The Yeoman: Crying Albion Series - Book 1 (3 page)

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 aimed
around the corner, tracking the carbine at whatever he saw before him. 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 twisted 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 fence line. From the way he stumbled
and clutched at his right arm it looked like he’d been hit at least once.
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 a fair of catching 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
his vehicle he moved in towards the gunfire. By circling via the fence he managed
to completely 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 reached the extreme left of the ferry
quayside.

The ferry area and
especially the parked cars was chaos, people were dead or dying. Five cars were
in flames and two more wrecked by explosions. Still the blood-lust of the
terrorists was not satisfied. There were still many survivors left and the
attack was far from over. Once they were slain, the terrorists planned to move
in against the ferry. Its ramp was still down and made for an enticing sight.

Abu
Halabi
reloaded
for the fourth time, he was halfway through his ammunition panoply and feeling
righteous in his killings. His ISIS brother uttered gleeful invocations and
prayers as he fired on and on.

“Allah Akbar,
Allllaah
Akbar,” he said with guttural splendour. Suddenly movement became apparent to
them. Two women, young and old went down as he sent half a magazine into them
both. They had made a break for it and now few wanted to break cover from their
vehicles, lest they become easy prey for the prowling
Rabians
.
As the junior leader of them saw them fall he mentally felt a rush of
excitement. Then the ferry ship’s ramp began closing and he shouted loudly in
Rabian
to advance on the ship.

“Allah
Ak
—” his
comrade began to answer.

The sudden break in his pattern of speaking
caused
Halabi
to turn, he had time to see his brother
slumping over. The terrorist shouted a warning noise before more shots rang out,
cutting down the dark-skinned man.

The Yeoman, partly concealed from a low fold
in the ground, shot again and again with his G36. His follow-up shots
despatched
Halabi
, who fell dying, partly obscured by
a concrete bollard.

Only two minutes earlier
Weyland
had crawled low like a frenzied leopard after choosing to take on the gunmen. After
being satisfied they were no danger he waited for the moment. With the
iron-sights he watched and saw further danger. Another
Rabian
emerged from their ambush position and
Weyland
kept
his cool. A second man followed the first. They were now less brave now on
seeing their dead comrades. It was one thing to slaughter unarmed civilians
with bullets and grenades but facing armed opponents unnerved them.

Weyland
shot the biggest one of the two with three rounds, he went down
like a sack of potatoes. The second saw the Yeoman though and fired back at him
while howling. An experienced enemy would have rushed for cover to engage in a
firefight, the last terrorist charged forwards instead. He made it ten yards
across the open ground, firing from the hip before
Weyland
shot him down. The Yeoman heard impacts nearby but was unharmed by the AKM’s
gunfire.

Remembering the last terrorist who had been
running away the soldier swivelled to see a distant van racing away to the
south.
Weyland
shot off the last of his magazine in a
futile attempt to bring it to a halt, but the range was too great and the
carbine not up to the task. The weapon’s internal bolt held-open on empty and
still the dark blue van drove on.

Ephraim had escaped and the Yeoman knew he
had to be away too, as much as it grieved him to leave without helping the
others. He had a mission and if he tarried the authorities would surely cast
him into detention. The sounds of firing had all ceased. He attempted a still
picture of the almost vanished vehicle but discovered his body camera had
stopped recording.
Weyland
hoped the battery had only
recently failed, not that it would have shown much anyway, given his mostly prone
position.

The Yeoman stood up carefully left just as
the survivors were emerging from their hiding places. To several it was clear
he was the one who had saved them. He waved briefly and called out that help
would be on its way before moving rapidly towards his Land Rover. He’d parked
it on the very edge of the parking area, keeping it from most of the
machine-gun fire. Apart from a bullet nick in the back corner it was unharmed. Before
climbing inside he had a sudden thought and retrieved the folder Brown had been
glancing at. Inside the front-cover was a picture of him taken from his
military record with notes and annotations. Without time to read any more he
returned to his vehicle and checked his L1A5 SLR was still in its case. It was,
as were about two hundred rounds of ammunition in ten magazines.
Weyland
stowed the G36 next to it and removed the Browning
from the holster.

As he made to leave the dead police he drove
around sent a weird feeling of guilt and responsibility trespassed into him. The
memory of the terrorists asking for him in the building made him realize he
perhaps was the main reason or at least an influence for the bloody attack?

Was he indirectly responsible for their
deaths?

Weyland
didn’t think so, if the foolish idiot called Brown had not detained
him he’d have been on his way south unburdened.

He exited the ferry terminal and turned
south-east just as the sounds of the police response unit became audible.

‘They’ll be from Lancaster,’ he thought confidently
to himself. ‘I hope they don’t try and pin all this mess on me.’

As the convoy of police vehicles came into
view a feeling of fatalism came over him. A Land Rover Defender was a match for
few vehicles in terms of speed or acceleration. His mental state was that of a wary
wolf and
Weyland
was prepared to fight if they tried
to stop his vehicle. The treatment of the authorities of him was not forgotten,
despite their casualties.
Weyland
suspected the dead
or dying Commissioner Brown may have never intended to release him if he had
his way.

The lead Enforcer of the police convoy paid
little attention to the slow Land Rover trundling along as it approached. They
had no report on a green Land Rover, only that shots had been fired and
casualties reported at
Heysham
ferry terminal. They
drove past him without slowing down. It was only an hour later when they viewed
the surveillance tapes that they saw the
Rabians
, the
carnage and the Yeoman warrior in action. His green off-road vehicle was
immediately flagged up for interception.

The Yeoman drove on towards Yorkshire,
avoiding the motorways and using only the A-Roads. His vehicle was not
registered to his home address. Instead it was listed under the Yeomanry
barracks in the next town from him. For now Eric
Weyland
was off the radar.

