Broken Arrow

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

Heat. Fire. Pain.

It was all he could remember of the torture session. But, naturally, Tanek had left Jack a few reminders. Scalding burns, and several nails still digging into his body that hurt whenever he twitched. Though not even they hurt as much as the thought he'd let down Mark, Tate and the others. Not to mention Robbie. He'd given them up — granted, because they were threatening Mary's life, but she would have been the first to tell Tanek and Adele to take a hike. Mark probably lasted longer when faced with the olive-skinned psycho's attentions. Jack had also fallen for Adele, just how stupid was he? The daughter of their greatest enemy. Greatest till now, anyway. Not even De Falaise could have pulled off the stunts this Tsar character was responsible for.

Jack had passed out again a couple of times since the pair left, and night had fallen in the meantime. He'd also been left unguarded. They probably thought he didn't warrant watching any more. That he'd be going nowhere considering what Tanek had put him through.

They obviously didn't know Jack very well. He'd screwed up, big time, and he aimed to put things right. How, he didn't know, but he'd start with getting free of this fucking chair! Easier said than done when you were tied to the arms and legs.

He should have been freezing, stripped to his underwear. But they'd also been making use of Faraday's furnace. Jack recalled seeing the body of their blacksmith in the corner. How many more would be counted amongst his number by the time the day was out?

During the torture the furnace had been an instrument of terror; now, even though it had died down, it was probably keeping him alive. And might just be the answer to freeing him.

Mustering what little energy he could, Jack stretched his toes — the rope tying his ankles to the chair legs preventing him from placing his feet properly on the floor. As he strained, the cords in his neck tightened, and the nails that had been banged so methodically into his torso, arms and legs, sent more ripples of torment through him. Never, not even after all those rounds in the wrestling ring, had his body felt so battered and abused.

His toes brushed the cold floor, but he was going to have to do better than that. He stretched again, and this time they connected. He pushed down, enough to raise the chair slightly. Breathing heavily, Jack did it again, only this time he tried his best to lean to the side as well, angling towards the furnace. Just when he thought it wasn't going to go, the chair tipped, pitching him on his side. It knocked the square furnace over, sending a slew of coals and ash across the floor. The nail in his shoulder was driven even further in by the fall, and he bit back a cry of anguish.

Ignore the pain. You're not done yet, and someone might have heard all the racket you've just made!

Jack looked down and found that a handful of coals had rolled near to his bound wrists. They were no longer as hot as they had been when Tanek made use of them, but they might be hot enough for his purposes. Now, if he could just inch a little closer…

Jack wrenched his body sideways, lifting the chair off the floor, then threw his weight in the other direction. The chair moved a fraction across the floor. Dismissing the pain as best he could, Jack lifted the chair again, bringing it down closer to the coals. He was centimetres away, so he did it again. This time he landed virtually on the coals, and he yelped, but kept still because the rope was also on them. Slowly, they were burning through it. It took a few minutes, but he at last began to smell the smoke, as the heat left in the coals bit at the hemp. Jack held on a little longer, then couldn't take it anymore. The ropes were now loose enough for him to break free.

Making a fist, he tugged on the bonds, and was surprised when they gave first time. Quickly, he reached over, untying his other hand — then he did the same with the ropes holding his ankles. Jack collapsed on the floor, and crawled away from the sea of coals and ash.

Before he had a chance to pull out the nails still sticking in him, a Russian soldier appeared at the arched entranceway, barking something in his native tongue. He raised his machinegun. Part of Jack just wanted to lay there, let him shoot and get it over with. But people were relying on him. "T-Take it easy, buddy," he said, his voice hoarse. "We can work this out."

Just when Jack thought he was going to open fire, the soldier shouted something else, motioning with his rifle for Jack to come out. Jack held up a hand, rising slowly and wincing. "All right, all right. I'm coming." The man shouted again, and it was now that Jack revealed his other hand — flinging coals at the soldier, hitting him in the centre of his forehead. Before the soldier could fire, Jack had reached him and followed through with a punch in the face, knocking him spark out.

"Yeah, you sleep it off, pal," Jack muttered as the man slid to the floor. He dragged him inside, and began pulling off the soldier's uniform, tugging at the jacket and trousers. Jack braced himself as he pulled out the nails, so he could slip on the clothes: biting on his bottom lip to keep from screaming again. There were half a dozen or so, positioned like acupuncture needles all over his body. When he eased them out, they didn't bleed as much as he'd thought they would, but even after they were gone it still felt like the nails were there.

