Down: Trilogy Box Set (131 page)

Finding a boat had not been a problem. A fast-moving scouting party from D Group had located a large, unballasted sailing barge several miles downstream from Richmond moored on a floating dock. The sprawl of London extended to the area and there were too many people about to snatch the vessel without an attention-grabbing fight. So they had laid low in tall grasses until nightfall when Captain Greene led his men into the river for a silent assault. A lit lamp announced the all clear and when the rest of them boarded down the gangplank, John had expected to see a pile of broken bodies. Instead, the fishermen had been neatly tied to barrels of fish and gagged, not a drop of blood spilled.

“Fancy a bit of sushi?” Greene had asked, chomping on a slice of raw bream.

Arriving in the vicinity of Dartford, Greene’s group disembarked on the north shore of the Thames, and with no more than a simple “good luck and good hunting” began a fast-march toward Upminster. The rest of them beached the boat on the south shore, gave the terrified fishermen some water and left them to be found by passersby.

“This is goodbye for now,” Trevor said, getting ready to move out with A Group for Sevenoaks. He shouldered his AK-47 on a rope sling.

“Try to find the boys,” John said, pulling him aside, “but don’t do anything crazy. I’m going to need a best man at my wedding.”

“Don’t suppose Emily knows anything about this, guv?” Trevor said.

“I’m saving it for when we get back. Don’t want to jinx it.”

“You’re assuming she’s going to accept.”

“Isn’t that what shallow narcissists do? Seriously, Trev, don’t get killed. Hang with Marsh who’s an asshole but the good-soldier kind of asshole. When it’s time to go home someone will be sent through to let you know. And if it gets too hairy, if you think you’re going down, then bail. Get your butt inside the hot zone and get home.”

With Trevor and A Group peeled off, John and Emily got ready for their farewells to Kyle and D Group.

“Here’s the thing, John, I’m not going with them,” Kyle announced.

“Fuck that, Kyle, that was the plan you agreed on,” John said. “You can’t change it up now.”

“I can and I did,” Kyle said. “Anyway, I talked to Emily about it last night and she said she was cool with it.”

“Thanks a lot,” John told her with a dose of sarcasm.

“It’s for you boys to work out,” she said. “Leave me out of it but if Kyle wants to come, yes, I am cool with it.”

“Tell me why you don’t want me along?” Kyle asked.

“It’s going to be unpredictable,” John said. “It’s going to be tough sledding. We’re going to have to move fast.”

“That’s basically code for you don’t think an out-of-shape guy with a fucked up knee can keep up with you.”

“Come off it, Kyle. I didn’t want Emily to come either but she convinced me she might be the only one to persuade Loomis to cooperate.”

Kyle sniffed back tears. He looked away for a few seconds before laying into him. “All my life I’ve lived in your goddamn shadow. I’ve been so scared of that shadow I’m almost scared of my own. The last few days—the last few days I’ve picked up a whole lot of self-respect and you know what? It feels pretty damn good. I’m hungry for more, John, and you’re not going to stop me from getting it. I’m coming. Besides if your AK jams, I’m probably the only one you know around here who can fix it.”

John shook his head a few times and smiled. “Yeah, I suppose you are. Good gunsmiths are hard to find in Hell or so I’m told.”

Behind him John heard Emily calling his name.

“I know, I know, I’m a good guy,” he said.

“You certainly are but that’s not it. Look.”

She was pointing downriver where the top of a mast was poking over a thicket of bushes and trees.

Yates saw it too. Using hand signs he split his group into three and signaled for John, Kyle, and Emily to join him in the middle platoon while the two others flanked them, rifles ready. They cautiously plunged into the thicket and moved through it as silently as they could, climbing a modest, heavily wooded hill until they were at its crest.

Yates was the first in the middle group to get a clear view of the river below. “Christ,” he said.

The others came up beside him.

John exhaled deeply. “This is bad, way worse than I expected.”

