CHAPTER THIRTEEN

 

 

CROUCHED IN THE doorway of the Tea Rooms, halfway down Pendle Row with Ged and Chas; dozens of the nightmares massing already at the Y-junction at the bottom of the road, all facing our way. Slack, empty faces; glowing eyes. All I saw at first. But looking closer, the details sprang out - clothes, hairstyles. Men, women, and - aw Christ - children. Some as young as five. A woman held a baby to her breast, its arm waving. It couldn't be alive. It couldn't be.

If it didn't have teeth, maybe I wouldn't have to shoot it.

The child kneeling in the dust. Baba. Baba.

Ged stared past me at them, lips pressed together white, breathing deep, eyes wide and bright. Billy was across the road behind a parked car, rocking slightly, humming faintly. Pale. His lips twitched. Poor bastard looked ready to piss his pants. What was his mental age? Eleven, twelve? If that, from what I'd seen of him; he'd lolloped back down to Pendle Row with us like a kid off to play soldiers. Retarded or not, though, they'd given him a 12-bore over-and-under shotgun. Please God, they'd taught him to use the damn thing properly.

Up ahead a stocky, short-haired woman in her forties knelt behind a 4X4, aiming a deer rifle at the nightmares.

"Some of them came out before," Ged's voice wasn't completely steady.

"Yeah?"

"Aye. 'Bout an hour or so before you got here."

The nightmares stood, watching us. The rest of the locals from the meadow were with us, in doorways or behind walls or parked vehicles. Everyone else was scrambling for the higher ground.

"Chas!"

"Sarge?"

"Get Joyce and Mleczko down here." I looked around. There was high ground each side of Pendle Row, one to our right, behind the farm opposite the Tea Rooms to our left, the other near the junction with Barley Road. I pointed there first. "I want Mason up there with the Minimi, Andrews and Levene up there." Behind the farm. "You and Akinbode get the blooper round the other side of the Hill just in case."

"Copy that."

"Get as high up as you can. They might come from more than one side. Keep the rest of the lads on standby with the other Dinky. Copy?"

"Copy."

"And Chas? Headshots only, single rounds or short bursts. No wasting ammo."

"Got it."

Water sluiced over my boots. The stream running down from the Hill had overflowed. My feet were cold.

"Been pissing down all week." I looked at Ged. His breath puffed out white as he spoke. "Just thought it were more of the same. Flood warnings on telly. We rounded the sheep up. Stayed in. Didn't want to get caught out in this.

"Then telly went off-air. Then the radio. Then the electricity went. Nowt we could do but wait it out. Then..." He pointed down at the Row. "We just saw it pouring into the valley. Heard folk screaming, but there was nowt we could do. What's been bloody happening out there?"

I told him. Classified, of course, but I was past caring.

"Dear Christ." He shook his head. "We knew it was bad, but... so it's everywhere?"

"'Fraid so."

"Bugger." He nodded down the street. "Should've guessed when those things bloody turned up. There were only a dozen or so that first time. Shot a couple. Rest just fell back."

I nodded. Retreat and regroup, then attack again. "Looks like they've brought friends this time."

Ged gripped his shotgun. "Hard to tell, state they're in now, but... that one there - think that's a bloke called Hargrave. Runs a farm about half a mile down the road. And that one... looks like..."

He stopped. I decided not to push it. At least I wasn't likely to meet anyone I knew. Although I wouldn't put it past Dad to swim down just to take a chunk out of me. Vindictive old bastard.

The young woman holding the baby might have been pretty once. She had dark blonde hair, bedraggled and rat's-tailed. Her eyes were clouded and glowing green. Something had bitten a chunk out of her face. The baby was in a romper suit, a small hand beating the air.

I pulled back the bolt on the SA80.

Beside her stood a tall man, long hair hanging limp and wet. Goatee beard, pasty skin; he would have looked satanic even alive, with or without the Slayer T-shirt under his open cardigan. If you wanted a poster boy for the carnivorous walking dead, here it was.

Behind them was another man, taller still, at least six-three and built to match. Another long-hair. Thick full beard. Looked like a Viking. They seemed to be sticking together. Maybe they'd been friends.

