The Yeoman: Crying Albion Series - Book 1 (22 page)

“Nope,
this is a deep-cover vehicle, can’t risk information getting out while I’m on
operations.”

She
reached inside the glove box and turned on the concealed radio. The radio was
already pre-set to the Albion frequency.

“All
Stations! All Stations! Urgent message!”

After
three attempts like this to she got through to a duty operator.

“Yeoman
Station twelve receiving, send message over?” came a female voice.

“Operative
Overwatch, cypher entry for imminent arrival! Under pursuit by hostile forces.
Require medical attention for occupants of a Ford Puma.”

“Wait
one Overwatch!” the voice said with a faint north-eastern accent.

As
she paused Gearson watched the count-down markers begin for the motorway’s exit.
Then a male voice on the radio spoke up.

“Message
your cypher entry Overwatch,” this one had the hint of an officer about the way
he spoke.

From
the ten-digit code on the back of the transmitter Riley translated the cypher.

“Roger
that Overwatch, protocols being confirmed, What is your ETA and entry
location?”

“ETA
figures ten control,” she said, faltering for the correct location to give. She
knew it was just north of Sheffield but there were several gated locations.
Some were manned, others were locked and checked by a prowler patrol. The
former could be easily entered, but the latter was another story. Machine-gun
nests set well back from the gates would shoot to kill any that tried to breach
them. She’d not been to the Albion area they now raced for and without the
right location they’d be risking friendly fire.

“We
need that entry location Overwatch!” the voice said.

“Car
Barricade!” Gearson snapped. “Get ready on the machine Lorrie!”

“Can’t
recall or send Station twelve. Under attack!” she responded hastily.

After
the last marker was passed a blocked-off sight to the A Road below greeted
them. The first line of daunting obstacles were two pairs of police patrol cars,
bumper to bumper, along with a lorry that completed the blockade. Not only
would they have to jump much higher than before, but land the Puma correctly,
or risk careening off the edge of the slipway.

Gearson
slowed to forty-five miles-per-hour and angled the car so it was
centered
as
best he could judge for a safe landing. The police waited patiently as the car
approached.

“Now
Lorraine!”

She
engaged the Artifact and the powerful combination of it and the ground effect sent
the car up into the air. It was less effortless than before but cleared the first
pair of cars easily. Then, as it came level with the trailer of the lorry the
ground-effect became unstable. The lift continued for a few more feet, then, despite
her best effort it descended sharply, barely clearing the HGV. With a hard jerk
their vehicle jolted down. Had Riley not disabled the air-bags both would have
deployed in their faces. They landed on the slipway but were angled almost
facing the barrier. As it was Gearson could only just recover in time to steer
clear of the looming crash-barrier. The Puma lurched violently as he wrenched
the wheel to the left and almost sent the damaged machine out of control. The
slip road was not wide enough to completely avoid the opposite crash barrier.
Their car slammed almost diagonally into it as Kallan’s side wing, door and
tail-side crumpled inwards. Plastic snapped and creased with one wheel arch
almost striking the tire. Bits flew off into the night as the violent impact
left the engine unharmed but the innumerable plastic components that supported
it were fragile and not hardened to withstand abuse. The Puma’s suspension,
while comparable to a sports car partially collapsed on the front-right side
and steering was affected.

The
hardy little car was still drivable though and none of the tires had blown.
Unlike the exit from the motorway, the rest of the slip road was clear.

At
the barricade the exasperated Interceptor Unit halted sounding its horn loudly.
No-one was inside the vehicles, the enforcers being off to one side. As the police
scurried back to the barricade to clear it the fugitives had at least some
breathing space.

For
nearly ten miles of distance their escape towards Albion carried on unmolested.
They left on an A-Road to a less-travelled country road.

“Take
a left at this junction,” Riley said, hoping it was the one she’d committed to
memory. She opened the glovebox and began operating the radio set again.

The
Ford Puma was almost beyond the limit. The engine tempo was faltering slightly
and the water temperature has rising slowly to the halfway mark.

“I
think we’re leaking coolant!” Gearson said to Riley. She ignored him though, her
priority was getting a response from the radio. After five attempts only static
answered her.

“Lorrie!
The coolant! This engine’s going to blow soon!”

“That’s
just part of our worries Kallan! I think the radio antenna is broken!”

“So?”

“I couldn’t
relay where we’d be entering Albion from!”

“Why
is that a problem? We jump the enemy checkpoints and drive in slow to
Albion’s.”

“Some
of our border gateways are unmanned and locked. The garrisons nearby will open
fire if we try breaching them!”

“This
one we’re heading to is manned though?”

“I
don’t know! I’ve not had to come this way before! Even some of the manned
crossing areas are closed at nightfall. That’s why the station was trying to
find out from me earlier!”

“We’ll
just have to take our chances.” Gearson said
stoically
.

The
country-road was unlit and lined with hedges and the Magellan GPS device
assured them the way they were heading was north at least. The intermittent
rainfall returned though and visibility was reduced. For a few more miles they
drove without any sign of danger. As the coolant temperature rose to beyond the
three-quarter mark the faint flashing lights heralding their pursuers returned
behind them. The engine noise began to increase in the Puma as the Interceptor
Unit, like a relentless golem, closed the gap.

After
climbing a steep rise in the terrain they passed through a forest. A sign read
‘Beaverbrook’ which Riley vaguely recalled as having a manned river crossing.
Yet for a time there was no end in sight and Gearson was doubting they’d ever
make it. They would have to go off road and fight it out in the trees if their
enemy got to close.

“At
the next turn—” he began to say before being cut off.

