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The Yeoman - Upcoming book!!!
New book I just threw together during the summer. This is the first draft so expect names, details to change about a bit. It'll be about 55,000 words and should be part of a three book series. For fans of my other books it does take place in that universe but isn't too sci-fi. It's more thriller and political-intrigue and action than PAW / TEOTOWAKI.
It's also very anti-PC
and maybe a touch 'wacist'
"Tolerance and apathy are the last virtues of a dying society"
- Aristotle 384 BC – 322 BC
It was a fine sunny day in the English countryside, the following previous ones of showery drizzle. For several days now the military base, deep in Bedfordshire basked in the heat of late summer.
From the base, situated at the top of a hill the lay of the land was noticeable. Off to the east three distant figures left a blue Ford Escort and entered the ancient forest. A young, confident blonde led the way followed by a slightly older man and a dark-haired woman. All of them were in their twenties and wore the olive drab uniforms of the British Army. Once they were deep in the forest the confident one turned back to the other two.
“This is far enough.” she said smiling her body full of warmth.
“What have you brought us here for?” asked the brunette.
“This wood is an ancient forest, there’s not many left in England these days. It’s perfect for us to make to pact before the old oak trees.”
“A pact?” the young man answered rolling his eyes and looking to the other girl skeptically.
“Well, we’ll be going our separate ways soon, we could end up never seeing each other again. I want us to make a pact, one that helps bring us back together again. That way, no matter what happens, we’ll always find each other again in future times.”
The brunette nodded and grinned in agreement. “Sounds like witchcraft,” she laughed brazenly.
“It’s folk magic, in the olden times people did this all the time. Now what do you both say?”
“You always were the space cadet, but I’m game,” the other woman said.
“Me too,” the man said with a chuckle. “I don’t want us to remain parted forever after the fun times we’ve had. If this pact helps, I’m all for it.”
“Alright! This will take a few minutes.”
The blonde woman smiled again before producing a Wiccan knife and began speaking ancient words and oaths. The atmosphere grew serious though and even the bird song and outside noise grew faint somehow. After facing the oak and raising her hands she spoke some more before making a shallow wrist cut on herself. She wiped her cut on the side of a nearby oak tree. Then made a similar cut on the tall man and finally the dark-haired woman. The ritual concluded with both making separate blood-marks on the oak tree in a manner so that they circled and almost touched one another.
The folk magic concluded with a prayer then the somber feeling in the clearing lifted.
“That was pretty intense,” the man said, accepting a tissue from the witch to dab at his wrist. The brunette did likewise.
“We’re joined now,” she answered. “If there’s danger, strife or troubled times in the world we’ll hopefully be reunited. This is to remain a secret, if we tell anyone outside of ourselves the pact could go terribly wrong.”
They all agreed to this and together they hastened to leave the forest before they were missed. After re-entering the blue Escort they departed the area.
“So what's your business been in Ireland then?” The Junior Commissioner asked the Yeoman.
“Oh not much, just driving around,” the Yeoman answered.
“Just driving around?”
“That’s right.”
“Where did you stay?”
“Various places,” the Yeoman said, “when I was driving around.”
“I was expecting an address? A residence?
There was a long pause as the Yeoman ignored the question.
It was a brightly colored room and the plain day outside might as well have been a world away. For the occupants of the room it was one man in a three-piece suit and the other in well-worn plain clothes. The Yeoman was not in uniform, but he felt as if he ought to be. Outside the steady rumble of heavy goods lorries could be heard. Heysham Ferry Terminal was always busy during offloading, but soon the noise would fade. By that time and for many more hours he could remain detained. He wondered if the anti-terror team rooting into his vehicle outside had found anything. As a reservist member of the Yeomanry he'd be automatically on their radar. It was no secret that the Colonels were disgruntled with the new coalition regime. The registration of his Land Rover Defender would have been tied to his Reservist status, which in turn would have automatically flagged him up as a gun-owner.
“Eric Weyland do you have an address in Ireland?” the small man’s tone became harsher.
The Yeoman shook his head. “I wasn’t expecting a welcoming party on my return to Albion. Neither was I expecting a nameless Commissar to be asking me questions,” the Yeoman retorted.
“My name is Junior Commissioner Brown,” the older man stressed, annoyed at Weyland’s jibe. “Now why were you in Ireland Eric?”
“Just visiting the country,” the man responded.
As the Junior Commissioner looked over the file he turned the pages slowly. His person of interest was thirty-eight years old, a shade over six-foot tall. Unlike a fair few men his age he showed no sign of drugs or drink abuse. His skin and eyes were clear and he moved with an athletic laziness, as if he was conserving his energy until it was most needed.
Weyland knew the border-interrogator had him on ‘suspicion of external activities’. It was a recent law that allowed police investigations for border travelers on the flimsiest whim. Since the great land-slide election of a rabidly left-wing government things had been changing. It had been nearly a year since they took power and already things were going backwards again.
It had been good times for people like Weyland in the past thirty-years. He was born just after the short but decisive Colonels Coup that started the rift throughout the land. A hard-right government that followed, backed by the military. Nearly twenty years of this had undone much of the lunacy of the previous governments. Even so, the rot was so deep the reform was being constantly undermined by scheming politicians. Many made up a supposedly pro-nationalist coalition.
Weyland had heard the call to arms ten years ago on the eve of the brief, but bloody Colonels War. The firmly hard-right-wing government that followed effectively reversed the worst of the issues ailing the island. The professional politicians were done away with, a manufacturing industry was restored and the military reformed to being more resource-orientated and island-centric. Most important of all, a power-base away from London, in northern England, was established. Thus giving the Yeomanry a check and balance on London’s stranglehold.
A Volunteer Force independent from the powers-that-be complimented a mandatory conscription. That became the Yeomanry and, following completion of the conscription system, allowed a new standing army of volunteers. Many of the former conscripts transferred to the Yeomanry rangers, armored troops and air-force but not Weyland. He had a different calling that saw him despatched overseas. Three years passed while he was gone and the winds of change blew once again. The hard-line government, under threat of sanctions from more powerful countries formed a centrist Coalition with other political parties. There were no sanctions against Albion territories but it crippled the ultra-conservative leadership. The left-wing, always masters at winning over the young, had a field day. Once ‘their’ generation came of age the results became clear.
High on the office wall a picture of the new Prime Speaker Veitch grinned down at Weyland like a mocking Hyena.
“So whereabouts in Ireland did you travel Eric?”
“Am I free to leave?” Weyland responded plainly with a bored tone.
“We just have to complete our search first,” the man said smoothly, “Then there’s also the Anti-Terrorist Act that we used to… initiate our inquiries with you.” The Commissioner spoke the last part rather smugly.