Chapter
2

Crossroads

Within two hours
of the
Heysham
attack the media-machine was going
into overdrive. Complete coverage was being displayed on all major channels. Emergency
services attempted to do what they could but the injuries were nasty. The
terrorists had used expanding ammunition making bullet-wounds even more
devastating. Deadly explosives meant some maiming and crippling was a terrible
burden to the injured. As they worked and toiled among the vehicles the announced
death toll grew and grew.

First it was twenty-eight, then
thirty, forty-eight before stabilizing on fifty two fatalities. Over fifty more
were wounded, with dozens of them in a serious condition. Goggle-eyed watchers
saw the whole circus of reporters, journalists and news anchors go into an
emotional roller-coaster as a version of events slowly trickled out.

The surveillance cameras showed
a lone, white civilian with an assault rifle opening fire while laying down.
The quality of the cameras was less than five megapixels, keeping him from
being facially identified. Yet the camera’s did not show his targeting the now dead
Rabians
, nor did they show him waving to the
civilians as he departed.

By the time
Weyland
had reached his valley farm house the High Commissioner was reporting him as
the leader of a terrorist attack. After shaking his head at the news reports
coming in on the
Freeview
TV,
Weyland
wasted
no time. He immediately attempted to contact Colonel Seymour on the secure
line. The duty Yeoman, Sergeant Chris Payne, answered explaining the Colonel
was away from the base. He listened as
Weyland
delivered his hasty report.

“Things are moving very fast now
Eric, word from the Hereward barracks is they’ve got two police convoys blockading
the place. So don’t show up there whatever you do.”

“By the stars what are they
going after us for? It’s
Rabian’s
that did the
attack.”

“They want us dead Eric, they’ll
try anything to take us down and making us look bad is the start of it. We
might have our own turf, but the police can come and go as they please when
they want to.”

“I didn’t think it would be this
soon. Dammit I was almost ready to—” He cut himself from saying the rest. That
would be for the Colonels ears only.

The Duty Operator hesitated then
spoke on.

“Look they want to access the Yeomanry
database, but the Company Commander’s not caving-in. He’s at the gate trying to
negotiate them to leave. Fat chance of that though.”

“The Enforcers must know they
won’t win a fight against us?”

“Probably, but we intercepted another
transmission that they are trying to get reinforcements from the south. More
than likely regular army guys with a general from London. They’ll bring armor
with them to try and crash the gates more than likely.”

“They don’t have the authority
though, Albion is separate territory and not under their jurisdiction.”

“The Home Office can over-rule our
territory in some cases though. If they hand over a royal search warrant with a
general’s authority, they get access. Otherwise we end up with a battle and
that could start a civil war.”

“Dammit, this house is
compromised then,”
Weyland
said grimly. His heart
felt oppressed, like a weight was falling from London onto his world.

“You have some time, it depends
on the Commander, he may purge or safeguard your data. Safeguard your records
at your location, bug out from and come quickly to The Estates. DON’T use your
main travel vehicle unless you have to, I suspect they have the plates.”

“Roger that, I’ll get on it.”

“Good luck mate.”

Weyland
put the phone down as the feeling of oppression now felt even closer than
before. The thought of them searching his house twisted in his guts. The
invasion of privacy was one thing but the knowledge that they’d confiscate and
possibly ‘lose’ items grinded him even more.

“They aren’t going to invade my
world, not like this anyway,” he said decisively then rushed into action.

Weyland
spent the next thirty minutes packing supplies and gear into his Land Rover. Another
fifteen minutes saw a three-quarter ton trailer loaded up as well. He was
playing with fire taking the extra time of storing all his valuables and
equipment away from the farm house, but he refused to let them have their way
with his gear and possessions.

His farmhouse was part of a
twenty acre property and it took him five minutes of driving to get to a
sprawling forest. It was here that his main cache of stores was hidden. He
opened up a carefully concealed steel hatch concreted into the ground. Then, using
a rope and the ladder he unloaded everything down into it. When he lowered down
the last box the cache was nearly stacked up to the very hatch itself. By the
time he’d climbed back in to his Defender the Yeoman was exhausted. Nearly an
hour and a half had elapsed. One last sweep of the house saw him bag up any
compromising material. Pictures of he and his fiancée, her jewelry and an
office drawer containing all his paperwork went into a spare duffel bag.
Opening his gun cabinet he removed his CZ 75 P1 sidearm which went into a
military holster. A
Benelli
M4 shotgun was normally
present but that was at Hereward Barracks in the armory there.

All that remained was his rifle,
the weapons from the ferry port, his bug-out bag and some vehicle stores. He
got into his Audi Quattro having loaded most of the gear into the boot. Before
he left in the new vehicle he drove his
Landrover
deep into the woods, far off his land. By using a folding bicycle that was
stored in the back he was able to pedal back to his farm house again. After
collapsing it and packing it in with the other stuff he almost gave into the
urge to rest. Pushing the temptation aside
Weyland
felt satisfied but near the limit of his body’s capacity, both mentally and
physically.

The Audi’s engine started with a
slight delay but that was understandable given his absence while in Ireland. As
Weyland
left his home behind he wondered if he’d ever
see it again, the world was changing. He felt like being on board a submarine,
barely eluding a task-force that wanted him dead or alive.

It was a one hour drive to
secretive Estates that the Colonels tended to frequent. For the first ten
minutes as he made his way down the country lanes he expected to face a police
convoy. Once he reached the A1 though all was well. Only when he passed a
police convoy going the other way did he relax. His adrenaline slowed and more
restful thoughts swam into his mind.
Weyland
thought
of his fiancée down in London and the work she did there. It was dangerous but
neither would have it any other way.