The jacket was a tight fit, but at least it was long, and though the trouser legs didn't go all the way down anything was better than freezing his butt off. Grabbing the rifle, Jack poked his head out of the stables. He couldn't see any more soldiers, so he ventured out. But just as he did, a squadron of men came up through the sloping tunnel, where the horses usually made their way to the nearby stables. He ducked back inside, opting to hide until they'd gone past.

Too late he realised he'd left the bare foot of the Russian soldier sticking out near the entranceway. All it would take would be for one of them to look sideways and they'd see it. Jack listened as boots stomped by, and breathed a huge sigh of relief when he couldn't hear them anymore.

He stepped out from behind the wall where he was hiding…

Only to see several more rifles trained in his direction, another smattering of Russian coming from the soldier in charge.

"Hi fellas," said Jack. "Don't suppose we could talk about this, could we?"

They'd entered the city under cover of darkness.

It was obvious when they found the dead men at the look-out points that The Tsar's army had arrived ahead of them. But he hadn't left any of his own men on watch. Which meant he either hadn't had time yet, or he'd already taken the castle and was supremely confident his forces could defend it.

Dale was hoping for the former, but if it did turn out to be the other option… Well, they'd already fought and won one battle that day against those very same forces. Okay, that also meant the men who'd come with him — who'd made that tiring journey, with no rest and not even a pit stop for something to eat — were not exactly at their best. Robert had already asked a lot of them, and now they were expected to fight another army, this time entrenched behind the castle's walls.

Dale was no good at making speeches. That was Robert's forte. Could try singing to them, I suppose, he thought. In the end he managed to persuade the men to come with him and do a recce, scope out exactly what was happening. They left the horses behind and made their way up through the city, keeping to the shadows and conscious that The Tsar could well have posted armed men anywhere.

When they got close enough, they entered a building which offered a direct line-of-sight up Friar Lane, towards the castle. From one of the upstairs windows they observed through binoculars. Each one of them saw the devastation The Tsar's men had caused, illuminated by lights from the armoured vehicles parked both inside and outside the castle grounds. The castle itself had taken a hit, too, one top corner having been chipped away by a rocket or shell blast.

Once each member of the squad had taken a turn, Dale hadn't needed to give any speeches. This was their home — the only one a lot of them had known since virus times. They'd headed The Tsar's forces off because they'd been trying to prevent this. But the sneaky bastard had divided his troops and hit the castle anyway. Now, each and every one of the fighters with him wanted it back.

And they didn't care what it took.

"So Robert has somewhere to return to," Dale said to them, and they all agreed.

There had been no sign of any of those closest to The Hooded Man, though: Mark, Mary, Jack and Reverend Tate especially.

Or Sophie. Where was Sophie?

Dale had to assume they were being held somewhere inside the castle, because the alternative was just too horrifying.

All they needed now was a plan of action, and they were looking at him to provide one. He thought about what Robert would say if he were here.

"Okay, we'll divide into three teams," said Dale when they regrouped. "Hit them from the front and sides at the same time. We have our ropes, our arrows. We can scale the cliffside, the walls, and get inside. They haven't fixed up the mess they've made of the gate yet, so we don't even have to break in there. We've trained for this, guys. We know that place inside out. They don't." He split the numbers, giving the cliff job to Azhar and his band, detailing how he wanted covering fire laid down for the frontal assault, and explaining how he would lead the third team in through those busted gates. "None of us are gettin' any younger — so let's do this."

Dale had played some gigs in his time, but this one had to take the cake. One day, he said to himself, songs actually will be sung about what we've done… what we're going to do today.

He just hoped he would be the one singing them.

"Before you start, you should know: I've had a really, really bad day."

Jack ducked back inside the stables a fraction of a second before he heard the first bang.

His reactions were definitely slower than usual, because a bullet nicked his arm. Compared with everything else he'd been through, it felt like a gnat bite. And it made him angrier than ever.

"Right," he said, taking hold of his machine gun. Reaching across himself, he poked the end out and treated the soldiers to a blast. After the first burst, the weapon clicked — either empty or jammed. "Goddamn!" shouted Jack, tossing the gun away.

