The Gates: An Apocalyptic Novel (3 page)

BOOK: The Gates: An Apocalyptic Novel
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Mina swallowed. “I’m afraid, David.”

“So am I, but there’ll be time to be afraid later.
We need to get out of here.”

“And then what?”

“We give the public the news, and hope they don’t
riot.”

~TONY CROSS~
Iraq-Syria Border

The patch of scrub desert
at the Iraq-Syria border was the worst hell British Army Staff Sergeant Tony
Cross had ever visited—and he’d visited many. The air was so arid that it
seemed to dry you out from within, and every breath was like swallowing sand.

And there was the isolation.

Nothing but sand, rubble, and rocks for a hundred
miles in every direction. The nearest town was Rutba, but the people there were
as frightened of British soldiers as they were of the fanatical members of the ISN—Islamic
State Nationalists. They feared the West because they might be accused of being
in league with terrorists, and they feared the ISN because they might be
accused of being in league with the West. The ordinary people of Iraq were
perpetual victims of religion and money, and neither served them well. Tony felt
sorry for them in the same way he felt sorry for cows in the field—they didn’t
realise how much their lives were not their own.

Lieutenant Ellis stood with his hands on his hips
and stated the obvious, “Looks like this fence has been tampered with.”

The gap in the border fence was twenty metres wide,
and either end of it had been rolled aside so neatly that they resembled a pair
of decorative pillars. Sabotage—but from which side?

“What are you thinking, Staff Sergeant?”
Lieutenant Ellis asked Tony, no doubt noticing his dubious expression.

“How far away is the border crossing? Two miles?
Three? The only way the Iraqi Guard didn’t notice a giant hole in their fence
is because they’re either useless, or they’re letting the ISN stroll right on through.”

Ellis stiffened. “We can make no such assumptions.
The Iraq national forces were trained by our soldiers. They know what is at
stake.”

“Do they? To me their choice is pretty simple.
Side with a group of men with the same religion and colour skin as them, or
with a bunch of rich, white westerners with avarice behind their smiles.”

Ellis strolled up to Tony and lifted his chin in a
way the pompous git probably thought was authoritative. “Now look here, Staff
Sergeant, I will not have you criticising our operations here. You have made it
quite clear your feelings on our duties in this part of the world—and since I
have served nowhere near as long as you have I will reserve my judgement—but please
keep your disenfranchisement to yourself. The men need not hear it. We are here
to do a job, so leave the moral quandaries to the politicians.”

“That’s the last bunch of crooks I’d leave it to.”

Ellis placed his hands on his hips. “Am I
understood, Staff Sergeant?”

“Perfectly, sir.”

“Good. We can be fairly certain that this is the
ingress point from Syria into Iraq, so our mission is as planned. We set up
here, and ambush the next group that tries to come through.”

“I don’t think that’s necessarily the best course
of action, sir.”

“Oh? Why not?”

Tony told him, “The first set of rebels we fall
upon might be a bunch of wet-eared kids. We should hold off until we identify a
high value target.”

“And allow members of ISN to funnel through in the
meantime? No, I’m afraid not. We are here to shut down this security breach for
the Iraqi government and that is what we will do. We engage the first border-jumpers
we see, and then get this fence repaired.”

Tony didn’t waste time arguing. This twenty-six
year old, fresh out of Sandford Academy thought he knew everything and wouldn’t
bend from what he thought best. He wasn’t the first arrogant little twerp to
give Tony orders, and it was just part of the job. In the older days of war, Ellis
might have got a bullet in the back, but those times were over. As they were
carrying out a pretty low-risk mission in a conflict they were not officially
involved in, Tony’s only concern was keeping the lads from doing mischief. Ellis
could play the simpering peacock as much as he wanted.

Tony snapped off a half-arsed salute. “I’ll get
the men dug in just behind that hill, sir. It’ll keep us well hidden until the
time is right.”

“Excellent! See to it, Staff Sergeant.”

Tony marched away, leaving the Lieutenant to stand
with his hands glued to his hips. The young officer’s expression made it look
like he was planning a campaign to rival D-Day, but the truth was that there
was probably very little going on inside his skull. With all the British Army’s
great progress into the modern fighting force it was today, it was still
top-heavy with entitled idiots from ‘military families’ and well-bred fools
looking for
a jolly old jaunt in the forces
. The real leaders of the Army
were the sergeants like him.

