Arrowland (26 page)

Again, Bill's probable answer echoed in Matt's head: "Then it's about time, in't it?" They were living in a different world these days, had been for a while. A new and dangerous world, one which Robert and his men were trying to enforce and police - as impossible as that might seem. That's what they'd been attempting to do up here, and
that's
why Matt had agreed to all this, he reminded himself. Now he was beginning to regret his decision.

Matt had gulped when he saw all the vehicles on the grassland either side of the Esplanade; enough to win a small war, he reckoned - though Bill assured him Robert and co. had faced worse. He was waiting for things to kick off at any moment, as there was no way they could continue getting away with this. For one thing wasn't this damned Widow supposed to know everything that was happening in advance? A stupid rumour, but one that had started somewhere. Indeed, even as he thought it, Matt saw the Rangers in the jeeps up ahead being flagged down - those riding bikes pulling up also. They were dressed in the Widow's tartan, had the same attire as those people telling them to halt, but they'd surely be marked at any time as impostors. Matt watched anxiously as one Ranger pointed down the convoy line; clearly trying to convey what a great catch they'd made and how full all the vehicles were with foodstuffs. If nothing else the Widow and her lot were greedy beggars and might let them in purely because of what they could be carrying.

There was also the distinct possibility that the people in charge at the Gatehouse were going to want to search the vehicles - which is what they looked like they were about to do. Matt spotted raiders heading down towards those armoured vehicles he'd seen, perhaps getting ready to go out on a routine patrol but maybe also in anticipation of something else occurring? If their enemies chose to attack from both sides, then Matt and his friends would be caught in the crossfire to end all crossfires. And where the devil was Bill? Not here in the trenches, that was for sure. "Don't ye worry," he'd told them, "I won't let ye get caught with ye britches down."

Matt gripped the wheel even harder as the Widow's men traipsed down the line of vehicles. If Bill had thought they could just waltz in here, he was dreaming. But then he saw something else.

Men, crawling underneath the vehicles in the convoy - Rangers who'd climbed out of the backs of carts and the other vehicles, making their way beneath to reach the Gatehouse unseen; pausing if any of the raiders walked by.

As one of the guards passed by, Matt gave him an uneasy smile and salute. The man paused and, for a moment, Matt thought he was going to ask something. He didn't - just continued up along to the tail end of his truck. Matt watched him in the rear view banging on the side of the truck. "Open her up!" he called down to Matt.

"Well, Stacey," he told his truck as he prepared to get out, fingers curling around the handle of the baseball bat he kept down the side of the seat. "This is it."

From somewhere there was the sound of a helicopter. Matt looked sideways and saw something black coming in fast and low: a beast of a thing that meant business. It was armed to the teeth with missiles, and - as it got closer - what looked like machine-guns.

It took just one of those missiles to cause complete and utter pandemonium. Detaching from the helicopter, the projectile whistled into the banks of armoured vehicles to the right of Matt and the convoy. He watched, mouth gaping, as a couple of jeeps flew up into the air with an explosion loud enough to almost deafen him.

Matt saw the guard at the back of his truck fling himself to the ground as the helicopter flew over them, so close he could have jumped up onto Stacey's cab and hitched a ride. As it passed by, Matt caught a glimpse of the painting on the side door - it was a cartoon shotgun which had just gone off, the sound effect 'Blam!' written next to the red and yellow explosion.

"Bill," Matt said to himself as the chopper came about on the other side of the convoy. It fired another missile into the vehicles there, taking out a good chunk of the assembled jeeps, tanks and bikes. It was all the distraction the Rangers near the front of the convoy needed. With practiced skill, they reached into their jeeps for bows and arrows; those riding bikes pulling out bolas which they flung at the Gatehouse, causing whatever was inside them to explode on contact.