He looked around desperately for something, anything to use in its place. Then he saw it: there was an old broom over in the corner. He edged sideways and grabbed it — pulling off the head and testing its weight. It was a far cry from his staff, but it would have to do.

Jack crouched and rounded the corner, this time holding his makeshift staff out in front of him — charging at any of the soldiers still standing and slamming the wood against their knees, bowling them over.

He stabbed the handle left and right, hitting one soldier in the temple and smashing another one's front teeth in. Jack let adrenalin take over, just like he used to in the ring.

One soldier attempted to get up, and Jack jumped on him. Another was running off back down the slope towards the tunnel. Jack struggled to his feet, hefting the stick like a javelin, and threw it. The end of the wooden pole struck the fleeing man in the back of the head and he went down.

Jack moaned, only now feeling the mounting pain. He made his way down to the tunnel himself, willing his exhausted body onwards.

Picking up the staff, he checked the tunnel for the approach of any more soldiers — knowing that somebody must surely have heard the gunfire. But if they had, they'd be coming down the steps above him, not up the path, and so he was shielded for the moment.

Jack made his way down through the tunnel, pressing himself against the side when he got to the other end, seeing the armoured vehicles still on the castle grounds near the gatehouse. There were also clumps of troops — not as many as he'd been expecting (not as many as when they took the castle from De Falaise) but enough to cause him to groan in frustration. Not all were in uniform, some he recognised from the hotel prison — heck, some he'd even apprehended himself! They'd been given weapons as well, it seemed, drafted into The Tsar's employ. What he didn't see this time, strangely, were any of the cultists.

Suddenly there was shouting and Jack saw one of the troopers point up the slope in his direction. Then a squadron was heading his way, hefting their rifles.

They hadn't got halfway up the drive before they opened fire. Jack squashed himself flat against the wall, expecting bullets to spark off the stone. They didn't. And he could hear more gunfire, coming from another part of the castle, up and over to his right, over near the cliffside.

Jack looked again, and the group he thought were coming after him had veered off to the left, towards the gate. Then one of them was suddenly on fire. It was like he had spontaneously combusted, the flames spreading outwards from his chest to consume him. When he turned sideways, just before falling over in a blazing ball of orange, Jack saw the arrow sticking out of him.

Robbie! It had to be. The very thought that The Hooded Man had returned from fighting The Tsar's forces filled him with new energy.

More flaming arrows struck home, the soldiers they were hitting running this way and that, firing indiscriminately at shadows. That's because his men were following their training, sticking to the darkness where they wouldn't be seen; hitting their opponents hard and then retreating.

It was time Jack joined them.

He came out of the tunnel, just as a Russian soldier was running past him. Jack swung his staff, connecting with the man's face, knocking him flat on his back. Jack trod on him to get to the next soldier, hitting that one in the stomach as the man swung his rifle in Jack's direction. Jack struck the soldier's temple and he fell on top of his companion.

As he cleared the tunnel Jack looked up and saw other soldiers running from the castle, jumping down from the Middle Bailey, joining their comrades in the struggle. This time they were on the receiving end, but it was a stealth attack — not a show of force. And they'd been caught on the back foot.

Nevertheless, it was still machine guns against bows and arrows. And if they brought some of that other heavy weaponry into play… Jack had no idea how many allies he had out there — it was difficult to tell with a flash here, a flash there — but they had to cripple as many of The Tsar's men as they could, or this would be over as quickly as it had been the first time around.

More flaming arrows whizzed by ahead of him, but as he watched Jack saw these exploding in the grounds, flinging bunches of soldiers into the air as effectively as if someone had just tossed a grenade into their midst.

Soldiers ran around the grounds, confused. Nobody seemed to be in charge, and no-one apparently wanted the job. Jack guessed Tanek and Adele must have gone after Mark, Tate and Sophie at Sherwood. But where was The Tsar himself? Where were his bodyguards? Surely he wasn't so stupid — or overly confident — that he'd leave his castle with just his foot soldiers looking after it?

Somehow, over the top of all the gunfire, Jack heard the clack of a rifle being primed behind him. He turned, expecting to have his head blown off. What he saw when he made it round was one of the men he'd imprisoned in the hotel. Jack couldn't remember his name, but recognised him from his patchy beard. He'd caught him a few months ago picking on a group of teenagers who'd banded together, threatening them with a pickaxe if they didn't hand over their food. Now the man was out for revenge.

