand is on whose authority are you acting? Who in the party decided this? Is this the party acting on its own, or is it the NWC? It doesn’t seem very clear to us.’

  Roijin also moved forward a few steps, slightly away from Cole. The militia waved their guns and looked at Dog. They were confused and hoped he would give a lead. He didn’t, but instead stared at Roijin, who was now earnestly asking him, ‘Who made this very important decision? Was it the National Committee or the Central Committee who decided this?’

  ‘Er, the . . . er . . . Central Committee.’

  ‘That’s odd!’ she said, in a tone you might if you were enjoying a puzzle in the Sunday supplements, ‘because the CC haven’t met in days. Do you want to check your facts? You don’t want to have got it wrong.’

  ‘No, indeed,’ chimed Cole. ‘We all understand that there is a ruthless war being waged against. If we have to be sacrificed, then so be it, but it is a bit strange. As you will be aware, Motion 43b Jan 8th outlaws all capital punishment, which surely this proposed action would qualifies as.’

  I stepped forward. The sound of my shoes crunching on the settling snow helped stifle the noise of my heart beating. ‘And, comrades, can I check whether you are party members? Because I can see lots of badges – a rather nice assortment, actually. Quite a collection. Although,’ I pointed to a young lad who was nervously pointing a rifle at me, ‘comrade, you’re wearing a party armband, but also a badge of the Anarchist Federation. Yet both the AF’s and our rules state that you cannot be a member of the other. Oh, and by the way, the AF badge is upside down.’

  Although Dog was in charge, and it was his turn to use the group’s brain cell, he was totally confused. He hadn’t expected three big gobs to step forward and start debating with him. They might have the weapons, but we had the intelligence. And the pomposity.

  ‘And,’ Cole added quickly, moving further way from Roijin and me. We were now forming a triangle, with the staff behind us. The militia were getting confused who to look and snarl at. ‘I have to say,’ she said, ‘that your language within the offices was distinctly sexist, racist and homophobic. Is there any way that we could complain about the unrevolutionary way you and your comrades spoke?’

  I energetically nodded. ‘What party branch are you from? There really should be an investigation into your terminology.’

  Dog seemed to shake himself out of his stunned stupor. ‘Who gives a fuck what you think, you . . .’ he paused, choosing the correct insult to use, ‘you reactionary bastard. Now, get back in line, the three of you, and don’t make this any worse.’

  ‘How could it be any worse?’ I ask
ed.

  ‘Good point,’ agreed Roijin. ‘Things are looking grim for us all.’ Her tone was sounding more like a Victorian gentleman by the second.

  ‘Shut it! Get back to the group!’

  Cole looked at both Roijin and me. ‘Looks like it’s going to be curtains for us. I think we should sing the Internationale.’

  Despite the situation and that we happened to be in front of a mass firing squad, I felt a great desire to laugh at the suggestion. Then she started to sing at the top of her voice, ‘Arise, ye workers from your slumber.’

  Roijin joined in, equally loudly. Militia jaws were dropping. Then, I started singing too. Extraction staff jaws dropped.

  We had got to a second rendition of the chorus when Dog, clearly not appreciating our choral skills, yelled for us to stop and get back in line. His finger was on the trigger.

  ‘Drop your weapons, now!’ A loud voice boomed from up above. All faces looked skywards. There, hovering above us, was a green camouflaged hover-jet with a large red fist on its side and several heavy looking machine guns trained on the militia. ‘We are the Air Corp for the National Workers’ Armed Forces, and we will open fire if you do not disarm immediately.’

  We had done our best to keep them occupied, and despite the hover-jet being supposedly quiet, we had covered the slight buzz it gave off by our spontaneous singing. A second hover-jet appeared and echoed the demand to disarm.

  Dog turned his attention to us. He now could see Roijin and Victoria aiming their hand guns at him. They had swiftly unholstered them with the arrival of the airborne cavalry. I too had my gun drawn, but not quite so smoothly, with it catching on my inside pocket button. To add to his woes, a large helicopter was behind the hover-jets, hovering low to the ground, with its side doors open and a dozen soldiers jumping out.

  All but Dog had dropped their weapons and were standing with their hands on their heads.

  ‘Drop it!’ Cole commanded. She walked towards him with her gun aimed between his eyes.

  He looked at her and then at the two hover-jets above and then behind him at the revolutionary soldiers now reaching him.

  ‘Okay,’ he muttered. His machine gun fell to the floor.

  Cole reached down, and in one smoothly brutal movement, picked it up and arcing upwards, hit him across his face, just as he himself had done to the woman inside the building. His yell was considerably louder than his victim’s, and the crunching sound of bones breaking greater. Judging from those two facts and distance he flew, Cole had hit him with considerable force.

  ‘Woof, fucking woof,’ she snarled.

  Looking at the fat prone Doggy, with his tail between his fat legs, a large muscular soldier reached us and held out a hand, ‘Comrade Cole? Alec Orkney. We spoke on the phone. Good to see you. Anyone injured?’

  I didn’t hear the rest of the conversation as I felt my phone ringing. Moving away from them, I took it.

  It was, as I had expected, my sister. She looked deathly pale. But then, I would guess that I did too, because despite everything going to plan, it had been nerve-wracking in the extreme. All it would have taken was a goon to start shooting, or to look upwards, and we would have been finished. But they hadn’t, and we had prevented a massacre.

  She spoke without pausing. ‘My God, Pete, are you okay? I can’t believe what I just saw. My phone went off at the start of a meeting. I had turned it off but somehow it turned itself on and I found myself watching what was happening there. I saw everything. I had to make my apologies and leave the meeting. I sat on the loo seat and just watched it. It was terrifying. I thought you were going to die!’

