“Man down! Man down!” yelled Bennet.
“Bennet, Haynes, watch our front.” Thompson ran at a crouch across the roof towards Marsh while the other two provided cover.
Zip. A bullet whipped past his head, Haynes’s response audible as the bullet from his sniper rifle took the man down.
Thompson threw himself down alongside the gasping soldier. He acted quickly, pulling out a knife to cut away at Marsh’s uniform. He sawed at the soldier’s clothing, four layers making it difficult to get to the wound. Eventually the small hole was exposed, a small pool of blood welling up, the sound of the sucking wound as Marsh fought for breath.
“Hang in there, Laura, hang in there. I’ll get you fixed up.” Thompson pulled out the dressing he knew was needed if he was to keep his soldier alive: a triple-layered bandage, a square of plastic sandwiched between the two gauze layers, was pressed onto the wound, immediately creating a seal. Howard drew in a deep breath, taking in badly needed oxygen. Now Thompson needed to bind it tightly, sealing the gap, allowing Howard’s lungs to fill out and function as best they could even with a hole in one of them. Thompson sighed with relief. If he could get her to the RGC, there was a very good chance she would come through this.
A soldier pulled on the rattling chain faster and faster as the loading bay roller shutter door clattered upwards and open. Then he guarded the back door as the two Land Rovers sped out. The lead one weaved around the bodies on the apron, turned left, and continued down the road that ran alongside the warehouse, and towards the main entrance. The second swung right, came to a halt, and the soldiers decamped and searched and disarmed the dead and wounded.
Alan, in the lead Land Rover, communicated with his unit. “All call signs, QRF mobile. Sitrep. Over.”
“Sierra-One. Area appears secure. Can see QRF call sign down on the apron. Man down. Over.”
“Roger that. Who and how bad? Over.”
“Marsh sir. She’s stable, but need RGC soonest.”
“Soon as site secure, we’ll collect. Out.”
“Sierra-Two. On ground. One man topside providing cover. Checking enemy casualties. Probably two or three fled north-west. Over.”
“Roger. Hold your position, Do not pursue, I repeat, do not pursue.”
“Understood. Out.”
“Sierra-Three. All quiet our location. Orders. Over.”
“Remain in situ. Corporal West will collect when area secure. Out.”
“Sierra-Four. With Golf-One and Two. Sweeping west. Disarming wounded. We agree with Sierra-Two’s estimate of two to three hostiles fled north-west.”
“Continue sweep. Leave Golf call signs to secure area. Link up with Sierra-One and continue sweep. But do not pursue.”
“Will do. Out.”
The CSM reported in from Ops. “Two-Zero-Alpha. Charlie secure. They got more than they bargained for.”
“Definitely. Could still be hostiles in area so keep the lads on the alert. Handing command of area over to you. We’ll pick up Marsh. Then move to RGC.”
“Roger. Keep you posted. Out to you. All call signs, this is Two-Zero-Alpha. I have control. Out.”
Alan ordered the driver to turn back, acknowledging Corporal Bryant with a wave. He turned to Baxter, his driver. “Let’s go and pick up Marsh and get her some medical attention.”
“We done good, eh, sir?”
“Yes, Baxter, we done good. A lot of wasted lives, though.”
CHAPTER 27
They lay their bicycles on the ground amongst the blackened trees just off what used to be Dinghall Avenue. They spread canvas sheets over the frames, hoping to keep them hidden from any scavengers that could be in the area, or, worst case, from one of the roaming gangs that recently had attempted to assert control on the entire remains of the London Borough of Croydon. Losing the bikes would be a problem, but the biggest risk was the finders knowing that half a dozen scavengers were on their patch. But Bill had no choice. The scavenging patrols had to push further afield if his own community were to survive. His roaming teams were already bringing in bags of earth, along with sacks of fertiliser, to spread over the roof in an attempt to grow additional food for the occupants beneath it. At this very moment, one team was out looking for packets of seeds; carrots, peas, parsnips and tomatoes. The penultimate floor had also been cleared and put aside to function as a garden nursery. Bill remembered chuckling to himself at the time, never thinking he would be responsible for opening up a garden nursery. He looked about him, seeing that the other five had finished their tasks, and the bikes no longer stood out as tempting targets for anyone who was passing by.
It was a grey morning, but then it was only four thirty, and generally all mornings were grey these days. Even by mid-morning, there would be little improvement. Bill tightened the scarf around his face and mouth, and cast an eye in the direction of the route they would be taking. He signalled his team to follow, and led them towards what used to be Meridian House, now windowless, with half of its roof missing. He led them up the steps of the main entrance, his shotgun following the direction of his eye line. Jake followed him, a crowbar in his right hand, then Curtis, Vincent and Aleck each carrying a slender but hard oak table leg that could be used as a club. Following up at the rear was Terry, with the second of the shotguns the group had as their main weapons.
Getting in was easy: the doors and window frames were either blown or burnt out, allowing easy access. Once inside, Bill waited a couple of minutes to allow his eyes to adjust to the darker interior. “Tread carefully through here. There’s lots of rubble underfoot. We can’t afford to have any one injured, so take it easy.”
Satisfied they had all heard, Bill picked his way across the ground floor of the building. Leaving the reception area, the group arrived in the main ground floor offices. Pieces of burnt-out office furniture were scattered across the floor; globules of melted plastic, from personal computers and other office equipment, were splattered across the ash-covered floor that was once an opulent carpet. In the corner of the room, rats were scurrying around what appeared to be a burnt, blackened corpse, the white bone showing where they had stripped the putrid flesh.
The men crossed to the other side safely, exiting out of a door less fire exit, bringing them back out into the grey light of dawn, directly in front of the southern edge of the Whitgift Shopping Centre. Bill led them down a narrow passageway, the rear walls of numerous damaged shops either side. There was a significant amount of wreckage in between the battered buildings, and at one point, the group had to physically climb over a large corner section of wall that had collapsed across the path they needed to take, helping each other to cross. Bill didn’t mind though. If it was difficult for them, it would deter others from using this route. The course curved around to the right, eventually bringing them out onto North End Mall. Now they were moving into dangerous territory, as no doubt other scavengers could also be picking through the remains of what was once a major shopping precinct.