This Machine Kills (20 page)

    Captain Mason gave Dyer a friendly wink. He had followed the men out of the room and instantly caught on to what they were talking about. Taylor felt a pang of jealousy as he listened to the others hand out their praise. If he had played things differently, it could have been him they were offering their congratulations to.

  Unlike Taylor, who had been given his rank purely on the basis of his fighting skills, Dyer had got his the hard way. He had started off as a grunt but after serving with distinction both overseas and at home he had proved beyond doubt that he had what it took to make it as a Sergeant. As the other officers walked off, Taylor quickened his pace and caught up with him. Even though they hadn’t done much work together, he had always found the man likeable enough.

   “Hey Dyer,” he said as the two fell into step, “nice work on the lead.”

   Dyer nodded graciously, “Thanks man.”

   “If you don’t mind me asking, who was your snitch?”

   Dyer smiled; he had a warm, friendly face. Taylor could see why his men loved him.

   “Come on, you know I can’t give up my sources. They’d soon stop talking if they knew I was grassing on my grasses.”

   Taylor smiled back, “True, I just thought maybe they’d have some information for me. I could do with some of your luck.”

   “Don’t worry,” Dyer chuckled, “your day will come soon enough.”

  His hand extended to Taylor who shook it warmly, “Well done again.”

  He had wanted to drop Jacob’s name in just to see Dyer’s response but then quickly vetoed the idea. If it was Jacob who had given him the information and Taylor let on that he’d also met with him, Dyer was bound to be suspicious of why he hadn’t gone to Mason first. Knowing that Dyer had once been a resident of the Old-Town himself, he wondered if he’d found the decision to tell Mason a difficult one. Seeing no sign of awkwardness on the man’s face, he thought it was unlikely.

   Taylor hadn’t visited the St Catherine’s site in years. He remembered how when he was a kid it was the most regal building in the otherwise far less salubrious area it was located in.  The school had been built over two hundred years ago on the town’s border and stood on the highest point in the area. At the time of its creation, lush countryside would have surrounded the grounds on all sides, with its nearest neighbour at least a mile away in all directions. From its elevated standpoint it would have been home to some of the best views of the town below, gripped by the relentless activities of the industrial revolution. No one would have thought that it would end up being a victim of its own geography.

   When Triage was put into place and the abandoned tribes from the outlying districts made their way to the City in a fruitless search for food, the school was the first place they would encounter on their journey. As the hungry people massed outside their gates, the owner of the school, a man said to be twelfth in line to the throne, cut his losses and abandoned the place before the hordes gave in to their stomachs and charged the fences. The girls who escaped the invasion were packed off by their parents to a rival college in Dubai; the tropical climate being far better for the health of their traumatised daughters.

   Up until the night before, Taylor had assumed St Catherine’s was still abandoned. Even though it should have made an ideal home for its new tenants, after the initial invasion, they had deserted the school and pushed on towards the City. It was as if their collective minds figured the closer to its riches that they were, the more crumbs they were likely to be thrown. In reality it didn’t matter if they were fifty miles or fifty feet from the action. They still weren’t going to get any of it.

   Sitting in the back of the Rhino with his team, Taylor could do little else but think of the mission they were about to embark on. After deciding not to tell Mason what he knew of the Shepherd, he had hoped they would have not been involved in the raid. Now that he was part of it, he at least wanted to make sure that his men conducted themselves properly. Mason had made it clear in the meeting that whilst the Shepherd was to be taken alive at all costs, extreme prejudice could be used on anyone else they encountered. Taylor knew all too well what this meant. 

   Over the roar of the engine Lennox broke the temporary silence,

   “You know, I was watching this thing about the second-world-war last night and it got me thinking.”

   The others looked to him with surprise; it wasn’t like him to come out with such musings.

   “See, the thing I realised was that our grandparents were one of the only generations in history not to have gone to war. I mean can you imagine that, man has always defined himself by the battles they’ve fought in, but they never got the chance to test themselves.”

   Lennox shook his head like he had just received bad news, “It makes me think about my grandfather… the guy never fired a gun in his life.”

   He shook his head again and left the sentence to hang in the air.

   Doyle tutted, “Yeah that is a shame, he never got to blow anyone’s brains out, the poor bastard.”

   “I know,” Lennox agreed, missing the sarcasm, “it’s too bad.”

  “Perhaps that’s why he used to touch you in that special way when you sat on his knee,” Spike said casually into his mike, “maybe he was trying to make himself feel like a real man.”

   “Fuck off and drive,” Lennox shouted back over the laughter.

   When they grew quiet again and he had overcome his agitation, Lennox spoke again, only this time it seemed to be to himself;

   “He was worse than a paedo. My granddaddy was a fucking pussy.”

   Spike’s crackling voice rang out in their ear-pieces once more,

   “Time to buckle up fuck-holes, things are about to get messy.”

   There was only one entrance to the building; a huge pair of wooden oak doors that when closed creating a large arch that wouldn’t have looked out of place in the walls of a mediaeval castle. The walls surrounding the place were made of thick stone and would easily stand up to the initial rocket attacks, making the doors the only entry point. If the Shepherd really was there Taylor thought, then from his elevated position he would have ample time to prepare for the attack. If his followers were well armed, this could end up being a bloody encounter for both sides.

   He felt the gradient of the land change as the Rhino began its ascent of the entrance road. His and Sergeant Dyer’s vehicle were travelling side by side with the other eight in tandem behind them. They would be the first to attack the gates with the rockets that had been hastily fitted to the gun turrets whilst the officers were being briefed by Mason. As it was Dyer who was responsible for providing the information regarding the Shepherd’s whereabouts, he had the prestigious job of being in charge of the operation.

