Another War

Chapter Eight

Thacker spotted the glint of glass from the church belltower: a spotter with binoculars. He’d been clocked already by the dozen soldiers crouched behind garden walls as he came into the village, and assumed that Henbury had given the order not to fire. A rash decision, but Thacker was grateful.

The village green, more used to maypoles and Morris dancing, looked like an aerodrome from the Vietnam era. There were olive green helicopters as far as he could see, and men running around underneath them, pulling safety pins from red-tipped missiles.

The pub was opposite the green. He braked hard, his senses coming and going: one moment razor-sharp, the next, dreamlike. The wheels skidded, but he held it straight and the Land Rover stopped in a cloud of dust and smoke.

Adams was at the door, opening it, manhandling Thacker out.

‘You’re buggered up good and proper, Major.’

Thacker grunted. ‘How long have we got?’

‘Nothing spotted yet.’

‘They were right behind me.’ He turned around and looked. Just Oxfordshire.

Adams carried him into the pub, and dumped him in a chair opposite Henbury.

‘Dear God. Fetch the man a whisky.’

‘Actually, I’d prefer a cup of tea.’

‘Oh shut up, Major.’ A large tumbler brimming with golden liquid was banged onto the table.

Thacker knocked half of it back in one sour-faced gulp. He almost threw up, swallowed hard, and felt the alcohol flood his system like a cold rush.

‘That’s better.’

‘You look a mess.’

‘That’s what happens when you try to beat your own brains out with a very large tree. Not recommended, but the situation was extreme.’ Thacker focussed on the tabletop, where there was a map with arrows drawn on it. ‘What’s the plan?’

‘We have a battalion of these helicopters parked out on the rec, armed with air-to-ground missiles and machine guns. I also have a detachment of maintenance crew in full combat readiness deployed in an arc facing west on the outskirts of the village.’

‘The MoD are taking us seriously then?’

‘Oh yes, although in my day it was the War Office. Apparently our Mr Dickson has been very busy with his little telephone, calling all sorts of important people and telling them to welcome Jack. We have a column of tanks and artillery coming out from Salisbury, and Guards regiments from London. The Gurkhas are in Hampshire and will probably be the first to reach us.’ Henbury took delivery of a foaming pint of bitter and took a long pull. ‘In an hour and a half.’

‘They expect us to hold the fort till then?’

‘I rather think they do. I have, however, called the Chief Constable of Oxfordshire, and he can get us about a hundred armed officers within the hour, and some are already here. Now, what are we facing?’

Thacker sipped some more whisky. It burned his lip where he had bitten it. ‘Jack, of course. He has, I suppose, some limited control over things around him. He melted the helicopter as it hovered over him. Melted the crew, too. He blew some unfortunate up as an example to his worshipers. I shot at him, but the bullets never connected. I don’t know what to suggest there.’

‘Hit him from more than one angle at once? Perhaps he has to be concentrating.’

‘It’s all guesses, I’m afraid. Then we have his entourage. They might have been our friends, our colleagues, but they’ll rip us apart with their bare hands if they get hold of us. Anything for Jack. I’m not looking forward to ordering men to open fire at people they’ve been drunk with.’

‘But if they don’t shoot them, they’ll die themselves.’

‘That’s about it.’

‘What a bloody awful mess. Damn Jack.’

Thacker raised his glass. ‘I’ll drink to that.’

Henbury touched his pint mug to the side of Thacker’s tumbler. ‘What do you think? Is this going to work?’

‘That,’ said Thacker, ‘is in the lap of other gods, who are hopefully more merciful than the one we have out there on the rampage.’

They drank in silence, then Henbury’s radio crackled into life.

He picked it up, listened to the message, then put it down, looking thoughtful. ‘The observer has reported seeing a strange stilt-man, about three miles away. Jack?’

‘Why don’t we get those helicopters in the air? I’d like to see if we can take him down before he gets into the village.’

‘Rather.’ Henbury called to Adams, loitering by the bar. ‘Get those whirly things up. Jack’s been spotted, five thousand yards west-south-west on the approach road. Tell them to hit him simultaneously. Don’t spare the ammunition; this could be the best chance we have.’

