by Robin Crumby
The Solent had once been one of the busiest waterways of the world. A playground for the rich and famous. America’s Cup yachts, square-riggers, giant motor boats, gin palaces, sailing vessels of every description had graced the Solent. Ferries transporting day-trippers to the island packed with foot passengers, bicycles and motorbikes, children’s faces daubed with ice cream, cars and lorries crammed in tight. It had been a bustling, happy sort of place. Today it was deserted and forlorn, forgotten by man, no longer master of the sea, but land locked and decimated by sickness. And yet, each day, the tide continued its meticulous cycle, rising and falling, enslaved by the moon. Every few seconds the sea crashed against the rocks, its energy dissipated amongst the pebbles and edges, indifferent to man’s desperate plight.
Tommy completed his circuit and re-joined Scottie in the guardhouse by the front gate. He was hunched over a book peering through some reading glasses at the small text by candlelight. Tommy rubbed his hands to warm them and grabbed a hat from the shelf before climbing the wooden stairs at the Western edge of the complex. He looked out along the shingle spit towards Milford, where Zed had shot the walker a few days back. The Needles lighthouse no longer cast its beam over Christchurch Bay, warning ships to stay clear. He peered in to the darkness, opening his eyes as wide as they would go, trying to pick out any shapes approaching in the distance. His eyes were playing tricks on him, seeing things that weren't there. He blamed the beer he'd been drinking, long past its sell-by date.
Walking back along the length of the southern wall, he headed over to the gateway to the central courtyard of the original Tudor fort and the imposing gun tower at its heart that looked out over the whole castle complex. This inner part of the castle was kept locked after hours. He took a minute to find the oversized key with ornate ironwork and engraving the length of its shaft. The lock was original and for a moment he imagined himself as a Tudor guard dressed rather differently in chainmail, holding a lantern, opening the same door, making the same midnight patrol in service of the King.
One half of the door swung open and he stepped inside, sliding the heavy bolt into place. Crossing the stone paved inner courtyard he climbed the outside staircase that curved round the main building till he reached the first floor entrance to the main living area. Inside the twelve-sided walls of the tower it was cramped and dark, packed with sleeping bodies and stores. The doorway had once been a first floor Tudor window, but Scottie said the stairs had been added in late Victorian times when the internal spiral staircase was adapted to act as a conduit for light to reach the basement.
Tommy closed the door and latch as silently as possible to avoid waking the pair asleep nearest the entrance. Treading lightly round a row of camp beds and sleeping bags, he headed up the stairs to the flat roof on top of the castle. Pushing open the half-size hatchway, he had to crawl out on his hands and knees before standing tall.
He loved it up here. The sense of space and three hundred and sixty degree panoramic views of the Solent were unparalleled. Even in the darkness, the sensation was intoxicating. He closed his eyes and breathed in deeply, savouring the salt and seaweed in the air. Casting his eyes around him, he looked down at the shingle beech and rocks that stretched from the end of the peninsula to his left for a mile or so all the way back to Milford-on-sea. It was an overcast and virtually moonless night. The strong breeze ruffled his hair and made him shiver slightly in the night’s chill. He could hear waves breaking against the groynes and rocks below, pebbles scraping and sliding in sync with the pull of each receding wave.
Was it his imagination or was there also something else? He thought he heard a voice and then a metallic noise that seemed out of place, coming from just outside the castle walls. He was convinced his mind was playing tricks on him. With seventy odd people sleeping beneath him, many in tents pitched on the grass spread out in both directions, it was likely someone sleep talking or turning and knocking something over. With a shake of his head, he decided to ignore it and continued on with his sweep.
Looking north towards Keyhaven, he could make out the line of moored yachts in the tidal estuary. Silhouetted shapes and masts swayed in the protected waters, their bows nodding gently towards him. All was quiet, as it should be.
He yawned and was just about to head back down when he heard a scrape of metal on stone. It sounded like an anchor dragged along the quayside. He couldn’t place the sound, but he thought it came from the direction of the shingle beach facing the Needles passage. There it was again, it was like someone cutting fish heads on a stone slab. Was someone out fishing tonight? A shiver passed down his spine, making him shudder involuntarily, though he was no longer cold.
He hurried over to the parapet but could see nothing out of place. There was a blind spot beneath him where he suspected the noise had come from. He shrugged his shoulders and admonished himself for drinking too much tonight, blaming an overactive imagination. He needed to get a grip and head back to the gate, before he weirded himself out.
He was just about to retrace his steps when he heard the sound again. He peered over the edge and thought he could see movement. First a pair of hands breaking the straight line of the wall’s edge followed by the head and shoulders of a figure clambering over the wall. The figure lay prone, turning their head slowly whilst they got their bearings. While Tommy was still watching, pinching himself in disbelief, another figure clambered over the lip of the wall and joined the first, lying flat, waiting.
Tommy was frozen to the spot, unsure what to do next. If he moved, they’d see him. In his rucksack, slung across his back, he had a flare gun and a pistol with two loaded clips. Very slowly, he sunk down behind the parapet, hoping that they were too occupied hauling up the rest of their gear that they wouldn’t spot him. He rummaged through the bag and found the flare gun, cocked it open, checked there was a cartridge loaded, released the safety, pointed it high above his head and fired.
