Alex Scarrow - The Eternal War

‘Oh God … they’re coming!’ she uttered. She realized her whole body was trembling. She hated the sound of her voice, shrill and warbling, like a little girl, like a child.

Why am I such a freakin’ dork?

She envied the colonels, both of them cut from the same cloth — leather-faced veterans with the very same manner — a dignified calm about them, a gentlemanly formality. What the British called a stiff upper lip .

And here I am trembling like some pampered chihuahua on a park bench .

‘Bob? Do another probe.’

› Maddy, the last one was only seven minutes ago.

‘I know! I know! Do it anyway!’

› Information: if we increase the number of times that we check for them, we will drain the stored energy more quickly.

‘Jesus! I know that already! Just do it!’

› Affirmative. Activating density probe.

Becks squeezed past the entrance to the machine-gun bunker and into the horseshoe trench that looped around the archway.

The men lining the dirt wall, reinforced with sandbags and slats of wood, waiting for the battle to reach them, looked at her with bemusement.

‘It ain’t safe out here, miss,’ said one of them. ‘Best get back inside.’

‘I will be fine,’ said Becks, shrugging off the comment. ‘Thank you for your concern.’ She found a space between two soldiers and stepped up on an ammo crate to get a look over the rim of the trench.

The rubble-strewn ground sloping down to the borderline was thick with men staggering uphill towards them. Many of them bloody. Beyond them she could see a pall of thinning yellow mist over the front trench and other men spilling out of it. She could see several large silhouettes looming over the trench. She counted nine of them.

‘What are those?’ she asked the man beside her.

‘M-monsters! Called up from Hell itself by them British.’

‘They genics, ma’am,’ said the other. ‘Grown from blood an’ body parts.’ The man shook his head at the other. ‘Ain’t no devils or demons from no Hell. Tha’s all jus’ voodoo crock.’ He sighed. ‘Worse than that anyhow … it’s nature all messed up in a way it should’na be.’

She nodded. Guessing what the soldier was saying.

Genetically engineered units.

The first of the retreating men flopped down into the horseshoe further along, wide-eyed and gasping for breath. ‘Jesus! You can’t … y-you can’t do nothin’! Can’t do … nothin’ to stop … them!’

Others collapsed over the edge and rolled down into the mud beside him. ‘They genics! Goddamn British is usin’ genics on us again!’

She could recognize fear spreading among the men, spreading like flames across a summer-dry field of wheat.

These soldiers are exhibiting extreme stress reactions.

She calculated their ability to fight as severely impaired. In fact, she was almost certain by the looks on their faces that this defensive position was in danger of being abandoned. She took a step up on to an ammo box so that she was standing head and shoulders above them.

‘ATTENTION!’ she barked loudly.

Faces, pale and blood-spattered, turned towards her.

‘Information: the large units ahead of us are genetically engineered combat units. They are designed to withstand significant damage … but they can be terminated!’

‘They’re demons! We can’t beat what the devil sends!’

‘No, goddammit! She … she’s right!’ shouted one of the bloodied men. ‘We got us two of ’em! I think. I saw two of ’em go down!’

‘Concentrate your fire specifically on vulnerable locations!’ said Becks. ‘The circulatory system, the nervous system. Chest and head.’ She looked down at them sternly. ‘Is this clear?’

The men eyed her silently.

‘A single correctly targeted projectile will kill these units! You will concentrate your fire on heads and chests!’

She turned to look down the slope and saw Devereau and Wainwright staggering towards them. She pointed at them. ‘Look! Your commanding officers! They will confirm what I have just said!’

They huffed up towards them, gasping, wheezing, among the last of the men making their way back from the borderline. Devereau spotted her standing out in the open. ‘What the hell are you doing, woman? Get down!’

She ignored his outburst as both men clambered over the sandbags and flopped to the ground beside her. Devereau stood up, panting, almost doubling over to get his breath.

‘I am quite fine,’ she said to him. ‘You must sit down and recover now.’ She reached out for him and Wainwright and pushed them down until they were squatting on the floor, wheezing for air. She knelt down beside them. ‘Rest. Your soldiers will need you to be combat-ready.’

Wainwright looked up, slumped beside Devereau against the dirt wall. ‘Did you say … combat-ready ?’ he wheezed.

‘Affirmative.’

He turned to look at Devereau and managed a grin. ‘What a — ’ he huffed and panted — ‘what a remarkable young lady this one is, uh?’

Devereau nodded. ‘A real trooper.’

2001, New Chelmsford

‘Information: the rendezvous location is two hundred and fifty-seven yards ahead of us.’

Liam stared over the wooden fence at the muddy field beyond. ‘You’re joking! … Maddy chose a pig farm?’

Bob shook his head. ‘I am not making a joke at this time.’

‘She must really hate us.’ Sal was almost retching from the overpowering odour of pig manure. ‘They are filthy animals.’

‘It’s just mud and some pigs. Come on.’

He pulled himself over the fence and landed with a glutinous splat on the other side. ‘Ah … now, it’s a bit deeper than I thought.’

The others clambered over one by one and joined him, Sal last, muttering under her breath with each sinking step through the foul-smelling mud. By the failing light of dusk they could see that the pigs in the field seemed to be congregated in a far corner — feeding time, presumably. Or perhaps it was some porcine social event going on.

‘Which direction, Bob?’

Bob pointed a finger towards a space between two long and low pig huts.

Liam led the way, squelching, until they hit some drier, firmer ground.

‘I am detecting particles.’

‘She’s probing for us,’ said Liam. ‘Hurry! She needs to know we’re here!’ He sprinted forward into the gloom towards the space between the huts. Finally there, he jumped up and down and flapped his arms about. ‘This it?’ he called back to Bob. ‘Am I in the right place?’

‘Affirmative.’

‘What on earth is the fool doing now?’ asked Lincoln, shaking his foot free of slop.

‘Motion,’ said Sal. ‘He’s trying to register on their density probe.’

They joined him between the huts a moment later as the last rays of waning light from the sun faded beyond a horizon of gently rolling hills.

‘Hey! Yoo-hoo! We’re here, Maddy!’ Liam hopped excitedly. ‘Come get us!’

Bob cocked an eyebrow. ‘You are aware she cannot hear us, Liam?’

‘I know … I’m just …’ He grinned sheepishly. ‘I’m just ready to go home, is all.’

Lincoln sat down on the edge of a water trough, undid the laces of his boots and took them off. He picked up one and began shaking out the gunk that had got inside it. ‘So, we shall be returning to the year of 1831?’

Sal nodded. ‘Taking you back home, Mr Lincoln.’

‘I see,’ he grunted. There seemed to be a shade of disappointment in that. ‘It will be an odd thing, returning to New Orleans. Returning to work as a flatboat crewman.’

She picked up his other boot, and with a stalk of hay began digging at and flicking out the mud. ‘But that is not what you’re going back to, is it?’ She offered him a friendly smile. ‘Not any more, right?’