Adams trotted out, and Henbury regarded Thacker. ‘You ought to let someone take a look at your head. You’re bleeding on my map.’

‘Sorry.’ Thacker tried to wipe the drops of red away, and only succeeded in smearing it across Home Farm and Foundry Brook.

Henbury gathered his crutches and eased himself out of his seat. ‘You coming to watch?’

Thacker nodded, and paused only to pick up a beer-soaked bar towel. He held it to his head as he stood next to Henbury in the porch.

Starter motors whined, then engines roared. Rotor blades started taking fat bites out of the air, and the sound blended into one almighty roar. The first helicopter rose, leant forward, and started to climb. One after another, eight in all, they took off, circled, then formed up in a line facing west.

Adams emerged out of the shivering haze of dust. ‘Funny to think. Those strange machines stand between us and the end of England.’

The helicopters moved off, low, just clearing the tree line.

‘Right,’ said Henbury. ‘let’s try and co-ordinate this attack.’

They had barely sat down around the map when the rocket salvo started. They leaned forward, bending their ears to the squawk of the radio. It took little more than two minutes for the helicopters to fire all their missiles. Thacker imagined how it would look: great dirty fireballs hurling themselves into the summer sky, earth and stone thrown high into the air, men and women cowering around the stick-thin legs of Jack Henbury as they pleaded with him to save them. Dickson, perhaps, too. Proud Dickson, guardian of national security now praying to his new god to destroy the attackers that used to be under his command.

Jack, of course, caring nothing for the worthless lives that teemed around his feet, bleating like sheep who had fallen in with wolves. There were always more humans to fall on their faces in front of him, billions more.

But now the men in their flying machines resisted him like that soldier had done earlier when he had tried to shoot him. This new enemy used bigger weapons, and it was difficult to control their paths, to change the warp and weft of space/time. It could be done, though, as long as he let his followers take their own chances.

The captain in charge of the flight reported back to Henbury: ‘No effect. Repeat. No effect.’

‘Disengage now, Captain. Get away as far and fast as you can. Spotter, what can you see?’

‘One helicopter is in trouble, sir. The others seem to be breaking off. On the ground, there’s some movement. Five, maybe six people.’

‘What of Jack?’

‘The stilt-man has stopped. Now he’s turning away. Heading north.’

‘Blast him, where’s he off to?’ Henbury looked at the map, then at the tiny legend at its very edge. ‘Banbury, six miles. How big is Banbury now?’

Thacker threw the bar towel to the floor, where it smacked wetly on to the stone flags. ‘A damn sight bigger than it was eighty years ago. Henbury, I want you to get everyone together and follow him. Shoot at him all the way. Slow him down. Buy some time.’

‘And what are you going to do?’

‘I’m going back to the Hall. I’m going to turn that machine off, one way or another. Adams, I want you to come with me.’

‘Me? Why?’

‘I want someone who’s not afraid of Ankhani. And someone who can drive.’

Adams looked at Henbury, who nodded slowly.

‘Right then.’ He saluted stiffly. ‘Good luck, sir.’

‘You too, Adams. Look after the major.’ Henbury turned his attention to the radio, and Thacker stumbled out into the daylight.

The air was thick with the smell of spent explosives and burnt flesh. Adams must have smelled it in the trenches a hundred times before, but it was new to Thacker. It made his gorge rise, and he struggled to control it.

His head was still bleeding. Henbury had been right when he’d suggested a medic. There was always too little time to do a proper job on anything.

‘Adams. In the back of that lorry you’ll find two crates of grenades. Get them in the back of the Land Rover while I make a call.’ He took out his mobile and sat on one of the rustic benches in front of the pub.

The man on duty at the MoD knew his name, and Thacker surmised he had gone up in the world somewhat since the morning, when Dickson had threatened him with Court Martial.

He found himself talking to the Minister of State himself.

‘Sir, I wanted to know if a decision had been made regarding a nuclear strike.’

Thacker eased himself into the passenger seat, and found Adams trying to familiarise himself with the controls of the Land Rover.

‘Don’t worry. This heap is nearly as old as I am. All the gears have synchromesh, so just depress the clutch, wrestle it into first, and stamp on the accelerator.’

