Simon Clark - The Fall

‘But why now? Why this moment in 1865?’

‘We were just unlucky. And, like I said, we are vulnerable and comparatively wealthy. They probably wouldn’t bother raiding this place five thousand years ago when there’d be nothing more than a couple of daub-and-wattle huts here. And they wouldn’t have raided the town 1,700 years ago when there was a Roman legion garrisoned here.’

‘I see your point; the Roman troops would have given them a sound thrashing.’

‘Got it in one, Thomas.’

‘Now Mr Carswell’s summoned me here, and I gather that, during the term of this emergency, he is in charge.’

‘You gather right. And if you ask me he’s getting a kick out of being our lord and master.’

‘Getting a kick?’ Thomas gave an understanding smile. ‘Oh, I see, you mean he’s rather enjoying himself?’

‘And that’s putting it mildly.’

‘But why in heaven does Carswell need me? I’m a man of God, not a fighting man.’

‘Well, Thomas, old buddy. Speak of the devil. I think we’re just about to find out: here he comes.’

Carswell had been dishing out instructions. Jud nodded and began cutting letter box-like slots out of the doors that formed the walls of the container around the driver’s seat in the bus.

Now, briskly rolling one of his plans into a tube, Carswell tucked it under one arm like a sergeant-major’s swagger stick and strolled across to join Sam and Thomas.

‘Ah, Reverend Hather. We’ve never met before.’ He held out his hand, which Thomas shook. ‘My name is Carswell. You’re well acquainted with Mr Baker here, I see.’

‘To all intents and purposes, the Reverend Hather is our landlord,’ Sam explained. ‘The farm here is church property. We took—’

‘Excellent,’ Carswell said, with no interest in the explanation whatsoever. ‘Now, to business, and why I asked you to come here to see me.’

On the shelf the clock chimed three a.m.

‘Yes, I – I did wonder,’ Thomas said in his shy, stammering way (a mannerism that Jimmy Stewart would make famous one day). ‘Is there anything I can do?’

‘Yes, Reverend, there is.’ Carswell gripped Thomas by the elbow and moved him away from the people working on the vehicles, as if he wished to share a secret with him. Sam, determined not to be excluded, followed.

Carswell said, ‘The truth of the matter is, Reverend, I need your help. Rather, we need your help.’

‘Help?’ Thomas looked back at the frenzy of activity behind him as something resembling a ship’s mast was hoisted above the roof of the bus. ‘How can I help? This machinery is beyond my understanding.’

‘No, the technical side of this operation is my province. But I understand that there is a military barracks outside town. I need you to persuade the commanding officer there to supply me with men and arms.’

Sam’s thumb scars prickled as a mixture of surprise and shock hit him. ‘A barracks? Why the hell didn’t they help us when the town was attacked?’

Thomas pushed the glasses up the bridge of his nose with a trembling finger. ‘Ah, they are some way out of town on the York road. First, they wouldn’t have been aware of the trouble until several hours later. Secondly, as far as I know, the barracks is deserted, with all men on Christmas leave.’

‘That’s not entirely correct,’ Carswell said. ‘Most of the troops are on leave, true. However, there are still some 40 cavalrymen of the Queen’s Own Lancers on station and some 70 or so foot soldiers of the Yorkshire Light Infantry.’

‘Recent recruits still undergoing training, I understand, which means—’

‘Which means the makings of a fighting force. Therefore, Reverend, at first light you will visit the barracks, taking a delegation of senior townsfolk with you – a solicitor, a magistrate… I understand Mayor Woodhouse was killed in the attack last night, which is unfortunate. Nevertheless, if you can take enough people of high civic standing with you, you will be able to convince the commander we need his men to give our fighting force backbone.’

Thomas stammered. ‘Really, I – I don’t know, it’s quite a – a—’

‘Reverend Hather, our salvation here depends on you being persuasive enough.’

‘But—’

‘And you will also need to persuade the townspeople of Casterton to accept me as their leader for the duration of this emergency. I repeat, I am their only salvation.’

‘Their physical salvation, maybe, Mr Carswell. As for their spiritual salvation, that’s in another – and altogether mightier – pair of hands entirely.’

Sam recognised what the clergyman had seen. Carswell wasn’t only taking charge. He saw himself in a Messianic role as saviour of the town. The man’s egotism knew no bounds.

Meanwhile, Carswell began to describe his plans in more detail.

‘See the bus?’ he said. Thomas watched as Jud and half a dozen other men clambered over it, securing with ropes the mast structure that protruded through the roof. ‘Well, that will be our gunship on wheels. I’m going to fix four cannon to where the seats once where. Two at each side. They will fire straight out through the windows.’

‘You mean something like the pirate ships of old where the cannon fired directly out from the flanks?’

‘If you like. Fortunately, the artillery pieces of today are breech-loaders so it will increase the rate of fire.’

Sam jumped in. ‘And I take it those extensions at the sides of the bus and the Range Rover aren’t actually wings?’

‘No, although they do resemble wings, don’t they, Sam old boy? Why, you didn’t think I believed these vehicles would actually fly, did you?’

Sam shook his head and feigned a smile.

Carswell gave a cold laugh. ‘No, we won’t be flying into the attack against the barbarians, even though it is a charming idea. No, Mr Baker, those wing-like protrusions will carry the rocket pods.’

‘You mean we’re actually going to fire rockets from them?’

‘Of course. Rockets have been used by the British army since they were badly mauled by them in India in 1799. Naturally, they developed their own war rocket. One Sir William Congreve successfully developed a missile that had an explosive warhead and a range of several thousand yards.’

‘But they were something like firework rockets, weren’t they? Lit by a match? How do you propose to fire them from rocket tubes outside the bus?’

‘Ah, I’ll give you all a practical demonstration of that in a little while. But now you have an idea of how our gunship on wheels will actually work. The artillery guns mounted inside will deliver a heavyweight broadside with their 18-pound shells. Firing forward from the wing-assemblies – for want of a better description – will be 16 three-inch-diameter rockets, tipped with high-explosive warheads. The Range Rover will carry eight rockets. I also plan to pack the bus to the gunwales with soldiers wielding rifles and throwing grenades. Devastating firepower, hmm, gentleman?’

Sam rubbed his jaw. ‘But once the rockets are fired aren’t we going to have to withdraw to a safe place to reload?’

‘Yes, absolutely. We hit the barbarians hard as they come through the narrow pass between the cliff face and the river. Then we withdraw, reload, attack again. Those barbarian Bluebeards won’t know what hit them.’

‘I see,’ Thomas said, ‘that you have it all thought out.’

As Carswell painted a verbal picture of victory over the Bluebeards, more and more people stopped work to listen to him.

‘Now for a practical demonstration,’ he said. ‘Sam, you’re quite right. The rockets are little more than larger versions of the sort of firework rockets used by you on 4 thJuly and here in Britain on Guy Fawkes Night: the fuses are normally lit by a match. That won’t be possible in the field. These rockets must actually be fired when the bus is moving forward, so…’ He waved his hand over a workbench on which was a metal dish. From the dish a pair of wires trailed to a battery. One of the wires lay loose on the workbench, still awaiting connection to its terminal.