  ‘You can thank Roijin, our friendly tech wizard, for supplying you with an en suite movie. She remotely turned your phone on and patched you into the CCTV. They had turned the interior cameras off, for reasons I am sure that you can guess, but she turned them back on. They had left the outside CCTV on to be used against us, cast-iron proof of a mass execution by the NWC of innocent unarmed workers. It was to be beamed around the world to discredit us. We just adlibbed a few extra bits. And sent it to you. So, now you see what they were planning.’

  ‘It’s incredible. I can’t believe that they were going to murder all those innocent people. How did you know?’

  ‘From what you said,’ I answered. ‘You said that we were to have “blood on our hands”. That was not going to happen by merely sabotaging an extraction plant. They were going to use an old trick of theirs – cause an outrage and use the reaction as a stick to beat us with. This time, they did the reaction themselves. A painting gave me the idea that it was going to be the latter.’

  She looked totally puzzled but didn't ask what I meant. No doubt, she thought it was just her brother thinking in his usual oblique way.

  ‘They were going to claim,’ I continued, ‘with the video footage supposedly supporting it, that following sabotage here, the party had executed all the workers employed at the plant. That was why staff had been redeployed here. Unlike all the other plants, this had a full complement. They were not here to run the place but to act as cannon fodder – to provide more people to be murdered. We also noticed that, whilst all the staff were here, the militia seemed a lot smaller than normal. They had, no doubt, told those who weren’t murdering tossers that they wouldn’t be needed today.’

  ‘Do you think they were MI5?’

  ‘No. They wouldn’t waste so many agents on such a mundane matter as mass murder. And judging from how obese many of them are and the speed of their surrender, I don’t think they’re military, ex or otherwise, either. No, we think they’re just brainless morons from the lunatic far right. From their high point five years ago, they’ve been sulking in their bedrooms, so a call from MI5 would have given them orgasms.’

  ‘Incredible. You could have been killed, Pete. Why did you put yourself in this position?’

  ‘I would have rather not, Sophie, but we had little choice. We have to play this out. Victoria had contacted the local NWC military base, and we just hoped they’d get here in time. Mum always told us to live by our principles, so I try to.’

  Unlike what was usual, I didn’t receive ridicule, but only a smile.

  ‘So?’ I asked.

  She knew what I was alluding to. ‘I’ll ring now.’ As she was about to end the call, she added, ‘Please be careful, Pete. You’re an arrogant, self-satisfied politically naïve pain in the behind, but you’re my only living relative, so please look after yourself.’

  She had finished the call before I had had the chance to point out that we had a few uncles, aunties and cousins, so that wasn’t strictly true.

  I looked around, feeling like someone who had got separated from their friends on a demo. I could see Roijin, with a clearly now rejuvenated Janet Kovac, organising the arrest of the thugs. Cole had stopped talking to Alec Orkney, and was calling me over.

  No sooner as I had joined her, then she had strode off towards the helicopter. Although she hadn’t asked me to, I trotted after her. ‘Sister darling going to make the call?’ she asked curtly.

  ‘Yeah, doing it now,’ I replied, trying to keep up with her and keep my footing.

  ‘Good. I’ve arranged for Roijin to stay here to organise things at this end. To be honest, she is a little critical of what we are planning. I think personal feelings might be playing a part there, so it is probably best that she stays here. She can also chase something I've been thinking about. We’re going to get a lift in this thing,’ she said, as we ducked under the chopper blades. ‘The pilot knows where we’re going, and I’ve told them, under no circumstances, should they contact Jackie Payne. Comrade Orkney wasn’t happy, but he is going to do as I asked.’

  We stood by the landing skids, rather unsure of the etiquette of getting aboard a helicopter. Truth was, I had never been on one before. That problem was solved when a voice from inside invited us in. Climbing on board, we saw the pilot, a young Asian woman, sporting a nice outfit of grey pilot’s uniform, helmet, sunglasses,
a red arm band and shocking purple lipstick. ‘Pete and Vic, I presume. Come aboard. Buckle up and get comfortable. I’ve been given clearance to go, but because of the demilitarisation, it is going to be a quick “there, drop you and then go” job.’

  ‘Hopefully, you’ll land before dropping us off,’ I replied, pulling myself on.

  She laughed. ‘I’ll try to.’

  She turned back to her controls and within seconds we were off, up into the freezing air.

  37. Papaver rhoeas

  Cole leant forward and blew out her cheeks. ‘That really wasn’t very pleasant. There were moments when I wasn’t sure that we were going to get through it.’

  ‘You weren’t the only one, Victoria.’

  ‘It didn’t show, Pete. Your sarcasm was artful. I think you have a gift for mocking fascists.’

  I laughed. ‘You flatter me.’

  Her smiled lasted about as long as your average English summer. Growing more serious, she addressed what we were about to do. ‘I hope your talents extend to planning the capture of state security agents.’

  ‘I admit it is not a great plan, but—’

  She completed my sentence. ‘There weren’t any better ones. It’s a long shot, but I admit that I don’t have a better one.’ She looked out the window. ‘I hope we land soon. I’m not a great flyer at the best of times, and this weather doesn’t qualify as that. I just hope this chopper flies in the snow. Hopefully, we’ll be there quickly. And then we’ll see how good your plan is. I think your sister has had time to make her call. Time to post our little film from the fracking centre on line.’ She picked up her phone and pressed a button.

  She pulled out two pairs of sunglasses. ‘These might be useful.’ She passed one of them to me.

  ‘Obviously, I’ve got our location incorrect, and we’re off to the south of France.’