Paul Kane - Arrowhead

Gwen knew which boy Tanek had been talking about, as well. It had to be the young kid with the tousled blond hair. Good God, what on Earth would that maniac do to try and get information out of him? Let Tanek loose? Would he do that?

Of course he would – the man had no scruples.

It was at that point, as she imagined Luke or Sally in his place, Gwen began to cry. She'd never cried for herself in all the time she'd been at the castle, but she did then.

Because she knew in her heart that she had failed.

The weekend, they'd said.

A couple of days now to turn the men into the finest troops Sherwood had ever seen – able to face a superior enemy, with superior firepower. Could it be done? Possibly, but only if they returned once more to the basics of fighting.

Robert had already been giving some of his men lessons in the use of bow and arrows, even how to make their own. Granger had proved the most proficient, and volunteered to oversee the development of those particular skills. Obviously it would be madness to send the men into battle against machine guns without them being similarly armed… But Robert's own preferred weapon had the added advantage of being quiet and the ability to take out a target from a surprisingly long distance. He'd proved this again and again on strikes against De Falaise's troops.

For his part, Tate was teaching the men hand-to-hand combat. They'd had virtually no training in this while in De Falaise's army, the Sheriff preferring instead to rely solely on firepower. That was all well and good when your enemy was far enough away, but what about when they were on top of you? Robert couldn't help grinning when he watched a pair of younger men try to take Tate down.

"Come at me, then, let's see what you're made of," the Reverend had said. They were on the floor in seconds, with the minimum of effort, the holy man hardly having to move. "I see… It appears we have quite a lot of work ahead of us, then."

On that first day after the plan had been outlined – and after the attempt on Robert's life – two people came to him for a talk. The first was Bill.

He began in his usual gruff way. "Judas Priest. Sure ye know what you're doin'?"

Robert shook his head and regretted it immediately. He coughed loudly.

"Aye, I heard about the Mills thing. Shoulda been more grateful for what we were tryin' to do. For what you've done for all of 'em… All of us." He looked at Robert then, seeing whether his roundabout way of apologising had worked. Robert nodded to tell him it had, and that he was grateful. Men like Bill very rarely said they were sorry, if ever. This was the closest he was ever going to get.

"He thinks the world of ye," added the farmer, "Mark."

Robert closed his eyes, picturing the boy's face – trying not to imagine what he must be going through at the castle. Hoping he could hold on until they mounted their rescue attempt.

"We're goin' to bring him back," continued Bill as if reading his thoughts. "Bring 'em all back."

"I hope you're right," said Robert.

"Aye. Listen, I've bin thinkin' – you'll need a way of knockin' out that pillock on the castle roof an' his pop-gun." Robert would hardly have described the high-powered sniper rifle De Falaise's man had as a 'pop-gun', but then compared to that cannon Bill carried around with him…

"Have any ideas?"

Bill smiled. "As a matter o' fact, I do. Care to go for a little drive?"

Robert was reluctant to leave the forest at such a crucial point, but Bill promised him it would be worthwhile. So they'd taken one of the jeeps out, travelling east. Bill had refused to tell him where they were going, leaving it as a complete mystery. "Just hope no one's got to 'em first or wrecked the place," was all he would say.

"Look, are you going to tell me where we're heading?"

"Towards Newark – that give ye any clues?"

Robert didn't need any, especially when they turned off, following the brown and white signs which eventually led them to a large car park and concrete runways. He stuck his head out to get a better glimpse of the corrugated metal hangars, camouflaged grey and khaki aircraft left abandoned outside to rust. The air museum, once a thriving tourist attraction built on a former World War Two airfield, was now empty and neglected. It was somewhere Robert had always intended to take Stevie but just never got around to it, never found the time. How he would have marvelled at the planes. Robert felt a twinge of guilt as they drove in, because it was way too late and the only reason he was coming here now was because he needed to save another boy.

Bill parked the jeep in the virtually empty car park. Anyone with any sense working here would have returned home to be with loved ones when the plague hit, the owners of the few cars that remained probably left it too late. Whether they'd see any bodies here today depended on if the clean up crews had bothered with this place. Robert just hoped it hadn't appeared on De Falaise's radar.

Thinking along the same lines, Bill took out his shotgun as he climbed from the jeep. "Can never be too careful," he said, as if Robert needed telling. He already had his bow raised.

As they walked over towards one of the hangars, Bill pointed to various aircraft.

"See that, it's a BAC Canberra bomber. In service up until the '70s. There you have a BA Sea Harrier. A Vertical Take Off and Landing aircraft, it was still in service with the UK and US Marines up until… well, y'know. Best all round fighter-bomber in the world. Oh, that there's an Avro Vulcan bomber. Superb British heavy bomber in service until the 1980s, last used against Argentineans in the Falklands Campaign, the nuclear bomber of the UK. An' over there's an Avro Shackleton. Old turbo-prop bomber…"

Robert gaped at him, astonished.

"What?"

"Aeroplanes? I just never…"

"Wouldn't have pegged me as an enthusiast?" Bill tutted. "Have to say, I'm not really. Me uncle was ex-RAF, nuts about these things. Taught me all I'll ever need to know, even took me up on a few flights in his civilian life. This place was like a second home to him, God rest his soul."

"And you know how to fly these things?"

"Aye." He closed his eyes, imagining the cockpit. "Airspeed indicator, heading, altimeter, fuel gauge, landing gear, throttle." With his finger he traced the position of each instrument. He finished with a tap in the air in front of him. "Yoke. Simple."

"So, your plan is to take one of them up and what? Strafe the castle? Use a few of those relics of missiles they have here?"

"Naw," Bill replied, as if he'd even considered it as a serious suggestion. "This is a museum, lad, not a military installation – leastways it hasn't bin for a good many years."

"Then what? He'd see us coming a mile away in one of those things!"

"Who said I was thinkin' about a plane?" Bill winked.

He directed Robert across to one of the hangers and smashed open the locks. They stepped inside – the light from windows above illuminating the scene. Robert saw more aircraft: one grey, one red and blue, another silver and yellow, all remarkably untouched. He guessed the survivors of the virus had other things on their minds than visiting air museums.

"I did think about an early Gazelle. The Sud Aviation SA 341 Gazelle prototype they have here, but this is more manoeuvrable." He strode over to a helicopter, which had a huge see-through bubble on the front. It was a bit like those Robert had seen in old reruns of M*A*S*H. "Westland Sioux Scout/Trainer. Very quick, very small. Somethin' to draw his fire, but hopefully avoid it."

The doors opened wide and Bill undid one, swinging it outwards. He climbed inside it and stuck a thumb up to Robert, who followed him.