Simon Clark - The Fall

‘But we saw the carnage; Bluebeards were dropping like flies.’

‘Carswell’s plan’s failing, believe me.’

Jud said, ‘I thought I was the pessimist, Sam. But now I think we’re actually going to win this battle.’

‘Not a hope in hell. We killed and wounded only a couple of hundred at most.’

‘Only a couple of hundred?’

‘Only a couple of hundred,’ he repeated. ‘Jud, when I stood on the bonnet of the car I could see maybe three thousand of them still feeding through the time-gate. They’re like a plague of hyenas. Killing a few of their number won’t stop them.’

‘But if we reload and go back we can—’

‘What, Jud? Kill another two hundred? Another hundred?’

‘Yes.’

‘We’d have to repeat the operation another half a dozen times before we made a sizeable enough dent in their numbers. And I figure we’ve another two runs back there at the most before they reach the open ground. Then they’ll either attack us or go round us. If it’s the latter, they’ll fan out across the open countryside before regrouping in Casterton.’

‘But—’

‘No, Jud. No buts. Carswell’s plan won’t work.’

‘You mean we’ve had it?’

‘No… There might be a chance after all.’

Jud raised a questioning eyebrow.

‘Our only chance,’ Sam told him, ‘is if we tear up Carswell’s Operation Rolling Vengeance plan and start all over again.’

‘I hope you’ve got a heck of a good idea, Sam.’

‘I’ve got the idea. Whether it’s good, bad or indifferent…’ He shrugged.

Jud nodded forward through the window. ‘I’ve seen something that just might prove you right, Sam.’

Sam looked ahead.

There, lying in the snow, in front of the entrance to the amphitheatre car park, was one of the bus’s ‘wings’. Lee must have clipped one of the now-redundant visitors’ signs. The wing lay in a twisted mess of wooden spars, wire, and launching tubes.

Half a dozen people, including Zita and Ryan Keith, had reached the ruined wing and were even now dragging it back towards the bus as if, with some fabulous burst of energy (as well as an equally fabulous amount of good luck), they could repair the damage in the next four minutes.

Carswell was striding across the car park. Gripping his hat by the brim he flung it aside in frustration. Sam pulled up alongside the wreckage and climbed out.

‘Hell’s teeth! You clumsy idiots!’ Carswell barked. ‘The launcher’s ruined. Leave it… Leave it. Reload the other tubes and be ready to leave here in five minutes.’

‘Carswell—’

‘We must attack again while we have the advantage of surprise.’

‘Carswell,’ Sam began again. ‘It’s no good.’

‘Never mind, we’ll reload and press on with the attack.’ A look of triumph flashed over the man’s face. ‘Did you hear, we took out nearly three hundred men during the last attack?’

‘Carswell, it’s not enough. They’re going to break out of the pass.’

‘Don’t worry about that. We’ll hold them there.’

‘We won’t.’ Sam grabbed Carswell’s arm. The muscles were hard; they quivered as if an electric current crackled through them. ‘Carswell. There are thousands of men pouring along that pass. We can’t hold them.’

‘Of course we can.’ Carswell shrugged Sam’s hand away, then clapped his hands. ‘Everyone listen. Reload your vehicles. Then get ready to go back in again.’

‘No,’ Sam told him. ‘It’s not enough. Okay, if we were facing a thousand, perhaps it would be. But there are too many of them. We need a change in tactics.’

‘You mean you need a change in leadership,’ Carswell said with a sneer.

‘No, but if you saw the numbers of Bluebeards coming through the pass down there you’d understand.’

‘Well, Mr Baker, what do you suggest?’

‘I think he’s right, Carswell,’ Jud said cautiously, ‘We seemed to be hitting them hard, but they kept on coming. Seeing their own kind being killed doesn’t faze them.’

‘He’s right,’ Lee said, coming across the car park. ‘From the bus I could see them running forward over the bodies of their own people.’

‘So this is mutiny, then? I’m being deposed to make way for who? Mr Campbell here? No, I don’t think so. Not his style. I think the one person who hankers for the role of leader is none other than our American friend, Mr Baker, here.’

Sam shook his head. ‘Carswell. It’s not a question of taking over. But I’ve seen them. I’ve seen the numbers coming through down there. They aren’t just running towards us. They’re stampeding like a herd of cattle.’

Now Rolle came through the growing knot of people. ‘I’ve seen the number of Bluebeards, too. They are far more numerous than I anticipated.’

Carswell considered, then he said to Rolle, ‘Whatever happens now, the terms of our agreement remain the same?’

Rolle nodded. ‘Indeed they do, Mr Carswell.’

‘Very well, Mr Baker. The ball’s very much in your court. You’re in command now.’ He gave a tight smile. ‘So what do we do?’

Sam looked at the expectant faces around him. They were a mixture of the time travellers who’d made the journey back from 1999 and the men and women of Casterton who were now fighting for their very lives.

A flurry of snow came on a gust of cold air.

Perhaps this was Carswell’s revenge against him for daring to suggest a change in tactics. He’d handed him control of this tiny fighting force of three hundred or so. If he failed, then it would be all the fault of Sam Baker, the interfering know-it-all who didn’t know squat.

Now they waited expectantly for him to give the orders.

Thomas Hather watched intently. Jud gave a reassuring nod. Zita shot him a faint smile. Lee stood expectantly, and Sam sensed the man’s faith in him. Even Ryan Keith with his red-rimmed eyes and gunsmoke-blackened face waited, burning to exact whatever revenge he could against the men who had murdered his pregnant wife.

Just for a second Sam felt as if a tiny part of him was being whirled outside time. Once more he sat in the director’s chair at the studio. The seconds were ticking down to zero. Transmission time. Then the red light would glare on the panel in front of him.

But, by heaven, when that red light came on, you hit the transmission button – and you just went ahead and did it.

This situation demanded infinitely more guts to give orders and get the show on the road.

This is it, Sam, old buddy , he told himself. Showtime .

‘All right,’ he said. ‘We’re pulling out in…’ he checked his watch, ‘…four minutes.’

‘It will take at least eight to reload the rocket tubes,’ Carswell said, already slipping into the role of the intelligent objector who would subtly undermine Sam’s decisions.

‘It doesn’t matter,’ Sam said. A buzz of adrenalin ran through his body; his fingers tingled. ‘We’ll go back into battle with only a few of the tubes loaded. Besides, the bus has already lost half its rocket launchers.’

‘You’re going back into battle with only a few rockets? They won’t do much damage to the enemy, will they?’

‘They won’t have to, Carswell.’

‘So you have a secret weapon up your sleeve? How remarkable.’

‘As a matter of fact, I have.’

‘And that is?’

Sam walked across to a parked car and patted the roof. ‘This,’ he said. ‘And all those.’ He nodded at the cars parked around the car park.

‘Cars?’ Now Carswell looked uncertain of himself.

‘Yes, cars. Forget tanks and jet fighters. This is the most devastating killing machine ever invented.’