Fall of the Cities_A Mercedes for Soldier Boy

by Vance Huxley

  “As the actress said to the choirgirl?” Cherry let her eyes drift over Ru and Patty and back. “You won’t pay.” She suddenly grinned, hopefully. “Unless you’ve got a spare musket?”

  “What makes you think I’ve got any?”

  “Common sense? A GOFS with loose morals said you’d taken musket powder in part payment for some repairs.” The Barbie looked decidedly smug. “The border guards, ours and theirs, sometimes find it more fun to guard from the same bed.”

  Harold had two muskets now, the original type. Both had been given in part payment for other repairs, for spares because they were useless, but he’d fixed them. “So what might a musket get me? They’re slow to reload and a long way from accurate.”

  “But scary. A big weapon like that, all that sound and fury, will certainly get you places the actress didn’t expect.” Cherry’s smile grew more calculating. “With two, you might be allowed to get downright adventurous.”

  Harold laughed, he had to because the Barbies were funny in this mood. “We’d want to run riot in the music shop.”

  “You want to get at the whole choir?” Her eyebrows shot up in fake astonishment. “Greedy.” Cherry’s smile faded, becoming more serious. “For two muskets in full working order, we could let you have a rummage through some sections. We’d keep our favourites.”

  “As the choirgirls said to the actress? Deal. Let us know what genres and we’ll put together a shopping list. If you let us have extras we’ll let you have live versions in return, sung by Jilli?” Choirs and actresses didn’t come into the following discussion on genres, and what a live version of a recording might be worth.

  At least discussing that backed Cherry and the rest of the Barbies off a bit. The Barbies were already convinced the repair, whatever it was, would work and even insisted on making solid plans for transporting the gear to Beth’s. With a grin, Cherry Pie promised they’d send enough fighters to stop any thieving bastard being tempted. Harold asked who’d protect it from Barbies, and insisted on having some of his own fighters along. Again and again Harold emphasised the repair might not work, but the Barbies didn’t seem to hear that part.

  Harold told the GOFS exactly what the convoy would be carrying, so nobody got creative. The gear would be useless to anyone else and worse, if anyone interfered the Barbies might start a full blooded war. The musical instruments on the return trip weren’t valuable either, except to Jilli. Gofannon asked about the possible new music, especially Country and Western, and bought more copies of Jilli singing songs donated by the Geeks. He also wanted compilations of the Spice Girls, Adele, Rihanna, Scuffin Lether, Mutha’s Ruin and the Beatles for the GOFS women. The Head Girl kept complaining about the lack of decent music, and according to the GOFS leader he’d never sleep safe again if he stopped the radio being fixed.

  *

  In the meantime, another opportunity came up because all refugees were asked a list of questions when they arrived. Among the expected questions about troops and weapons were a few about which roads were clear, and were the railway lines blocked by wagons? Hopefully the refugees never realised the wagons were what mattered. One day the questioners hit the jackpot.

  Now Harold was in a quandary. He wanted the steel, badly, but it would be a big risk. Worse, if he didn’t raid for the spring steel, Caddi might realise what it was when he captured the location. For the first time in years, Harold took a small group on a midnight trip across gang territories, but to look rather than to loot. Over half of the long line of abandoned rail wagons had flat springs, the sort that made Liz dance. After long discussions with his friends, Harold decided he had to run his first real raid, an armed incursion because he absolutely could not sneak those damn great things away.

  The raid had to succeed, or Caddi would hear about it and wonder what Harold wanted off the wagons. Once he’d worked out the answer, Caddi would be able to upgrade the Hot Rods’ weaponry, something none of his neighbours wanted.Luckily, even if Harold didn’t even know the Cabal existed, for once their agents were helping. Their localman didn’t think that improving the Hot Rods’weaponry even further would help his bosses.

  August/September

  Precinct Nineteen / Dudley Zoo

  The ex-police and the Zookeepers would have loved to have some spring steel, or any idea of where to find some. More decent blades might help them deal with their current problems without expending more ammunition. Sarge summed it up. “The automatics in particular are running short, and they’re all that keeps the gangs from launching a full-scale attack.”

