On Her Majesty's Behalf (10 page)

 

Chapter Thirteen

Beneath Westminster Bridge

London

O
NCE
P
ROFESSOR
G
RAVES
determined that gas masks were unnecessary, communication was no longer hampered by the thick material of the mask hoods, and the squad's efforts to get under way sped up appreciably.

A wooden-­bottomed rubber raft was brought up from below and Burke's men inflated it with the help of a pressure hose run up from the engine room below. As the squad climbed aboard, Burke ran through things one more time with Captain Wattley.

“Forty-­eight hours,” he told him. “If we're not back in that time frame, we're probably not coming back at all. Get your men out of here and see to it that Colonel Nichols in Military Intelligence has all the details you can give him. That's all I can ask.”

Wattley nodded grimly. “I'll keep an eye out, Major, and I'll be sure your man knows what happened if things go sour for you.”

The two men shook hands, and then Burke joined his men aboard the raft. Moments later they were rowing for shore, doing their best to keep the noise levels down to the barest minimum.

After anchoring the boat on some convenient rocks, the team disembarked and formed up as a unit, with Sergeant Drummond on point and with Corporal Williams watching their six. Major Burke was near the front of the column, just behind Drummond, with the others spaced out in a single-­file line with about a yard between them.

Burke's rules of engagement were simple. They were to avoid any and all contact with the shredders for as long as possible. If it looked like they were about to be attacked, they were to try and eliminate the threat without resorting to gunfire. Gunfire would be used as a last resort and then only so long as the threat remained active. By limiting the noise they were making, Burke was hoping to avoid attracting large groups of shredders to the team before they reached their destination.

The streets weren't much better up close than they had been from the deck of the
Reliant
. Many of the buildings had been reduced to rubble; soot, smoke, and ash lay everywhere thanks to the fires burning out of control in other parts of the city; and they were forced to move at a slow, measured pace to limit the noise they were making so as to avoid attracting wandering shredders.

With Drummond leading the way, they managed to leave the river behind and make their way into the city without incident. They spotted more than a handful of the creatures moving through the streets, but each time they did so Drummond led the squad away from any potential confrontation, moving down an alternate route that allowed them to skirt the creatures before they were noticed.

What they couldn't avoid, however, were the remains of the shredders' victims. Bodies lay everywhere, the violent evidence of death that many of them sported on their bodies proof enough that it hadn't been the German bombing run or subsequent gas attack that had done them in.

Wanting a closer look, Burke stepped over to the nearest corpse and squatted next to it.

The victim had been male, most likely in his late sixties. He was wearing the remains of a dressing gown, so had likely been chased out of bed by either the bombs or the shredders themselves after the attack. The shredders had made a mess of the man's chest cavity, burrowing into it with all the ferocity of rabid dogs. Burke could see the shattered remains of the corpse's ribs jutting up through the ruin of his chest and the empty space between them where his internal organs had once been.

Remembering his conversation with Captain Wattley on the deck of the
Reliant,
Burke checked for a coup de grâce shot but didn't see any sign of one. He didn't know how it was possible, but this man seemed to have died at the hands of the shredders but hadn't gotten up to walk again in their wake, just like those on the ship they'd passed on the Thames. A quick check of some of the other bodies nearby showed him the same.

Drummond appeared at his side. “Find something, Major?” he asked in a low voice, leery, like the rest of them, of attracting the shredders unnecessarily.

Burke shook his head. “Not particularly. Just verifying a pet theory, that's all.”

Drummond nodded, as if doing so made perfect sense while they were trying to clandestinely make their way through the city to Buckingham Palace without getting eaten by shredders. “Righto. Perhaps we can get a move on, then?”

“Of course, Sergeant.”

A scream split the morning air.

Burke leaped to his feet, turning in place as he tried to pinpoint the source of the sound. The others were doing the same, their weapons at the ready, but without a target to shoot at there was little they could do.

“Where is it?” Jones said urgently, but all Burke could do was shrug. He didn't know.

The scream came again, and this time it was long enough for them to get a fix on it.

“This way!” Jones yelled and dashed off down a side street before Burke could say anything.

“Damn it, Jones!” Burke muttered as he set off after him.

The rest of the squad had no choice but to follow.

They left the main street and cut down an alley, following in Jones's wake. Another cry split the air, helping them better triangulate the source of the anguish. Fear, pain, and horror were at the root of those cries, and the hair on the back of Burke's neck stood on end to hear them. Whoever she was, she was in dire need of help.