At the same time, those Rangers who'd been crawling under the convoy sprang up to pick off the guards defending the entrance. Arrows were fired over the walls, and seconds later Rangers were scrambling up them and over onto the other side like ants into a hill. Matt could do nothing but watch and marvel at the efficiency of their attack. More exploding bolas and projectiles struck the Gate and suddenly it was open, free for the Ranger-manned jeeps to enter.

There was no way Matt was getting inside there with his truck, however. But Bill had thought of that, too, it seemed. Because as soon as his men had cleared the Esplanade and Gatehouse, another - smaller, targeted - missile hit the entrance and expanded the opening. Matt winced at the damage, but knew the history of the place wouldn't have crossed Bill's mind. The tourist days were over for this castle and it was time to worm out the woman who'd caused so much havoc in the region, no matter what the cost.

Matt put Stacey into gear and began to move forward. Carrying his payload into the castle, up towards the Portcullis Gate.

"Shot!" Bill said in his rough, Derbyshire accent.

What he'd just done to the Gatehouse was regrettable, especially to students of history, but he'd needed to create an opening for Matt and his truck to get inside. The Widow's people would have no such qualms about doing the same, just as the Tsar's folk hadn't with their own castle back home. The Widow had picked this spot because it was easy to defend, and the gate there was
part
of that defence. Which was why it needed to be obliterated. Thoughts of rebuilding would come afterwards,
if
they won - right now all Bill could think about was taking this place back from the thieves and murderers who'd made it their home, returning the castle to its true inheritors: the locals who'd had to put up with the Widow's shenanigans for too long. Scottish people like those traders who'd chosen to fight with the Rangers today.

From his position, Bill could see his men making their way up towards the Portcullis Gates, in jeeps, on bikes and on foot, but he could also see the amount of guards on the other side, in the main part of the castle grounds. Roused by the explosions and machine-gun fire, they were flitting about: especially near the building Bill knew to be the New Barracks; arming and generally gearing themselves up to repel boarders.

There was no way of telling from up here where Robert, Mary or the other Rangers might be -
if
they were even still alive. That would be the job of those on the ground to ascertain. There were some good Rangers down there, all of whom had been trained to the best of their abilities. But, in Bill's opinion, you couldn't beat some top of the range firepower on your side. He knew what Robert would say, and if he'd been around he would have prevented Bill from using the Black Shark at all - which he'd lovingly restored after the battle Robert fought with the Tsar's men; including re-arming her with spares from other wrecked Black Sharks that had been taken down that day, plus making quite a number of important modifications himself. But Robert
wasn't
here. He'd gone and got himself and his team captured, so it was up to Bill to try and sort this muddle out. He hadn't been able to obtain any more men or weapons from Nottingham because Jack had bloody well requisitioned all they could spare - and Bill fully intended to have words with the big, dumb lummox later about that. So what else was he supposed to do? They needed a way of taking out some of those heavily armoured vehicles down there, and this was the only option he could think of.

The fact that he'd been dying to try this baby out in combat since he'd fixed her up was neither here nor there.

"That's my girl," he said, nudging the one-seater craft to one side. She handled like a dream, even better than his old Sioux or Gazelle, and she definitely packed more of a bite. In all honesty, Bill reckoned he could probably take on the whole of the Widow's mob single-handed, decimating the castle and everyone there if it weren't for the fact his friends were somewhere inside.

He opened up the cannon on a group of the Widow's men, his targeting system so precise he could put the wind up them without having to kill. The vehicles were another matter, and fair game as far as he was concerned, so he loosed another couple of missiles into what was rapidly becoming a military vehicles' graveyard, twisted metal resembling bones jutting up from the ground.

Something was moving to his left, and Bill manoeuvred round to see a Gepard anti-aircraft tank emerging from the smoke, massive twin guns being raised in his direction. Those Germans who'd supplied all this kit had obviously thrown in a few lessons for the Widow's men. The brute trundling over the green, up and onto the Esplanade itself, was the first thing he'd seen which could give him a run for his money. Both 90 calibre guns spat out their payload at once, armour-piercing rounds which could tear through the Black Shark's torso like paper. Bill pulled back on the control stick sharply; perhaps a little too sharply because the Black Shark protested somewhat.