  “It’s the small raids, trying to nick a calf or a pig, that are the problem.” David, Six-One-Three, held up four clips for his automatic. “We’d break a real attack with these. The trouble is we keep having to use a short burst now and then against small groups.Sooner or later we’ll run low. Then if word gets out?”

  Teddy, without his tiger-skin cape for an informal meeting, looked thoughtfully at the small number of clips each of the ex-policemen carried. “I thought you reloaded them, with the powder from the captured ammunition?”

  “We do, some of it, but the gangsters don’t put enough in theirs so we need three of theirs to load two of our rounds.” Sarge held up a brass case with an obvious crack down one side. “Not only that,but the brass itself is deteriorating. If we use just one like this, by mistake, it’ll jam the gun. Then the automatic is useless until after the attack. If the damage is bad enough we might lose the weapon, permanently.”

  The Zookeepers looked horrified, none of them knew much about firearms even after their crash course in shooting one. Eventually, a voice spoke up, an unusually tentative Inga. “So if they attack now you’ll slaughter them, but we’ll still get further raids. Maybe you’ll have to stop using automatics, accept a casualty now and then to hold on what’s left as a final deterrent.”

  “We’d get whittled away, one fighter at a time. There’s too many nutters out there who fancy a barbecue.” Sarge, or One-Five, turned suddenly towards Teddy. “What if we stop firing, and some of your people complain, and we shout we’ve run out? Then no automatics against the next raids?” He looked around at the doubtful faces. “It would take a little time, but we have enough ammunition to rely on captured firearms for a while. We’ll reload it, and weed out the worst brass, but it should be enough to fight off several raids.” It took a while to persuade everyone, because there would definitely be more casualties. It would also mean some of the ex-police taking shifts in the darkness, sitting out any raid while they waited for a real attack.

  *

  David, Six-One-Three, wasn’t keen on the result of the discussion. The next time a bunch of yobs raided, the Zookeepers shouted for backup and he called back he had no ammo left. They beat off the raid, but he felt sure it cost several more wounded than it should. Some of the following raids pushed hard, encouraged by the machine guns staying silent, which had cost one death as well as too many wounded. Some of the Zookeepers grumbled, but Teddy couldn’t explain in case of leaks. To try and compensate, to make sure the gangsters didn’t cause too many casualties, Precinct Nineteen supplied the zoo with extra pistols and a squad of ten men under Eight-One-Four, Simeon. While the men above kept fighting off raids, below their feet two squads with automatics waited for their chance.

  The policemen understood they’d lose men, but most considered it a fair trade for the steady supply of milk for the kids and the fresh protein for everyone. There were other compensations for defending the zoo, chief among them the social life. A good number of the ex-policemenwere single men in the twenties, whereas the zoo staff had been mostly women. The gentle teasing and flirting over the occasional barbecue lifted spirits despitecontinual raids.

  *

  Sutton Park:

  The score of peoplemeeting in the burned out hotel near Sutton Park, armed and unarmed, weren’t either flirting or barbecuing. The gang leaders had stopped treating the park residents as conquered assets, but this was the first time any had bee
n invited to a war council. Not quite war, but rumour and the occasional refugee had warned the gang leaders. A big gang were expanding, rapidly, in their direction. Luckily the aggressor wasn’t a neighbour, not yet, so Sutton Park had time to prepare. Shiner, the youth dressed as a skinhead, banged a baseball bat on the table to stop the talking. “The bloody prophet isn’t heading this way. He might never come near us, someone out to the east might chop him and his disciples up.”

  “The Last Prophet, and his gang are called the Children of Cain. Nobody out that way is big enough to stop him. We are, but it means leaving here, launching an attack.” The older man looked slowly around the room. “I don’t fancy that, because we’d be leaving this place nearly helpless. Some ambitious bastard to the north or west could cause real damage, killing people and stealing animals, especially if we got badly cut up. That could happen even if we won.”