Burke and the others skidded around a corner to find Jones staring at a maze of rubble strewn along and across the road in front of them, uncertain which way to go. Having caught up with his wayward corporal, Burke took command and led the way, making certain that Jones stayed to the middle of the pack.

They found her moments later.

The woman lay on her back in the middle of the street, her arms and legs flailing as she tried to beat off the pair of shredders who crouched over her using their nails and teeth to tear at her flesh. Blood was splashed everywhere, on her clothes, on the ground, on the faces and chests of the shredders preying upon her.

The squad was crouched along the ruined wall of a nearby building, perpendicular to where the woman lay. They had good, clean shots at both shredders. Jones took one glance and brought his rifle up, ready to take down the undead creatures in front of him with or without orders. He was lining up the shot when Sergeant Drummond snatched the weapon from his hands.

“What the hell are you doing?” Jones whispered. “Give me that gun!”

Drummond shook his head. “If you fire that thing, you'll bring every damned shredder within half a mile down on our heads!”

Burke moved to intercept the two before things got out of hand.

Jones wasn't one for subtleties. “Give me that fucking gun, Sergeant, or so help me God I'll . . .”

“You'll do nothing, Corporal,” Burke said, placing himself bodily between the two men. “And that's an order.” He faced Jones directly, crowding into his personal space. “We're not going to jeopardize this mission for the sake of a single shredder victim.”

Jones was shaking his head, refusing to accept that they were just going to leave the woman to her fate. “Major, that woman . . .”

“ . . . is dead,” Williams cut in from behind them.

Burke turned, saw Williams's face, and rushed back over to the ruined wall beside him. One glance was all it took; the shredders were still feeding, but the woman lay unmoving beneath them now, her empty eyes staring skyward unseeingly.

The group slipped quietly back the way they had come, not wanting to disturb the shredders now that there was no urgent reason for doing so. Burke could tell Jones wasn't happy, and the murderous glances he was casting Drummond when he thought no one was looking weren't exactly reassuring either.

I'd best keep my eye on him,
Burke thought, and he reminded himself to warn the sergeant when they had a private moment. For now though, they had to keep moving.

It wasn't long after that when they reached the edge of St. James's Park and the street that would lead them to the palace itself, Birdcage Walk.

St. James's was the oldest of the royal parks, originally constructed by Henry VII in 1532 and greatly expanded during the reign of Charles II. Its fifty-­eight acres were thick with forest and included a large lake running the length of the park.

More important from Burke's perspective, the park ran parallel to Birdcage Walk, the road leading to the palace, and provided them with considerably more in the way of cover than the streets they left behind.

Drummond led them through the park and around the northern shore of St. James's Park Lake. He approached the palace from the southeast and it wasn't long before they could see a massive marble building looming ahead of them out of the trees.

Burke and company had reached Buckingham Palace.

 

Chapter Fourteen

Buckingham Palace

London

S
ERGEANT
D
R
UMMOND POINTED
to the northern section of the palace, just visible from where they crouched among the trees in the Mall. From what they could see, there wasn't much left of that wing.

“The King and Queen's private apartments were in that section of the palace. The bombardiers must have been aiming for them because at least half a dozen bombs came down smack in the middle of it.”

Burke shook his head, imagining what it must have been like to be inside the building at that moment. The entire wing had been pulverized; there probably wasn't an intact wall in the whole section.

“Thankfully, the royals were in the East Gallery courtyard at the time, on the opposite side of the building, and escaped without injury. My comrades and I hustled them inside the building and to one of the hardened rooms near the Blue Drawing Room, built to act as a temporary retreat when danger threatens.”

Drummond pointed to a large, raised roofing area in the southwest corner of the building, which, from Burke's perspective, was in the back corner to his right.

“See that raised section?” he asked Burke. “That's the State Ballroom. The safe room was just north of that, in the corner area there.”

Burke nodded as if he knew exactly what Drummond was talking about, but the truth was he did not. The palace was huge, easily one of the larger structures he'd ever seen, not counting the skyscrapers in New York City back home. Drummond had told him earlier that Buckingham Palace had 775 rooms, including 19 state rooms, 52 bedrooms, and 78 bathrooms, never mind all the staff apartments and business offices used for the day-­to-­day running of the kingdom.