Don't focus on any of them like that. Don't see the people they used to be. See the target. The enemy. The monster.

For once, at least, there was no thought at the back of my mind about the enemy being some mother's son.

It didn't help.

Levene and Andrews were in position. Alf ran past, down one of the little yards branching off the Row, hopping the fence at the end and scrambling for the top.

"Alright, everybody. Don't panic. Remember you need a headshot."

"Sarge." Mleczko didn't look like a joker any more. His face was hard and tight.

I spoke into my personal communicator. "Levene, Andrews, make sure none of them get past you, and keep them out of the buildings."

"Copy, Sarge."

"Alf - what's Barley Road looking like?"

"Chocka, Sarge."

"Alright. They start moving, aim for the head. Sweep across, try and whittle them down before they get here."

"Copy that."

I turned to Ged. "If I were you, I'd get behind us. We've got more range. Your shotguns'll be handier if they get in close."

Ged shrugged. "You want to put yourself between them and us, you're more than bloody welcome."

I moved towards the riflewoman. "You want to move back too?"

She glanced at me. A wide, impassive face; a small gold ring in each ear. "Not particularly." She turned back to watch the nightmares.

"This is gonna kick off any minute, hen."

"Why do you think I'm here? And don't call me hen."

"Fair enough. Can you can shoot straight?"

"Just watch me."

I studied the back of her cropped head. "Were you in the army?"

"No. Why?"

"Should've been."

She glanced back, grinned.

"Sarge!" Joyce. "They're moving!"

I shouldered my rifle. "Pick a target, lads. Fire on my mark, not before."

They lurched drunkenly along Pendle Row, dressed in a sodden array of coats and colours. Farmers in their Barbour jackets. Hikers in boots and cagoules, some still wearing backpacks. Caught out on the fells, trapped in their cars, up to tour the Witch country.

I sighted on the blonde girl. I didn't want her to get closer. I might see the child properly.

Her eyes glowed. I was looking right into them. That strange glow. It was fascinating. You could look at them all day long, somehow, wondering how they worked.

Keep staring at them right up until -

"Pick your targets and... fire for effect!" I yelled, and pulled the trigger.

Even when you think you're a hardened bastard, however many times you've killed, some deaths stay with you, and always will.

The rifle butt driving back into my shoulder. The bolt snapping backwards. Smoke darting from muzzle and breech, brass cartridge cases jumping out and to the side. A perfect three-round burst.

The woman's head snapping backwards as a shot took her through the left eye, rat's-tailed hair flying wild as the bullet exited the back of the head, tearing the ear loose to dangle from a skin flap.

She dropped forward and lay still. I let out the breath I'd been holding and snapped back into the real world.

The noise crashed in on me first, gunfire erupting left and right. I'd almost forgotten just how fucking loud a gunshot is. Falling shellcases tinkled on the wet ground, hissing as they hit the water. Eight nightmares down. A couple staggered - hit in the neck, scalp wounds - but kept coming.

I aimed for the satanic-looking one.

And then the nightmares charged. A sudden scuttling burst of motion, jerky but fast, like a bunch of horrible wind-up toys.

"Fuck!"

Focus, Robbie.

Satan-boy was weaving. Not intentionally, at least I didn't think so - just the convulsive, flailing way they moved. I fired and missed, catching the Viking in the shoulder. Didn't slow him for a second.

I fired at Satan-boy again, but he was almost on top of me. A bullet tore off an ear, but he kept coming.

I jumped back, fired again. This one hit him in the face. The Viking knocked him aside as he fell, lunging for my throat.

I got the rifle up to block him and we went down together. I shoved the barrel crossways into his mouth. His teeth gnashed at it, eyes blazing inches from my face.

"Shiiiit!"

The chattering of an automatic weapon.

"Control your fire!" I roared out. A villager ran in to help, but one of the nightmares leapt on him. He staggered, screaming, and two, three more fell upon him. Blood sprayed up.

The Viking hissed and snarled round the metal of the gun, pushing me down. Beyond him, more nightmares were lurching forward. But a heap of them were on the ground too.

