Hurst - Robin Crumby (bookreader TXT) 📗
- Author: Robin Crumby
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Book online «Hurst - Robin Crumby (bookreader TXT) 📗». Author Robin Crumby
His boss seemed increasingly frustrated by Copper’s inability to make any headway against the Hurst defenders. The man in black cared little for their losses.
“There will always be plenty more like them. Men wanting to bear arms and vent their fury on the world,” his boss had once said. It was like a game to him. He seemed strangely amused by how even the most rational, sane, law-abiding person could be corrupted by power. Acting without consequences was intoxicating, for anyone. He called it a licence of impunity. It was a grand experiment to see who could be influenced. His boss took a perverse delight in manipulating others, pulling their strings, like some puppet master. Copper allowed him his small victories. He understood the game and played by its rules, for now. His boss even boasted once that winning over Copper and his squad of former policemen was one of his finest achievements.
According to his boss, no one was immune to the lure of power. Copper had seen it so many times, even before the breakdown. In this new world without boundaries, formerly respectable figures of society, judges, teachers, and particularly policemen, had been driven to extreme behaviours, in the secure knowledge that the justice system had failed. There would be no knock on the door, no repercussions. Killing was like a drug, and his boss saw himself as the pusher. He believed that every red-blooded human had the right to quench their base thirst for violence and destruction.
Copper leaned in close to his boss and spoke quietly: “It’s time we were leaving. Daybreak is less than an hour away.”
The man in black cocked his head and stared back at Copper, refusing to lower his voice. “What exactly are you afraid of? We haven’t come this far to give up now.” He seemed unconcerned by who might hear their conversation.
“If we stay here much longer, we’ll be vulnerable to a counter-attack,” counselled Copper, appealing to his common sense. “We can’t risk getting cut off. If we leave now, we live to fight another day.”
His boss sneered at Copper. “We’re not leaving without those girls. Unless we find them, all this will be a wasted effort.”
“We have it on good authority that the girls were never here. Staying to fight is folly.” Despite his attempt to remain calm, he was growing increasingly frustrated with his commander’s refusal to listen.
“You shouldn’t believe everything you’re told,” he mocked.
Copper noticed the rest of his men had stopped talking and were listening to their exchange. He knew what they were thinking. Their boss had lost it. This was pure rage. He wasn’t thinking straight. The men’s loyalty was to Copper and it was up to him to put an end to this. He needed to take control.
Sarge waved Copper over and whispered conspiratorially for a few minutes, standing a few yards away from the rest. Copper nodded back to the sergeant but didn’t look totally convinced. On reflection, it seemed like the only option. It was in the best interests of the group. Their commander could no longer be trusted, Copper had to take charge before anyone else got killed.
His boss was oblivious to their discussions, keeping his eyes fixed on the gate, listening to the movement and voices beyond. Copper walked up behind him, raised the butt of his rifle and brought it crashing down against his skull, knocking him out cold. His body collapsed limply on to the grass. One man took his arms, another his feet and they carried the unconscious man back through the courtyard towards the main gate, hugging the cover of the wall.
A hail of bullets tore up the ground in front of them. The gunfire was coming from the west, leaving them totally exposed. As one man tried to continue forward, the other pulled away and between them they dropped their boss’s inert body on the ground. They both raced into the covered main entrance, throwing their backs against the wall.
Copper shouted after them. They couldn’t leave him behind. Mutiny was one thing, but leaving him to be captured was far worse. The remainder of Copper’s group didn’t look back and walked on. They supported the walking wounded out with them. Squeezing through the blast hole in the drawbridge, they trudged dejected from the castle towards the waiting ferry boat whose tired-sounding engines were spluttering noisily, ready to cast off as soon as the last of the group was back on board.
Copper paused at the drawbridge, one foot through the blast hole, as he looked back towards the courtyard with a heavy heart. This was not what he’d planned. This time there would be consequences, of that he had no doubt. Regardless of how he felt, he couldn’t reach his leader now without risking his own life, running the gauntlet under fire. He shook his head, turned towards the jetty and jogged after the others. There would be hell to pay for this treachery.
****
The UAV controller chewed gum in a swivel chair in the semi-darkness of the Chester’s control room, bathed in a red glow from several night lights. Various screens and flashing buttons cast a ghostly grey monochrome over the operator’s furrowed brow and wire-framed glasses. He was squinting at the screen trying to lip-read what the man on the rampart was saying. He’d zoomed the camera in close, but the resolution wasn’t great and the drone was as close as he dared to the castle walls without endangering its rotors.
“CO, are you getting this? Looks like he’s mouthing something, trying to send us a message?”
“Copy that. Any idea what he’s saying?”
“The boys reckon he’s saying: ‘Send help, many casualties’. But honestly, sir, without audio, for all we know, he could be ordering pizza.”
“Okay, let’s take a look around, please. Get the XO on the line, and get a medical team prepped to go help those guys. Let the team know that they have multiple casualties. Urgent medical attention required. Make sure they have an armed escort. We won’t know what’s going on there.”
