Aftermath: The complete collection

by John Wilkinson

  ‘The Queens Lancers and The Rifles Battalions held the M55 junction on the M6, in a long and bloody battle. They blew the motorway, causing the fight to spill into the fields and surrounding towns. They lost men, but inflicted more casualties on the enemy, and destroyed two tanks. The battle was forced south west by the bulk of Torriero’s army, destroying towns and villages on its way towards Hambleton, where they regrouped with the unit fighting over the bridge over the River Wyre. Inskip and Great Eccleston were particularly effected, with the towns left in flames, and many of the population dead or homeless. The Leicester Tigers Battalion held the bridge, under intense fire from one of Torriero’s units. The bridge is a key position, and Torriero doesn’t want it destroyed, but neither does the army unless there is no other option. Torriero’s men have retreated back towards Hambleton, and the bridge is still intact. You have fought hard today, get some sleep and we’ll join the battle tomorrow.’

  The Vikings parked up at the camp, and we all headed to the housing, exhausted and hungry.

  I slept for a good while, until I woke all of a sudden, worried I’d been asleep for too long. But it was only two pm on the sixth, I’d slept for around ten hours, dead to the world. I used my medical pack from my equipment to clean and cover the wound to my leg, which had bled more than I expected. I found Blue and White Company outside, chatting with Clarets Company, who had lost two men in yesterday’s fighting. The men were tired and a little disheartened, which was understandable, Porter and Keresley were their comrades, their friends. We all walked back into the centre of the camp, to receive further orders. The dead and missing board was looking a little more populated, not much room left for further names, they’re going to need a bigger board. The sergeants came out of meetings in the council building with Lieutenant Colonel Carter, and The Lancashire Fusiliers Seventh and Ninth Battalions were given objectives for the rest of the day. I expected us to be following them into battle, but Sergeant Welsh told us Lieutenant Colonel Carter had an important mission for Blue and White Company, and showed us into the council building. He was sat behind a desk in a ground floor office, surrounded by notes, photographs and maps. He started to gather them together as we arrived, and made a pile on the desk, as he called us into the room. We sat down, joined by Sergeant Welsh, as he opened up a map of Blackpool and Preston, and laid it out on the table.

  ‘Gentlemen, I have an important mission for Blue and White Company, one that I hope will turn the battle our way. Today’s fighting has been fierce, Torriero’s men regrouped around Hambleton, and pushed on towards the bridge over the River Wyre. Leicester Tigers Battalion held the bridge until around twelve o’clock today, when they retreated back towards Poulton Le Fylde under extreme fire, and attempted to blow the bridge. But the explosives didn’t work, and Torriero’s men took control of the bridge, forcing Leicester Tigers Battalion back. At present, they have around five hundred men across the river, with around seven tanks. The rest of his army, maybe four hundred men are camped down in Hambleton, fighting off The Queens Lancers and The Rifles Battalions. We must blow the bridge, thus isolating half Torriero’s army, and cutting off their supply chain. Your mission will take place tonight, at two am. You will take a vehicle to rendezvous point A, The Riverside Caravan Park, where you will enter the river. There will follow a one and a half mile swim, through land occupied by Torriero’s men, until you reach the bridge. It will likely be heavily guarded, so we want to complete the objective in silence. Each man will have enough C4 to blow the bridge, it won’t take much as it is already rigged with explosives.’