Weyland looked down at the black and white slip on the table. It reminded him that, thanks to the new powers granted last year in the parliament, coastal and airport security had the power to detain anyone they felt was under suspicion of what they deemed ‘terrorist activities’. It went on to state that he could be held for a maximum of nine hours and items he held could be confiscated for as long as two weeks.
What perplexed the Yeoman was the fact a junior-commissioner was the man doing the talking. Normally a police sergeant or detective did border interviews. Why such a high-rank?
A uniformed policeman in through the door he’d entered. It led to a corridor and another door barred the way outside.
“He’s got a crossbow under the driving seat!” he said to Brown who looked over at Weyland.
“That’s not against the law,” he replied, causing the commander to shake his head at his underling who stomped out the door, obviously disgruntled that nothing was going down that avenue.
“There’s a bill in parliament being tabled to outlaw those you know?” The interviewer goaded.
“I wonder what they’ll outlaw next? Your own batons perhaps?” he retorted with a smile causing the man to flush.
“Those are already—” the Enforcer began to say before realizing the man meant they’d be outlawed to Enforcers. A notion he found ridiculous.
“Are traveling with your self-loading rifle?” The policeman asked, referencing the weapon every member of the Yeomanry was armed with.
“Of course, it’s stowed behind the driver’s seat.”
“With ammunition?”
“It’s not much good without it now is it?”
The short man perused the shipping manifest before taking a headmaster’s tone. “I don’t have any record from the ferry company of your firearm or ammo.”
“Of course not, it’s not a legal requirement to notify them. I have to leave my vehicle unattended while on that ferry, you can be sure I’m not telling the ferry crew what’s in my vehicle.”
Weyland took out his Firearms Exemption Authority from his wallet with a satisfied smile and slid it across to Brown.
Like many Yeomanry policies counter to Britain’s draconian weapons laws the validity of the authority was to the year 9999. Additionally it was transferable to members of his family, even fellow Yeomanry with an officers signature. In essence it was a theoretically unlimited and a subtle ‘up yours’ to any police harassment. The Commissioner looked at it briefly with disdain before sliding it back across the table.
“I’m gonna be straight with you Weyland, I don’t like you. I’ve read your file, looked at your reports, you have a problem with how this country is being run.”
“This country is being run by traitors and seditious pukes again. A blind man can see that.”
“They were democratically elected! Unlike the coup that messed this country about thirty years ago.”
“That was by consent, endorsed by the working and middle-class folk sick and tired of being abused by the idiots in Parliament.”
“Consent? I didn’t consent or agree!” Brown countered but Weyland spoke as if he’d not even heard him.
“If it wasn’t for the coup there would have been a rebellion from the other factions of the military, then you’d really have seen a bloodbath!”
“What about the police that were executed then? The politicians! The media-directors! The bankers! They lined them up against a wall and murdered them! Those are your Colonels actions.”
“I would have done it differently, sparing them death, but one way or another high-ranking traitors get what they deserve. They were enemy agents and that was proven!”
“You’re crazy, that’s not how we should do things!”
“Yes it is, you’re just too chicken-hearted to accept me telling it like it is.”
“Rubbish. We know you’ve been traveling around Weyland, the Americans, Asia Pacific areas. We don’t want you filling young minds over here with any nonsense.”
“Corrupt is it? The Jade people call it the Divine Mandate, it allows lethal force to manifest against those that wish ill-will on the local populace of a nation or people. People had forgotten this in the West, but not when the Colonels reminded folk of it! Over in the USA they fought a war for seven years to stay free from a tyrannical monarchy. So if that’s nonsense to you then you are obviously a half-wit or just trying to wind me up. Which is it?”
The words flowed like a torrent of water from the Yeoman, stinging Commissioner Brown. The Commissioner knew from the files that Weyland was intelligent, a rabble-rouser and debater, able to speak with others. It was surely why the Colonels had sent him overseas. The question that eluded him, MI6 intelligence and even foreign intelligence was why?
“Why do you plot against this island?”
The Yeoman smiled enigmatically but said nothing, needling Brown who stared hard at the eyes that didn’t even look at him. A glassy-zeal or sheen seemed to radiate from them, something that conventional threats could not blunt. Weyland was a fanatic in his eyes, the sort of man who would kill others and not be afraid to make light of it. There was an intensity to his icy blue eyes, it reminded him of a stormtrooper just on the eve of an assault or perhaps a pilot about to dive-bomb an enemy position. Nothing seemed to sway him. Like a sudden turn of the weather, he was calm again.
“Look, I don’t have a problem with you Enforcers as a rule. I don’t really hate anyone typically, even the traitors, but when things are out of order, Things have to happen.”
The commissioner went passive and held his hands up briefly.
‘Let the fool talk,’ thought the commissioner. ‘He’ll tell us what we know now he’s begun rambling.’
“You know if it wasn’t for people like the Yeomanry we’d have been invaded and conquered by the immigrant hordes many times over. The Colonels know the score and speak out about it.”
“The Yeomanry acts like a private army traipsing about this country though. Most of all though, it’s the fact you have carte blanch to wield military grade weapons. That’s a bit much isn’t it Eric?”
“You only say that because your police tyranny was hamstrung by the Colonels Mr Brown. In the words of my old Colonel ‘Too many traitors in high places, starting from Junior Commissioner upwards.’”
“You don’t think it’s outdated to have a militia bullying the police and shooting them during a coup?”
“It’s never an outdated thing to have protection, the Yeomanry serve as a check-and-balance on the tyrannical powers of the police state.”
“That’s nonsense, the police force protect people, chase criminals and investigate law-breakers.”
“Good, then leave the Yeomanry to be the Yeomanry and concentrate on people actually breaking the law, not this thought-crime and harassment.”
“You know when the firearms laws in this country were lax we had a man go on a spree killing in Wiltshire. He reminded me of a Yeomanry type.”
“He had illegal weapons and was a rogue Gladio operative according to the Colonels. Those were government guys trained to fight if we were invaded, except a few got ideas of their own. One went nuts because his meds were bad and he was spurned by a woman who surprised him in a forest.”
“Rubbish,” the commissioner said.
“If people had the firearm rights we Yeomanry have now, spree killers like him would have been cut to pieces on sight.”
“We don’t trust you Weyland, not me, not the High Commissioners, not the Prime Speaker! We don’t want to take a chance for your Yeomanry to go on the rampage. I don’t understand your stupid gun rights, I think you Yeomanry are a relic, a piece of history from when warfare was a way of life in Europe.”