Without Drummond's help as a guide, Burke had to admit that he could probably wander through the building for days before finding the room where the King and Queen were currently holed up for protection.

“So that's where they are?” Burke asked. “By the State Ballroom?”

But Drummond shook his head. “That's where they were immediately after the Germans' attack, but we didn't keep them there for long, especially not after the damned shredders began making an appearance. There's a series of private apartments above the staff quarters that are occasionally used for diplomatic visitors and we moved them up there. It's a more defensible position; only one way in and out.”

Drummond's remark about the shredders set off a twinge in the back of Burke's mind. Given what they knew about their behavior, he'd expected to see dozens of them milling about outside the palace and yet he didn't see one anywhere he looked. There were several in the park, wandering aimlessly among the trees, and they'd passed more than a handful on their way here, but not a single one within a hundred yards of the palace.

“Where are the shredders?” he asked, more to himself than anyone else.

Drummond must have heard him, but not well, for he leaned in closer. “What's that?”

“Where are the shredders?” Burke asked again, louder this time. He waved a hand toward the palace. “If the rest of your squad has been holed up inside that building for the last week protecting the King and Queen, shouldn't there be a mob of shredders surrounding the place right about now?”

He knew he was right and by the way Drummond began swiveling his head back and forth, searching the front of the palace for any sign of a shredder, so, too, did his companion.

Something was terribly wrong.

Burke was as sure of that as he was of his own name.

He could feel Drummond's anxiety ratcheting upward and was suddenly worried that the other man would break cover and rush into the open, so he reached out and put a hand on Drummond's shoulder, turning his attention away from the scene before him and pulling him back down to earth before he did something rash.

“Easy,” Burke said. “We've come this far, let's not do anything stupid and screw it up now.”

Drummond nodded and took a ­couple of deep breaths, but his eyes were still full of anxiety as he looked out at the palace.

“How do we get in?” Burke asked, when it looked like the other man was thinking clearly again.

Drummond pointed to a one-­story extension jutting off to the left of the main building. “Behind that wing is the Ambassadors' Entrance. It's half hidden in that thick copse of trees. We barricaded the entrance and posted several men there to guard it. When I left, I slipped out through that door and made my way through the trees to the street beyond.”

“What about the fence?” Burke asked, pointing to the tall iron fence that separated the palace grounds from those of the Mall.

Drummond shrugged. “You can climb, right, Major?”

Provided I don't have a horde of shredders grabbing at my heels,
Burke thought.

Then again, that might make me climb even faster.

Aloud, he said, “Sounds good. Let's do it.”

He carefully didn't mention that the presence of the guards, or the lack thereof, would also tell them if the situation inside the building had changed and possibly just how badly things had gotten out of control.

For a hundred yards before the fence and maybe half that again after it, they would be out in the open, exposed. They could creep a little closer under the cover of the trees they were now hiding in, but they were going to run out sooner rather than later, and when they did, they wouldn't have any options left. There simply was no way of approaching the palace from this side without crossing that space. When they did, they would be exposing themselves to view from both inside and outside the building at the same time.

Can't be helped,
he thought. Going around the complex seemed fraught with more danger than the few seconds of exposure in front of it; who knew what was lurking around the other side.

Yeah, well no one said this would be easy. Get off your ass, Burke, and get moving!

Word was passed back to the others in the group and when they were ready, they made their move. Burke figured they'd have a better chance of survival if they were all together should shredders decide to break up their little party, so they left the cover of the trees as a group and raced over the open ground to the fence as quickly as they could. Jones, Williams, and Burke stood watch while the others scrambled over the fence and then Drummond, Cohen, and Montagna did the same from the other side while the others joined them.

Nothing raced out of the building to confront them, nor did anything emerge from the trees in their wake.

So far, so good.

They crossed the open space on the other side of the fence and then slipped into the trees governing the approach to the Ambassadors' Entrance, leery of anything hiding within their shade, but their fears were unnecessary.

There were no shredders in the trees.

Nor was there anyone manning the barricade at the entrance.

As they approached they could see that a pitched battle had been fought just in front of the doors and recently, too. Dozens of shredder corpses lay scattered about, along with the bodies of several of the King's Guard.

Drummond let out a cry and rushed over to the nearest one, but the man was long past help. His head had been nearly severed from his neck by a sweep of a shredder's claws, and his eyes stared up at Drummond without seeing.

The same held true for all the rest.

