UK Dark Trilogy

by Harris, Chris

  “All in good time, Private,” replied Jon. I was astounded by his self-possession. The front of the vehicle was still burning, we were being shot at and the vehicle was rocking as the heavy machine gun fired short controlled bursts in the hope of finding a target. In the meantime, Jon sounded for all the world as if he was discussing the latest cricket score, but you could see his eyes moving everywhere, as he listened to the reports coming in on the radio from the other vehicles and the UAV operator, and scanned the screens that showed the views around the vehicle.

  He was playing with a small joystick, which moved a camera that was mounted on top of the vehicle. “Our priority is to protect the VIPs,” he said. “I’ve positioned their vehicle on the side that hasn’t been attacked yet, so for the moment they’re as safe as I can make them.”

  A flurry of calls came through on the radio and Jon swivelled the camera to face the rear. The rearmost vehicle had also been hit by a petrol bomb.

  “Ah, that changes the situation. They appear to be behind us now as well. And unless I’m truly mistaken, those shots we can hear bouncing off the side of us are high velocity rounds, not pellets from a shotgun. So we’re facing an unknown number of attackers, with unknown weapons, who have us at a tactical disadvantage.”

  “So what do we do now then?” I asked.

  “Well, we could just drive away, but that would leave the truck exposed, as we’d have to weave around the cars littering the road. Or we could sit here and wait for reinforcements, but they would probably take at least thirty minutes to reach us, and in that time they might get lucky and do some damage which could put us at risk.” As if on cue, the soldier in the roof turret cried out and slumped in his seat. Two soldiers immediately jumped up to help him.

  He was groaning and swearing as his comrades helped him out of the turret and I could see that he was bleeding profusely from a wound to his neck.

  As the others worked on administering first aid to the wound, (basically compression and bandages), he grew quieter and his face turned grey.

  Jon ordered another soldier into the turret to fire the machine gun and I admired the man’s courage as, without hesitation, he immediately squeezed in and began firing the gun, his uniform soaked in the blood of its last occupant.

  The soldier treating the wounded man turned to Jon and said grimly, “Sir, a bullet’s nicked his neck, it’s bleeding heavily and I think it might have caught something major. I’m doing all I can, but unless we get him to a medic soon, he’s going to be in trouble.”

  Jon climbed out of his seat, crouched down by the unfortunate soldier and took his hand, “Private Eddy, don’t worry we’ll soon have you out of here and back to your wife and son. It’s Max, isn’t it?” The other soldier nodded.

  Jon turned away, and speaking into the radio again, requested an update from the UAV operator. He began issuing a stream of orders to the men in the other vehicles, using an array of military terms that I couldn’t follow, but which seemed to make perfect sense to those he spoke to, as they all acknowledged every direction he gave.

  From the little I could understand there appeared to be fewer petrol bombs being thrown from one side of the street so, under cover of fire from the machine guns, Jon intended to lead an attack from that side, clearing the houses one at a time and eliminating our assailants.

  Feeling scared, but also feeling like a bit of a spare part in the unfolding drama, I asked Jon what we could do.

  He thought for a second then replied, “Thanks Tom, we’ll need help from all of you. When we launch the assault, apart from the soldiers manning the machine guns, and the drivers, we’ll be pretty thin on the ground. If you could help guard the vehicles and keep an eye on our VIPs, I could release a few of Captain Berry’s men to help with the counterattack. That’s what they’re good at.”

  I looked at him and nodded. Despite the constant machine gun fire, incoming fire was still pinging off the side of the vehicles.

  “If I’m not mistaken, the people attacking us appear to have some military training. They know what our vehicles are capable of, and are keeping out of the way of the machine guns. They’re firing the odd pot shot at us from different positions, to let us know they’re still there and to keep the gunner moving so that hopefully they can get another shot at him. If we lose our top cover from the machine guns, we’ll be in even more trouble. A lucky shot could easily disable a gun or something else, so it’s worth their while to keep shooting at us. We need to take this fight to them now. We can’t wait for reinforcements.”