Adams didn’t make a move. ‘That phone call you made. Will it hurt Master Robert?’

‘I won’t lie to you, Adams,’ said Thacker. ‘I’m trying my very utmost to persuade someone to drop a bloody big bomb on Jack before it’s too late.’

‘How big?’

‘It’ll leave a crater half a mile wide and incinerate most of Banbury if it gets in the way.’

‘You can do that?’

‘And even then I don’t know if it’ll stop him. But I think we’re going to have to try.’ He pushed away the line of blood drawing down his face. ‘It might help if we can get the machine out of commission. He could be using it as some sort of power source. Close it down, weaken him to a point where conventional weapons would work. To answer your question, Robert Henbury and every one else sniping at Jack’s heels will vanish in a puff of light.’

Adams put his hand on the gear stick and ground it into position. The Land Rover lurched, executed a tight U-turn and headed back down the road towards the hall.

After a while, he spoke. ‘I lived my life for that man. There’s nothing odd about it, so don’t snigger. I’d die for him. Nearly have done, several times. I can’t let him die now, after everything we’ve gone through. The war. The house. Now this. Tell me honestly: where am I better off serving him? Here with you, or with him?’

‘Slow down for the craters,’ said Thacker. The tarmac was deeply pitted where the missiles had fallen. There were bodies, too, and parts of bodies. The ruined remains of what had been once a helicopter lay upside down in a field of young wheat. He let Adams navigate the obstacles before replying.

‘I don’t know for sure. I’m guessing, your coming with me.’

‘That’ll do for now, I suppose.’

‘I’ve seen men crack before, men who’d look down their noses at you, Adams, because you’re a rough spoken, ill-educated gardener. I think you’re a bloody marvel. You’ve been thrown in at the deep end; didn’t ask for any of this, did you?’

‘Can’t say I did, Major.’ The Land Rover lurched as it came over the lip of the final crack in the road. Adams put his foot down, and eventually selected a higher gear.

‘I hope, when all this is done, you can find yourself some sort of life here. I’ll do my damndest to make sure that happens. I mean,’ said Thacker, ‘Government ministers take my telephone calls. That has to count for something.’

‘You can hope so.’ Adams was gripping the steering wheel tight as he negotiated one tight turn after another.

Then, just after they swept past the first abandoned checkpoint, they came across an Ankhani, walking down the road toward them.

‘Damn!’ yelled Adams, trying to find the brakes.

They hit it square on, the bonnet taking its tentacles out from underneath it. The bloated body smacked against the windscreen and burst, black liquid spraying out like thrown paint. The windscreen itself starred and bowed inwards, frost forming on it, but the glass just held.

The Land Rover squealed to a halt, and Thacker grabbed his rifle before getting out to inspect the damage.

There was smoke coming from the engine. When Thacker looked closer, the bonnet itself had split, and ichor was leaking in. The impact had dented the bumper by far more than he would have expected.

‘For something with no bones, they seem pretty solid.’

Adams opened his door and leaned out. ‘Behind you.’

Thacker crouched and turned. Two more Ankhani emerged from around the next corner. They saw him at the same time as he saw them. He shot at them, and missed. They ducked back out of sight.

‘The place is crawling with them. We have to get to the machine.’ Thacker jumped back in. ‘Can you see around that mess?’

‘Mostly,’ said Adams. ‘I take it I don’t stop until we get there.’

‘I think you’ve got it. Try not to run any more of them over, no matter how tempting. One more hit like that, and we’re walking.’

Adams drove on, slowly and steadily. There was no sign of the Ankhani save for frost-blackened gaps in the hedge. ‘Shouldn’t you report this?’

‘Yes, but I’m not going to. I want those in charge to concentrate on Jack, not get distracted by a few monsters. When they’ve dealt with him, we can mop up the rest. Listen, Adams: do the Ankhani see us as a threat? Are they scared of us?’

Adams, dodging his head around the broken part of the windscreen and spilt ichor, took a moment to answer.

‘They seemed wary. But they didn’t seem to be scared of death. I think if there was a chance of a meal, they’d have a go. Getting shot was just one of those things, like they’d just lost a few farthings at cards.’