“The feeling is mutual. Yeomanry can help if the country is ever invaded. A professional police force would likely panic, go home and even collaborate with the enemy.”
“Don’t you insult my police force! The regular army is for anti-invasion measures, not your lot.”
“Our regular army fought for overseas security when we had an empire, then for overseas interests. At least now, following the Colonels War they are overseas keeping the oil lanes clear with the navy. The Yeomanry are more equipped than a regular reservist would be thanks to your gun laws.”
“My police force can do your job, we have firearms too you know.”
“And we could do yours a lot better than forcing people into rooms to be asked stupid questions.”
The officer ignored Weyland and spoke on.
“There’s another bill going through parliament this winter, it’s called the Yeomanry Amendment Act. The High Commissioner personally oversaw it.”
“Are we getting a pay rise?” Weyland asked sarcastically.
“Very funny Weyland, your kind need to be put on a leash. It’s time for checks and balances,” the enforcer smiled with dirty, coffee-stained teeth.
“Oh really?”
“Yes, really, we’re getting new powers you see. All your firearms, munitions, armored cars and aircraft will be licensed and regulated! Every county in Albion is getting a new police chief to oversee and individually authorize each part. It won’t be anything like the FEA licenses or section nine authority permits the Colonels write out like fag-paper either. We’ll be vetting the entire Yeomanry independently and unless it’s essential for target practice all your weapons are gonna be under lock and key. Under OUR lock and key.”
“That’ll never pass in parliament!” Weyland responded sharply. “We get exemption from your daft firearms legislation, we practically have our own section of England anyway. Any policing is done by the Provost not your kind! That’s our Albion Right. Along with freedom of movement, which you are infringing upon right now.”
“Your ‘Albion Right?” the policeman scoffed with a sudden laugh.
“I served my time in the military, then the Yeomanry after that. I earned that right just like my father before me.”
The commissioner went passive.
“It’ll pass Weyland, the Prime Speaker’s party has the majority now in Parliament.” The passive mood changed again as the Enforcer spoke on.
“Territory or no, when it concerns this bill we’ll be coming and going as we please. What’s more is you’ll be lucky if we let half of you own a .22 rabbit rifle privately!” he laughed.
“Well if that comes to pass things will get very interesting plod,” Weyland said with a smile. ‘Plod’ was a slang term not liked by Enforcers.
“What do you mean? Are you threatening me or my men?” Junior-Commissioner said.
“I just said, things are gonna get interesting if you take on my Yeomanry. The Colonels will take you down again if you push us.”
Brown brooded now and stared at the fair-haired Yeoman with angry thoughts. His hazel eyes seemed to cloud and veins showed on a furrowed brow.
“Well the debate has been entertaining, but I have to ask, am I free to leave now?”
This caused the Commissioner to lose his temper. “No! You bloody-well stay here until I say so!”
It was Weyland’s turn to laugh.
“Well in that case, I consider myself a prisoner then. Which means: 62505 Reservist-Corporal Weyland, blood group AB-Negative...” he went on to state his date of birth and said nothing more.
“Don’t give me that military crap! What work have you been doing for the Colonels?! We know you are up to something!”
Weyland’s repeated his prisoner-of-war declaration in a monologue voice and stared into space.
“Weyland! Answer me! If I have to I’ll get a judge to authorize—”
The man could not complete the words, a burst of machine-gun fire interrupted him. The terrorist attack on Heysham Ferry Terminal had begun.
Copyright - Tyler Danann
- - - Updated - - -
On a slight rise the terrorists overlooked the entire facility from their vantage point. To their left was the ferry docks, the large Stena Traveler was already half-unloaded. The large goods trucks were almost gone and soon the many Albion families would be marshalled off. In the centre was the large concrete plaza for transiting back and forth. Long lines of holiday-makers patiently waited in their cars for the boat to be ready for them. The right-hand area was the administration buildings and the Customs and Excise compound. They knew from prior knowledge only three officers were on duty, with a forth on sick leave. In their crazed and mixed-minds, their dream of a Rabian Caliphate danced over Europe. They were the tip of that spear and now yearned to spill European Christian blood.
Abdul Ephraim and his four suicide-warriors had lain watching the ferry terminal for hours waiting for the moment of attack. Timing was critical. This was not just to be an attack, it was to have a more elaborate touch. Efraim was armed with an AKM, several grenades and over two-hundred rounds of ammunition. His compatriots were likewise armed except for one armed with a PKP machine gun. Mohammed Ragi would have the special duty for the right-hand section of the operation. More ammunition was on hand in the van.
Ephraim’s handlers, now departed. They had supplied the weaponry and transported them the long way from Northern France. Instead of the heavily policed tunnel with the risk of random searches and checks, a private fishing boat had been used Their own agents had dropped off vehicles for them and it was in one of these, a Mercedes S200 that the handler’s now made their way out of the area. As they drove away around to the private-exit gate the strange-looking man suppressed an excited judder that ran through his body.
“It will be a good day for us Shieda,” he spoke to his female companion.
“The Yeoman will make a good scapegoat for when this makes the news.”
“He wasn’t supposed to be detained though, this will make framing him trickier, Efraim is up to the job though.”
“Rabian’s are scum, being assigned to them was a slur. We have much better work than agent handling such types.”
“If it means the Yeomanry are demonized by being associated with the Rabians, so much the better. The faster they are disbanded and out of the way is the better.”
“Our media contacts will film the carnage?”
“Yes, but not for a while, I don’t want to risk them getting caught up in it.”
“I wouldn’t want to be that Yeoman, Efraim has a taste for infidel blood.”
“So do you Zeneth,” Shieda joked.
“I have more class than him though, and I waste less fluids than Rabians usually,” Zeneth laughed as they passed the sign for Heysham ferry-terminal.
All being well they would be back at their safe-house within two hours and enjoying the chaotic news scenes just before tea-time.
“What’s going on? This is your doing Weyland!” the officer whined. More shots were sounding sporadically and he flinched with the sounds.
“Not me or mine, this is an attack! Get down!” Weyland kept low against a wall, making sure he was away from any windows. The next burst from the light-machine gun targeted around their building directly.
The two enforcers searching Weyland’s vehicle had completed their search and were both walking back towards the buildings back entrance. At the first sound of gun shots both were cut down, one died instantly, the other was mortally wounded. He crawled painfully to the faded-red doorway but couldn’t reach the door-handle. The next long burst from Ragi ended his pain and ripped through the single-wall of brick in several areas.
The adjoining building where ferry bookings were processed took the brunt of it and two customers and a member of staff were hit.
The Junior-Commissioner ran to the corridor doorway and raced to the exit. He naively thought the main doors were the target, he was wrong. As soon as he opened up the red doorway he had time to see his two Enforcers laying in pools of blood before he too was struck.