A gun butt smashed in to the side of the nightmare's head. It juddered and collapsed as Alf Mason stood over me, put the Minimi to his shoulder and fired another automatic burst, sweeping left to right at head height. Almost the whole front row of nightmares went down, and most of the ones behind. Behind us, another volley of gunfire rang out. Two more nightmares, nearly on top of me now, jerked and dropped.

I rolled the dead nightmare off me; Alf helping me up. "You OK, Robbie?"

"Thought I told you to get the bastards on the road."

"They've stopped coming out of the water. You seemed to need the back-up more."

"Alf!" Another nightmare seized his arm and sank its teeth in. Alf bellowed. I shot it through the top of the head.

Four of them were still snarling and tearing at the fallen villager. He wasn't screaming anymore. The woman ran forward, shot one in the head, swung the rifle to crush another's skull, but the third seized the weapon and grappled for it. Then Mleczko was there, Billy stumbling in his wake, and blew its brains across the nearest wall. The fourth nightmare lunging towards him - he swung back and shot it. Billy fired first one barrel, then another, flinching back from the fire and smoke; another nightmare fell. Then he was falling back with Mleczko and the woman.

Maybe twenty nightmares remained, staring at us with those glowing eyes. I put the rifle to my shoulder and aimed.

Then one by one, they turned and started walking away. One by one, they walked back down Barley Road towards the deep water.

Alf had slumped to his knees, cursing and groaning. I made for the fallen villager. Blood splashed out around him, steaming. Chunks of flesh and organs lay in it. I walked on, pleading to the God I didn't believe in that the poor bastard was dead. He was. One prayer answered today.

Something was wriggling out from under the blonde woman's corpse. Something small, wearing a romper suit. It hissed. The small cowled head turned. I glimpsed a tiny, snarling face, two empty sockets blazing with green light.

Oh Jesus, no.

A thundery, rolling boom and its head exploded. The rest of the body, torn and mangled by the shot, twitched and was still.

Ged pumped the shotgun slide. The cartridge case clattered on the ground. His hands shook. He dragged a sleeve across his eyes, then turned away without a word.

Alf's face was grey. Mleczko wrapped a field dressing round the wounded arm. "Get him to Hassan," I said.

Billy stood staring down at them. "D'you want any help?"

"Er, yeah." Mleczko took Alf's bad arm. "Giz a hand here, yeah?"

"Yeah. Yeah." Billy was nodding as he looped the other arm about his shoulders. "Upsi-daisy!" He grinned.

The woman clapped Mleczko's shoulder. "Cheers for before."

"No worries." Mleczko and Billy marched Alf off, almost dragging him.

Past them, Ged was trudging up the Row, head down. "Is he OK?" I asked the woman.

She looked savage. "What do you think?"

Ask a stupid question.

She let out a long breath, closed her eyes, pointed at the dead girl. "See that?"

"Yeah."

"That was his daughter. Clare, her name was. Nice kid."

I looked at the bloodied rag doll beside her. "Was that..?"

"Yeah."

"Fuck."

"He'll be OK." I looked at her. "Well, not OK. But he'll cope."

"What I thought."

She cleaned her rifle butt on Satan-boy's T-shirt, then offered a hand. "Jo."

"Robert. Thanks for your help. You did a good job."

She half-grinned. "Cheers mate. You weren't so bad yourself."

She offered me a cigarette, lit her own, leant back against the 4X4.

 

 

INSIDE THE CHINOOK, Stiles lay on a blanket with another pulled over him. Tidyman likewise, only cuffed. Hassan had splinted his nose and secured it with a bandage across the face. Sadly he was conscious now.

"What happened?" he demanded. I ignored him. "Sergeant?"

Hassan unwound the dressing from Alf's arm. Electric lamps inside the helicopter shed a cold, antiseptic glow. "Shit. That's a mess."

Hassan started cleaning the wound. Alf bellowed. "Fucking twat!"

"Sounds more like it," I said, and managed a grin. But Alf was crying with pain. Shit.

"I'll give him a shot." Hassan swabbed Alf's forearm and jabbed a morphine ampoule in. Alf grunted, closed his eyes.