The drone rose high over Will’s head and panned around the rest of the castle. The on-screen image showed the dying embers of a campfire, passing over the courtyard, pausing to take photos of the damaged canteen. Along one wall, there were several bodies, slumped against the wall. From the groupings of bullet marks in the stone, it looked to Jack like a scene of execution. Jack and Sam leaned closer, trying to make out any distinguishable features or clothing. Sam let out a pained cry as he recognised two of his mates. Jack said nothing, clenching his fists repeatedly, grinding his teeth.
The drone moved away, hovering over the gate to the inner courtyard. It picked out more bodies. Injured men and women were being tended to and made comfortable. There were no signs of flames in the main building, just smoke and blackened doorways, some burned-out debris lying nearby. The eastern wing of the castle appeared untouched. They could see figures emerging from their hiding places, pointing up at the drone as it rose higher over the castle.
“Okay, we’ve seen enough here. Don’t worry, Jack, the helicopter is refuelled and ready. Our medical team will be on station in ten minutes. We’ll take care of them. Jenkins, take me on to Osborne House and let’s see what we can find. Are we in contact with the away team?”
“Yes, sir. I can patch you through now? Give me a minute.”
There was a delay of a few seconds as the drone continued on, passing the Lymington river entrance, heading across the Solent towards Cowes.
“Go ahead, sir. I have Sergeant Jones on the line now.”
“Good morning, sergeant. I trust you have things under control at Osborne House.”
“Yes, sir. Quiet night. No sign of Briggs. Looks like he hightailed it out of here. The good news, sir? The tracker is active. We have a strong signal and show Briggs’s convoy on the main road heading north back towards us now. They’re about three clicks away from our position.”
“How’re our new friends from the Royal Navy doing?”
“We’re having quite a tea party. Looks like the rest of the men are enjoying what they call a ‘Full English’. Real eggs and bacon, sir, fried tomatoes, toast and mushrooms. Beats powdered egg and beans any day, sir.”
“You’re making me hungry, sergeant, and not a little jealous,” smiled Peterson. “Listen up. We can divert the UAV to locate that convoy. We’re sending a helicopter to Hurst to tend to their wounded and then we’ll head on to pick you up. They had quite a night of it, but looks like the good guys came through.”
“Yes, sir. We’ll await further instructions and hitch a ride back to the ship when you’re good and ready.”
“Very good, sergeant. Chester out.”
Back on the screen, the UAV had crossed a beach and was heading inland over the Isle of Wight. To the right of the UAV feed appeared a digital map with the location of the convoy as a white dot moving slowly north. The tracker signal was pinging loud and clear from a transmitter, allegedly hidden underneath Briggs’s motorcade.
Jack’s eyes flicked from the video feed to the map and back again as the distance between the two closed rapidly on a conversion course. There it was. In the extreme distance on the viewfinder, they could just make out the motorcade. There were four, no, five vehicles bumping along the road from Newport heading back towards Cowes. At the head of a convoy was a baby Humvee, likely stolen and adapted for Briggs’s own purposes, with a large cattle grill on the front, a bank of spotlights on the cabin roof and what looked like metal plates welded to the front and sides.
“Chances are they’re heading back towards Osborne with reinforcements, sir. Finish what they started. What are your orders?”
“We may not get a better chance at this, sergeant. Let’s take them out here and now. CO to fire team. Prep a Tomahawk for us, can you, please?
“Fire team, aye. Programming coordinates now, sir. Coordinates locked and ready. At your command.”
“Fire when ready.”
A forward missile hatch on the Chester slowly levered its bay doors vertical, its hydraulic pistons whirring in the morning peace on deck. On the big screen in the stateroom, the image switched to a camera showing the missile hatch now fully open. The ship’s bow crested through the waves, sending spray twenty feet either side. There was a pause before the rockets fired. Out of an eruption of smoke, the missile accelerated vertically into the grey morning sky, leaving a vapour trail behind it. The column of smoke drifted to their starboard in the breeze.
Jack jolted, his whole body shaking, as if he’d been woken from a dream. “Wait, wait…”
Peterson and Sam glanced sideways at him, as if he’d lost his marbles.
“Call off the attack, lieutenant. How do we know Terra’s not with Briggs? She could be sat right next to him in that convoy.”
Peterson’s eyes flicked from Jack back to the screen. He was considering this new information, weighing his options before seeming to nod, his mind made up. “I can’t do that, Jack. This may be the only chance we get to take out Briggs. He’s the biggest risk to Camp Wight we have right now. Lives at Osborne are at stake. We need to take this.”
“There must be another way? Please. I’m begging you.”
“I’m sorry. There’s no way to stop the missile. There’s nothing I can do now.” He clasped his hands together, to impress upon Jack the finality of his words.
The missile had only five miles left to run and stayed relatively low. It tracked north-east, speeding south of the Needles. Accelerating
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