Weyland wasted no time once the bothersome man had left. He knew from experience that Border Custom’s buildings had a small armory. A quick scan of an office-room showed a plain cabinet with serialized weaponry on a sheet of A4 paper. The list showed, two MP5 submachine guns and a Browning HiPower and a HK G36 assault rifle.
The Yeoman tried the handle but it was predictably locked. A nearby key-press was unlocked though and he tried to calmly find the right key. A second burst of machine-gun fire seemed to directly hammer into the main office area.
“They shot me! Your men shot me!” came a voice behind him. Turning he saw the hapless Enforcer officer clutching his arm. He was pale and in a state of shock.
“They aren’t my ****ing men!” Weyland shouted. “If they were I’d already be gone, you’d be dead and there wouldn’t be all this extra racket!”
The commissioner was stunned. He was well used to an orderly life, routine and predictable outcomes. The sudden changes had him almost mentally undone. He reached for him smart phone and tried to dial 999.
“Whoever it is wants us dead and to cause mayhem,” Weyland saw the phone. “Don’t bother, by the time they get here it will be a clean-up job, others will be doing that.”
Weyland considered more conversation, perhaps he could sway the zealous commissioner to his side. Then he dismissed it, like many things Weyland was good at, being a lone-warrior was his forte. He tried the second key and it failed to turn the lock in the safe. As he reached for the third key his arm brushed against his covert body-camera. It was button mounted into his dark green jacket and had activated the moment Brown’s security team flagged him down. It carried on recorded all that Weyland faced. For the Yeoman he absently wondered if it would record his death? He was on an island that either revered or loathed armed citizens, and Heysham was in non-Albion territory and it had plenty of the latter. Then his instincts of defiance kicked in and he felt the spirit of survival call out to him.
Copyright - Tyler Danann
- - - Updated - - -
Two Rabian riflemen closed the distance towards the waiting parked vehicles and the large ferry ship beyond it. The pair were heavily equipped with grenades and managed to reach throwing range before being spotted.
The marshalling woman in a hi-vis jacket screamed a warning but chaos soon followed. The first grenade landed short of a Ford Focus, blowing its windows out, and sending waves of shrapnel everywhere. The next one rolled under a Toyota Corolla. It was devastating, the occupants were too terrified to leave and blocked in from in front and behind. Then came the explosion followed by more grenades at the other vehicles. Those at the front and rear of the columns drove away at high speed to the very edge of the docks. One car attempted sanctuary on the ferry. As the young couple on board mounted the ramp they smashed head-on into a departing van. For those trying the other direction another pair of Rabian gunmen ambushed them with a salvo of assault-rifle gunfire. Over three hundred people were trapped between the sea and the Rabian positions.
Albion had experienced tastes of terrorism before, but the Rabian ways were a newer, more grisly dish entirely.
Weyland had the G36 out of the armory along with the Browning HiPower. While the G36 used a different caliber to his L1A1 rifle the pistol was in 9mm, matching his CZ 75. Tucking the sidearm behind him in the small of his back he added a couple of spare magazines which went into his jacket pocket.
The Junior Commisioner had resumed calling 999 and was in the middle of a rambling, panic-stricken monologue. When he heard the sound of metallic noises in one of the offices he walked halfway across the main office and noticed the Yeoman.
“What are you doing? That’s restricted weaponry! You can’t touch that!” Brown said with a high-pitched shriek.
A door being kicked in sounded and distracted the attention of the policeman though. As he turned a swarthy-faced Arab entered through the internal office doorway. He was an ugly man with a big weapon. Seeing only the lone man with civilian clothes in front of him he pointed angrily directly at him
“Where’s the Yeoman!” he barked in accented English.
Brown almost soiled himself at the fear that washed over him.
“Tell me or you die Kaffir!”
As the terrorist said this another voice spoke behind him in the Rabian tongue. He stepped through the doorway and focused his attention on the weak-looking man.
The sight of a man holding his life in the balance broke any flimsy loyalty to his detainee.
“He’s over—”
Brown could not complete the words as Weyland opened fire. The machine-gunner took a three-round burst on the chest and the neck. The body armor stopped one of the bullets but the other two tore through his upper-chest and windpipe. Instinctively the stricken Rabian clutched the trigger and a long burst of fire cascaded through the office-complex. Weyland shied back around the corner into the small sub-office corner and stayed low to the ground.
After the deafening roar had subsided he tracked around the corner, aiming at whatever he saw. The untidy office was now a mess, paperwork, plastic and shards of glass littered the place. On the ground was a dying Rabian, slumped over a bloody PKP machine gun. The troublesome lawman was not moving either. He’s been blasted backwards and was face-up with his back awkwardly.
‘So much for your gun control,’ Weyland mused with dark humor.
The other gunfire had subsided and the silence worried him more now. The terrorist had asked for him specifically, meaning he was a target for them. A feeling of combative rage swished about him and the Yeoman moved forwards quietly. By avoiding major noise from the debris he reached the wall that connected to the main corridor entrance. On reaching the corridor door the Yeoman tried a ruse. He fumbled and tried the door a few times while remaining off to the side of it. Swiftly he removed his hand and arm just as a short burst of AK bullets poured through the middle of it.
Going to the floor next to the doorway Weyland jammed his Browning against the bottom of the doors base and aimed one-handed. He fired three times through it into the corridor where danger lurked and was rewarded with a yelp of pain. He fired four more times then ripped open the door, while keeping his body clear. No gunfire came and he jerk-looked around the corner next. No sign of the other Arab was there either but the far door was open and a blood trail was noticeable.
He could hear shouts and screams but Weyland kept his cool, carefully exiting the outer doorway. He saw two armed men distantly firing towards the ferry. They didn’t aim properly and seemed to be spraying their gunfire. Off to his left the man he’d injured moved further and further to the fenceline. From the way he stumbled and clutched at his right arm it looked like he’d been hit twice. Weyland raised his G36 carbine but as he aimed the Rabian unexpectedly fell down. Slowly though the tenacious movements of him crawling towards a van became apparent.
Weyland knew if he pursued the man he’d catch him but if he opened fire he’d risk the other gunmen being alerted. Then there was the casualties being inflicted by them upon helpless civilians. A third choice seemed to taunt at him — escape!
His Land Rover Defender was close to try that option, but the welcoming green machine seemed to take on the stain of cowardice. With no time to dig out his cased rifle in the Defender he moved in towards the gunfire. By circling via the fence he managed to completely re-flank the sound of battle. He was breathing well thanks to the rivers of adrenaline cycling through him. Weyland advanced a little ways further and now faced the opposition on the extreme left of the ferry quayside.