Tony flagged down one of his corporals, a young
Scouser named Green. Like his name suggested, he was a little inexperienced,
but he was also bright and eager—which counted for a lot out here in the
wastelands.

“Yes, Staff Cross? Do you have orders?”

“Get four men and dig a defensive trench on the
rear of that hill.” He pointed to the gentle slope that formed a moderate peak.
“We’ll dig in with a lookout position at the top. We’ll see any border jumpers
long before they see us. Have Corporal Rose help you.”

“Right away, Staff Cross.” Green marched away at
the double, gathering men as he went.

There were fifteen of them assembled at the
border, split off from a platoon of two hundred stationed at a temporary camp
fifty miles way. Britain had decided not to take direct action in the Syrian
conflict, or commit itself to any land wars, but it had compromised upon a
small reactionary force to operate within ‘friendly’ Iraq. Any border jumpers
could be dealt with as criminals, rather than terrorists, and that made things
less politically precarious. After the decade-long nightmare of Al Qaeda,
Britain did not want to draw the ire of another extremist group. It might have
held an obligation to keep Iraq free of dangerous individuals, but it held no
such responsibilities to Syria. Damascus could burn for all Westminster cared,
so long as it was down to Syria’s people or Syria’s government. Tony didn’t
particularly disagree. How could the Arab nations ever hope to evolve and pull
themselves up out of the dirt if the West interfered every time a government
was threatened? There would be no United States if some disenfranchised Brits
hadn’t stuck their fingers up to the Crown. There would be no democracy in
Britain if not for Cromwell and his armed uprising. People needed to overthrow
governments and take control of their own destinies. The rest of the world
should stand back and let them. The Arab Spring movement was the Middle East’s
first step towards positive change. Worst thing to do now would be to try and manipulate
things from Washington, London, and Brussels.

Not that Tony held any respect for the ISN. Like all
fanatics, they were monsters hiding behind ideals and traditions—they deserved
whatever they got—but it was for the Arab world to deal with them. Only through
their own trials and triumphs would the people of the Middle East gain the
confidence needed to unite against extremism and join the rest of the world on
equal footing.

While Private Green carried out his orders, Tony took
a trek up the hill to double-check that it was indeed a suitable location to
stage an ambush. The elevation alone should give them the better end of a firefight,
but it never hurt to know the terrain. For instance, as he strode up the gentle
incline now, he noticed that the ground underfoot was loose. It would become
tough to see if a sudden gust swept dirt up into the air. The last thing the
men needed during a battle was a face full of sand. It might be worth building
a windbreaker out of any larger rocks they could find.

So Tony set about looking for those rocks. There
were numerous fist-sized boulders, but few that were large enough to provide
cover. The unit had brought jeeps with them—hidden nearby under sandy tarps
about half-a-mile back—so it was possible to make a quick reccy to see what lay
in the surrounding area, but before he had properly considered doing that, he
spotted a large stone up ahead. A jet-black boulder, completely out of place
amongst the browns and greys of the desert.

In fact, it looked very much like it had been
placed there.

Tony squinted and muttered to himself, “What the
hell is that thing?”

“Incoming,” came a squawk through the radio.

Tony dropped onto one knee and swung his rifle up
and around. Private Harris, a large brute of a man and the group’s lookout, pointed
toward the Syrian border. Lieutenant Ellis rushed to the bottom of the hill and
signalled the men to gather up, but as Tony was on higher ground, he stayed right
where he was. Ellis realised that his Staff Sergeant was in a better position
and instead rallied the men to Tony’s location.

“Who’s coming? How many? And which direction?” Tony
asked Private Harris before Ellis had time to interject.

“Vehicles—I counted four. Three cars, one van.”

“Dear Lord,” said Ellis. “That’s quite the
convoy.”

Tony faced his commanding officer with urgency. “We
should get the men behind the hill and call it in to Command.”

“Yes, of course. Everybody, form a firing line behind
the hill and await my orders.”

When the Lieutenant did nothing else, Tony frowned
at him. “Are you going to call Command, sir?”

“No, it’s unnecessary until we know what we’re up
against.”

“When we know what we’re up against it’ll be too
late.”