What they saw was a sea of humanity, hundreds of people making their way toward Dartford village, the meager cluster of cottages John and Emily knew so well. From their vantage point the village itself appeared empty. None of the chimneys were producing smoke. Yet streams of people were approaching from all directions. Those coming from the north had to ford the river. A bevy of small rowing boats was providing some kind of ferry service. From the landward directions most were walking but some rode on horseback or horse cart. Amidst the peasantry were some king’s soldiers, identifiable by their uniforms and standards. The march seemed slow, deliberate, cautious, not a headlong rush by any means, the effect of which was the formation of a perimeter of Hellers around the village. As the Earthers watched from their vantage point, a few Hellers took tentative steps forward until they vanished.

“We’re seeing a hot zone in action,” Emily said. “I shudder to think what’s happening on the other side.”

Yates let out a low whistle. “I don’t think we have nearly enough ammo.”

“The SAS has a reputation for improvising,” John said.

“Then improvise we will,” Yates said.

“I don’t think we’re going to find the MAAC people among that lot,” Emily said.

“We’re going to have to leave that to the captain while we move on,” John said.

“What do you think the story is on that ship?” Kyle said.

It was a large four-master with a tall quarterdeck sitting at anchor in the deepest part of the river channel. A longboat was being lowered over its side.

“It’s a warship,” John said. “A galleon, but I don’t think it’s English. Look at the flag.”

“My God, John,” Emily said. “I think it’s flying French colors.”

“An invasion?” Yates asked.

“It’s on its own so I doubt it,” John said. “I think it may be a sign of something more serious. Word of the hot zones may have spread to the continent. That’s the bad news.”

“What’s the good news?” Kyle asked.

“We may have found our ride to Francia,” Emily said.

The operation required the cover of darkness and had to be conducted in absolute silence. While it was hard to spend another day waiting, the prospect of commandeering the French galleon was too tempting. John gamed it out with Yates and his staff sergeant, O’Malley, a fellow with a heavy Belfast accent. If the entire crew had abandoned ship to join the migration to Earth then the galleon would be essentially useless and the wait would have been a waste. If the crew were still on board they would have to be subdued and pressed into service for the channel crossing. The safest way of achieving this was to use all of A Group for boarding and capture. But keeping a dozen or more crewmen in check during a crossing to Francia would take more than John, Kyle, and Emily, even with a couple of AK-47s. There was simply too much ship to cover to avoid an insurrection.

“But the French are allied with Garibaldi now,” Emily said. “Maybe they’ll cooperate freely once we tell them who we are and what we’ve done.”

“Any crew that decided to take passengers to Dartford has gone rogue,” John said. “We couldn't trust them.”

“There’s no way around it,” Yates said. “You’ll need to take some of my men with you. You’d know better than I the minimum number needed to keep a ship like that under control.”

“Two of your people ought to do it,” John said.

“How many AKs will you need?” Yates asked.

“None. You’ll need all of yours. One of your men can take mine. I’ll find a musket on board.”

“I can reload a blackpowder rifle pretty damn fast,” Kyle said. “The other guy can use mine.”

“All right,” Yates said. “I’ll be looking for one volunteer.”

“I thought you said two men,” John said.

O’Malley grimaced. “I think the captain just gave me an order. He’s a sneaky bastard that way. I’ll go and canvas the others for the volunteer. Hearing none, it’ll be Culpepper.”

When fully dark, A Group left the thicket and made its way to the riverbank upstream of the galleon and a good distance from the Hellers still coming toward the promised-land of Dartford. John, Emily, and Kyle waited among the bulrushes with all the rifles and ammo while the SAS men slipped into the water and began swimming toward the warship armed only with knives procured from William’s forge.

And then they waited.

Half an hour passed, then an hour.

In the distance they heard some shouting coming from the direction of Dartford but nothing from the river. The night was impenetrable; it was an act of faith that the ship was even still there. Finally, they heard something that sounded like oars slapping the water and a longboat appeared at the river’s edge carrying Yates and six of his troopers.

“Hop in,” Yates whispered.

“Was the crew there?” Emily asked.

“Yeah, about a dozen men and their captain.”

“What took so long?” John asked.

“Taking them down didn’t take much time at all. It was searching for the ones we might’ve missed that took some doing. That plus rounding up all the guns, knives, and swords. Do you have any idea the nooks and crannies in one of these things?”

“Actually, I do,” John said, recalling his all-too-recent channel crossings.