***
On the shingle beach, making slow progress towards Hurst, hands on hips, Will was spent. He had hardly eaten today, other than the apple Samantha had smuggled out to him. There had been barely enough food at the pub for such a large host and the unplanned extra night’s stay at the Ship Inn had exhausted their stores. Will had been last in line for scraps and hand-outs. He was also parched, his lips dry and sore. He pushed on. There would be plenty of time for food and drink when he reached the castle. In his mind, he visualized sitting in the Hurst canteen wolfing down second helpings of his favourite vegetable lasagne and a tankard of Jack’s home-brewed ale. He salivated just thinking about it, licking his lips with a dry tongue.
A red light soared above Hurst and exploded in the night sky bathing the whole of the castle and its surroundings in an orange glow. Will froze watching the flare drift on the breeze, over the estuary and picking out a large boat that was approaching the small jetty behind the castle. It looked like he was already too late. The attack on Hurst had begun.
Chapter forty-six
In the guardhouse by the main gate, Scottie heard the pop of the flare. He sat bolt upright, dropped the book at his feet and threw his reading glasses on to the table. Scrambling through the doorway, he grabbed the large hand bell from its place on a bookshelf. He peered up at the orange glow as the small blur of light blazed in the sky above him.
Scottie’s first thought was that this had to be one of Tommy’s practical jokes. It was the kind of stunt that Tommy was known for, but surely even he wouldn’t go this far, would he? He dithered for a few precious seconds, suddenly unsure whether it was a false alarm or a real emergency. He found it difficult to imagine what could possibly be worth waking the whole camp for in the dead of night.
He was still gawping up into the night sky, when he heard Tommy shouting for help from up high. Suddenly gripped by a very real fear, adrenaline pulsing, wide eyed, he started ringing the bell as loudly as he could.
All around Hurst, men, women and children were roused from their slumber. Shaken awake a
nd turfed out of their beds by the prospect of an imminent though unknown threat. The sound was like a village waking up all at once, voices and noises in the darkness.
Back at the main entrance, Scottie grabbed the rifle and stood alone, alert, waiting. He scanned the battlements, watching the flare as it drifted over his head towards Keyhaven, casting long shadows in the eerie silence that followed. What could have spooked Tommy? He rocked backwards and forwards on his heels, looking around him, puzzled.
Just then there was a crack and whirr in the air as stone splintered close to his head and his right ear seem to explode with a searing pain. His hand shot up and came away slick with blood. He crouched down and stayed low, manoeuvring himself back behind the doorway to the guardhouse. The bell was still in his right hand and he started ringing it again as loudly as possible, clasping his ear with the other to staunch the steady flow of blood. Who the hell was firing at him? And what was taking everyone so long?
***
Back on the Gun Tower, Tommy was still cowering behind the parapet, watching the flare drift down. He steeled himself, trying to get a grip on his surging panic. It was threatening to get the better of him. Desperately short of breath, he thought he might be having an asthma attack. His heart was pounding so fast he thought it might explode out of his chest. He poked his head over the ledge, trying to get a look at what was going on beneath him. He ducked down again quickly as a short burst of automatic fire seemed to ricochet off the lip of the wall showering him in stone fragments and dust. He moved to his right and tried again. This time he got a clear view of three men, edging slowly towards the front gate. They were getting ready to provide covering fire while a silhouetted figure took the strain on the rope, whilst another abseiled the short distance to ground level.
Out in the western wing of the complex, a small group of recent arrivals had emerged from a cluster of two-man canvas tents. They stood pointing at the dark shapes on top of the wall in disbelief. Tommy shouted at them to get back, but one of the boldest of the group, a tall heavy-set man stepped forward, gesticulating and shouting at the intruders on the wall. It looked like one of the more recent arrivals, Gary, but he couldn’t be sure in the darkness. For a moment, the intruder was clearly visible by the fading light of the flare. He turned and brought his weapon to bear, aiming squarely at the group. More people joined them from their tents scattered in the castle walls to find out what all the shouting was about. Without hesitation, the figure took very deliberate aim at the heavy-set man and opened fire. Short deafening bursts split the air. The first salvo knocked Gary off his feet before the gunman moved on to the next target. He fired indiscriminately now, enjoying the screams of his victims. Standing in the open, they were like fish in a barrel, helpless. Tommy’s screams of anguish were lost in the deafening sound of gunfire. He felt something snap inside him, an anger he hadn’t felt since his father died. This time was different. There was a channel, an outlet. Whoever these men were, they would pay for what they had done. He shook his head and tried to blink away the last traces of alcohol still coursing through his veins. Perhaps it would give him the Dutch courage he needed.