“Nonsense. I don’t want to put a call through to Command
without good reason.”

“There could be twenty armed men in that convoy.”

“Pah, twenty rebels against fifteen British
soldiers. In an ambush no less.”

Tony gritted his teeth. He knew the Lieutenant
wanted to call Command after successfully taking out a rebel unit so that he looked
like a competent leader with initiative, instead of an officer who called
everything in to get orders from above on how to proceed. “Fine,” Tony
relented. “Let’s just be ready.”

The men scurried behind the hill and bedded down,
spreading themselves out six feet apart and forming a well-spaced firing line. Closer
to the top of the hill, Tony peeked over the crest to see what they were up against.
It was bad.

Four
cars and a van—not three as Private Harris
had reported. If the vehicles were full of rebels, there would be a serious
firefight. The ambush would have to be executed flawlessly, because if it
became a protracted affair, there would be casualties on both sides. Tony got on
his radio, the quickest way to speak to all fourteen men at once. “Everybody
keep their ‘eds down ‘til either me or the Lieutenant give the word. When the
shit hits the fan, we drop grenades on those vehicles and pin ‘em down with
gunfire. Hit ‘em quick and hard enough and they’ll drop their weapons and
surrender. Radio silence until then. Over.”

Tony remained at the top of the hill, pulling out his
binocs and assessing the situation that was racing across the desert towards
them. AK47 barrels protruded from the car windows like spines on a porcupine. The
convoy was headed right for the breach in the fence, which meant they knew it
was there. ISN rebels.

Ellis crawled up the hill and rested beside Tony.
“You shouldn’t have ordered radio silence until I had spoken. I may have had
something to add.”

Tony knew Ellis had nothing to add, but he nodded
and gave an apology. “Just trying to do my best for you, sir. I’ve identified
five vehicles; passengers armed to the bleedin’ teeth. We need to be ready.”

“We
are
ready,” said Ellis. “My men are
ready for anything.”

“Let’s hope our grenades hit the target. It’ll
improve the odds.”

“Don’t you feel that’s a little excessive, Staff
Sergeant? We don’t know who is in those vehicles. There could be civilians. Would
it not be better to be a tad more precise?”

Tony blinked at his superior. “They’re illegally
crossing the border and bearing arms. Our mandate is clear, sir. We take ‘em
out, and any civilians stupid enough to be in the middle only ‘ave themselves
to blame.”

Ellis sighed. “Poor fellows aren’t going to know
what hit them. Fall back, Staff Sergeant, lest they spot you.”

Tony nodded, then shimmied down the hill on his
belly until he was a part of the firing line. If all went to plan, the men
would rise up like something out of
Braveheart
and reduce the enemy in
seconds
.
Tony had faith that the lads would be ready to act, but he was
yet to witness any of them under fire. You could never tell how good a soldier
was until somebody tried to kill him. If this didn’t go fast, it would get
bloody.

The convoy was still half a mile away. Nothing to
do but wait. Tony tried to ignore the churning in his belly he still got before
a fight. Even after fifteen years in the Army, you never stopped being afraid
of death. Even suicides changed their minds in those final seconds before
death. They all begged for a second chance as they dangled by their necks.
Every soldier worried a bullet would find them without them even knowing it,
and all of them begged for their mothers if they ever got hit. Tony had held
the hands of more dying men than he cared to remember.

Movement in the corner of his eye.

Tony flinched and hoped he wasn’t about to spot a
sneaky rebel coming up on his flank—but all was well. It hadn’t been movement he’d
seen, but a flash of light. The strange black stone he’d spotted earlier seemed
to be glowing. Its smooth surface danced with delicate sparks of light, like
the static on an old-fashioned television. There was a crackling sound too. But
Tony was a soldier, not a geologist, and his only focus was the enemy speeding
towards him. Whatever the strange stone was, it would have to wait.

The din of sand-clogged engines arrived, and the
British soldiers behind the hill became visibly on edge. Tony saw the tension
in each of their eyes and knew exactly how they felt. For a man, controlling his
adrenaline was an arduous task, and perhaps a soldier’s biggest skill, and to
run into danger instead of away from it was against every basic human instinct.
It took training and courage to overcome the urge to flee.

BOOK: The Gates: An Apocalyptic Novel
4.88Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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