  The soldiers who were sitting with me in the back of the armoured vehicle were checking their equipment and listening to orders, both from Colonel Moore and their sergeant.

  When the order was given, the machine guns would lay down a heavy volume of fire. Everyone would exit the vehicles at the same time and form prearranged squads to begin the assault. Those of us staying behind would immediately close the door on the VIPs’ armoured vehicle to protect them, taking cover where we could, and provide additional security and firepower to help the soldiers tasked with that duty.

  Jon stood in the middle of the vehicle, his rifle in one hand and the radio mike in the other. Nodding at everyone, he gave the order for the machine guns to increase their fire. The noise was deafening. At another order from Jon, the rear door swung open and all the soldiers in the assault squad leapt out and followed Jon across to the nearest house.

  As I jumped out I could see the soldiers closing the door on the VIPs’ vehicle. It was difficult to pick out individuals among the attacking squad, but it looked as if Colonel Moore and Harry were leading the way as they all made for the cover of the nearest building.

  The corporal who’d been left in command quickly directed us into our positions. With the exception of my MP5, the rest of our people were only armed with shotguns, not great at any sort of distance. The corporal wisely spread them evenly around with a soldier armed with a modern rifle close to each of them.

  Not having a military radio, I couldn’t hear what was being reported as the others began the attack. The sound of single gunshots, mingled with prolonged bursts from multiple guns continued unabated, and in the background we heard explosions, which I guessed were grenades, booming out.

  The corporal shouted a warning to those of us positioned at the front of the group of vehicles, facing in the direction we’d been travelling when the attack had begun. The soldiers were advancing and our attackers were being wiped out or were retreating against the power of the assault, but we still needed to be vigilant in case any of them tried to escape to the other side of the street.

  The incoming fire had reduced to almost nothing as our assailants now had other things to worry about, but the odd shot ricocheting off something metal encouraged us to keep our heads well down.

  “There’s one!” shouted someone. A man wearing military uniform and carrying a rifle suddenly darted out of a house on our right. I hesitated, not sure if he was one of our guys. Lifting his gun as he ran, he fired in our direction, as he desperately tried to reach the cover of the house he was heading for.

  A bullet hit the vehicle, inches from my head, and made me jump and cry out. As I looked up, the man was caught in a long burst from a heavy machine gun and virtually disintegrated before my eyes, a sight I knew I’d carry with me for a long time to come.

  “Are you OK?” shouted the corporal. “That was close!”

  “Yes I’m fine,” I replied, “Just wondering how I’ll explain being in my second firefight in as many days to the wife when I get home. She’s going to do her nut.”

  The corporal grinned at me. “Do you mean this isn’t an everyday occurrence? We’ve been bored senseless for months! This is great, doing what we’ve been trained to do. I’ve been in the army for years and haven’t seen any action or fired my weapon in anger before. Now I’ve been in two firefights and yes, I’m scared, but at least I’m doing something worthwhile.”

  Chuckling, I responded, “Try telli
ng that to the wife!”

  A shout from the machine gunner above made us look outwards again. A man hurtled round the corner of a building clutching a bottle with a lit rag hanging from it. “Shoot him!” yelled the gunner, “I can’t get him.”

  As the man drew back his arm to throw the bottle, four guns fired and he was thrown backwards by the multiple impacts to his body. As he fell the bottle smashed and, screaming, he was engulfed in the ensuing fireball.

  His agony was cut short as the corporal emptied the magazine of his rifle into the writhing mass of flames.

  “Now I’ve fired it,” he said quietly, putting a fresh magazine in his weapon, and watching the still burning corpse in front of us.

  Snapping himself out of it, he said aloud, “He was wearing body armour and carrying a military weapon. Who are we up against? They certainly don’t act like people just trying to survive. They’re well organised, and if it wasn’t for our armoured vehicles, we’d be in real trouble.”