"Just wanted you to see who it was who offed you," said the man, venom in every word. He put the rifle to his shoulder.

"If you're going to do it, get on with it. Won't be the worst thing that's happened today, fella."

"Fair enough."

Jack waited for the bullets to hit home — with no archway to duck into, what choice did he have? But they didn't. Instead, the man's body jerked, his whole frame dancing like he was being electrocuted. His eyes went wide and he let go of his weapon, following it to the ground moments later.

Behind him stood a young man, his sword dripping with the bearded man's blood — which looked oddly black in this light. The youth beamed when he saw him. "Jack! You're alive."

Jack laughed, rushing up to Dale and clapping him on the arms. They didn't have time for a proper reunion though, as more soldiers happened across them.

Dale was on one of them in a flash, his blade slicing left and right. Jack handled another with the makeshift staff, forcing himself to ignore the tremendous pain he was still in.

More explosions nearby, and more gunfire. Jack's eyes flicked up to the castle again and saw troops being hit by arrows up there. "Your doing?" he asked quickly.

"Azhar," was all Dale needed to say.

As Jack's gaze was drawn towards the wall in front of him, he saw the black shapes of more Rangers clambering over. Some were immediately sprayed with bullets, tumbling over onto the top of the wall: dangling like lifeless marionettes. Others managed to get a foothold at the top, targeting the shooters with yet more arrows.

The grounds reflected how Jack's body both looked and felt; it had seen better days. But there wasn't an end in sight. Another wave of soldiers were coming from above, leaping down and firing into the dark recesses, covering any inch of ground their enemies might be hiding in. This lot seemed more together, and had obviously hung back to get a handle on the situation before rushing in.

"They're picking off my… Robert's men," Dale said, correcting himself.

Jack could easily see this kid leading his own division of the Rangers someday. He wanted glory, the adulation that came with bravery. But that was in the future. In Robert's apparent absence, Jack was in charge. "We need to round up as many of our lot as we can, bring them together and make a stand against The Tsar's remaining forces," Jack said, coughing and wondering how much longer he could hold out. This wasn't his first battle of the day — it wasn't his first of the week, or the month — and he'd been tortured by a maniac in the meantime.

Dale nodded, then whistled: a signal for the rest of the Rangers to converge, to make their way into the centre of the grounds. This they did, fending off the soldiers in their way with swords and arrows, fighting more valiantly than Jack had ever seen in his life — in reality or on the silver screen. It made him feel very proud.

They were still outnumbered and outgunned, but none gave up. It was quite a thing to see.

The remaining Rangers were gathering in the spot where Dale and Jack stood, forming a ring. They were being surrrounded by the numbers of soldiers and prisoners still swarming from every part of the castle and grounds.

Backs to each other, the Rangers fired arrow after arrow, stuck The Tsar's men with knives, struck them down with swords. But it was obvious who was winning. As Jack feared it would, the tide had turned, and not even the appearance of Azhar, swords in both hands, cutting and slicing his way through the mayhem, did any good.

"Always wondered what I'd choose for my final number," Dale shouted to Jack.

"What?"

But the youth wasn't listening. He was singing. Lines from a song Jack hadn't heard before, probably one from Dale's old band, or maybe something he was improvising — he was good like that. The words were beautiful and poignant, though, and spoke of kinship, loyalty and of trust.

"So we stand here on the brink,

Hardly able to even think.

Who'd have thought we could make it here,

Together.

What's waiting? Who can say…

But we'll face it anyway.

You can-"

He never got any further because the first of the explosions came. Their heads whipped sideways. These were coming from outside the grounds.

As Jack and Dale looked on, astonished, one of the armoured vehicles positioned at the wall blew up. The Tsar's troops had turned to watch as well.

"Is someone still outside?" Jack asked.

Dale shook his head. "We needed everyone for the assault."

Another explosion, another vehicle going up in flames. Now The Tsar's men were worried. They'd concentrated so much effort on the attack from Dale and his men that they'd taken their eye off the ball where the castle's defences were concerned. The result: somebody was having a merry old time blasting their toys to pieces.

The explosions died down and there was silence for a moment or two. Then:

"Invaders of Nottingham Castle. This is Robert… Robin Hood. Your beloved Tsar is dead."

"Robbie? Well, I'll be," said Jack. "Looks like you were only the warm-up guys, Dale."