  Lieutenant Colonel Carter concluded the meeting, and we left to prepare for the mission. As we got outside, the Vikings carrying fresh soldiers were leaving for the front line, and we went to collect our equipment from the army surplus building, set up in an old school. In there we were given camouflaged wet-suits, with goggles and snorkels. The mission is to be completed silently, so the only weapons permitted were silenced pistols and a knife, of which we were all given one each. We left camp at around four pm, staying in radio contact with Lieutenant Colonel Carter the entire journey to The Riverside Caravan Park. We were in no rush, and took our time to drive there, giving the area now controlled by Torriero a wide birth. The smoke coming from the battle, covered the skyline over to our west, like a blanket thrown over a forest fire. We arrived at the caravan park around seven pm, through an entrance still stuck in the nineties. We followed the road, over the speed humps, stopping at the reception building, where there was a large map surrounded by dirty plastic trees. We took note of where to go and set off past row upon row of caravans, overflowing bins and deserted outdoor play areas. Soon we were parallel with the river, and followed this path until we reached the final caravan, forty seven Longridge, where we parked up on the drive next to a wooden plant box containing more dirty plastic flowers. The park had a strange atmosphere to it, like it had just stopped, not destroyed, just stuck in a moment. Sergeant Welsh took Murphy to find a way into the caravan, as Little D, Atkinson and I walked over to the river to have a look. It stretched off into the distance to our left, looking dark and murky, with trees hanging over the majority of it. There was the sound of breaking glass, as Sergeant Welsh found a way into the caravan, and we followed. Inside, straight ahead was a kitchen, with two single bedrooms through a door on our right, the living space complete with sofa and chairs to our left and further still a master bedroom with en suite bathroom. The whole place looked like it had been set up for the next set of holiday makers, that never turned up. Towels hanging perfectly neat from the rail, kitchen cutlery and condiments placed methodically. We pulled a few chairs out of the kitchen, and placed them around the sofa and coffee table, laying the map out, and sitting down. We went over the plan in meticulous detail, covering many eventualities, but the mission could go one of a million ways, and we couldn’t prepare for all of them. We also refreshed our knowledge of basic hand signals, as on a silent mission, it could become life or death. After we had enjoyed a couple of games of ‘Shit head’ using a pack of playing cards left out on the coffee table, we had little to do but chat. Sergeant Welsh was still as awkward as always, refusing to talk about much. Although, he did make a few disparaging comments about his parents, before he left the caravan for a smoke. Murphy told us a little more about his girlfriend, who was taken by Torriero, and what had happened. It wasn’t a pleasant story, but it filled in a little more of his character, and explained his anger towards Torriero’s men. He’d only learned about her abduction through her dad, as he was away with the army, and she’d refused to move to Camp Blue. He of course blamed himself as you’d expect, and his hatred towards Torriero was growing every day. I have noticed Sergeant Welsh trying somewhat to align himself with Murphy a little, maybe he sees something in him he can related to. Atkinson talked a little about himself too, he had been a business owner when the war started, a chain of fishing tackle shops, he’d done quite well out of it. He has a wife and daughter back at camp, and both his parents, who he made a three hundred mile trip to bring to Camp Blue. I tried to delve a little deeper into Keane’s situation, but you cannot take anything he says seriously. I did discover he’d known Chris and Rhino from the early days training, but only joined their barracks a few years ago, after his previous sergeant got him removed after catching him in an awkward situation with his wife. It was a nice bit of team building, only ending when Sergeant Welsh knocked on the window, and told us it was time. We unloaded our equipment from the Vikings, and got into our wet-suits, which was a task in itself. I’m embarrassed to say I couldn’t do it, in the end Little D had to help me, which of course he found quite amusing. But it had been harder for Atkinson, we simply couldn’t find a suit large enough to cover his six foot seven inch frame at the camp. His job was to drive us back after completion of the mission. We had a accessory belt around our waist, that held our knife and a waterproof rucksack that contained the C4, and a silenced pistol. The river
was around thirty five metres wide at the point we entered, and fluctuated as we progressed. The water was as black as tar, with a steady current running in the direction we needed to go, and then out to sea. It had ash and scum covering the surface, and the smell was foul, like rotting vegetation. We climbed into the water, and tried to grow accustomed to the temperature, but it was extremely cold. When we had submerged our bodies, we let the current take us towards the bridge, staying deep enough to be carried, but able to use our feet to dictate the speed. It was slow to start with, we tried to stay in unison, floating through the weeds and other debris, using our arms sparingly. It was really very cold, taking my breath away at first, but I settled into it. We swam past open fields, forests with overhanging trees, and then into a more built up area. Every so often we would come across a build up of debris the storms had carried through the rivers, trees, cars, wood and bodies. The water was far too dark to swim with our faces underwater, and we had to be careful due to the unsighted objects scattered around under the black waves. When the bridge came into view ahead, Sergeant Welsh put his flat hand in the air, causing us all to drag our feet along the river bed, until we came to a stop behind him. We stayed completely submerged, with just our eyes and above breaking the surface, as the water continued past us. There were footpaths on both the left and right hand side of the river, with overgrown grass, bushes and trees, that we could use to hide our approach. The bridge was made of stone, with a six foot high wall on either side, it was a large and impressive structure. We spent the next ten minutes just observing the area, noting any movement, and tagging all guards, particularly the ones we would needed to take out to get to the target. There were a few scattered around the area, two on the right hand side of the river, one on the left, and too many to count on the bridge itself. Sergeant Welsh turned to face Little D and Keane, and signalled for them to move over to the right hand side of the river, and for me to climb out of the left. I watch Little D and Keane, as they climbed out silently and methodically, keeping themselves out of view as they approached their first guard. I carefully climbed out, a safe distance away from mine, letting the water drip off me before I moved. I set of towards him, removing the blade from my belt, as the silence was broken by a burst of laughter, coming from the bridge, causing the man to sit up and peer over at his comrades, and in turn causing me to stop. I wanted Little D and Keane to take out their guard first, as he had a tendency to look around, so I waited until they pounced on him, the only sign something happened was the shake of a bush. My guard was around fifteen yards away, with his back to the river, looking up at the sky as he smoked the remains of a cigarette. He stretched, and started humming to himself, completely obvious to me, as I approached from behind, caressing the mud and dead leaves towards him. When I was six yards away, I moved in silently for the kill, grabbing his face with my left hand, covering his mouth as I dragged the blade across his neck. His blood ran down my hand, warming my ice cold fingers, as his body went limp in my grip. I lowered him to the floor, making sure he was hidden from view, his dead eyes staring back at me. Sergeant Welsh signalled for me to get back into the river, which I did, the early morning fog my friend, hiding any movement. He and Murphy came over to join me, and removed their rucksacks, placing them on the riverbank. Sergeant Welsh took the pistols out, laying them on the grass, with the remote detonator. He then climbed out, sitting in the long grass, with his legs in the water.

