by RR Haywood
‘That’s enough,’ Nick says knowing that although they can see it they can’t hear it and unless you’re actively looking it will be almost impossible to spot.
‘Here goes then,’ Charlie says stepping carefully to the back of Roy’s van and using the monitor instead of her naked eye to chart the course. An instant view of the industrial unis seen from the air and she pushes the direction to force the blades to tilt and propel the aircraft towards the village.
‘Amazing,’ Roy mutters as Howie, Dave, Clarence, Paula and Marcy gather at the back of the van to watch with Blowers keeping watch on the perimeter. The fields below the drone glide gently past. A farmhouse and outbuildings. A fishing pond and wooded copses all seen in real time high definition. ‘Tilt the camera up a little,’ Roy says and watches the view subtly change and there, ahead in the near distance is the edge of the village green coming into view.
‘Main road,’ Reginald says more to himself, ‘there, it splits and goes round the green.’
‘I see it,’ Howie says, ‘looks empty so far.’
The green is highly recognisable with both the northern and southern road have houses butting up but only the northern side shows a far greater mass of dwellings, side roads and buildings beyond with near on open land behind the houses on the southern road. Maintaining the height the drone seems to glide through the air and with the monitor showing visual only and the craft being far enough away to be out of earshot they watch mesmerised at the vista opening up.
‘Reggie,’ Clarence says, ‘speak out what you can see.’
‘Pardon?’
‘Say what you can see, like a commentary.’
‘Oh. I see. Er…well the roads are there and the green is there, yes indeed. I am not entirely sure what to say at this present juncture but…’
‘The green is empty,’ Roy takes over smoothly, ‘no fences by the looks of it. Er, looks like a cricket pitch in the middle and what’s that?’ He asks pointing to a small building at one end, ‘maybe a bandstand or something? A structure anyway. Er…the southern side houses are smaller than the northern side but the gardens are bigger. Charlie can you go over the southern side houses first.’
‘Which way is that?’
‘Oh, right, go right…’
‘Okay,’ she watches the screen and moves a stick as the craft banks right and heads towards the houses on the southern side.
‘Keep the height,’ Clarence says quietly, ‘and do one fly past on the southern then back along the northern side.’
‘Will do,’ Charlie mutters.
‘Detached houses,’ Roy says pointing at a series of buildings in turn.
‘Access from the rear gardens then,’ Clarence says.
‘There!’ Marcy says leaning in then clambering up to point at the monitor, ‘see…’ she points to a house and the back garden.
‘Fuck yeah,’ I say at the objects now so clear at being pointed out. People standing still and all facing towards the backs of the houses.
‘More,’ she says, ‘can we go lower?’
‘We can’t risk them hearing the drone,’ Roy says, ‘but we can see they’ve got some in nearly every garden…not the first what…five or six houses? But then I guess they are figuring we won’t be stopping at the beginning of the road.’
‘Waiting for us though,’ I say, ‘that thing is bloody brilliant.’
‘Yep, every garden all the way to the end,’ Marcy says as the craft reaches the end of the line and starts the turn to cross the green and commence the return journey along the other side.
‘These houses are semi-detached by the looks of it so every other building will have a side access,’ Roy says, ‘yes, see two gardens but only one building. Can you see?’
‘We can see that, Roy,’ Clarence says.
‘I worked it out from seeing two gardens but only one house.’
‘Yep. Got it,’ Howie says.
‘The gardens are split down the middle.’
‘Moving on from the gardens,’ Clarence says, ‘can you see any infected?’
‘I can’t,’ Roy says shrugging, ‘anyone else?’
‘In the houses then,’ Howie says his words cutting off abruptly as the first side road comes into view and a stack of people standing inert behind the first natural bend, ‘or maybe not…how many is that?’
‘Over a hundred,’ Clarence says, ‘tightly packed in. They must be roasting,’ he adds as an afterthought.
‘Fucking hope so,’ Howie says, ‘one hundred there so they must have some decent numbers in the houses too…’
‘And we’ve got Flitcombe to go yet before we get to Stenbury,’ Clarence says with a smile.