  “Fair enough Headmaster, but if we wait until he’s big enough, we’ll be in the shite.” Hangaku, mistress of the Yakuza, tapped the hilt of her sword. “The time to chop him is now. I’m sure Angel agrees.” She nodded towards a bleached blonde.

  “I’d like to but we can’t, Hangaku.” The blonde shook her head despite the scowl from the Asian woman. “The best idea is to get ready for him. We’ll have a better chance to stop the bastard if we make plans now. We can map out approaches, maybe dig a few ditches where they’ll fill with water and steer an attacker into some real pain.”

  “It only has to be enough to slow him up, then whichever gang is attacked can whistle up some help. Good thinking.” The man wearing a gold painted safety helmet nodded enthusiastically. “Once we combine we’ll carve the bastard up.”

  “Better yet, Odin, we can streamline the command. Screaming for help, and then trying to organise six more gangs when their fighters turn up, will be a nightmare.” The Headmaster swept his arm around the room. “We are working closer and closer together, and two of the smaller gangs have already amalgamated with Shiner and Hangaku. If we pool our resources, create an army that fights together, we can bloody anyone’s nose. We’ll have to do it sooner or later. The Army will come to clear the rest of us out of here, but not until we’ve done killing each other. By then we want to be trained as one unit, with a shitload of ammo.”

  “Not combined, the gang members won’t go for it.” Hangaku looked thoughtfully at Shiner, the skinhead. “Attitudes are definitely softening, but individuals, not whole gangs.” Her own people already mixed easily with Angel’s Valkyries, and now many of them had friends among Shiner’s Skins as well as the Park residents. The recent combined operations had accelerated the process, but not quite far enough to combine.

  Shiner nodded slowly. “We can make plans, and meanwhile start making up mixed guard groups of the most tolerant. The pairs who were playing happy families to set up ambushes for starters, most of them still keep in touch.” He looked around the rest. “We can flog a bit more meat and fish to buy extra ammo, and make sure everyone knows where it is. A central stockpile?”

  “But even combined, we’ll have no chance against the Army. None of us have that level of expertise.” Odin shook his head despondently. “Nor that level of weaponry. A few rifles won’t even slow the tanks and squaddies up.”

  Behind the leaders, one of the park keepers, Asif, glanced at another of the original inhabitants. Jer shook his head, very slightly, so the two turned back to listen. The gang leaders had listened to the hints and were taking the first steps to solving the problem themselves, so they didn’t need to know they already had an ace. These gangs weren’t too bad as gangsters went, but they had to learn to fight together. A few of the park keepers would drop more hints here and there to help them organise that. Fighting off the Last Prophet would toughen the combined gang, and prepare them for the main event.

  *

  Conan:

  Conan didn’t know about rail wagon springs or the Cabal, even if one of their agents had paved the way for today’s operation. Parked up outside the local Mart, he looked over his assembled men and scowled. “Right, you know what to do. Remember, don’t touch the Mart guards even if they arrest one of us.” Conan didn’t mean us, because he stayed in the vehicle when most of the rest headed into the Mart. He might like violence, but Conan didn’t want to be in a Mart if the guards opened up. His men were armed, but none of them wore gang signs so if it all went wrong the Barbarians wouldn’t be blamed. He settled in to wait, wishing he could get in among the action.

  When a bus sheathed in metal plates pulled up outside the Mart gates, Conan whistled softly to alert his men. The big white crosses painted on the outside identified his target, the Lambs of God. The nuns and other shoppers on the bus had barely gone inside the store when a Mart guard came over and insisted the driver moved it further away from the gates. Conan smiled happily, because that meant Garth and Sylvester’s bloody crazy plan must be actually working.

  Inside the Mart, Garth and a small group waited, poised for action. For the tenth time, Garth checked the cameras in the women’s toilets, but they’d all been smashed. For the seventh time, he reminded the men they had to stay in the stalls and keep quiet until all the targets were inside. For the twelfth time, he hoped that bloke of Conan’s had fixed the Mart guards. For the ninth time, he hoped the woman they’d brought would keep any other silly bitch coming in here and springing the trap.