"Bear with me, girl," he said to the chopper, then angled her round. The fire from the Gepard was still reaching into the sky. Fortunately the men aiming the guns were lacking in practise, and Bill had done nothing
but
, even if he had saved most of the live ammo salvaged for just such a occasion. He fired an anti-tank missile and grinned as the laser-guided projectile found its target, allowing Bill plenty of time to get clear of the blast zone. The Gepard opened up like one of those old bangers in a black and white slapstick movie.

Coming about, Bill flew over the top of the castle once more, noticing that a Ranger jeep was about to ram the Portcullis Gate, the driver inside throwing himself clear at the last moment. The vehicle slammed into the gridded obstacle, knocking through it before grinding to a standstill. The other vehicles behind drew up, Rangers climbing out of jeeps or from bikes, while Matt's truck - too wide to get any further - was opened at the back.

A mass of men - traders and Rangers, men and women - leapt from the trailer, rushing forward through the Portcullis. They'd meet the guards heading in their direction any moment, so Bill decided to even the odds a little. He sprayed a covering fire of bullets in front of the Widow's forces, enough to make them pause. Some even fired up at the helicopter, but hit nothing. Then his troops were there, on the ground and tackling the soldiers. They may have outnumbered his lot, but Bill was proud to see the guards falling first and fast, spinning round to reveal arrows in shoulders or thighs. And yes, there was Matt himself, having climbed out of the cab of his truck. He was putting his baseball bat to good use, whacking opponents as they came round one of the corners near the Portcullis Gate.

More had taken up positions along the wall, to shoot at his people from above. Bill wasn't having that, and so spun the chopper around, splattering them with gunfire and causing the guards to fall back from the walls. But it was as he did so that he felt something strike the side of the Black Shark to his right. Bill craned his head to see the old cannons from the Argyle battery had been pulled around and raised up so that they could fire at the chopper. The mixture of old and new weaponry obviously extended beyond those Claymores they fought with.

Two more fired at him, one hitting the tail end of the Black Shark. "Why you little-" began Bill, but before he could say any more, he was being fired on from the left as well, similar defences aiming at him, each one firing heavy cannonballs at speed. Bill attempted to dodge them, but he'd flown in too close, assuming, wrongly, that those old relics didn't work anymore. They worked just fine, though, as he'd found out to his cost. His control panel was lighting up like a Christmas tree, emergency alarms going off in his cockpit. "Damn and blast it," he said, narrowly avoiding another blast from a cannon which would have downed the Black Shark there and then if it had hit.

Bill searched for a place to put her down, and quick - only now spotting smoke coming from one of the reservoir buildings and wondering what it was. But he didn't have time to dwell on that. The square next to the palace appeared to be the only open-plan area nearby to attempt an emergency landing. He dipped the nose, hopping over the War Memorial and almost catching the back end of his helicopter on the roof. His landing was rough, to say the least; only some of his gear responding when he flipped the switch.

"Easy," he said, tapping the roof of the helicopter from the inside after he'd set her down, calming the thing like it was some kind of pet. He didn't have much time to check on the damage, because he was already being fired on by the Widow's men. Bill risked using his cannon: the aim was totally shot but he hoped he could scare the gunmen enough so he could effect an escape. He pressed the trigger, but only one round went off, hitting the building in front of him and causing dust to spark up from the stonework.

It would have to do, so he grabbed his shotgun, opened the cockpit and dived out. Rolling, he balanced on one knee and let off both barrels into the group of approaching soldiers. It scattered them, but a couple still came at him on the left. They fired and some of the gunshot sparked off the pilot's helmet he was wearing. "Judas Priest!" he shouted. With no time to reload, Bill turned his gun around and hit one on the side of the head, sending him toppling. The other he grabbed by the collar and pulled him in close, one punch settling it. He snatched up their machine-guns in both hands and sprayed the other guards with bullets, left and right.