‘Thousands then,’ Howie says with a return smile.
‘And you appear to be happy with that,’ Reginald observes drily, ‘which is most disconcerting.’
‘Ah, we’ll be alright,’ Howie says with a beaming smile, ‘we’ve got you, Reggie.’
‘What?’
‘Another side road,’ Dave says nodding at the screen, ‘more.’
‘More there is,’ Howie mutters.
‘Gardens too,’ Roy says pointing out the figures waiting out of sight by the side gates as Reginald leans closer to the monitor, ‘but remember the gardens are separated by a fence because the houses are semi-detached so it looks like one building whereas in fact it’s…
‘We get it, Roy,’ Paula says, ‘the way I’m looking at it…I mean they’re all concentrated across that middle section of the northern road.’
‘I agree,’ I say. Side roads leading from the northern road are clogged with bodies tucked up and the only one in gardens that we can see are in the middle section of houses.
‘Indeed yes, one can assume that upon entering the village you would naturally gravitate towards the only commercial premises and in this case it is the village post office.’
‘Southern road then?’ I ask the group but glance to Clarence then Dave.
‘I don’t know,’ Clarence says thoughtfully, ‘if we’ve got to do what’s expected of us then we should go for the post office and wait there. That’s what we would do if we didn’t know any of this.’
‘You think by taking the southern road we’d let them know that we know what they know?’ Howie asks with a frown, ‘is that likely? I mean, we’re completely incompetent and slapdash at the best of times. Why don’t we just drive straight into the middle of the green and wait for them to come to us? That is something we’d do.’
‘Agreed,’ Clarence says with a nod.
‘Everyone happy?’
‘Happy is not a word I would use to describe this situation in any capacity,’ Reginald says, ‘in fact I would go so far as to say I am at the extreme and polar opposite of being happy.’
‘Noted, everyone else?’
‘Happy with that,’ Paula says, ‘aim for the middle and hope for the best.’
‘Spot on,’ Roy says standing up straight to stretch his back with a wince that makes us all hold our breath as we wait for the inevitable self-diagnosis that he’s now got incurable back disease, ‘bent over too long,’ he says twisting side to side completely oblivious to the weighted silence.
*
‘May I bring it back now?’ Charlie asks.
‘Indeed you may,’ I reply, ‘please bring our drone into a safe landing if you would be so obliged.’
‘I will kindly bring our drone back to the very best of my abilities.’
‘Jolly good, everything is jolly good.’
‘What’s got into you?’ Paula asks at my cheery countenance.
‘Tally ho, chucks away.’
‘Chocks,’ Clarence says, ‘not chucks.’
‘Chocks away,’ I beam round at the confused faces, ‘I think we should go into the next fight in the theme of world war two airmen. Tally ho!’
‘Fuck yes!’ Cookey shouts from a short distance away, ‘roger that, Sir! We’ll feed it to the boche.’
‘They don’t like it up ‘em
,’ Clarence booms, ‘let’s give the rotters what for eh chaps!’
‘Bombadier Blowers?’
‘Yes, Captain Howie?’
‘Oh my god,’ Paula groans rubbing her face.
‘Are we ready to move out, Bombadier Blowers?’
‘All present and correct, Captain Howie!’
‘Now now chaps, listen in, come on gather round, that’s it, we’re going into a fight now with the enemy and I want you to know how bally well proud of you all I am. Yes, that’ right. Bally well proud excusing my French,’ I say with a wink at Marcy who can’t help but smile, ‘and I know we’ll stick it up ‘em today.’
‘They don’t like it up ‘em,’ Clarence booms.
‘No they don’t like it up ‘em!’ I say.
‘Not up ‘em,’ Clarence bellows with a shake of his fist.
‘But we’ll have a good clean fight and stick it in ‘em.’
‘They don’t like it in ‘em,’ Clarence says.
‘In ‘em or up ‘em,’ I roar.
‘Not up ‘em or in ‘em,’ Clarence says deafening everyone within a few feet.
‘Leftenant Charlie, is the drone safely back?’
‘Sir! The drone is coming into land now, Sir!’
