Last Man Standing

by Vance Huxley

  Julius nodded, eying up the clear road between the scrap vehicles. The Bren carrier would fit, but what if someone attacked with half the convoy each side and blew a vehicle in the gap? “Road sweeper, you go through along with the next four vehicles. The rest wait until they’re clear, then drive through in groups of four. If someone hits us and blocks the road, fort up either side of the narrow stretch.” Julius glanced back towards the Geeks. He hoped he didn’t have to use rockets because the General would go crackers, but if it was that or lose a lot of men? He watched as the first van and the following Jeep drove into the gap. Whoever it was would probably try to trap or isolate the Bren carrier, but Julius thought the vehicle could either ram its way clear or trample the wrecks.

  The explosion, half-expected as it was, still came as a shock. The van and Jeep disappeared in flame and smoke, flames that didn’t die back! Despite that, the front van kept going, streaming fire. Behind it two wrecks had been blasted out into the road, trapping the Jeep in the flames while blocking the road, but they’d attacked too soon. “Julius here. They’ve fucked up and missed the Bren carrier. Road sweeper, keep going, pedal to the metal. Meet at C-seven, the crossroads. Armour, reverse right to cover the cars behind you. We’ll deal with these oiks, then clear the road.” Most of the gunfire came from the houses on the right, a row of bungalows so the shooters were too low to hit the men behind the side armour. Julius looked back to see Geeks and Kutters pulling up and getting out of their cars, ready if he tried to retreat.

  “Boss, boss, that’s Soldier Boy’s tank.” Sure enough, a well-armoured truck with distinctive paintwork had pulled across the other end of the narrow stretch, blocking any attempt to break through. The amount of gunfire from the loopholes along the side decided Julius; it would be cheaper to storm the houses. He hesitated when his men scrambled out of the Bren carrier and ran, moments before bombs exploded around and inside. The ambushers had put men in the first few wrecks, in throwing range.

  Julius held his breath as the smoke cleared, then grinned and banged on the dashboard with his fist. The attackers hadn’t used fire bombs because they wanted to capture the vehicle. “Everyone in the first three cars, throw bombs into those wrecked cars in the gardens. Join the crew and retake the Bren carrier. Use it to smash a way into the nearest bungalow, then roll up the line. Last four vehicles, cover the Geeks in case Wellington gets ambitious. Everyone else, form a line fifty yards from the armour and give covering fire where it’s needed.”

  Men swarmed out of the front cars, shooting at the houses and the wrecked cars as bombs exploded among the ruined vehicles. For a few moments all went well, then a thunderbolt struck. Not quite Jove’s favoured weapon, though the noise, flame and jet of smoke from the first bungalow looked that way. Over half the men running towards the Bren carrier were swept away by an invisible wind, tumbling to the ground or thrown against vehicles. The bloody ruin told Julius exactly what had happened; the GOFS had brought their cannon! That meant Orchard Close and the GOFS had combined, but he still had the rockets and plenty of men. He turned to tell the driver to turn, to bring the rockets to bear, but remembered what the General said. The rockets wouldn’t damage the bloody thing, just kill the crew. Then a new crew would stick a cannon ball through the van.

  Julius didn’t hesitate because he’d been caught between two strong forces and couldn’t win this one. “Reverse about ten yards, opposite the garage on the next house on the left.” Even as the driver put the van in gear, Julius called on the radio. “Rear guard, smoke bombs.” He turned to the opening in the back of the cab, shouting to the rocket crews. “Two rockets to blow away the garage door on the left, then three to blow out the back wall. Another three to blow out the next wall if there’s another room back there. If there’s a car in there, tell me and we’ll reverse and try again.”

  The voice from inside the rear sounded reluctant. “Won’t the garage collapse, sir? We could go between the houses?”

  “The fence posts between the houses are concrete, so they’ll be concreted in. The garage is built into the house, so it should hold. Just keep the rockets low.” Julius raised his radio again. “Rear vehicles, cover the rest of us. We are breaking out, I say again, breaking out. Those facing the cannon get the wounded into vehicles and pick up all the weapons. You will disengage as soon as I tell you the way is clear. Follow us through the hole. Jeep two, you go first, follow the second salvo.” Even as Julius spoke, the first rockets blew in the garage door.