***
In the inner courtyard beyond the locked gate and in the Eastern wing,
Tommy huddled together with Nathan and Liz, surveying the motley group, standing in bare feet and night clothes. They were afraid and looking to the three of them for direction. They had never trained for this scenario and Tommy gulped air trying to keep it together, the stares of a dozen sets of eyes upon him. With Jack and Terra away, and Zed and Riley still not back, it was up to the three of them to rally the defence of the castle. Tommy cleared his throat and stepped forward, his voice breathless and full of emotion. Inside, he was fighting to control the fear which gripped his chest like a vice.
“Listen up.” His voice sounded weird in his head, like it was coming from someone else. His father’s voice. “We don’t have much time. I saw four men, but there could be others. We have no idea how many are already inside the castle walls and how many of them could be waiting outside.” Nathan took over from Tommy, his voice shaking despite himself. “First thing we need to do is to secure the inner gate and make sure the East Wing is secure. Jamie and the rest of those of you with rifles, we need you on the roof of the gun tower, giving covering fire and picking off the intruders if we get a chance. The rest of you are with me, we need to make for the main gate. Somehow we have to get to Scottie. If there are more of them outside, then we can’t let them in.”
Nathan and Tommy handed out the few firearms they possessed to the volunteers who stepped forward. The rest got what remained, knives, swords and a medieval crossbow with a single bolt.
Greta stood ready by the bolted and locked door to the courtyard. She drew back the bolt as quietly as she dared and inserted the key in the lock. Nathan’s party of five stood with gritted teeth, sizing each other up and trying to hide their terror. They were none of them fighters but they had no choice. This was tantamount to suicide. They didn’t stand a chance. Knives versus guns. Tommy noticed a wet patch appear on the crotch of the man next to Nathan who stood shaking uncontrollably, as a large puddle pooled next to his left boot. He patted Nathan on the shoulder and whispered ‘Good luck’ before racing up the stairs to join Jamie on the roof.
Once Tommy was in position, he shouted to the party below. On the count of three, Greta unlocked the gate and the five of them jostled through the doorway, with two shotguns at their head. Greta slammed the door behind them and closed her eyes, saying a silent prayer. Nathan’s team made a dash for the guardhouse where Scottie had taken up position with a rifle, taking pot shots at the two men on the roof as they advanced along the rooftop towards him.
As Nathan’s group surged forward towards the guardhouse, a hail of bullets felled two of the Hurst men in quick succession. One man took a shot to the leg, passing clean through his calf and the other went down clutching his abdomen. The rest of the group promptly lost their nerve and turned tail, retreating to the safety of the Tudor archway. With their fists, they banged urgently for Greta to let them back in but the door was by now firmly locked and bolted behind them. For a few moments, they were trapped.
Tommy and the other Hurst riflemen on the roof couldn’t get an angle of fire on the invaders. No one had a clean shot without exposing themselves to a volley of return fire. Hidden out of sight with a field of fire covering the courtyard and entrance, Copper’s men now also had Scottie pinned down.
Nathan looked on helplessly, two of his men writhing in agony just out of reach in front of him. Each time he reached forward to try to pull them to safety, the ground between them seemed to explode with bullets. From round the corner, in the archway leading to the main entrance, Tommy could hear Scottie shouting for help but couldn’t see him. For a few seconds it was stalemate, each side waiting for the other to make a move but everyone held their positions.
***
From behind a buttress, Scottie took up a kneeling position, firing sporadically towards the men on the roof opposite. He didn’t have a shot and was running low on ammunition. He was pinned down, waiting for reinforcements that showed no sign of arriving any time soon. Behind him he heard a loud banging coming from outside the front gate. It sounded like a rifle butt smashing against the lock, trying to batter it down. He smiled for a split second, knowing it would take a battering ram to get a medieval drawbridge open.
He whipped his head round as a loud pop and a hiss startled him. A smoke canister landed just in front of his position, to his right in the courtyard, swiftly followed by a second. Smoke began to pour forth and in a few seconds, his whole field of vision was shrouded in billowing clouds of choking, cloying gas.
Two of Copper’s men wearing masks shimmied down a rope from above and emerged from cover advancing towards Scottie. They fired controlled bursts at shapes and shadows in the smoke, without a clear target. Scottie peered into the cloud, unable to see anything. He coughed as the smoke swirle
d towards his position. It completely enveloped the Tudor gate where Nathan and his team were taking shelter, biding their time. He was suddenly blind.
Scottie took his chance. Unseen by the invaders, he anticipated what was about to happen next and dived across the archway. Scrambling through the open doorway to the guardhouse, he slammed and locked the door shut behind him. He was safe for the time being, but had just cut himself off from the rest of the Hurst group.
Meanwhile, Nathan must have seen or heard the invaders advancing towards him and started banging on the doors they had just come through. He managed to get Greta to let them back in. They collapsed back inside, coughing and spluttering. Wisps of the smoke followed them and dissipated slowly around them. Nathan sat with his back against the gate shaking his head. They could do nothing for the other two they had left behind, not to mention the two dozen or so people camping in the west wing. They were outgunned. Their nerves shredded by the speed of their demise and the ferocity of the fire they had faced. They had lost half their group in a matter of seconds. The man who had wet himself started sobbing as Greta knelt and tried to comfort him.