Copyright - Tyler Danann
It's also very anti-PC
and maybe a touch 'wacist' "Tolerance and apathy are the last virtues of a dying society"
- Aristotle 384 BC – 322 BC
Prologue
It was a fine sunny day in the English countryside, the following previous ones of showery drizzle. For several days now the military base, deep in Bedfordshire basked in the heat of late summer.
From the base, situated at the top of a hill the lay of the land was noticeable. Off to the east three distant figures left a blue Ford Escort and entered the ancient forest. A young, confident blonde led the way followed by a slightly older man and a dark-haired woman. All of them were in their twenties and wore the olive drab uniforms of the British Army. Once they were deep in the forest the confident one turned back to the other two.
“This is far enough.” she said smiling her body full of warmth.
“What have you brought us here for?” asked the brunette.
“This wood is an ancient forest, there’s not many left in England these days. It’s perfect for us to make to pact before the old oak trees.”
“A pact?” the young man answered rolling his eyes and looking to the other girl skeptically.
“Well, we’ll be going our separate ways soon, we could end up never seeing each other again. I want us to make a pact, one that helps bring us back together again. That way, no matter what happens, we’ll always find each other again in future times.”
The brunette nodded and grinned in agreement. “Sounds like witchcraft,” she laughed brazenly.
“It’s folk magic, in the olden times people did this all the time. Now what do you both say?”
“You always were the space cadet, but I’m game,” the other woman said.
“Me too,” the man said with a chuckle. “I don’t want us to remain parted forever after the fun times we’ve had. If this pact helps, I’m all for it.”
“Alright! This will take a few minutes.”
The blonde woman smiled again before producing a Wiccan knife and began speaking ancient words and oaths. The atmosphere grew serious though and even the bird song and outside noise grew faint somehow. After facing the oak and raising her hands she spoke some more before making a shallow wrist cut on herself. She wiped her cut on the side of a nearby oak tree. Then made a similar cut on the tall man and finally the dark-haired woman. The ritual concluded with both making separate blood-marks on the oak tree in a manner so that they circled and almost touched one another.
The folk magic concluded with a prayer then the somber feeling in the clearing lifted.
“That was pretty intense,” the man said, accepting a tissue from the witch to dab at his wrist. The brunette did likewise.
“We’re joined now,” she answered. “If there’s danger, strife or troubled times in the world we’ll hopefully be reunited. This is to remain a secret, if we tell anyone outside of ourselves the pact could go terribly wrong.”
They all agreed to this and together they hastened to leave the forest before they were missed. After re-entering the blue Escort they departed the area.
The
Yeoman
Chapter 1
Person of Interest
Yeoman
Chapter 1
Person of Interest
“So what's your business been in Ireland then?” The Junior Commissioner asked the Yeoman.
“Oh not much, just driving around,” the Yeoman answered.
“Just driving around?”
“That’s right.”
“Where did you stay?”
“Various places,” the Yeoman said, “when I was driving around.”
“I was expecting an address? A residence?
There was a long pause as the Yeoman ignored the question.
It was a brightly colored room and the plain day outside might as well have been a world away. For the occupants of the room it was one man in a three-piece suit and the other in well-worn plain clothes. The Yeoman was not in uniform, but he felt as if he ought to be. Outside the steady rumble of heavy goods lorries could be heard. Heysham Ferry Terminal was always busy during offloading, but soon the noise would fade. By that time and for many more hours he could remain detained. He wondered if the anti-terror team rooting into his vehicle outside had found anything. As a reservist member of the Yeomanry he'd be automatically on their radar. It was no secret that the Colonels were disgruntled with the new coalition regime. The registration of his Land Rover Defender would have been tied to his Reservist status, which in turn would have automatically flagged him up as a gun-owner.
“Eric Weyland do you have an address in Ireland?” the small man’s tone became harsher.
The Yeoman shook his head. “I wasn’t expecting a welcoming party on my return to Albion. Neither was I expecting a nameless Commissar to be asking me questions,” the Yeoman retorted.
“My name is Junior Commissioner Brown,” the older man stressed, annoyed at Weyland’s jibe. “Now why were you in Ireland Eric?”
“Just visiting the country,” the man responded.
As the Junior Commissioner looked over the file he turned the pages slowly. His person of interest was thirty-eight years old, a shade over six-foot tall. Unlike a fair few men his age he showed no sign of drugs or drink abuse. His skin and eyes were clear and he moved with an athletic laziness, as if he was conserving his energy until it was most needed.
Weyland knew the border-interrogator had him on ‘suspicion of external activities’. It was a recent law that allowed police investigations for border travelers on the flimsiest whim. Since the great land-slide election of a rabidly left-wing government things had been changing. It had been nearly a year since they took power and already things were going backwards again.
It had been good times for people like Weyland in the past thirty-years. He was born just after the short but decisive Colonels Coup that started the rift throughout the land. A hard-right government that followed, backed by the military. Nearly twenty years of this had undone much of the lunacy of the previous governments. Even so, the rot was so deep the reform was being constantly undermined by scheming politicians. Many made up a supposedly pro-nationalist coalition.
Weyland had heard the call to arms ten years ago on the eve of the brief, but bloody Colonels War. The firmly hard-right-wing government that followed effectively reversed the worst of the issues ailing the island. The professional politicians were done away with, a manufacturing industry was restored and the military reformed to being more resource-orientated and island-centric. Most important of all, a power-base away from London, in northern England, was established. Thus giving the Yeomanry a check and balance on London’s stranglehold.
A Volunteer Force independent from the powers-that-be complimented a mandatory conscription. That became the Yeomanry and, following completion of the conscription system, allowed a new standing army of volunteers. Many of the former conscripts transferred to the Yeomanry rangers, armored troops and air-force but not Weyland. He had a different calling that saw him despatched overseas. Three years passed while he was gone and the winds of change blew once again. The hard-line government, under threat of sanctions from more powerful countries formed a centrist Coalition with other political parties. There were no sanctions against Albion territories but it crippled the ultra-conservative leadership. The left-wing, always masters at winning over the young, had a field day. Once ‘their’ generation came of age the results became clear.
High on the office wall a picture of the new Prime Speaker Veitch grinned down at Weyland like a mocking Hyena.
“So whereabouts in Ireland did you travel Eric?”
“Am I free to leave?” Weyland responded plainly with a bored tone.
“We just have to complete our search first,” the man said smoothly, “Then there’s also the Anti-Terrorist Act that we used to… initiate our inquiries with you.” The Commissioner spoke the last part rather smugly.