They'd fought hard, but eventually they'd fallen, and the shredders had made their way into the palace, if the destruction in the hallways just beyond was any kind of evidence.

Drummond led them through the building, down hallways and up staircases, and everywhere they went they saw the same thing—­scores of shredder bodies lying beside the bodies of a few of the King's Guard. The soldiers may have paid with their lives, but they'd made damned sure the enemy had paid a high price for each and every one.

By the time they reached the entrance to the third-­floor apartments where the King and Queen had taken refuge, the hopes of finding them alive had dimmed considerably. Here, too, another pitched battle had been fought, and the dead were piled high in the corridor and around the doors. Shredder and human alike had fought with a ferocity that Burke found disquieting, and he wondered how many other places across the city held scenes just like this one. Was this what all of England was destined for in the days to come?

It was a horrifying thought.

They found the King and Queen in the back bedroom, lying side by side on the bed with identical bullet holes in the middle of their foreheads. Slumped against the wall nearby was the body of a British officer, a colonel by the look of the insignias on his uniform, the gun he'd used to blow off the top of his skull still in his mouth.

It wasn't hard to figure out what had happened.

The King's Guard had fought to protect them as long as they could, judging from the number of shredders lying dead in the hallway. When it became obvious that there was no way out, the King and Queen had retreated into the bedroom with the colonel in tow. Not wanting to die at the hands of the shredders, the King must have given orders to the colonel and then lain down beside his wife. Steeling himself, no doubt with very little time left, the colonel must have shot the Queen first, then the King, and, after taking a seat beside his now-­dead monarchs, shot himself.

It couldn't have happened all that long ago, either, for the bodies had yet to start any kind of significant swelling.

A day, maybe a day and a half at the most,
Burke thought.

At the sight of the King and Queen, Sergeant Drummond nearly collapsed, and it was only Burke's quick reflexes that kept the man from hitting the floor. Burke helped him over to a nearby chair and lowered him into it. Tears streamed down Drummond's face and he couldn't seem to pull his gaze away from the deceased ­couple. Burke could guess how he was feeling, simultaneously full of grief and the nagging suspicion that the royal family might still be alive if he had returned with help sooner.

It wasn't true; Drummond had done all he humanly could have done to rescue the King and Queen, but time and circumstances had been against him from the start.

Of course, if General Calhoun had not wasted time with staging a massive assault just to make himself look better . . .
Burke shook the thought away before it could take hold.

Nothing he could do about it all now.

They had done their best, but the mission was a failure through no fault of their own.

Knowing he couldn't just leave the bodies of the British heads of state to rot in their bombed-­out and shredder-­infested palace, Burke made the decision to wrap them up in a set of sheets, bind them with ropes, and carry them back to the
Reliant
for transport back to France where they could be given a proper burial as befitted their station.

He explained what he wanted to do to the others and they all, solemnly, agreed that it had to be done. Sergeant Drummond seemed particularly grateful.

“All right then. Doc, why don't you grab some sheets from the other room? Jones and Williams, you're in charge of lifting and moving the bodies while Cohen and Montagna will find us some rope to use to secure them.”

Burke clapped his hands. “Let's move, ­people. The faster we get their Royal Majesties ready for transport, the faster we can get back to the
Reliant
and head out of here for good. I've had my share of shredders, if you know what I mean.”

The men snapped into action, and soon they had several sets of sheets laid out on the floor next to the bed. They moved the Queen first, being as gentle with her corpse as they could, sliding it off the bed and lowering it into the center of the sheets for Cohen and Montagna to bundle, wrap, and tie under Doc Bankowski's supervision.

But as they stepped up to move the King, Burke noticed something peculiar. The King's right hand was clenched tightly around something. He could see it, just a hint of white, maybe a piece of cloth or paper, sticking out at the bottom of his palm.

Doc Bankowski was about to tell Jones and Williams to lift up the body when Burke stepped in their way.

“Hold on a minute, guys.”

Burke knelt by the edge of the bed, being certain to avoid the blood that had dripped down from the mattress and pooled on the floor, and then lifted the King's arm so he could get a better look.

Yep, definitely something in his hand.

Holding the King's wrist in one hand, he tried to pry his fingers apart with the other.

Nothing. Whatever it was, the King had it clenched in a death grip. If he wanted to get it out, he was going to have to break the man's fingers.

Leave it alone,
a dim voice at the back of his head said.
It's got nothing to do with you. Probably just the man's handkerchief anyway.