Hassan inspected the damage. "There's a whole chunk missing. Best I can do is pack the wound. What happened?"

"What do you fucking think? One of those bloody things bit a piece out of him."

"He was bitten?" I looked round. Tidyman was sitting up, staring at me. He had a brace of beautiful black eyes too, I noticed. A Glasgow kiss can do that. "Sergeant, you have to listen to me. Was he bitten?"

"Yes. OK? He was bitten. Sir."

"You have to kill him."

"You fucking what?" I scrambled over, shoved Tidyman up against the bulkhead. "What did you fucking say, you arsehole?"

"You've got to kill him!" Tidyman screamed it, all composure gone. "You don't understand. You have to kill him."

Focus, Robbie. Get control. Breathe in, count to four; breathe out, count to four. "Why?"

"The bite. It's poisonous. Everyone bitten by those things dies. Every one of them. There's no cure. Antibiotics won't stop it. Nothing will. And when they die, they come back as one of them."

"Fuck off."

"It's true. Why should I lie about it?"

Good point. "Then why didn't you tell us?"

"There wasn't time."

"Lying bastard."

Tidyman tried to wriggle away from me. "It wasn't my choice. It was decided that if the men knew, they'd be less likely to get the job done."

"You fuckers. You fucking fuckers."

I let him go and turned away.

"You've got to kill him, Sergeant. It's the most merciful thing you can do."

Alf was out for the count, by the look. Thank heaven for small fucking mercies.

"Flying Officer Cannock?"

The pilot didn't answer. "Cannock?" Tidyman demanded again.

"Sir?"

"Can we take off yet?"

Cannock looked at me.

"Flying Officer Cannock? Why are you looking at that man? He is not an officer in Her Majesty's Royal Air Force. I am. I am your commanding officer. Answer my question. Can we take off?"

Cannock cleared his throat. "Not yet, sir. We've secured the Chinook against the weather, but we'll have to wait out the storm."

Tidyman's face worked, but finally he got himself back under control. "Alright, Flying Officer. But I expect to be told the moment we're able to fly. I don't intend to wait here any longer than I have to."

Prick.

"And in the meantime, you can let me out of these cuffs." He held his hands out. "Immediately."

Cannock looked over at me.

"Cannock!" It was a scream. A fleck of spittle hit my face. "Stop looking at that man! He has no authority here! I am your commanding officer and you will let me out of these cuffs immediately!"

Cannock didn't move.

"Flying Officer Cannock!"

I moved towards Tidyman. He shrank back. "Sir, I suggest you calm down and be quiet. You're staying as you are."

Tidyman was trying to stay calm. "Alright, Sergeant. Now, I accept you had to do what you did before. I overreacted. But I'm perfectly alright now. So please let me go."

I shook my head. His face whitened with fury. "We have to get out of here. That man is vital."

"Stiles? Why? What is it he knows?"

Tidyman compressed his lips and gave no answer.

"I'll make a deal with you, sir. You tell me why Stiles is so important and I'll consider undoing the cuffs."

He spoke through his teeth. "It's classified."

"So they didn't tell you either. Need to know only, right?"

"Sergeant McTarn. I am giving you a direct order."

"Tell you what," I said. "Give me the location of the Cotswolds base and we'll see."

He blinked at me - he almost looked surprised - then smiled. "I don't think so, Sergeant."

"What about this all-important mission of yours, Sir?"

"I don't trust you to carry it out, McTarn. Anymore than I do to keep your word and let me go. No," he leant back, "I have something to bargain with here, don't I?" An odd smile twisted one corner of his mouth. "We'll see who cracks first."

I turned back to Hassan. "Do what you can, OK?"

He nodded.

"What shape's Stiles in?" I asked. I could almost feel Tidyman's ears pricking up.

"He'll be OK," Hassan said. "My guess would be he decided to kill himself - perhaps because of all this - but had to get drunk to do it." He smiled. "So drunk he passed out before he could cut anything vital."

I had to laugh. "Well, thank fuck for that. Put the bloody tin lid on it if we'd come all this way for nothing."

 

 

I LEFT HASSAN at the helicopter with Hendry and Tidyman. And Alf. I was trying not to think about what Tidyman had said. I didn't want to believe it.