‘Make way for the drone!’ My shout is taken up by all the lads affecting world war two posh voices.
‘Drone coming in now, Sir,’ Nick shouts, ‘like an angry Spitfire she is, Sir.’
‘Make way for that Angry Spitfire,’ I jump down and stride out to the side.
‘Angry Spitfire coming in now!’ Blowers calls out, ‘make way, make way now.’
‘Making way,’ Cookey says moving back.
‘They don’t want it up ‘em,’ Clarence booms again.
‘I say chaps,’ Roy stuns us all with the best yet, ‘isn’t it rather spiffing that we’re going to stick it in ‘em.’
‘They don’t like it in ‘em,’ Clarence says, ‘lads, what don’t they like?’
‘They don’t like it ‘em, Sir!’
‘There’s my lads, good lads.’
‘Angry Spitfire descending now, Captain Howie.’
‘Prepare for descent,’ I call out.
‘Descent preparing underway,’ Bombadier Blowers says.
‘Commander Cookey, is the ground clear?’
‘I say the ground is jolly clear, Captain Howie.’
‘Here she comes,’ I say watching the drone lowering through the air, ‘round of applause for the Angry Spitfire.’
We all clap politely, even Paula and we watch as the drone bounces down to muted cheers.
‘Well done, Leftenant Charlie.’
‘Thank you, Sir.’
‘Navigator Nick, are we ready to pack the Angry Spitfire away?’
‘Packing away now, Captain Howie.’
‘Jolly good!’
‘Jolly good!’
‘I say chaps, shall we load up and get ready to go stick it up ‘em?’
‘They don’t like it up ‘em,’ Clarence growls shaking is fist again.
‘Yes let’s,’ Commander Cookey says.
‘Major Mohammed? Are you ready to stick it up ‘em?’
‘They don’t like it up ‘em, Sir,’ Major Mohammed says laughing, ‘innit, you get me, bro?’
‘Nice touch, Mo,’ I laugh, ‘chocks away then, everyone load up and we’ll go stick it up ‘em.’
They all reply with shaking fists that they don’t like it up ‘em and into the Saxon we load with Paula, Roy and Charlie going with Reginald.
‘I say chaps,’ I say getting into the front next to Clarence, ‘shall we give them what for?’
‘We’ll show them rascals,’ Clarence says.
‘Damned boche,’ Cookey shouts, ‘for Queen and country.’
‘For Queen and country!’ We all shout back and the mood rises with a sense of buoyed up jubilation as rifles are checked, magazines are checked, bag straps are checked, hand weapons are checked until Clarence starts humming the Dam-Busters theme tune and we’re off, all joining in to the one of the most iconic pieces of music to ever come out of British cinema history. Someone, probably Cookey, presses their radio button and our earpieces fill with the noise that transmits to Roy’s van.
A straight road runs to the green and with the plan to aim for the middle I keep the speed and power on knowing the Saxon can take the high kerb edge with ease and we bounce up and onto the grass with a cheer with Roy’s van to our right side with Paula waving with a huge grin and Roy tapping the steering wheel in time to the music still being sang.
I feel it before I see it. A loss of traction that makes the steering wheel in my hands wobble strangely and were slewing to the right into the path of Roy’s van. The ground sodden from the rain looked normal but the weight of the vehicle sinks it down into the slippery mud and the big tyres lose traction.
‘FUCK,’ I shout in alarm glancing across to see Roy fighting to control his vehicle as we both fishtail and slide through the grass.
‘BRACE,’ Clarence shouts with a grim expression as he grips the dashboard in front of him while we aquaplane along the grass from the power, speed and momentum gained from the entry into the green. On course to impact and I know there is nothing that can be done. The wheels aren’t gripping and no amount of power or brakes applied will make any difference. The front jerks round and we go side on down the green with Roy desperately trying to steer away from our path. His van shoots away to the right but a second later comes back towards us. Silence in the van as everyone clings on and I catch glimpse of Paula shouting something over her shoulder to the two in the back.
