The Eternal War

CHAPTER 54

2001, outside Dead City

Liam watched the night sky. He was looking at the very same stars as Sal. In front of them was the outline of the dark city suburbs.

McManus prodded the dying fire with a stick. ‘We shall wait till first light, Liam. Then we’ll send in the hounds.’

Another delay of hours. Liam did his best to contain the frustration behind gritted teeth.

‘They should find those runaways easily enough … and your sister and friend too.’

Liam glanced across the trampled field, lit by several campfires. The ‘hounds’ that McManus referred to were those large baboon-headed dogs. He could see them clustered around one of the fires, eating rations of food out of a trough. He could see flashes of long teeth as they periodically raised their heads and chewed hungrily on what appeared to be dry nuggets of protein biscuit.

‘They look pretty ferocious, so they do. Are you sure my sister’s going to be safe from them?’

‘Indeed. Those hunter-seekers won’t harm them. They’ve been instructed.’

‘How’ll they know who it is they’re not to hurt, though?’

‘White Bear has had them all get a taste of the tracks left by the genics. They know the smell of your sister and have orders to follow the scent, locate them and then report in.’

Liam looked at him sceptically. ‘Instructed, you said? You make them sound almost human.’

McManus grinned. He put his fingers in his mouth and whistled. One of the hunter-seekers looked up from his feeding trough. ‘Yes, that’s right, you over there! Pack-Alpha … come here!’

The creature obediently got up off its haunches and trotted across the camp towards them.

Liam shared a look with Bob. ‘I’ve never seen a dog so well trained.’

‘Well, firstly, remember these things aren’t dogs,’ said McManus.

The hunter-seeker came to a halt in front of them — waist high, almost as big as a Great Dane.

‘You may sit, Pack-Alpha.’

‘Thanks, guv,’ it grunted, slim hindquarters settling down on the dusty ground.

‘This civilian is Mr Liam O’Connor. And the big chap is Mr Bob O’Connor. It’s their sister and friend who’ve been taken by the runaways. Now, for their peace of mind, would you please tell them what your orders are.’

It turned intelligent baboon-eyes on to Liam, a pink tongue protruded from its long furry muzzle and moistened its thin dark leathery lips. ‘Follow smell-trail. Find humans.’

‘And what will you do when you find them?’

It cocked its head and Liam could have sworn the thing rolled its eyes as if that was the most stupid question a person could ask. ‘Call home.’

McManus pointed to a leather strap round the creature’s neck. Beneath its jaw was a small brass box with a simple toggle switch on it. ‘They flip that switch and it turns on a short-range radio beacon, which we can then follow in. It also opens the microphone so they can tell us exactly what they’re seeing. They make excellent reconnaissance units.’

He turned back to the genic, squatted down to inspect an ident number on its collar. ‘Ahh, you’re Pack-Alpha-Two. Sorry, didn’t recognize you there … George, isn’t it?’

Liam choked a surprised laugh. ‘George?’

‘Ahh, yes. We let them pick their own informal names. They like to do it. Makes them feel a part of the regiment. Doesn’t it, ol’ chap?’

The creature nodded. ‘Good name, George. Just like King.’

‘That’s right, just like our King George.’ McManus patted the top of his small round head. ‘George is one of our best. Did some really rather excellent work rooting out the bad chaps from the mountains in Afghanistan, didn’t you?’

‘Bad men. I kill.’

‘You did jolly well, George. Very well indeed.’

George turned his baboon-head to look back at his pack and the trough, a worried frown rolling along the protruding brow above his eyes. ‘Go eat now, guv?’

‘Ah, yes … better get off before those greedy beggars in your squad finish all the chow. Dismissed.’

The hunter-seeker turned and trotted back across the makeshift camp.

Liam shook his head at the bizarre conversation he’d just witnessed.

‘Yes … they’re a very helpful eugenic product,’ said McManus. ‘Far more efficient at tracking than any human can be, better even than, dare I say, our Indian chap, White Bear.’

‘Why did you not use those hunter creatures earlier, then?’ asked Bob.

‘When we were following the trail from the farmhouse?’

Bob nodded.

‘Tracking’s not just following a scent or footprints. It’s thinking, assessing how you personally would attempt to hide your trail. It’s like playing chess … predicting an opponent’s move. George and his chums can’t do anything sophisticated like that. They’re jolly good, though, at following a scent. Tracking and following a scent … two very different things.’

‘The names …’ said Liam. ‘Why do they pick names like that? Human names?’

McManus shrugged. ‘Eugenics … that’s the odd thing — they all want in some way to be more human. After all, I suppose they must think of us as … as, I suppose, their parents, in a way. They are just children really, though. Simple-minded children.’

High up in the sky the regimental carrier slowly manoeuvred in a wide turning arc, a searchlight periodically lancing out into the darkness and combing the ground around the camp. McManus poked and prodded their campfire with a stick, stirring the glowing embers to life.

‘Even the wild ones, the runaways, they take human names. We’ve noticed them try to mimic us when they can, sometimes wearing items of clothing, bracelets … hats. That kind of thing.’

‘Like black slaves used to do?’

McManus stopped mid-stride. ‘Black slaves?’ He glared at Liam. ‘Good grief! You’re talking about human slavery?’

Liam nodded. ‘Yes.’

‘Barbaric!’ he spat. ‘An abhorrent, savage practice. I thank God we live in modern, more enlightened times.’

‘So … your side, the South — ’

‘Anglo-Confederacy,’ he corrected Liam. ‘North and South, those are old names from bygone times.’

‘The Anglo-Confederacy, then … it doesn’t keep black slaves any more, does it?’

‘Good God, Mr O’Connor! Are you actually trying to be offensive this evening?’

Liam winced. ‘No, I … I’m sorry. I just wondered …’

‘Do you honestly think His Majesty’s government, our armed forces, this prestigious regiment, would fight alongside any nation that actually kept humans as slaves? We put an end to that in this country nearly a century and a half ago!’

McManus shook his head disapprovingly. ‘Good Lord! Look around you, why don’t you, Mr O’Connor. We’re not ruddy barbarians in the British army!’ He got up and strode off, leaving Liam and Bob behind.

Liam looked at Bob. ‘What? I just asked the question … that’s all!’

‘I believe you may have angered McManus,’ said Bob.

Liam nodded. ‘I think you’re right.’ He looked around, just as McManus had suggested, at the men sitting beside campfires, in their woollen undershirts and braces, the junior officers around their brazier warming their hands. He’d been so distracted by their desperate mission to rescue Sal and Lincoln, distracted by the bizarre technology of this world and the curious talking creatures it had spawned, that he’d failed to note that at least a third of these men and officers in crimson tunics and pith helmets were dark-skinned. Professional soldiers recruited from every corner of the British Empire.

‘Oh … I see.’ He pressed his lips, realizing now why his clumsy question might have caused McManus to snap angrily at him.

‘I guess I probably need to go and apologize.’