The youth frowned and for a second Jack thought it was because of the crack. Surely he can't be mad at Robbie for stealing his thunder, can he? When Dale spoke again, it all became clear.

"I–I left him, on the battlefield. Jack, he was really hurt bad."

"Aren't we all," Jack pointed out.

"No, I mean… bad."

Jack frowned. It did beg the question how in God's name he'd got from there to here, let alone what he was doing talking to The Tsar's men on a speaker system.

The Russians surrounding them were all exchanging blank looks, those who spoke English translating for the rest. It was clear none of them believed what this Hood character was saying.

"Unless you surrender, you will suffer the same fate." With that there was another noise. Not an explosion, but something overhead. The sound of a chopper's blades as it hopped over the buildings next to the castle to hover just above the grounds.

Jack peered up, hand covering his brow. "Is that… Holy smoke, it's Bill!"

The door of the Gazelle helicopter opened and something was dropped into the grounds. The Russians attempted to scatter, thinking it was some kind of grenade. But it was big, more like the size of those old bombs from cartoons. In any event it had landed before they could get very far.

It dropped with a dull thud and rolled into an open part of the grounds the soldiers had vacated.

Jack heard the first of the cries a moment later.

The Russians were backing away, as fast as if it actually was a bomb. However, when Jack, Dale and the others came closer, they saw it was white in colour; with features: eyes, a nose, a mouth.

Jack saw that it was the head of The Tsar.

"Now… get the HELL OUT OF MY HOME!" came a thunderous roar over the speaker. Some of the Russians dropped their weapons right there and then, holding their hands up in surrender. Others made a dash for whatever exits they could find. The prisoners who had been released, while not overly concerned about whether The Tsar was alive or dead, recognised that the tide had turned. They fled, prepared to shoot their way out if necessary.

Dale and the Rangers began rounding up as many of the Russians as possible, but they were too few in number to go after both the soldiers and the escaping prisoners.

It wasn't long before an armoured vehicle came in through the already smashed gates, following closely by a jeep.

Surfing the AFV was Robert, bow in one hand and mike in the other, the cable stretching into the vehicle. He called for help and two Rangers came over. Soon they were carrying a half-conscious Mary from the vehicle. Sophie, who was driving the jeep, needed assistance as well, and a Ranger put an arm around Mark, helping the lad hobble out. Tate was also helped from the jeep, but waved the Rangers away once he was on his feet again. Up on the Middle Bailey, Bill's helicopter was setting down.

Jack and Dale went over, and the first thing Jack did was hold out his hand, which Robert shook gladly. "It's good to see you, boss," he told him. Jack watched Mary going past, saw Mark and Sophie's injuries, and he struggled to fight back the tears. "I'm sorry. This is my fault. I told them where you'd be… I mean, I didn't know you'd be there but they were threatening Mary and-"

"Don't, Jack. It's okay." Robert placed a comforting hand on Jack's shoulder; a hand wrapped in a bloodied bandage. "Really."

"How did you…" Dale began, then: "The last time I saw you, you were…"

Robert held up a finger. "Later, eh? I'll tell you guys everything then. Let's make sure the grounds and castle are clear first, then tend to our wounded."

"Like you?" Jack pointed at the bloodstains at Robert's leg and shoulder.

"We've all been in the wars," Robert said quietly, nodding at the state of Jack.

"Aye, that's one way o' putting it." This was Bill, joining them, and Jack hugged the member of their family he hadn't seen in so long.

Jack felt Dale moving away from his side, going off towards Sophie, asking how she was. Jack also saw the look Mark gave the lad. Even after everything that had happened, there were some things that still needed settling. Lots of things in fact.

But it would take a while, Jack knew that. They'd been here before. Yet that victory had felt so much cleaner, much more final. When they'd ousted the Sheriff it was after a lengthy campaign of terror on his part. The Tsar had managed to achieve more than he did in much less time. And they almost hadn't regained what was theirs. The price had been high. So many injured, including those closest to them. So many dead.

Everything felt broken.

Jack also knew what Robert would say to that. What was broken could be mended… usually. He just couldn't help thinking that the scars from today would remain long after the battles were just a memory. That the ramifications might prove tremendous.

Jack exhaled. He didn't have the energy to think about it. His body was crying out for rest, reminding him of every little thing he'd gone through. Like Mary, Mark, Robert and the others — even the castle itself — they needed to heal the physical before anything else.

Then, and only then, could they begin to find their way.