I stationed Parfitt on Alf's former position with the other Minimi, kept Levene where he was and moved Andrews to an upstairs room at the Pendle Inn. Guard and lookout duty would rotate hourly. I posted Joyce and Akinbode on top of the Hill.

We moved the booze out of the Inn to one of the nearby farmhouses. It was a large place and empty, so it would serve as a billet, meeting place, and if necessary an informal boozer. The Landrovers were stationed outside, ready to be mobilised at a moment's notice. Chas had put the one with the grenade launcher to good use earlier - the nightmares had been coming out of the water on the far side of the Hill towards Clitheroe, but a quick fusillade from the Mk19 had put them to flight.

I allowed myself a small tipple, the Inn had had some decent single malt in. Isle of Jura; not bad at all, though for me it's really got to be one of the Islay malts like Laphroaig or Lagavulin, but I wasn't going to complain. There wasn't much chance of me tasting a good whisky in the future. I tried to remember how far above sea level the Inner Hebrides were.

Besides, the spirits might be a lot more useful for other purposes - Molotov cocktails, not to mention for a steriliser if Hassan needed it.

The rest of the section congregated in the front room, along with a few of the villagers. Lomax leant against the wall and sipped a Coke, surveying the proceedings with a fine disdain. Mleczko perched on the arm of the sofa, with Billy sat on the floor beside him, gazing up with what looked suspiciously like hero worship in his eyes. Jo sat on the sofa next to Chas. They were chattering away nineteen to the dozen; he said something and she not only laughed, but reached out and ruffled his hair. And Chas Nixon - as the God I don't believe in is my judge - actually fucking blushed. Now I knew it was the end of the world.

"Lads!" Heads turned. "Just wanted to say - well, I think we can safely say no-one else has ever had to deal with anything quite like we have today." That got a few grim chuckles. "You all did bloody well. I'm proud of you." The words felt false, like any of this still mattered. "One beer apiece. Everyone takes a turn at watch tonight." Groans. "Corp?" I gestured towards the kitchen. Chas nodded and got up. "Parkes, you too."

"Sorry, Corp," I murmured as we went. "Hate to break up the romance."

"Piss off, Jock."

Ged, Cannock and Hendry were waiting in the kitchen. I took a sip of the Jura, resisting the temptation to gulp it down. Outside the wind howled, dashing rain against the windows.

"Situation's this," I said. "For the time being we're stuck here. Big question is where we go when the storm clears."

Ged was watching me closely. So was Chas.

"According to Tidyman, there's a secure location we're supposed to take Stiles to. Problem is, only he knows where this fabulous place is, and he won't talk unless I let him go. Which I don't fancy."

"He wants to get out of here, doesn't he?" snorted Chas.

I nodded. "Thinks he can wait us out. Meantime, we've a contact frequency for them, and designated times to try them." I turned to Cannock again. "Just how much fuel do we have for the Chinook?"

"Enough to get to the Cotswolds, certainly; even enough to spend some time searching for the base. But from what I understand, Windhoven is an underground bunker, and, obviously, hidden from plain sight. We could search forever and not find it."

I nodded. "So unless we can scavenge further fuel supplies, we've got one shot."

"You got something in mind, Rob?" Chas.

"I have. For the minute, we're going nowhere anyway. We can't fly in this, and we don't know what the national situation is. Parkes?"

The radio-op looked up from a pint of Foster's she didn't look old enough to legally drink. Not that that mattered anymore. "Sarge?"

"Any luck?"

"None, Sarge. But the electrical storm's playing hell with our comms."

"I thought we had top of the line sat-comm equipment."

"We do, Sarge, but it's not much good if you can't connect with the satellite. Again, our best chance will be when it clears."

Pretty much what I'd expected. "So we can't fly, and even if we could, we wouldn't know where to go. On top of that we don't know what Windhoven's status is, or that of the regional control centres. For all we know, those things have overrun them all. So till we know better, we're on our own." I looked over at Ged. "While we're here, we can help organise the defence of the village, search for other groups of survivors. Then, when we do fly out, you're not all left completely in the lurch."

