Jack Yeovil - Comeback Tour

There was a warning buoy up ahead, bobbing in the water. Elvis signalled to Raimundo to halt, and the dinosaur just managed it, their small force settling behind him, back-paddling to keep themselves out of the marker's range.

Elvis watched the buoy's flashing lights. It sent out an all-clear every thirty seconds. He could shoot the thing, but that would shut it off, giving just as clear a warning as its alert signal would. There was nothing for it, they would have to trip the thing. After all, the whole point of the Indian River thrust was to make the Josephites think this was the main attack, and to have them concentrate their defences on the South perimeter.

He drew his Colt and took a sight at the buoy. He thought he could blow out the blinking red LED.

Elvis looked around. Raimundo and the others understood. Once this shot was fired, the attack would be on. There would be no way out except victory.

He cocked the pistol.

There was a mass of clicks as safety catches were flicked. Raimundo heaved his shoulders and hefted the rocket tube. A couple of 'gator men slipped off their skimmers and into the water, their weapons floating above their backs in sealed polythene bags.

The disc of the Sun was entirely above the horizon now, staining red the waters beyond the Cape. Insects buzzed above the marshland. In the distance, Elvis could see the remnant of a rocket gantry, and barely make out a dark shape beside it

The LED flashed. Thirty seconds. It flashed again. If he took it out the instant it winked off, they would have an extra thirty seconds. Some of them could hit the docks by that time. Allowing for a sleep-heavy response time from the defenders, who would either have just woken up or be at the end of a gruelling night shift, they should all be over the docks and penetrating the restrung fences by the time the Josephites had anybody in the field.

Thirty seconds. Flash.

With a prayer, Elvis shot the buoy. It exploded in a geyser of water, raining transistorized parts.

Thirty seconds.

Elvis's people surged forwards, and hit the dock.

An alarm klaxon sounded on the Cape.

Elvis was on the docks himself, hauling up a couple of indentees. There was some light equipment in the skimmers. He wanted it assembled before the welcoming committee turned out with garlands and gas grenades.

The indentees' hands moved fast, slotting together the artillery like child's assembly toys.

Raimundo charged the fence, bringing a section down. The klaxons were nearer now, and Elvis heard boots hitting concrete, engines starting up.

Raimundo roared. The shooting had started. There were whistles, and the shells started to fall.

Fully awake, fully alert, Elvis ran towards the fence, firing from the hip at the advancing black figures.

An indentee next to him took a direct hit and fell in bloody chunks. Red threads crossed the concrete.

They ran across the firing grounds. The smell of cordite was thick in his nostrils. There were dead things on the ground. Suitcase and regular people, meticulously butchered.

What the hell was going on here? And where was Krokodil?

A jeep rumbled towards them, someone with a machine gun standing up in the back and firing wildly. Raimundo launched a rocket at the ve-hickle, which turned up in the air above the explosion, spilling burning people.

There were a lot of Black Hat Josephites now, all armed, all firing.

Elvis found some cover behind a lump of concrete and sniped at them. The Donnys and Maries shrugged off direct hits and kept advancing, but the ordinary Christian Soldiers died like anyone else.

Raimundo had a Donny in his claws, and was chewing his head. The big lizard must be developing a taste for Walton meat.

By his watch, they had been in battle for nearly two minutes. Elvis had promised to keep up the attack for fifteen before Marcus struck.

Bullets impacted with the concrete, spitting up dust and shards. Someone was trying to get a fix on him. Elvis made a quick calculation, and tossed a frag grenade. That put the sniper out of commission.

Twelve and a half minutes to go.

A 'gator man rolled past screaming, one foreleg gone, most of its skull exposed.

If you got killed, Elvis supposed, twelve and a half minutes was forever. . "Jesse Garon," he prayed, "get me through this…"

RIGOLETTO: BELDUNGSROMAN.

Brother Tozer handed him a headset. Without putting it on, he could hear the tinny reports of gunfire from the surface. Roger Duroc made a snap decision.

"Tozer," he said, "seal the bunker."

The Brother was taken aback. "But Elder, we can resist the attack. There's no threat to us.."

"Do what I say."

VANQUISHER: BRANDYWINE.

"But thou wil't be abandoning our faithful up there."

Duroc slapped the security chief across the face. "Seal the bunker."

Tozer shook violently, but brought himself under control. He whispered orders into his lapel microphone.

CHEYENNE: PEPPERPOT.

"This is nothing to be concerned with," Duroc addressed the technicians. "Please continue with your work."

Sister Addams transmitted another coded word to Keystone, and received the correct answer.

ATROPOS: NOCTURNE.

She had been at her console all night, and there were smudged circles under her eyes. Her left hand was twisted in her ratty hair as her right flew over the keyboard.

SPOTLIGHT: SEARCHLIGHT.

The guards rushed past, their raised rifles clattering, and took up positions by the elevator. A lead shield, used during take-offs, was painfully grinding across the shaft.

Duroc could hear the noises of battle above, tinnily from the headset. There were about a hundred Josephites, most of them Waltons, up there. He mentally wrote them off.

After all, sacrifice was what this was all about.

BUCKAROO: COUNTY CORK.

The surface forces should be able to hold off the Suitcase People long enough for Addams to complete the code sequence. After that, the Needlepoint System would get a thorough work-out. The Suitcase People could run from the thin beams, but they couldn't hide. Gavin Mantle's lonely corner of Hell would be getting overcrowded.

CANDIDE: CANDYMAN.

Simone was with him. Duroc was glad of that. He wouldn't have wanted to cut her loose on the surface, to take her chances with the mutants. For some reason, she was important to him. The girl was terrified, but that was only to be expected.

Fonvielle stood over Addams's console as the Sister went down Machsler's list of keywords.

ICE CREAM: CONE.

The Commander's job was nearly over. Duroc wondered whether it was worth the effort of tidying him out of the way. It was so nearly over.

ARROWROOT: HEXAGON.

Duroc wondered who had formulated the codes. They seemed random, at once trivial and suggestive. Each triggered a different function in Needlepoint's vast repertoire of responses.

MAMIE: LEXINGTON.

On the big board, the satellite's readings were clusters of different-coloured lights, each signifying a capability no longer dormant. It was quite pretty. Instruments of mass devastation were always aesthetic triumphs, Duroc mused.

PONDEROSA: BANDERSNATCH.

The freight elevator was rising to meet the lead shield. Tozer's men were yanking wires from the works. They were burying themselves in the bunker on the assumption they could get out later. Tozer himself was dishing out instructions, but didn't look happy about them. Like Addams, he was one of the Church's compromises: he possessed skills necessary to the mission, but along with them a degree of independent thought not to be found in the typical Black Hat Josephite. Most of the worshippers here would swallow battery acid upon the direct order of an Elder of the Church. Fools.

Duroc picked up a headset, and listened to the course of the topside battle.