  “I haven’t got a clue,” I replied. “But one thing I can tell you for certain, it’s not one of the groups we’ve met before, and we‘re quite close to the territory of one of them now. I’m very worried about what might have happened to them.”

  The firefight continued, as Jon and his men cleared the buildings. As well as the shots and occasional grenade bursts, shouting could be heard. You couldn’t tell if it was orders being given or demands for the other side to surrender, but the occasional increase in volume, both in shots and shouts, suggested that the enemy was still resisting.

  There was a sudden crescendo of noise and then everything went quiet.

  The corporal listened to his radio. I heard him confirm the order he’d been given and then he shouted his instructions so that they were loud enough for us all to hear.

  “They’ve cleared the enemy from that side as far as they can tell. They’ve taken a few casualties, but nothing too serious. Colonel Moore wants to continue the attack while the momentum’s going our way. They’re resting for a few minutes to get everything organised and then he wants us to help cover them as they cross the road.

  We’ll need to fire everything we have at the buildings over there to keep the enemy’s heads down.”

  He looked at us all in turn and asked everyone to confirm that we understood his instructions. “Start shooting when I order it, but listen out for my whistle,” he said, holding one up in the air. “That’ll be the signal to stop firing, as Colonel Moore and his men will be too close.”

  We all nodded to show that we understood. “That gives me an idea,” he said, scrambling to his feet and jumping into the rear of one of the armoured vehicles. He emerged carrying two tubes and, calling another soldier over, handed one to him. He had a brief conversation over the radio and he and the soldier walked over to me.

  I eyed the tubes. “Are they bazookas?” I asked.

  Grinning, he replied, “Come on old timer, this isn’t World War Two. They’re AT4 anti-bunker weapons. I remembered we had these in the back, so why shouldn’t we use them? They cost a fortune, so I’ve only ever fired a training one, but they’re designed for bunkers so I’m pretty sure those little old houses won’t be a problem! I’ve run it by Colonel Moore and he’s in agreement. The signal for them to start the assault will be me and Private Pike here firing these beauties.”

  The corporal and Private Pike spent a few minutes readying and familiarising themselves with the weapons. “Right everyone. Pike and I are going to have to stand in the open to fire these, so when I give the order, everybody fire to give us some cover,” and he couldn’t help but add “Remember, Pike, don’t tell them your name.”

  A few minutes later everyone was in position, weapons pointing towards the row of houses about thirty metres away, and awaiting the corporal’s command.

  “Fire!” he yelled. The front of the houses disappeared in a haze of smoke and brick dust, as three heavy machine guns and various light weapons fired at the target houses. The machine guns seemed to be doing an excellent job of destroying the houses on their own.

  Out of the corner of my eye I saw the two soldiers stand up, bravely exposing themselves to any incoming fire in order to discharge their weapons.

  Both weapons fired almost simultaneously and emitted a loud crack, which was immediately drowned out by the rockets exploding in the houses. All firing ceased as we took cover from the rain of debris that was falling from the sky. Bricks and other items showered down on us and everything disappeared in a billowing cloud of dust.

  “Keep firing!” shouted the corporal. As the debris falling from the sky thinned out, the rate of fire picked up. The cacophony of noise was unbelievable, as the heavy roar of the machine guns interspersed with the lighter crack of assault rifles and the less frequent sound of a shotgun firing. You couldn’t see what you were aiming at through the cloud of dust, you just pointed your weapon in what was hopefully the right direction, and pulled the trigger.

  The shrill sound of the corporal’s whistle cut through the noise and after a few seconds all firing ceased.

  As the dust cloud settled or blew away on the breeze, the scene of destruction we had created materialised.

  The rockets must have destroyed the main supporting walls of a few of the houses, as they had been virtually reduced to piles of rubble, and the rest of what was still standing wasn’t in much better condition. The heavy machine guns had destroyed the frontages of most of the houses, smashing and pummelling bricks to smithereens, and reducing walls to hole-filled, unrecognisable structures.