Ged nodded. His face was expressionless, and he had a large brandy - triple or quadruple at the least - on the go. Was making pretty good headway with it, too. I didn't think he'd said a word since the fight on Pendle Row.

"If anyone's got any better ideas, let's hear them."

No-one did.

"Alright. Light 'em if you've got them. Unless anyone has any objection?"

Ged shrugged, the faint memory of a smile curving his lips. "Never liked that fucking smoking ban anyway."

 

 

CANNOCK WENT TO mind the chopper around twenty-one hundred, taking Parkes with him, to try Windhoven again.

The storm was still raging. Fresh cracks of thunder rolled in every few seconds. Ged told me there was a local saying that if you could see Pendle Hill it was about to rain, and if you couldn't, it was already raining, but even by local standards it was fucking well pissing it down.

Then the first shots rang out.

"Oh shit."

I snatched up my rifle, pulled back the bolt. My PC crackled. "McTarn."

"Sarge? Joyce. They're coming out of the water, over."

"Shit. Location?"

More shots. "Just looks like a localised attack. Near the two pools."

The pools were just north-east of the Hill, on a wide flat stretch of open ground beneath a wooded slope.

"On our way," I said.

"Don't think there's any need, Sarge." A few last shots, then silence. "Looks like that was the lot."

I sat back down. "You mean you woke me up just for that?"

Muffled laughter.

"Keep us posted, Joyce."

"Will do, Sarge. Out."

I looked at Chas and grinned.

Then more gunshots. From right outside.

 

 

I BROKE OUTSIDE, into the pelting rain, Chas at my back. Ged and Mleczko followed, Billy stumbling after.

"Sarge! Sarge!"

Parkes. She ran towards us fast, head down.

"What? What is it?"

"Tidyman, Sarge. Got loose somehow. Knocked Hassan out, maybe killed him. Shot Cannock. And -"

"What?"

"Private Mason, Sarge. He shot him in the head."

"Bastard." I unslung the rifle, passed it to Chas. "That'll be no good where I'm heading." I drew the P226.

"Need any back up?" He asked.

"We start firing rifles at the Chinook, we could fuck our ticket out of here."

"Copy that."

"But we need to keep Tidyman occupied. Get a couple of the lads to the chopper and bang a few off, but for fuck sake aim high."

Chas nodded. "Mleczko?"

"Sarge?"

I thought of how he'd done back on the High Street; a man you'd want with you. "Can you use a pistol?"

"Yeah."

Hendry and Lomax had joined us. "Mind if Mleczko borrows your gun, Sir?"

Hendry, face pale, nodded, and handed it over. "Thank you, Sir. Mleczko, you're with me. Priority's keeping the Chinook in one piece. Tidyman's gone apeshit so if you have to, drop him."

Mleczko nodded. He didn't seem to have a problem with that. If anything, he looked pretty bright-eyed at the prospect. Then again, that could've just been Shiny Kit Syndrome, at getting his hands on the pistol. He handed his rifle to Chas.

"Need another body?" asked Lomax.

"Always handy. You're a good shot?"

"I can hit a barn door."

There was a coughing sound from the Chinook. "Just don't hit anything important. Chas, ready to fire. Mleczko, Lomax, move your arse."

Shots rang out behind us as we ran low across the field. A bullet whined and buzzed past my ear. Too fucking close. Sparks flew from the cockpit canopy.

"You do know," Lomax huffed as we went, "the Chinook's got two Gimpys mounted in there?"

I did, but I'd been doing my best to forget that. Hopefully Tidyman would content himself with Hassan's rifle.

Something lay in the grass outside the helicopter. It was on fire.

The rotors were turning.

Shit.

But thank fuck, the side door was ajar. I ran faster.

Then the door flung wide. Tidyman stood in it. He was holding a SA80. Probably Hassan's.

Oh shit.

The rifle's muzzle spat flame. I dived. Bullets whined overhead.

I brought up the P226, fired three rounds. Tidyman ducked back.

I got up and ran. Lomax's heavy boots pounded the turf behind me. Tidyman popped back up, fired again. Lomax cried out; a body hit the ground. The rifle arced towards me, but Mleczko fired first; Tidyman screamed and dropped the rifle on the ground.