  “Garage empty sir.” The next three rockets disappeared into the hole. Smoke and flame gushed out, then a triumphant voice shouted, “Daylight, boss, we see daylight.” The Jeep bounced over a garden, turning up the driveway before disappearing into the smoke. Julius glanced back towards the Bren carrier, hesitating because the General would be bloody furious if Soldier Boy or the GOFS captured it. The attackers had someone aboard because it turned and charged towards the nearest house, the only two-storeyed building before the trapped stretch of road. As Julius watched, open-mouthed, it punched through the front wall and window and disappeared inside. With a long, loud rumble the house collapsed. Even as the dust settled, flames erupted from the rubble.

  Julius wrenched his attention back to his escape as his van charged up the driveway. Despite a couple of bangs on the roof, and a big bounce and judder as it drove over scattered brickwork at the rear, the van made it. “All clear everyone, but drive fast or you’ll get stuck. Follow us through. Rearguard, break free and follow as soon as possible.”

  “Rearguard here. No problem boss, because nobody is shooting at us.”

  Julius shook his head in disbelief, pointing as he turned towards his driver. “Across these gardens to the end, then straight across the street and do it again. We want to get well away from that cannon.”

  “Too fucking true.” The driver stomped on the accelerator, smashing through the fence panels. Despite the bouncing, Julius unfolded his map. If he could get two streets across, that should get him clear of the trap. Rendezvousing with Street Sweeper would let him clear light rubble, then slow careful driving would bring the convoy to Trainspotter territory. Being seen there wouldn’t matter because most of the Trainspotters’ fighters were dead. From there the convoy could sneak home without coming in sight of a Barbie estate. The General might go apeshit about the losses, but the weapons from the Trainspotters should cheer him up. Julius spent the long trip home practicing his report, trying to make it sound less like an excuse. He definitely wouldn’t mention Soldier Boy’s trophy vehicle, or the General would blow.

  * * *

  The Geeks and Kutters were taking cover, ready to pounce once the General’s men were embroiled in the fight for the Bren carrier, when the GOFS cannon fired. “Shit, what was that?” Wellington thumbed the radio, thanking random deities the airwaves were clearer away from the big fight. “Right lads, plan C, I think. We take the General’s men, but keep well clear of whatever that is.” He glanced backwards and raised the radio again. “Darwin, make sure all those Kutters come forward and do their bit. No hiding while we do the dying.”

  As Darwin replied, another roar wrenched the Geek warchief’s head round. He tried to see through all the smoke billowing up between him and the enemy. It seemed thicker around than a Transit van and a house, but he couldn’t be sure until the air cleared. The Jeep bouncing down the drive and disappearing was a hint, especially when other vehicles turned to follow. Somebody had reacted fast and done exactly the right thing. “Hold fire, hold fire. Plan G, we’ll go after the….” Wellington tailed off into silence as the Bren carrier drove into a house and disappeared in rubble. He reassessed as the flames began to rise and the last of the convoy ahead drove into the shattered garage and disappeared.

  “Crap. What now?” Wellington’s bodyguard glanced nervously at the nearby Kutters, but their attention was still fixed on the action ahead.

  “There’s sod all left to fight for, except the bodies near the road block. Considering the b
loody great whatever it was that killed them I’m not keen.” Wellington glanced down the line of men and sniggered, pulling his pistol. “Time for plan J.” Both bodyguards smiled, because this was the first time a letter had meant an actual, genuine plan. They turned enough to choose their targets as Wellington thumbed the radio. “All Geek Freeks, all Geek Freeks, Wellie here. It looks like plans A though G are a bust.” Several Geeks up and down the line laughed at the joke about plans, but the humour cut off as he continued. “Plan J, plan J, plan J.” Wellington turned slightly to shoot the Kutter liaison, while his bodyguards cut down their targets. Around and behind him a storm of gunfire erupted.

  Brief screaming and pleading followed the massacre, as the Geeks finished off Kurt’s men. “Sorry boss, Darwin didn’t make it. Must be that survival of the fittest shit I heard about.” The laughter from most of the men had little or no sympathy, because Darwin wasn’t considered a real fighter.