Our back end spins round until we’re turning dizzyingly as we slide across the green and the view outside spins round as my stomach lurches from the sensation. My head loses its position in time and space and a wave of nausea hits me so I clench my eyes shut and grip the wheel. The Saxon is heavier and the weight of gravity does the work to slow us down faster than Roy’s lighter van and we spin to a giddying stop facing back the way we came and looking at the wake of thick churned up mud.
The second van keeps going, spinning round and round as it slides further down the green and through the roped off area of the cricket pitch.
‘Shit,’ I grit my teeth as my mouth fills with saliva in the pre-curser to puking. Engine off, engine on and I force my movements to go easy and apply gentle pressure to the accelerator and the engine thrums but we stay still. I ease off and try again and the wheels spin on the spot digging us deeper into the mud. The Saxon is four wheel drive so the engine is giving power to all the wheels at the same time and it would only take one of them to gain purchases to drag us out but they spin and churn to throw thick gloopy mud into the air. No traction control and no engine management system that would kick in to drive power to one wheel at a time until the vehicle gained grip and we wallow deeper as I slam into reverse and hope to fuck we start moving. A glance up and Roy’s van has come to a stop at least two hundred metres away and I can see the mud flying into the air as he too tries to drive out of the quagmire.
‘Fuck…fuck…come on,’ I growl in prayer and force my movements to remain controlled. ‘Nick, get up top and keep…’
‘INCOMING…’ A blast of voice from the radio and Paula shouting the alarm.
‘Which side?’ Clarence asks pushing the button under his shirt.
‘BOTH…’
I twist round in my seat and spot the figures pouring from the houses and side streets on the northern side, ‘they’re all coming,’ I say.
‘Same on the southern side,’ Clarence shouts.
‘Everyone out,’ I push my door open and look down at the thick wet mud before lunging out to land with a splodge that spurts goo all up my body and face. Rifle in hand and I shove my axe down my back under the bag and start wading to the rear of the vehicle as they drop out one by one into the mud.
‘We’re stuck,’ Roy’s voice calm and controlled in my ear and although he can be a pain in the arse he nev
er flaps.
‘Same, we’re coming to you,’ I radio back and catch sight of Nick falling over with a loud shout and Clarence bending to grip his arm lifting him back to his feet.
We trudge and slip, falling and sliding with curses as we try to keep our rifles free from the mud and suddenly Roy’s van seem impossibly far away across an expanse of sticky wet earth.
On both sides the hordes reach the green in thick lines and they do the same as the vehicles and go too fast for the conditions and slide across to fall head over arse in a jumbling tangle of limbs that buys us time.
‘Two teams,’ Dave says, ‘Simon, your team is alpha, everyone else is bravo…is that clear?’
‘Yes, Dave,’ a chorus of replies.
‘Staggered fire teams, alpha will fire into the northern side while bravo move…bravo will fire into the southern while alpha move…is that clear? Alpha…DOWN AND FIRE…’
Blowers, Cookey, Nick, Mohammed and Blinky drop to one knee, aim and burst fire across to the northern side. Bodies drop instantly but the distance is too great to see if they fall from being shot or from slipping on the mud. While they fire we push on, grunting with exertion and trying to move by planting our feet wide and allowing for the slide. Small steps works best but it’s taxing and within seconds my legs are burning.
‘MAGAZINE,’ Nick is the first to shout.
‘BRAVO DOWN AND FIRE,’ Dave shouts and we do the same, dropping to one knee, aiming across to the lesser numbers on the southern side and firing bursts across the green. The air fills with gunshots from assault rifles and there’s no doubt we get kills, not with Dave and Clarence firing. Thirty shots each and a few seconds later we’re up, moving and changing magazine as Blowers and his group drop down to fire. The hordes make gains by simply throwing themselves into the field without concern for personal injury. We don’t have that luxury and a wrenched ankle now could be catastrophic so we have no choice but to go slower.
Shots ahead from three rifles firing into the bigger northern line pushing on into the green. The fact that we are meant to win this battle now seems a moot point and it’s clear the infection is taking advantage of our mistake by separating into lines and groups that surge across the ground with increasing speed and agility.