I was almost at the chopper now. Tidyman was clutching at the door, trying to drag it closed. I fired at his hand as I ran; the bullet spanged off the door, and he scrambled back inside.

I dived through the door as Tidyman fired a pistol at me from the cockpit. Cannock's, I guessed. Blood splattered the inside of the cockpit canopy; Cannock himself slumped forward in his seat.

Tidyman aiming for another shot. I fired twice, a double-tap. More blood splattered outwards across the cockpit canopy. Tidyman fell back across the instrument panel, staring at me, then dropped to his knees and fell forwards.

Alf Mason lay where I'd left him, only with a neat bullet hole behind his right ear and the left eye forced half-out of its socket. Stiles was unmarked, but still unconscious. Hassan was crumpled against one of the bulkheads; alive or dead, I couldn't tell.

The Chinook was rocking. Mleczko scrambled in. "Sarge?"

"I'm fine. Fine. Get Hendry. We need to shut this fucker off."

I went to Tidyman. I put my foot on his Sig-Sauer and slid it away, out of his hand. His head was turned to one side, eyes open and sightless.

Dead, but will he stay that way? Now there's the question.

I checked Cannock. He hadn't been shot; Tidyman had smashed him in the head with the rifle butt. Made no difference in the end - the blow had shattered his skull. I closed his eyes for him.

Then I remembered Hassan. No bullet wounds. Just a lump the size of a chicken's egg behind one ear. I checked the carotid pulse. He'd live.

Stiles too. Still completely dead to the world. Whatever he'd been drinking, I made a mental note to get myself a bottle if the opportunity ever presented itself.

Feet thudded on the grass outside, then clanged on metal. Chas, Mleczko, and Hendry scrambled aboard. Hendry stepped over Tidyman's body and gently moved Cannock's to one side. The coughing roar of the engines died and the rotors quickly wound down.

Lomax sagged against the doorway, clutching his arm. "You OK?" I asked. He was white.

"I've been fucking shot, you Jock dickhead."

He was OK. I inspected the wound. "You're lucky. Just a crease." For the second time that day, I broke out a wound dressing. "Get Hassan to take a look when his brain's unscrambled."

He nodded. Lightning flickered through the cockpit canopy; a roll of thunder followed.

"Fuck," said Mleczko at last. "What a cunt of a day."

We all stared at him for a moment, and then I began to laugh. It was a jagged, wild sound. Chas was laughing too, even Parkes. Only Hendry didn't join in; he just looked at us from over the bodies of his friend and of his CO, and we fell silent.

"Sorry, Sir." I said at last.

He just shook his head and slumped into the vacant seat beside Cannock.

I smelt burning. I remembered what I'd seen outside and suddenly I knew. I leapt outside and stamped on it.

"Fuck. Fuck!"

"Sarge?" Mleczko was jumping down, followed by Chas.

"Robbie?" Chas came over. I'd fallen to my knees beside the remnants. "What's up?"

"I'm an idiot," I said. "A total fucking idiot."

"What?"

Despite the rain, only a few charred scraps were left. Paper.

Tidyman's face earlier when I'd asked him about the location. Surprised, as if I should've known. No fucking wonder. "He had this all along. Probably in his pocket. And I didn't even think to look."

Chas seemed to click. "Oh shit!"

"What?" Mleczko looked from one of us to the other.

"Windhoven's location. Just my guess, but I'd put money on it. It was right under our noses all the time."

A mad part of me was glad of it. Opt out, drop out, fuck them all off and piss on their chips. But that couldn't be allowed, not now. For better or worse, like it or lump it, I was a soldier again. I was back in command.

There was a groan from inside the Chinook. Stiles sat up, rubbing his head.

"Fuck..." he said faintly. "Anyone got an aspirin?"

 

 

"OBVIOUSLY, SIR, YOU'RE in overall command here now." Hendry's fingers fidgeted around the glass. I sat with him, Chas and Ged in the farmhouse kitchen.