  “Make sure you empty his pockets. Strip all the bodies, down to the underwear if they haven’t shat themselves. Except Darwin’s, I’m not wearing his kecks.” Tell, the Geek archer, didn’t sound too worried about losing a manager. “Drain the diesel from any damaged motors, or crap ones, to top up the good ’uns. Remember to pick up any empty brass.”

  “Yes mummy.” The fighters were in a terrific mood. The long pursuit while waiting for a fight had been wearing on them. Now the action had been quick and very one-sided, the best sort, especially with all this loot.

  * * *

  Ogou came out of the back door of a bungalow, pausing at the sight of the Bren carrier. His eyes followed the tracks back to a heap of burning rubble. “That was close.”

  “Not really. We didn’t set off the bombs or pull out the props until the front came out through the French window.” Vulcan patted the scarred armour. “Just the thing to pull the cannon. I’ve left that in place for now in case the Geeks get ambitious. They might think they can dig this thing out.”

  “They’ve settled for slaughtering Kurt’s Kutters, all of them I reckon. If you ever put together a mixed force with Geeks in it, count me out.” Ogou glanced in the direction of the Geeks and Kutters. “I always thought of Wellington as a bit more civilised.”

  “He ended up with his gang mixed in with another mob of backstabbing fuckers and no other loot in sight. Smart move, and from what you say nicely carried out.” Vulcan turned, heading towards the nearest bungalow. “Ask the driver to back up towards the cannon will you? I’ll get the bodies in the road stripped, then we’ll head for home. We won’t be needing Soldier Boy’s tank again because we’ve got a real one now.” He sniggered at his last thought. “At least no nasty swine will have blocked the road home.”

  Stripping the bodies wasn’t difficult, because the Geeks were busy stripping their own victims so they didn’t want a fight. Once the Geeks drove off, back the way they came, the GOFS pulled the cannon back out of the bungalow, hooking it up to their new tracks. Loading the long, heavy sausages of powder, shot and cannon balls took a few minutes, but the weight had even less effect on the Bren carrier’s suspension than they’d had on the tank. “Now who’s got a tank!” Cy waved from the Bren carrier as it roared off along the gardens, smashing the fences and sheds in its path. In the open back, men clung on, hoping the idiot found some flatter ground before they were tossed overboard. Even so, they were all grinning like idiots because not only had they nicked real armour, they’d finally seen the cannon in action!

  “Hey Cy, remember you can’t tell your girlfriends in Orchard Close.”

  “Even if one of them promises to prove she’s a real blonde.”

  “We should worry about Vulcan getting Demonised.” The GOFS cheered and laughed as their convoy raced for home. They were a bit annoyed they couldn’t crow about the prize, but Vulcan promised it’d be worth it when the General tried to take the Castle. He’d know about the cannon, but real armour would be a hell of a shock!

  Half an hour after Wellie declared plan J, the only sign of life amid the plumes of smoke and stripped bodies was a flock of circling crows and seagulls.

  * * *

  The General’s men weren’t celebrating, even though they’d killed a lot of Trainspotters and survived the ambush. When the lead vehicle drew up, Bloods and new fighters with big red crosses on their chests started gathering to stare at the battered convoy. Julius headed straight for the General, hoping to get him back inside the headquarters building before the explosion. “I’m afraid we didn’t get anything tasty, sir, but we came back with all the weapons from fifty-eight Trainspotters and six of their motors, all full of diesel. I used the rockets when the GOFS cannon turned up, but I don’t think anyone will have noticed.” Julius paused because the General was inspecting the convoy and would have noted the wounded, the smoke-blackened van, and the two missing vehicles. The seventeen missing men combined with the number of injured wouldn’t be popular either. “The details might be better discussed in private.”

  The General pulled his eyes away from the convoy, a little smile replacing his frown. “True enough, Julius. Come in and sit down, then you can tell me all about it. I’m assuming the fighting turned out to be worse than we expected?” He called out for someone to bring coffee. “What happened to the armoured vehicles?” Once he’d learned the lorry went the opposite direction, with both the Bren carrier and diesel truck burnt, Julius’s boss didn’t seem too worried about the casualties. “As long as none of our neighbours got them, I can live with that.”