   Taylor turned and shouted up into the turret, “Hey Skinner can you see anything up there?”

   “Negative Sarge. I can’t see shit. There’s no lookouts, no snipers, nothing.”

    Taylor could feel his mouth begin to dry. If his worst thoughts were confirmed and this was a trap, they’d all be dead in a matter of minutes. Was Milton so desperate for a victory that he was willing to risk the lives of over fifty of his men on the strength of a deformed criminal’s words?

   Spike’s voice burst into Taylor’s ear once more, “Boss, Sergeant Dyer has just been on the radio, he’s ready.”

   “Did you hear that Skinner?” Taylor reacted, “it’s time to let those rockets fly.”

   “Bet you fifty bucks you can’t take them out with one shot,” Spike quickly added.

   “You’re on,” Skinner grunted back.

   Seconds later they heard a whoosh of air, swiftly followed by a dull explosion as the rocket collided with the doors.

   “Damn I’m good,” Skinner squealed in delight, “the doors are completely fucked. That’s fifty big ones you owe me fat man.”

   Rudy grabbed Lennox’s knee, “This one’s for your grandfather, the dirty old bastard.”

   The Rhino increased its speed then turned abruptly to the right causing the men in the back to grab onto anything that would help keep them upright. Taylor recognised they must have been inside the yard and as instructed, Spike had positioned the vehicle to provide cover to the troops who would be coming in by foot. To reduce the chance of succumbing to an ambush and prevent a bottleneck that could trap them inside, only the first four vehicles were to enter the compound. If they did meet any resistance however, the men inside the school would be isolated until the cavalry arrived.

   The Rhino ground to a halt, throwing the men out of their seats.

   “How’s it looking Spike?” Taylor asked.

   “It’s dead, more or less.”

   “Are we safe to exit?”

   “Put it this way, it ain’t going to get any better.”

   Taylor looked to the others, “Don’t let your guard down, this could be a set-up.”

   With both hands he wrenched open the door of the Rhino; “Let’s go.”

   His feet sunk into the soil as he landed. Crops, although withered and small, were growing in small clusters around him. It was the first time he had seen real earth; the sort that could sustain life, not just waste-ground, since he’d got back from Canada. Scanning the area, he saw Spike was right; the place was pretty much deserted.

  Taking absolutely no notice of the invaders that had gate-crashed their homes, a few middle-aged women continued to toil on their knees and tend to the wilting vegetables. If it wasn’t for the noise of the doors exploding, it would have been easy to imagine that they hadn’t heard the convoy of vehicles arrive. A couple of young children sat in one corner of the once pristine lawn. They were using a watering can to wet the soil so they could make mud pies for their dolly’s tea party. In the middle of the field stood a lone underfed cow tethered to a stake in the ground. As the troopers piled out of the vehicles, the cow continued to chew on a small patch of grass, completely uninterested by the events taking shape around her.

   As instructed, Taylor and his men pushed out to cover the eastern buildings whilst Dyer covered the west.

   “Keep an eye on the windows,” he shouted to his men, “if they’re up there we’re sitting ducks.”

   As he spoke, the troopers who had abandoned their vehicles outside ran past his men to take up their position covering the northern buildings. The exact same procedure was taking place behind them, covering the south.  It had gone like clockwork; the whole area was secured and they’d met no resistance. At least not yet, there were a lot of buildings to be cleared before their mission was complete.

   For the next two hours they would turn every room in every block over as they searched for the Shepherd. Two teams searched each of the wings, with another two kept back on the lawns to stay guard and run some tests on the crops. On his search of the east building, Taylor had found nothing that would suggest that the place was home to an insurrection. His team had ended up in the accommodation block, with the rooms on all three floors being used to house beds. Some of the larger rooms were being utilised as dormitories, much as they would have done when the fee-paying young ladies had stayed there. The smaller rooms were reserved for families, some baring a child’s cot in the corner. There must have been well over a hundred beds yet they had seen less than a dozen women and children on the lawns. Mason was right to be concerned; someone had tipped them off about the raid.

   Taylor and his team went through each bunk, roughly turning over the owner’s bedding. Some had mattresses or cuts of foam but most slept directly on the wooden bunk beds or else on the floor. It took only a few seconds to rifle through what few possessions were on display. It was mainly a few old pictures and lucky charms, (superstition seemed to play a big part in the way these people lived), but they found nothing worthwhile. Taylor felt relieved; the lack of any decent leads validated his decision not to tell Mason what he knew about the place.

   From the messages he was picking up over his radio, he was able to gleam an idea of the layout of the rest of the buildings. The western block was being used for communal activities and incorporated classrooms, (both for adults and children), a c
r
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che and a recreation room with a battered old pool table and dartboard. At one point Dyer radioed Taylor to tell him he had found a blackboard with diagrams scrawled on it. At first he though it was some sort of plan of attack on the City but was eventually advised by one of his more learned men that it was a description of how plant pollination worked.

  In the south wing they had discovered a primitive medical centre. Judging from the surgical instruments and blood stained bandages that had been discovered there, it was clear that whoever was running the place was operating on the patients when required. On the floor below the  make-do surgery were workshops where furniture and other necessities were made from the remains of salvaged junk. Most impressive of all, he felt, was the miniature farm located on the ground floor of the northern block. From what he could make out, there was an area holding scores of chickens, a pen that contained four goats, another cow and a half dozen sheep. The upper floors of the block seemed to be deserted.

   With his brain ceasing to input their relentless moans any longer, Taylor’s men continued to search one of the larger dormitories. They had gone there expecting a firefight of epic proportions and had ended up sifting through people’s junk. Smiling to himself he thought that maybe this was just what Lennox’s grandfather would have wanted for them.