"Squadron Leader Tidyman put you in control on the ground, Sergeant. Until we're airborne, I see no reason to change that. Quite frankly, I wouldn't know where to start."

"Thank you, Sir." I turned to Ged. "We can set up barricades on Pendle Row - slow them down if they come back in any numbers. And all around the island," because that was what it was now, "as well."

Ged nodded.

"For the time being, I've posted lookouts, and the Landrovers will make regular sweeps of the area. We'll get stuck in tomorrow. We'll need to evacuate the houses on Pendle Row, move the occupants elsewhere, maybe use some of the farmhouses -"

"Make yourself popular," chuckled Ged.

"I can live with that. Pendle Row's the front line. We'll use the Inn as an OP, put one of the Minimis there. Install a permanent lookout on the Hill - that way we can monitor the whole area for signs of attack. We'll need help from your people too - there's a lot of ground to cover. We'll give you fellas some basic training on the SA80s and Minimis."

"You sure that's wise, Sarge?" Chas's eyes flickered to Ged. "No offence, mate."

Ged shrugged.

"We need any defenders able to use any available weapons. We'll keep the Gimpy and the blooper mounted on the Dinkies -"

"You what?"

"Sorry, Ged. The general purpose machine gun and the grenade launcher mounted on the Landrovers. We keep them in reserve at a central location, so if the shit hits the fan, they can go straight in to do some heavy fucking duty back-up. Make sense?"

Ged nodded. After a beat, so did Chas. Hendry sipped his drink.

We talked a bit more, and that was it. Ged rose, nodded and made for the door. Hendry got up to follow, then hesitated. He waited till the door had closed behind the big man, then glanced from me to Chas. "Er - a word, Sergeant?"

"Sir."

"In private?"

Chas shrugged. "I'll be through there." He went through into the front room.

I turned to Hendry. "Sir?"

"Sergeant... I just wanted to say, my report on what's happened here..."

Fuck.

"I'm going to put in it that Squadron Leader Tidyman was killed in action. By the creatures."

"Sir." Something more seemed to be called for. "Thank you."

"I don't know if any of his family will have made it. They all lived in London, you see. His wife, their children, both his parents."

"Christ."

"I know he didn't... handle the situation well, but I served with him, and he was a good man. Better than you saw. He deserves to be remembered... well, you know."

"Sir." It wouldn't be the first time a few white lies'd gone in a report. And if it kept me clear of a court-martial, I wasn't complaining. "Appreciated."

Hendry nodded and went out. Chas came back in. "What'd he want?"

I told him. Chas picked up the whisky bottle.

"Go on, then."

He passed me a glass. "You reckon they'll be back?"

"What do you think?"

He pursed his lips and nodded. "I think they'll be back."

"Aye. Me too." We clinked glasses. "So what do you think?"

"I think we can hold out here a while. Till we can get out to Windhoven. Wherever it is."

"And if it's still there."

"That too."

"You don't sound too enthusiastic about it."

"I don't like the idea of leaving the villagers in it."

"Think I do?"

"But you'd do it."

Chas leant forward. "We have a job to do, Robbie. You know that. Like it or not."

"Yeah."

"Look, it's not like... it's not like that time."

Sand blowing across the desert road. The fading echo of the rifle shot.

"No?"

"No. We'll be training them up, maybe even leaving them some kit. They're not gonna be left in the lurch. They'll make out."

"You reckon?"

"Yeah, I do." But he didn't meet my eyes. Then he looked up and grinned. "Did a good job today though, anyway, Jock."

"Sergeant Jock to you, grotb -"

Outside, there was a shout, then a panicked yell, and then a shot.

"Fuck!" I bolted for the door. Behind me, Chas yelled my name, feet thumping on the floor.

I burst outside and nearly cannoned into Hassan. A body lay at his feet, the top of the head gone. It wore combats, although you could barely make them out under the filth.

"The fuck happened here?" I heard Chas yell.

"Just came at me, Corp -"

I flipped the body over. Alf Mason stared back up me with dead, clouded eyes.

We'd buried him in a grave at the far end of the meadow - him, Tidyman and Cannock. But here he was.

The other two had stayed where they'd been put. For them, at least, it was over.