  “I doubt the seriously wounded will be fit for the assault on Orchard Close.” Julius spoke carefully, still expecting the General to explode and start threatening him or smashing furniture.

  “Your men won’t be in the main attack, because I need steady men guarding the rockets. Your wounded can help keep an eye on our enclaves while the rest of us are busy, so I’ve not really lost men from the assault. You lost seventeen, but nearly wiped out the Trainspotters so they’ll be easy meat when the time comes.” The General waved a hand in an expansive gesture. “Relax, Julius. Send your blokes to get a beer and a woman, but tell them to keep clear of the Bloods. More than usual I mean, because the first fifty fighters from bugnuts are here. It’s wound the Bloods up so Patton is busy smacking heads on both sides, with a club. He’s got to get it all sorted before the rest of the cannon fodder get here, or we’ll lose half of them before the fighting.”

  Julius did as he was told, reassured by the General’s parting words. “Tell your lads to keep the extra guns, once your pet repairer has looked them over. I want them as shooters when we hit Orchard Close, not mixed in with the grunts.”

  While Julius drank his beer and relaxed, Rhys came to explain what the General meant and why he hadn’t blown his stack. “We’ve altered the way we attack because this time we need intact buildings and living experts and women. All the extra weapons are worth more than the men you lost, because we are going after Soldier Boy in the next week or so. As soon as the rest of the nutters arrive and we’re sure they’ll do what they’re told, we attack. Fifty of your steadiest men will use the extra guns to lay down covering fire as we advance. They won’t shoot high and annoy the Army.”

  Rhys explained that the first of the Orchard Close wounded had gone home from Beth’s, so the General wanted to bring the attack forward. He didn’t want any more trigger pullers in residence before the attack, but he had to gather enough allied bodies to soak up the expected gunfire. “As soon as the rest of the bugnuts squad arrive, we’ll invite the Barbies and GOFs over to give them the bad news. The Jets should be here by then. I’ve got one more little snippet.” Rhys passed over a folded piece of paper. “Not someone you want standing behind you, ever.” Julius slipped it into his pocket. He wouldn’t kill the General’s backstabber, but he’d make sure to have his own stabber available.

  * * *

  The Professors:

  The Professor and his allies already had all the right people available, and now the equipmen
t moved into the right place. A combination of Michelle’s tactics, Prof’s throwers and Benny’s fighters had come together to create a rat trap for the Borg. Michelle peered through her binoculars, then turned to the Prof. “Throwers ready?”

  The frail-looking old man nodded. “Already loaded, half with incendiary, half with loose brick until we know how it plays out. We’ll use one thrower to check the range to the road you marked, as soon as the Borg guards are down.”

  “Benny? Your boys ready?” Michelle, elected war chief of the SIMs, and Benny, boss of Benny’s Boys, grinned at the joke about his ‘boys,’ none of them related and all hardened fighters.

  “They were born ready.” The gang boss looked ready as well, poised with a machete in one hand and a pistol in the other.

  “Okay Prof, send in the students.” The old man swept his arm up and over. A score of young men and women ran forward, racing along each side of a wide public park now dug over for crops. “Fire!” Eight of the best shooters in all three forces fired, killing the four guards watching over the gardeners. Michelle raised a megaphone. “All gardeners, all gardeners. Do not resist and you won’t be hurt. Walk slowly and calmly this way. We will not harm you.”

  The gardeners had crouched when their guards were killed, looking around in alarm when the runners burst from cover. Now one or two headed for the loud voice, followed by most of the rest when nothing else happened. The four women who tried to run away were too late, their escape already blocked by young men and women carrying baseball bats or machetes. One tall, fit-looking young man raised his hands towards them. “Stop right there or we’ll stop you. We’re the Prof’s students and the lady is a SIM, so you know we won’t mess you about.” The would-be fugitives knew what he meant, that women would be safe. The fight went out of them.

  Five minutes later nearly forty glum-looking men and women of all ages were gathered inside the SIM border, three streets from their park. The young men and women were still guarding them, but were passing out water and assuring them it would soon be all over. None of them explained the ‘it’ part, but the captives knew their bosses would be coming to repossess their work force. The workers weren’t fighters, just residents who grew food for the right to live in their houses. Now some were wondering if they’d ever see their families again.