Weyland looked down at the black and white slip on the table. It reminded him that, thanks to the new powers granted last year in the parliament, coastal and airport security had the power to detain anyone they felt was under suspicion of what they deemed ‘terrorist activities’. It went on to state that he could be held for a maximum of nine hours and items he held could be confiscated for as long as two weeks.
What perplexed the Yeoman was the fact a junior-commissioner was the man doing the talking. Normally a police sergeant or detective did border interviews. Why such a high-rank?
A uniformed policeman in through the door he’d entered. It led to a corridor and another door barred the way outside.
“He’s got a crossbow under the driving seat!” he said to Brown who looked over at Weyland.
“That’s not against the law,” he replied, causing the commander to shake his head at his underling who stomped out the door, obviously disgruntled that nothing was going down that avenue.
“There’s a bill in parliament being tabled to outlaw those you know?” The interviewer goaded.
“I wonder what they’ll outlaw next? Your own batons perhaps?” he retorted with a smile causing the man to flush.
“Those are already—” the Enforcer began to say before realizing the man meant they’d be outlawed to Enforcers. A notion he found ridiculous.
“Are traveling with your self-loading rifle?” The policeman asked, referencing the weapon every member of the Yeomanry was armed with.
“Of course, it’s stowed behind the driver’s seat.”
“With ammunition?”
“It’s not much good without it now is it?”
The short man perused the shipping manifest before taking a headmaster’s tone. “I don’t have any record from the ferry company of your firearm or ammo.”
“Of course not, it’s not a legal requirement to notify them. I have to leave my vehicle unattended while on that ferry, you can be sure I’m not telling the ferry crew what’s in my vehicle.”
Weyland took out his Firearms Exemption Authority from his wallet with a satisfied smile and slid it across to Brown.
Like many Yeomanry policies counter to Britain’s draconian weapons laws the validity of the authority was to the year 9999. Additionally it was transferable to members of his family, even fellow Yeomanry with an officers signature. In essence it was a theoretically unlimited and a subtle ‘up yours’ to any police harassment. The Commissioner looked at it briefly with disdain before sliding it back across the table.
“I’m gonna be straight with you Weyland, I don’t like you. I’ve read your file, looked at your reports, you have a problem with how this country is being run.”
“This country is being run by traitors and seditious pukes again. A blind man can see that.”
“They were democratically elected! Unlike the coup that messed this country about thirty years ago.”
“That was by consent, endorsed by the working and middle-class folk sick and tired of being abused by the idiots in Parliament.”
“Consent? I didn’t consent or agree!” Brown countered but Weyland spoke as if he’d not even heard him.
“If it wasn’t for the coup there would have been a rebellion from the other factions of the military, then you’d really have seen a bloodbath!”
“What about the police that were executed then? The politicians! The media-directors! The bankers! They lined them up against a wall and murdered them! Those are your Colonels actions.”
“I would have done it differently, sparing them death, but one way or another high-ranking traitors get what they deserve. They were enemy agents and that was proven!”
“You’re crazy, that’s not how we should do things!”
“Yes it is, you’re just too chicken-hearted to accept me telling it like it is.”
“Rubbish. We know you’ve been traveling around Weyland, the Americans, Asia Pacific areas. We don’t want you filling young minds over here with any nonsense.”
“Corrupt is it? The Jade people call it the Divine Mandate, it allows lethal force to manifest against those that wish ill-will on the local populace of a nation or people. People had forgotten this in the West, but not when the Colonels reminded folk of it! Over in the USA they fought a war for seven years to stay free from a tyrannical monarchy. So if that’s nonsense to you then you are obviously a half-wit or just trying to wind me up. Which is it?”
The words flowed like a torrent of water from the Yeoman, stinging Commissioner Brown. The Commissioner knew from the files that Weyland was intelligent, a rabble-rouser and debater, able to speak with others. It was surely why the Colonels had sent him overseas. The question that eluded him, MI6 intelligence and even foreign intelligence was why?
“Why do you plot against this island?”
The Yeoman smiled enigmatically but said nothing, needling Brown who stared hard at the eyes that didn’t even look at him. A glassy-zeal or sheen seemed to radiate from them, something that conventional threats could not blunt. Weyland was a fanatic in his eyes, the sort of man who would kill others and not be afraid to make light of it. There was an intensity to his icy blue eyes, it reminded him of a stormtrooper just on the eve of an assault or perhaps a pilot about to dive-bomb an enemy position. Nothing seemed to sway him. Like a sudden turn of the weather, he was calm again.
“Look, I don’t have a problem with you Enforcers as a rule. I don’t really hate anyone typically, even the traitors, but when things are out of order, Things have to happen.”
The commissioner went passive and held his hands up briefly.
‘Let the fool talk,’ thought the commissioner. ‘He’ll tell us what we know now he’s begun rambling.’
“You know if it wasn’t for people like the Yeomanry we’d have been invaded and conquered by the immigrant hordes many times over. The Colonels know the score and speak out about it.”
“The Yeomanry acts like a private army traipsing about this country though. Most of all though, it’s the fact you have carte blanch to wield military grade weapons. That’s a bit much isn’t it Eric?”
“You only say that because your police tyranny was hamstrung by the Colonels Mr Brown. In the words of my old Colonel ‘Too many traitors in high places, starting from Junior Commissioner upwards.’”
“You don’t think it’s outdated to have a militia bullying the police and shooting them during a coup?”
“It’s never an outdated thing to have protection, the Yeomanry serve as a check-and-balance on the tyrannical powers of the police state.”
“That’s nonsense, the police force protect people, chase criminals and investigate law-breakers.”
“Good, then leave the Yeomanry to be the Yeomanry and concentrate on people actually breaking the law, not this thought-crime and harassment.”
“You know when the firearms laws in this country were lax we had a man go on a spree killing in Wiltshire. He reminded me of a Yeomanry type.”
“He had illegal weapons and was a rogue Gladio operative according to the Colonels. Those were government guys trained to fight if we were invaded, except a few got ideas of their own. One went nuts because his meds were bad and he was spurned by a woman who surprised him in a forest.”
“Rubbish,” the commissioner said.
“If people had the firearm rights we Yeomanry have now, spree killers like him would have been cut to pieces on sight.”
“We don’t trust you Weyland, not me, not the High Commissioners, not the Prime Speaker! We don’t want to take a chance for your Yeomanry to go on the rampage. I don’t understand your stupid gun rights, I think you Yeomanry are a relic, a piece of history from when warfare was a way of life in Europe.”
“The feeling is mutual. Yeomanry can help if the country is ever invaded. A professional police force would likely panic, go home and even collaborate with the enemy.”