“What’s the captain like?” John asked when they were on their way, rowing back toward the galleon.

“He’s pissed off,” Yates replied. “Speaks English, swears in French.”

“Does he know what we want him to do?” John asked.

“Thought I’d leave that to you. Hungry?” Yates opened a basket stuffed with bread and cheese. “Found this in the captain’s cabin.”

“Famished,” Emily said, reaching in.

The captain, a man named La Rue, was indeed pissed off. Sergeant O’Malley had done him the courtesy of not sticking a gag in his mouth but he was confined to his cabin, his hands and feet bound.

“I hear you speak English,” John told him.

“Who are you?” La Rue asked.

“John Camp. I don’t suppose you’ve heard of me.”

“Why should I know you?” he asked contemptuously, sniffing at him.

“Didn’t know if you were informed about recent events inside Francia.”

“If you mean the demise of King Maximilien and our alliances with Italia and Iberia, yes, I am well-informed. What has this to do with an outsider such as yourself?”

“My associates and I are, how can I put it, in the service of your new king, Garibaldi.”

“None of this has anything to do with me. I owe my allegiance to the Duke of Bretagne. He cares little about these alliances. We attend to our own affairs.”

“You’re a long way from Brittany. Why are you here?”

“Why are
you
here?” La Rue challenged back. “And why have you seized my vessel?”

“I like you, Captain,” John said. “Sergeant, would you untie him?”

O’Malley began to undo the knots.

“I’ll go first,” John said. “I think you know about the channel that’s opened between our two worlds. I think you’ve just dropped off a load of passengers who want to cross over. My associates and myself are here to try and cut the connection between Earth and Hell. It’s supposed to be a one-way journey and we need to keep it that way.”

“Thank you,” La Rue said, rubbing his wrists. “Yes, that is why I am here. Word of the miracle of this English village has reached Britagne and many people want a second taste of life and are willing to pay someone like me for the chance.”

“I’ll bet your duke doesn’t know you’re moonlighting.”

“What is this word?”

“It means you’re on your own. He doesn’t know anything about it. That way all the payments go to you.”

“I would rather not speak of such matters.”

“Of course not. Tell me this. Why didn’t you cross over too?”

La Rue asked if he could have some of his own wine and poured a glass. “I admit I gave it some thought,” he said, “but then I asked myself, why? I have heard from recent men how wondrous your world has become. Would I like to see the sun again, watch children at play, read a book, listen to a chamber orchestra, walk among men who are not all cutthroats and despicable scoundrels such as myself? Yes, of course. But I am a sea captain. I command a galleon. I am told there are no galleons in your world. What would I do? I get along well enough, I have the patronage of the duke, a good house in Brest, better than the one I had in life, and so far I have avoided the salles decomposition. I will stay in Hell. I am reconciled.”

“Well I hope you’ll be reconciled to taking us to Francia. Tonight.”

La Rue delivered a mighty Gallic shrug. “How much will you pay?”

“Here’s my best offer,” John said. “If you cooperate I won’t put a bullet in your head.”

The captain puckered his lips in contempt. “Your generosity staggers me, monsieur.”

From his perch on well-concealed high ground, Captain Yates kept saying he wished he had a pair of binoculars. He and his men had bided their time until daylight and now, an hour past dawn, they were still debating their strategy. With Sergeant O’Malley off to Francia, second-in-command duties fell to Lance Corporal Scarlet, a fast-talking Londoner.

“It’s not going to do us a bit of good to go in with guns blazing,” Yates said. “My guess is that most of them are either unarmed or too lightly armed to do us much damage. We’ll burn up too much ammo and we won’t necessarily get what we want.”

“I don’t disagree with you,” Scarlet said. “This is more like riot control than an assault, isn’t it? We’ve got to teach ’em who’s boss then get control of the inner perimeter. See the clear zone around the village? It’s almost a perfect circle. From where that bloke just disappeared to the opposite side, I reckon is a quarter of a mile. We can’t cover every inch of it with the men we’ve got.”

“More than controlling it, we’ve got to hold it for an extended time.”

“How long?”

“Anybody’s guess but I can’t see it being less than a fortnight,” Yates said.