Glen turned the map on his lap slightly and responded. “We need to avoid the towns. There’s a minor road or track coming up on the left. Swing south there. Then it’ll take us towards Shifnal. We can continue down the A442 and cross the River Severn south of Bridgnorth. Once there, we can take a breather, and the two sleeping beauties in the back can take a stint.”
“Wanker,” piped up Greg before adjusting his position and closing his eyes again. Sleep while you can was very much his motto: you never knew when the next opportunity would arise.
It took them nearly an hour to get to the northern outskirts of Bridgnorth. Before they drove into Bridgnorth, Glen directed Plato off to the left, taking the A454, passing the Stanmore Country Park on the left before swinging west along the A548. Although Bridgnorth had been spared a direct hit, Wolverhampton and Coventry to the east had each received a one-megaton ground bursts and two 500KT air bursts over the cities. Birmingham was struck by two one-megaton strikes and three 500KT airbursts, and Kidderminster to the south, the location of a major Regional Government Headquarters, had suffered from a one-megaton missile strike and two one-megaton ground bursts dropped by Soviet bombers. With other strikes in the area, Bridgnorth would have suffered from an element of the hurricane-like blast wave. Thermal radiation could also have reached the town, causing major burn trauma, and igniting combustible materials and burning down many of the houses. On top of that, the fallout cloud would have undoubtedly deposited contaminated particles in the area kicking out between ten and 100 rads per hour.
“Greg, Rolly. Stand to. We’re coming to a built-up area. Be ready,” warned Glen.
The two men were immediately alert, weapons checked, and at the ready.
Plato maintained a steady sixty kilometres per hour, the Land Rover’s tyres thrumming on the tarmac surface of the road as they passed an industrial complex on the south-eastern edge of Bridgnorth. They cut around a large roundabout, heading west between an avenue of burnt trees. They couldn’t see many houses, but the ones they did see were blackened and interspersed with the wreckage of other buildings, cars, and even someone’s power boat, still attached to its trailer.
“Another roundabout coming up,” informed Glen.
“Gotcha.”
Plato picked up speed, and the Land Rover tilted over as he took the roundabout quickly, the trailer bouncing on one wheel before settling back down. Trees continued to line the road either side.
“Coming up to the bridge. Be ready, lads.” Glen knew, as did the rest of the troop, that bridges were always a good choke point, an ideal ambush location. He was far from wrong as Plato pressed hard on the brakes, the wheels locking, the front tilting slightly left, the back end sliding right, the trailer swinging round in an arc behind them, barely maintaining its balance, pulling the back end further around as the vehicle finally ground to a halt, kicking up a cloud of dust as a Saxon armoured troop carrier careered across in front of them. Within a matter of seconds, they were surrounded by armed men in various states of military dress.
“Get ready,” Greg warned. “We’re not fucking about with these muppets.”
A captain walked towards the cab of the Land Rover, and Glen pulled back the hood of his NBC suit and peeled off his respirator and slid back the door window. The captain looked to be a regular but, as Glen scanned the rest, it was clear they were a mixture of Territorial Army soldiers, police officers and some form of militia.
“Sir,” responded Glen as the captain came up to the side of the vehicle, pulling the scarf down that had been wrapped around his mouth. “Gave me and the boys quite a fright back there.”
“And you are?” asked the captain sternly.
“Bravo-Two-Two.”
“And they are?”
“We’re on an operation tasked directly by Joint Ops Command.”
Greg and Rolly looked at each other in the back, both thinking the same. Bullshit.
“And that mission is?”
“I’m not at liberty to divulge that, sir. Why the sudden road block? Why not just flag us down?”
“There’s a large group terrorising the local area. Some of them are deserters. We can’t afford to expose ourselves. They need to be hunted down and brought into line if we’re to get this region back on its feet.” The captain peered at the rear seats of the Land Rover. “Your men will be a valuable additional resource.”
“We have received independent tasking, sir. We don’t come under RGC orders.”
“And where have you got your orders from?”
“Joint Ops at Pindar,” lied Glen.
“But our headquarters have received no communication from London.”
“We’re on a different frequency, sir.”
The captain rubbed his chin, uncertain what to do next. “It would be good to be in touch with London. We’re operating on our own out here.”
“Have you been in touch with other RGCs?”
“One, briefly. But we think they were overpowered by the local population who appear to have taken control. You will have to come with me… and your rank?”
“Glen Lewis, sir.”
The captain huffed. “Prima donnas, eh. Well, for the moment I’m in control. I need you to step out of your vehicle. We’ll take care of it, and then you’re to come with me.”
“With all due respect, sir, we don’t come under your control or your orders.” Glen sensed the two in the back shift position and Plato stiffen next to him. He looked out of the corner of his right eye: the GPMG machine gun atop the Saxon lined up on him and his men. Other soldiers were watching warily either side.
“You come under regional government control now, soldier.”
“You lead the way, sir, and we’ll follow in our vehicle.”
The captain thought for a moment, recognising that he could have a potential bloodbath on his hands. He suspected he could win the firefight but, in the current circumstances, he couldn’t afford to lose any more men. There were casualties daily, through death, desertion and sickness. He made his mind up. “You follow my vehicle.” He pointed towards a short-wheel-based Land Rover. “The Saxon will be right behind you. I’ll give them orders to take you out at the first sign of trouble, you understand?”
“Yes, sir. We can then confirm our task with your regional controller, and then we can get on with our mission.”
The captain nodded, indicated for the men close by to mount up, and signalled for the Saxon to come in behind the SAS troop.
“When I move, you move.”
“Sir.”
The captain walked over to his vehicle, and the roar of the Saxon engine could be heard as it manoeuvred behind them. Two land Rovers manoeuvred into position in front of them.
“As soon as we cross the water, head south, Plato. Greg, Rolly, I want two smoke, two HE grenades, then two more smoke out the sides.”
All three acknowledged.
“We’ll go cross country, follow the riverbank, and head west as soon as we see the right spot. They’re just begging to open fire. But, with that Saxon bouncing all over the place, they’ll be lucky to hit a barn door. If we can lose it, then we’ll take out any of the soft-skinned vehicles left on our tail.”
“And if we don’t lose the Saxon then this baby will discourage them.” Greg smiled as he fondled the MBT LAW anti-tank missile he had pulled from out of the back.
“Yeah, but only if we have to, Greg. They’re soldiers like us after all.”
“Not all,” added Plato. “A right motley crew, if you ask me.”
“He’s signalling,” informed Rolly as he peered in between the heads of Glen and Plato.
“Let’s go,” ordered Glen. “Keep a bit of distance between us and them, and not too fast. Floor it as soon as we’re across the bridge.”