Thacker rubbed his chin, found more blood on it, and traced the sticky trail upwards to his head. He wiped as much as he could away with his sleeve. ‘I was hoping for a more human reaction: asking too much, I suppose.’

They passed the second checkpoint. There were more burnt holes in the hedgerows. Thacker began to feel uneasy. Adams voiced his own concern.

‘Just how many of the buggers are there?’

‘When you went through for Jack, how many did you see?’

‘Hardly any. A dozen, two dozen maybe.’

‘We killed hundreds last night. I wonder if I’ve done the right thing.’

The final checkpoint was just before the main drive. Three Ankhani were clustered around the body of a small deer. They were breaking brittle pieces off, holding them for a moment, then throwing them away. As they heard the engine rev, they turned sharply, then ran off in three different directions.

‘What’s the plan?’ asked Adams.

‘Drive to the machine, as close as we can. Put the boxes of grenades next to it, and blow them all up.’ Thacker checked his rifle, then Adams’ gun. ‘Not much of a plan, but if it doesn’t work, we’ll have to think of something more imaginative.’

Adams turned into the driveway.

There were Ankhani as far as the eye could see.

Thacker gaped.

‘They’ve spotted us. What do I do?’ said Adams.

‘There must be thousands of them.’

‘What do you want me to do?’

‘I…’

‘Major? Oh damn it all to hell.’ Adams started forward, picking up speed, working his way through the gears.

The Land Rover shuddered with each blow. Some were glancing, merely throwing the vehicle off to one side and causing Adams to wrestle with the steering wheel like he was in the teeth of an Atlantic gale. Others were head on, and it was like charging concrete bollards. The windscreen froze over, cracked and cracked again until it was a single web of white lines that was impossible to see through. The side windows were streaked with frost and smears of black blood that blocked out the light just as thoroughly.

‘I don’t know where I’m going,’ shouted Adams.

‘Keep it straight.’ Thacker banged out a section of windscreen with his rifle butt. He saw the remains of the hall dead ahead, before he had to duck. A spray of liquid splattered his seat, and he sat up again. ‘Almost there.’

There was a massive lurch to the right, and another to the left as Adams tried to compensate. Thacker was thrown forward, then back.

‘Lost a wheel.’

They were slowing, slowing.

‘Another ten yards, Adams.’

The speedometer read less than twenty. Thacker thought that it was over, that it had all been in vain, when suddenly they were airborne. The engine raced, and the front of the Land Rover tipped down.

They hit hard. The windscreen finally gave in a cascade of fragments. Thacker and Adams hit their spines going down against cab coming up. The dashboard was a blaze of red lights.

There was the briefest moments of peace, as they surveyed the ruins of Henbury Hall from an intimate vantage point. A cloud of ash and brick dust started to settle around them.

Something scuttled across the top of the vehicle. Thacker brought his rifle up and sent three rounds past his own ear.

Adams was wrestling with his door catch. The mechanism had jammed.

‘Out through the front. I’ll cover you.’

Adams threw his gun out, then himself on to the shattered bonnet while Thacker raked the roof of the Land Rover. Hot metal flew everywhere, hurting him. The noise was deafening, the situation desperate.

‘Come on, man!’ shouted Adams. ‘Now!’ He put the butt of his rifle to his shoulder and fired single shots, miserly with his ammunition.

Thacker heaved himself out, rolled off into the still-warm ash and blackened timbers. ‘Where’s the machine?’

‘We landed square on it.’

Thacker finally realised that they’d driven through the stump of the front wall and fallen through to the cellar. Dickson had managed to remove enough of the debris to expose the machine, and now the wreck of their transport lay directly on top of it.

The Ankhani had gathered around the rim of the cellar. There were far too many to kill.

He looked for another way out, and saw it in the strange, vision-warping pool of darkness that hovered above the rubble. The machine was on its side. So was the door to the Ankhani’s world.

‘Adams? They’re going to rush us any second.’

‘What are we going to do?’

Thacker reached out and grabbed Adams by his arm. He was all skin and bones, and he let Thacker spin him around so that he was between the him and the door.

Thacker jumped, pushing Adams in front of him. They fell.