“There’s
the border!” Riley said as the scenery stretched out before them.

 
Just shy of an unknown river was the floodlit
border-customs area for all who wished to leave Britain and enter Albion. For
both of them Albion was freedom and sanctuary from the relentless menace that
manifested in flashing blue lights. First though the British custom checkpoint
presented a barricade of Ministry Police vehicles, then there was the bridge
that led across to the Albion-side. Over the bridge though they had more
daunting obstacles to brave. More subdued lighting revealed a Scimitar light
tank that the Yeomanry were using to block the way in. On either side of it
were dozens and dozens of concrete blocks, each of which tapered to a point
akin to a pyramid. Known as dragons teeth they were impossible for land vehicle
to cross and excellent for bottlenecking traffic. A narrow lane on the bridge
existed for foot traffic which led to the Yeomanry customs and guard room
buildings. At least a company of infantry and Provost garrisoned them against
attack. The bridge road they yearned for was straight but beyond the tank it
was dominated by a long chicane of more dragons teeth and razor wire. This was
to channel and slow down incoming and oncoming traffic, but for the runaways
that death trap was at least on Albion’s turf.

“I’m
glad the tank is on our side, just a bridge to cross.”

“But
there’s Ministry police guarding our side!”

“You
didn’t think they’d let us get through without a fight did you?” Gearson said
grimly. “How is the jump-unit?”

Riley
glanced at the laptop’s basic graphics. “The icon-color is flashing red!”

“That
means we’ve got auxiliary power, it’s unstable but enough for one good jump if
we’re lucky, hold tight this is going to be rough!”

The
Interceptor had frantically radioed ahead to the customs depot and the large
double gates closed automatically.

Riley’s
radio now suddenly burst into life as the voice from earlier now frantically
shouted words at them.

“Overwatch?!
Entry location required or you may be engaged!” it warned.

“Station
Twelve we approach a river at Beaverbrook and hostile border-customs, we’re
under pursuit! Range four hundred yards and closing.”

The
radio-link began to become interrupted again and Lorraine thought fast. “Kallan,
flash your lights five times.”

He
did so, turning them on and off again five times.

“Did
you see our lights flash Station Twelve? Move the armoured vehicle on our
approach! We’re coming in now! Hold your fire!”

The
response was barely legible, but seemed to repeat the request.

“Hold
your fire! We will be coming across the bridge!”

The
radio became nonstop static again as they descended into the river valley
below. Despite the gain in speed from the descent Gearson noticed the coolant
gauge was now deep in the red zone. Almost immediately the engine began losing
power steadily and their speed slowly dropped off.

“Losing
power!”

“We’ll
be stranded short of the river at this rate!” Gearson lamented.

Remembering
a trick from her wayward youth Riley turned on the car’s heater to full and set
the fans blowing the hot air at full power. As the heat was directed away from
the engine and into the cabin the Puma’s speed levelled off momentarily.

As
they came closer they couldn’t tell if any Stingers would greet them. The
police garrison had blocked the way ahead with their cars and the closed
gateway behind them. It would be a final test, the police vehicles were two
cars deep and beyond that was a fifteen-foot high steel gate. The latter of
which was rimmed with a concertina of razor-wire. More police cars lined the
side of the road and in a car park off to the left.

“We’ll
need more speed! Come on car!” Gearson urged the struggling machine.

The
dying engine plunged them onwards with a vague renaissance of power. When they
closed the gap to about a hundred yards, multiple stingers rushed out from
lurking enforcers on either side.

Gearson
evaded the first and second set of stingers and increased his speed. As he
lined the car up for a straight approach another three pairs skated out that he
had no choice but to run over. The car’s tires took multiple hits but they
plunged on until they were about to slam into the barricade.

Even
as Gearson shouted for Lorraine to engage the gravitic device she was already
doing so. The wilting power-train of the Artifact spun up for the last time as
it sent the car skywards. They were lifted much more slowly than earlier and
only just cleared five feet of altitude. The first set of cars skimmed the
damaged tires. In front of them the gates began closing in. Ten feet was
attained and the obstacle almost filled the windshield. The ground-effect began
to lose power at the seventeen foot mark, just as they cleared the gate and
razor wire. The descent was erratic though and much faster than usual. The car
wobbled side to side and slammed down, impacting the road, wrecking the
suspension and jarring the occupants. Despite his foot to the floor the machine
was slowing down to a fast running-pace. They were crossing over the water of
the broad river now though. A neutral patch of territory at last was beneath
them.

“We
made it!” Gearson said triumphantly.

“Not
yet we haven’t!” chided Lorraine pointing at the distant tank and bridge before
them.

Behind
them the Ministry-controlled gate began sliding open rapidly, emerging from behind
it was the dauntless Interceptor ready to harry them once more.

The
gap between the police cars was adjacent to some trees and Nichols plunged the
Interceptor between them and right through the car park. Emerging from it they
avoided the lines of cars. The gamble paid off as, with a rattle and bang, the
big car nudged aside the police car trying to do a three-point turn to get onto
the bridge. It roared past the nearly open gateway and crossed the bridge after
them.

“Nichols,
we can’t make it!” Rebecca said, knowing it was too close. Once they crossed
the border they were hostiles and no amount of bluffing and Ministry privilege
would help them.

Facing
the two oncoming vehicles the Scimitar tank commander began issuing warnings on
the loudspeaker. He was on the brink of opening fire at both vehicles when
fresh orders snapped over the radio. He hesitated momentarily as the Guard Room
relayed an update, then yelled at his driver with instructions. The tank driver
pulled the tanks joystick bars in an opposing fashion, then floored the
throttle.