  “Stay ready! Colonel Moore is crossing the road now,” warned the corporal.

  Everyone watched tensely as Jon and his men carefully made their way across the road, using every bit of cover they could. As they approached the houses, they threw grenades through any windows and doorways that were still standing.

  A squad of six men entered the first house, while Jon and the rest remained outside with their weapons pointed towards the buildings. A few minutes later the corporal spoke up, “The all clear’s been given. At ease, but I don’t have to remind you to stay vigilant, do I?”

  Jon and the rest of his attacking force jogged over to us. “We need to get back right now!” he said. “The injured need medical attention. Most of them aren’t too bad, but I’m concerned about Private Eddy. He’s falling in and out of consciousness.”

  Within five minutes we’d helped to get the wounded onto the vehicles, had turned the convoy around and were making our way back to Moseley.

  The drivers took less care on the way back, due to the need for speed and quite a few abandoned vehicles were dealt a glancing blow to move them out of the way. Private Eddy looked in a bad way. As far as I could tell, the other wounded were less serious. One man had a bullet wound in his arm and there were a few sprained ankles and possible broken bones due to falls during the attack.

  Nobody spoke in the rear of the vehicle; everyone seemed lost in their own thoughts. I could hear Jon speaking rapidly over the radio. He was making sure that they would be ready to receive the casualties, and giving an ETA of our arrival.

  Then he was on to the UAV operators, demanding to know why, once again, they had failed to spot the danger before we were attacked.

  Looking through the front window, I could see another armoured vehicle heading towards us. Slowing down and stopping briefly, Jon had a quick chat with its passenger before continuing on our journey. He turned and beckoned me over. “That was Captain Berry. He’s going to have a look at the ambush site to see if there are any clues to suggest who they were and where they came from.”

  “I know it definitely wasn’t anyone we’ve come across before,” I replied. “I’m not an expert but those guys looked like military to me, and they were carrying military grade weapons.

  Why would they attack us without warning and without trying to find out who we are or what we want?

  I’m really worried about the other groups we were trying to find today. We were only
just getting to know them, but they certainly didn’t have the manpower or the weapons to stand up to an attack from that lot. They’d have been annihilated!”

  Jon looked thoughtful for a while and replied carefully, “I agree that our attackers were military or ex-military. They fought well today, almost with a suicidal bravery, almost as if they knew they’d get no leniency if they were captured. We only managed to beat them because we had far superior firepower, and could easily flank them due to our numerical advantage. In a normal battle situation, I’d have expected them to surrender and accept capture and imprisonment rather than death. But despite our repeated demands, they all refused.”

  “Well, whoever they are,” I said, frowning, “We’ve been attacked twice now in as many days and I, for one, am not feeling as safe and secure as I used to. I was beginning to think that the worst was over but now I think it’s only just begun.”

  Jon looked me in the eye. “No,” he said grimly, “I don’t think the worst has even started yet. The models and forecasts all predicted that the next few months will be the worst. The people who are left now are survivors. They’ve lived through starvation and attack from others.

  They’ll be tough and resilient, like you and the members of your community. But you’re in a very fortunate position; you still have enough food to eat. Your community’s only holding together because your basic needs are being met, you’ve got full stomachs. Imagine if you were running out of food and you suspected your friend and neighbour was hoarding it. What would you do?”

  Rather than waiting for an answer, he continued, “Imagine if your whole community had run out of food. You’d tried to beg some from the nearest group, but either they weren’t giving you enough or they were point blank refusing to share their supplies. What if you knew you had more manpower and better weapons than them? Would you attack them so that your own children could eat?”

  Pausing for effect, he went on “Humanity has a dark side and Mr ‘Mild Mannered’, who wouldn’t say boo to a goose, that ‘law abiding citizen’, would stab you in the back in a heartbeat if it meant he could steal from you and feed his family.”