  Five minutes later the doors opened and a group of confused nuns came in, talking quietly and wondering why a Mart guard had ordered them to come here. “Now!” The stalls burst open and armed men poured out. Two made for the doors to block any exit while Garth raised his voice. “Any of you that resists ends up in the brothel. Surrender and keep quiet and we won’t touch you.” Within seconds the noise died down, and an older nun approached Garth.

  “What do you want? We have no coupons, so you may as well let us go.” She glanced towards the door, uncertain. “The guards will be here soon.”

  “That guard has gone off to collect his pay. The vicar has your coupons but that’s not what we want, we want hostages.” Garth turned to his men. “Did any of them fight back?” A nun staggered forward, pushed from behind, and a voice told Garth she’d struggled. “Not fighting so not the brothel, yet. Strip her down and give her a taste of what that means.” As the other women surged forward, voices raised, Garth held up a hand. “We can do the same to the rest of you.”

  As a gag muffled the nun’s screams, Garth opened the door to the shopping area, briefly. “Come inside vicar, your girls want a word.” He shrugged as the priest hesitated. “If you leave them we’ll cart them all off home to amuse the lads.”The priest headed into the toilets so Garth pointed to the exit, and the Barbarian woman went to let the others know the trap had worked.

  *

  Ten minutes later most of the nuns came out of the toilets, two of them supporting the sobbing victim. None of them were allowed to cover her up, because she was a lesson. Another five of their number were still inside the toilets, but still in their underwear and those four hadn’t been beaten or groped. The Barbarians just wanted their clothes for now.

  Outside the Mart, a lone nun and the priest approached the bus, talking urgently to the guards. The twelve heavily armed men left their crossbows behind, heading into the store with the priest. As soon as they’d gone inside Conan sauntered over with a dozen of his men and pointed to the nun who’d come from the Mart. “What did you tell your fighters?” Conan knew what the pair should have said, but he wanted to check.

  She looked at the floor, ignoring the accusing looks from the two nuns left on the bus. “One of the novices has been attacked. They are to bring all our shoppers out of the Mart and escort them to the bus.”

  Conan turned to the women left to watch the bus. “If you keep quiet when they come out, all the nuns keep what’s left of their clothes on, right?” The two pale faces looked confused but the other nun quickly explained what had happened to one of them. “If you show any sign we’re i
n here, the five still locked inside the Mart toilets will be the star attraction in our brothel. We’ll do the same with any survivors here when the shooting stops.” Another two short nods answered him.

  The sister plucked up courage to ask the important question. “How do we know we can trust you?”

  “You can be absolutely certain what happens to your five friends if you don’t behave.” Conan didn’t glare or threaten, he needed these fools to believe they could save the women. He kept pushing, because Sylvester had stressed that he shouldn’t give anyone a chance to stop and think. “There’ll be plenty of loot and sod all fighting, so the men won’t mind missing out on women. Not only that, but I’ve heard that your nuns are nurses and doctors.”

  “Nurses, not real doctors even if some of them are very experienced.” The sister sounded a little more confident now.

  “I can get plenty of women, but I can’t find willing medics. My men won’t touch anyone if you agree to doctor our wounded. Now just sit there and wait.” Conan climbed aboard the bus and picked up one of the loaded crossbows the guards had left behind. Several of his men followed, collecting extra crossbows and crouching behind the loopholes in the windows.

  *

  Conan didn’t have to wait long. A group of mixed shoppers and guards, with the nuns crowded together in the middle, came out of the gates and headed for the bus. Conan let them get over halfway, well out in the open, then moved forward into the doorway of the bus. His men came around either side of the bus and others followed the shoppers out of the Mart. “Stay right there. If you don’t fight, nobody gets hurt.” As expected, some of the fighters had to try. Two were cut down from behind when six men in nun’s habits produced machetes. Another six were killed by crossbows before they got anywhere near the bus. “I warned you. I’ve explained to the sister here, and we’ve made a deal to keep you all alive.” Conan pointed towards his own bus. “Five nuns will be going home in that.”