  ‘Driver, you head down river’ he said, draining the water out of his goggles, and putting them back on. ‘Plant the charges on the left hand side of the bridge, as high as you can.’

  I moved away, letting the current take me, as I headed into the middle of the river, with just my eyes and the top of my head breaking the surface. As I slowly drifted, I watched Little D and Keane take out their final guard, who was stood at the bottom of the steps leading up to the bridge, they hid his body and Little D slunk into the river by the steps while Keane back tracked towards Sergeant Welsh’s position. I could hear voices on the bridge, laughter and conversation, I counted seven men, at least on the side I could see. I grabbed the wet stonework, dragging my hand across the tiles until I stopped, with some help from Little D. The water was rushing past, spraying up against us, the sound echoing through the tunnel. The bridge was around twenty yards wide, carrying two lanes, with a slight hump. The temperature had dropped, as the winds rushed through, made all the worse as we climbed out of the water, exposing ourselves to the cold. I removed my rucksack and took the C4 out, still in a rectangular block, and moulded the shape in my hands, as I tried to find a ledge to climb up. My foot kept slipping, the stonework too wet, with moss and grime covering everything. I didn’t want to drop the explosives, so I pressed it into the brickwork at the highest point I could safely reach, pushing it into the cracks with my fingers. I then settled back down into the deeper part of the river, as Little D finished his side. It felt warmer fully submerged, still cold, but not as biting as when the wind can get at you. We made sure the charges were safe, before setting off back towards the others. I peered up the side of the bridge for any guards, with my back against the current, in water shallow enough to walk. There were three guards above us, all leaning on the wall with their backs to us, talking and laughing. The water was pushing us forward, as we fought against it, trying to backtrack. We had to move closer to the side of the river, to get more of our body out, and thus reduce the pressure on us. Two guards started play fighting, one grabbing the other in a headlock, as the third turned to face the river. We stopped, as he stared in our direction, wondering if he had he seen us in the darkness? He didn’t flinch, but called his comrades over, to look at something in the water. Our camouflaged wet-suits were hiding us, but we had a little too much of our bodies outside the water, with our head and shoulders breaking the waves. He started pointing towards us, as his comrades stopped messing about, to concentrate. We remained stationary as they stared, talking to each other and pointing. I couldn’t get to my Welrod, if they spotted us, we were sitting ducks. It only lasted a couple of minutes, but it seemed like an eternity, I could feel my neck muscles straining, pain shooting down my back. They lost interest, and walked away, probably passing us off as a couple of rocks. When they had turned around, we started to make our way back towards the others, turning and swimming against the current when we were far enough away from the bridge. As we reached Sergeant Welsh, there was a loud rumbling from the direction of the bridge, as a couple of tanks crossed the river going south towards Poulton Le Fylde. This was exactly why the bridge needed to be blown, cutting their supply route, and isolating their army. Sergeant Welsh wasted no time, when there was a safe enough distance between us and the bridge, he used the remote detonator to blow it. The surface of the river lit up, as two explosions rocked the bridge, sending the stone structure crashing into the river and a wave of water that lifted us off our feet. A cloud of dust rose off the bridge, and men appeared on both sides of the river, running around in a panic, shouting at each other. They must have realised the significance off this surprise attack, as soon after they started firing their weapons indiscriminately into the water, around the collapsed bridge, as we set off back to the caravan park. When we got back, Atkinson helped us out the water, and wrapped us in towels he found in the caravan. We got changed back into our uniforms, but struggled for the next few hours to get any warmth back into our bodies. We arrived back as a fleet of Vikings set off for the front line, as another day of fighting started.