“Don’t you insult my police force! The regular army is for anti-invasion measures, not your lot.”
“Our regular army fought for overseas security when we had an empire, then for overseas interests. At least now, following the Colonels War they are overseas keeping the oil lanes clear with the navy. The Yeomanry are more equipped than a regular reservist would be thanks to your gun laws.”
“My police force can do your job, we have firearms too you know.”
“And we could do yours a lot better than forcing people into rooms to be asked stupid questions.”
The officer ignored Weyland and spoke on.
“There’s another bill going through parliament this winter, it’s called the Yeomanry Amendment Act. The High Commissioner personally oversaw it.”
“Are we getting a pay rise?” Weyland asked sarcastically.
“Very funny Weyland, your kind need to be put on a leash. It’s time for checks and balances,” the enforcer smiled with dirty, coffee-stained teeth.
“Oh really?”
“Yes, really, we’re getting new powers you see. All your firearms, munitions, armored cars and aircraft will be licensed and regulated! Every county in Albion is getting a new police chief to oversee and individually authorize each part. It won’t be anything like the FEA licenses or section nine authority permits the Colonels write out like fag-paper either. We’ll be vetting the entire Yeomanry independently and unless it’s essential for target practice all your weapons are gonna be under lock and key. Under OUR lock and key.”
“That’ll never pass in parliament!” Weyland responded sharply. “We get exemption from your daft firearms legislation, we practically have our own section of England anyway. Any policing is done by the Provost not your kind! That’s our Albion Right. Along with freedom of movement, which you are infringing upon right now.”
“Your ‘Albion Right?” the policeman scoffed with a sudden laugh.
“I served my time in the military, then the Yeomanry after that. I earned that right just like my father before me.”
The commissioner went passive.
“It’ll pass Weyland, the Prime Speaker’s party has the majority now in Parliament.” The passive mood changed again as the Enforcer spoke on.
“Territory or no, when it concerns this bill we’ll be coming and going as we please. What’s more is you’ll be lucky if we let half of you own a .22 rabbit rifle privately!” he laughed.
“Well if that comes to pass things will get very interesting plod,” Weyland said with a smile. ‘Plod’ was a slang term not liked by Enforcers.
“What do you mean? Are you threatening me or my men?” Junior-Commissioner said.
“I just said, things are gonna get interesting if you take on my Yeomanry. The Colonels will take you down again if you push us.”
Brown brooded now and stared at the fair-haired Yeoman with angry thoughts. His hazel eyes seemed to cloud and veins showed on a furrowed brow.
“Well the debate has been entertaining, but I have to ask, am I free to leave now?”
This caused the Commissioner to lose his temper. “No! You bloody-well stay here until I say so!”
It was Weyland’s turn to laugh.
“Well in that case, I consider myself a prisoner then. Which means: 62505 Reservist-Corporal Weyland, blood group AB-Negative...” he went on to state his date of birth and said nothing more.
“Don’t give me that military crap! What work have you been doing for the Colonels?! We know you are up to something!”
Weyland’s repeated his prisoner-of-war declaration in a monologue voice and stared into space.
“Weyland! Answer me! If I have to I’ll get a judge to authorize—”
The man could not complete the words, a burst of machine-gun fire interrupted him. The terrorist attack on Heysham Ferry Terminal had begun.
Copyright - Tyler Danann
- - - Updated - - -
On a slight rise the terrorists overlooked the entire facility from their vantage point. To their left was the ferry docks, the large Stena Traveler was already half-unloaded. The large goods trucks were almost gone and soon the many Albion families would be marshalled off. In the centre was the large concrete plaza for transiting back and forth. Long lines of holiday-makers patiently waited in their cars for the boat to be ready for them. The right-hand area was the administration buildings and the Customs and Excise compound. They knew from prior knowledge only three officers were on duty, with a forth on sick leave. In their crazed and mixed-minds, their dream of a Rabian Caliphate danced over Europe. They were the tip of that spear and now yearned to spill European Christian blood.
Abdul Ephraim and his four suicide-warriors had lain watching the ferry terminal for hours waiting for the moment of attack. Timing was critical. This was not just to be an attack, it was to have a more elaborate touch. Efraim was armed with an AKM, several grenades and over two-hundred rounds of ammunition. His compatriots were likewise armed except for one armed with a PKP machine gun. Mohammed Ragi would have the special duty for the right-hand section of the operation. More ammunition was on hand in the van.
Ephraim’s handlers, now departed. They had supplied the weaponry and transported them the long way from Northern France. Instead of the heavily policed tunnel with the risk of random searches and checks, a private fishing boat had been used Their own agents had dropped off vehicles for them and it was in one of these, a Mercedes S200 that the handler’s now made their way out of the area. As they drove away around to the private-exit gate the strange-looking man suppressed an excited judder that ran through his body.
“It will be a good day for us Shieda,” he spoke to his female companion.
“The Yeoman will make a good scapegoat for when this makes the news.”
“He wasn’t supposed to be detained though, this will make framing him trickier, Efraim is up to the job though.”
“Rabian’s are scum, being assigned to them was a slur. We have much better work than agent handling such types.”
“If it means the Yeomanry are demonized by being associated with the Rabians, so much the better. The faster they are disbanded and out of the way is the better.”
“Our media contacts will film the carnage?”
“Yes, but not for a while, I don’t want to risk them getting caught up in it.”
“I wouldn’t want to be that Yeoman, Efraim has a taste for infidel blood.”
“So do you Zeneth,” Shieda joked.
“I have more class than him though, and I waste less fluids than Rabians usually,” Zeneth laughed as they passed the sign for Heysham ferry-terminal.
All being well they would be back at their safe-house within two hours and enjoying the chaotic news scenes just before tea-time.
“What’s going on? This is your doing Weyland!” the officer whined. More shots were sounding sporadically and he flinched with the sounds.
“Not me or mine, this is an attack! Get down!” Weyland kept low against a wall, making sure he was away from any windows. The next burst from the light-machine gun targeted around their building directly.
The two enforcers searching Weyland’s vehicle had completed their search and were both walking back towards the buildings back entrance. At the first sound of gun shots both were cut down, one died instantly, the other was mortally wounded. He crawled painfully to the faded-red doorway but couldn’t reach the door-handle. The next long burst from Ragi ended his pain and ripped through the single-wall of brick in several areas.
The adjoining building where ferry bookings were processed took the brunt of it and two customers and a member of staff were hit.
The Junior-Commissioner ran to the corridor doorway and raced to the exit. He naively thought the main doors were the target, he was wrong. As soon as he opened up the red doorway he had time to see his two Enforcers laying in pools of blood before he too was struck.
Weyland wasted no time once the bothersome man had left. He knew from experience that Border Custom’s buildings had a small armory. A quick scan of an office-room showed a plain cabinet with serialized weaponry on a sheet of A4 paper. The list showed, two MP5 submachine guns and a Browning HiPower and a HK G36 assault rifle.
The Yeoman tried the handle but it was predictably locked. A nearby key-press was unlocked though and he tried to calmly find the right key. A second burst of machine-gun fire seemed to directly hammer into the main office area.
“They shot me! Your men shot me!” came a voice behind him. Turning he saw the hapless Enforcer officer clutching his arm. He was pale and in a state of shock.
“They aren’t my ****ing men!” Weyland shouted. “If they were I’d already be gone, you’d be dead and there wouldn’t be all this extra racket!”
The commissioner was stunned. He was well used to an orderly life, routine and predictable outcomes. The sudden changes had him almost mentally undone. He reached for him smart phone and tried to dial 999.
“Whoever it is wants us dead and to cause mayhem,” Weyland saw the phone. “Don’t bother, by the time they get here it will be a clean-up job, others will be doing that.”
Weyland considered more conversation, perhaps he could sway the zealous commissioner to his side. Then he dismissed it, like many things Weyland was good at, being a lone-warrior was his forte. He tried the second key and it failed to turn the lock in the safe. As he reached for the third key his arm brushed against his covert body-camera. It was button mounted into his dark green jacket and had activated the moment Brown’s security team flagged him down. It carried on recorded all that Weyland faced. For the Yeoman he absently wondered if it would record his death? He was on an island that either revered or loathed armed citizens, and Heysham was in non-Albion territory and it had plenty of the latter. Then his instincts of defiance kicked in and he felt the spirit of survival call out to him.
Copyright - Tyler Danann
- - - Updated - - -
Two Rabian riflemen closed the distance towards the waiting parked vehicles and the large ferry ship beyond it. The pair were heavily equipped with grenades and managed to reach throwing range before being spotted.
The marshalling woman in a hi-vis jacket screamed a warning but chaos soon followed. The first grenade landed short of a Ford Focus, blowing its windows out, and sending waves of shrapnel everywhere. The next one rolled under a Toyota Corolla. It was devastating, the occupants were too terrified to leave and blocked in from in front and behind. Then came the explosion followed by more grenades at the other vehicles. Those at the front and rear of the columns drove away at high speed to the very edge of the docks. One car attempted sanctuary on the ferry. As the young couple on board mounted the ramp they smashed head-on into a departing van. For those trying the other direction another pair of Rabian gunmen ambushed them with a salvo of assault-rifle gunfire. Over three hundred people were trapped between the sea and the Rabian positions.
Albion had experienced tastes of terrorism before, but the Rabian ways were a newer, more grisly dish entirely.
Weyland had the G36 out of the armory along with the Browning HiPower. While the G36 used a different caliber to his L1A1 rifle the pistol was in 9mm, matching his CZ 75. Tucking the sidearm behind him in the small of his back he added a couple of spare magazines which went into his jacket pocket.
The Junior Commisioner had resumed calling 999 and was in the middle of a rambling, panic-stricken monologue. When he heard the sound of metallic noises in one of the offices he walked halfway across the main office and noticed the Yeoman.
“What are you doing? That’s restricted weaponry! You can’t touch that!” Brown said with a high-pitched shriek.
A door being kicked in sounded and distracted the attention of the policeman though. As he turned a swarthy-faced Arab entered through the internal office doorway. He was an ugly man with a big weapon. Seeing only the lone man with civilian clothes in front of him he pointed angrily directly at him
“Where’s the Yeoman!” he barked in accented English.
Brown almost soiled himself at the fear that washed over him.
“Tell me or you die Kaffir!”
As the terrorist said this another voice spoke behind him in the Rabian tongue. He stepped through the doorway and focused his attention on the weak-looking man.
The sight of a man holding his life in the balance broke any flimsy loyalty to his detainee.
“He’s over—”
Brown could not complete the words as Weyland opened fire. The machine-gunner took a three-round burst on the chest and the neck. The body armor stopped one of the bullets but the other two tore through his upper-chest and windpipe. Instinctively the stricken Rabian clutched the trigger and a long burst of fire cascaded through the office-complex. Weyland shied back around the corner into the small sub-office corner and stayed low to the ground.
After the deafening roar had subsided he tracked around the corner, aiming at whatever he saw. The untidy office was now a mess, paperwork, plastic and shards of glass littered the place. On the ground was a dying Rabian, slumped over a bloody PKP machine gun. The troublesome lawman was not moving either. He’s been blasted backwards and was face-up with his back awkwardly.
‘So much for your gun control,’ Weyland mused with dark humor.
The other gunfire had subsided and the silence worried him more now. The terrorist had asked for him specifically, meaning he was a target for them. A feeling of combative rage swished about him and the Yeoman moved forwards quietly. By avoiding major noise from the debris he reached the wall that connected to the main corridor entrance. On reaching the corridor door the Yeoman tried a ruse. He fumbled and tried the door a few times while remaining off to the side of it. Swiftly he removed his hand and arm just as a short burst of AK bullets poured through the middle of it.
Going to the floor next to the doorway Weyland jammed his Browning against the bottom of the doors base and aimed one-handed. He fired three times through it into the corridor where danger lurked and was rewarded with a yelp of pain. He fired four more times then ripped open the door, while keeping his body clear. No gunfire came and he jerk-looked around the corner next. No sign of the other Arab was there either but the far door was open and a blood trail was noticeable.
He could hear shouts and screams but Weyland kept his cool, carefully exiting the outer doorway. He saw two armed men distantly firing towards the ferry. They didn’t aim properly and seemed to be spraying their gunfire. Off to his left the man he’d injured moved further and further to the fenceline. From the way he stumbled and clutched at his right arm it looked like he’d been hit twice. Weyland raised his G36 carbine but as he aimed the Rabian unexpectedly fell down. Slowly though the tenacious movements of him crawling towards a van became apparent.
Weyland knew if he pursued the man he’d catch him but if he opened fire he’d risk the other gunmen being alerted. Then there was the casualties being inflicted by them upon helpless civilians. A third choice seemed to taunt at him — escape!
His Land Rover Defender was close to try that option, but the welcoming green machine seemed to take on the stain of cowardice. With no time to dig out his cased rifle in the Defender he moved in towards the gunfire. By circling via the fence he managed to completely re-flank the sound of battle. He was breathing well thanks to the rivers of adrenaline cycling through him. Weyland advanced a little ways further and now faced the opposition on the extreme left of the ferry quayside.
Copyright - Tyler Danann
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