Broken Arrow

As the first soldier fell, Bill risked a look over his shoulder at the others below, rushing up the incline to take him out. He fired another cartridge at them, causing the group to scatter.

Then he ran towards the felled soldier as fast as he could. Ignoring the blood being coughed up by the wounded trooper, he reached down and grabbed the Kalashnikov, swinging it around at the others.

'Welcome to England, Comrades!' he shouted before crouching and spraying them with bullets. They hadn't been expecting that, apparently, because they all went down fast, barely getting a shot off. 'Like t'see a bow an' arrow do that,' he muttered under his breath.

Bill reloaded his shotgun, then rose, holding both weapons out in front as he traversed the slippery road down to where the soldiers lay. He was well aware there could be more in hiding — it was what he and Robert would have done once upon a time — but felt the risk was worth it for information. He'd killed some of the men, he could see, on approach, he'd only injured others. When he reached one of the soldiers who had multiple leg wounds, he picked up his booted foot and brought it down on the man's thigh.

Then he pointed the twin barrels of his shotgun in his face.

'What are ye doing here, Red? What d'ye want?' he asked him through clenched teeth. The man shook his head, so Bill leaned more heavily on the thigh. There was a howl of pain. 'I'm not a patient bloke. Tell me!'

'Poshyol ty!' Bill had no idea what it meant, but the way the man spat this out told him he was getting nothing.

'Fair enough,' said Bill, taking his boot off the wound long enough to kick the man across the face.

He made his way a little further down the slope, to the dead locals. The fact there were women and children among them eased his conscience somewhat about the killing he'd done that day.

Then he heard the groaning. One of the 'dead' was trying to speak. Bill whirled around and immediately went over, getting down on the ground beside him. The man was in his thirties, with a kind face. His thick woollen jumper was stained crimson where the soldiers' bullets had eaten into him.

'Easy lad,' said Bill, and though it would leave himself vulnerable to attack he placed the man's head on his knee. 'What happened 'ere?'

The man's eyes were glassy, but Bill knew he could still see him. He winced when he tried to talk, but forced the words out anyway. 'H… Huh… Hit us hard… without warning… jeeps and….bikes…and…' The man attempted to shake his head. 'We made a stand… but we were no m-match for 'em…'

'Judas Priest,' Bill said under his breath. 'I don't understand this.' The man groaned again, in terrible pain from the bullet wounds. And something else. As Bill's eyes were drawn down the man's body, he saw an object sticking out of his side. It had snapped off almost completely when he fell to the ground — after being raked with bullets — but there was no mistaking the crossbow bolt that was wedged in there. Bill would recognise one of those anywhere.

Quickly, he cast his eyes across the rest of the bodies. Sure enough, he saw it at least a half dozen times. More of the bolts sticking out of people, a way of slowing them down for the infantrymen to pick them off.

'Who did this?' Bill asked the man.

He looked annoyed and answered, 'Soldiers,' as if he resented the waste of his dying breaths.

Bill shook his head and pointed to the broken bolt. 'No, who did this to you? T' the rest of those people. I seen it before, y'see.'

The man appeared confused, then it dawned on him what Bill meant. 'The… the giant…'

'What?'

'B-Big man… olive skin…'

'Shooting people wi' a crossbow,' Bill finished for him. The man nodded, then hissed in agony.

It couldn't be. I killed him.

Bill had certainly shot him, square in the chest as far as he could tell — though it had been pretty hard to concentrate on anything when that bolt had punched into him. They'd never found a body, though, had they? In spite of searching when everything had calmed down. Nothing in the wreckage from the platform; neither Jack nor Mark had seen anything. But still… How could it be? And what was he doing with Russians?

Well, he'd been with the Frenchman, hadn't he? He'd been with the German, the Italian and Mexican. Used them. Race meant nothing to Tanek, only the need to destroy and take what he could for himself.

Bill was brought back to the here and now when the man began to convulse. 'Easy,' said Bill again. But the man couldn't hear him anymore. Bill held him tightly by the shoulders. The convulsions ended suddenly, then the man went completely limp. Bill closed the dead man's eyes.

He stood, feeling numb: none of his original questions answered and a whole lot more lumped on the pile. If Tanek really had returned, bringing with him another army, then there was only one place they could be heading. As he was righting himself, though, at least one of the mysteries was solved. Across the sea, and almost obscured from view by an outcropping, he could see some kind of ship. Bill took a pair of binoculars out of his pocket and looked through them. Maybe it was just the light, but it looked slightly silvery, and it had three big fan-like things on its back. It resembled a grey slab of concrete on the water, except it wasn't quite on the water — a black ring was keeping it afloat like a fat man sitting on a rubber ring.

'A bloody hovercraft!' said Bill.

But only one of them, and now he remembered what that lookout at Whitby had said: 'Several somethings.' Bill had no clue what one of those brutes could carry in terms of equipment, men and vehicles, but he was guessing it wasn't to be sniffed at. Imagine what had come across in a handful, splitting up and branching out to land at different points along the coast so they could take out observers before a flag could be raised. Bill was betting the army would rendezvous somewhere inland before heading on for their final destination. 'Shit,' he added for good measure.

Time he wasn't here. Grabbing the other rifles — jamming them under his arm — and stuffing anything else he could find of use into a backpack one of the soldiers had been wearing (like grenades, knives and spare ammo) Bill began the task of climbing back up towards his chopper. Hopefully before anyone over at the hovercraft realised something was amiss.

What he was going to do first, he didn't have a clue. Deep down he knew not only was the region in danger again, but probably his friends as well.

And he realised they'd only been in the middle of the calm before the next storm. A lull which had made them complacent.

All of this and more was buzzing round Bill's mind as fast as the rotor blades on his helicopter when he started her engine.

Everything being mulled over, especially Tanek, always Tanek, as he made his way upwards and eventually away from Robin Hood's Bay.

CHAPTER TEN

'Are you sure this is such a good idea?'

If he'd been asked that once today, he'd been asked it a million times. By Mary — of course — by Jack, and now the one person he'd thought would be guaranteed to be on his side: Mark. This was for his benefit, after all.

Wasn't it?

Mostly. Robert was finally beginning to concede that the boy was getting older, that maybe it was time he started his training in earnest — and that didn't just mean messing about on the Bailey with Jack and the other men. It meant taking him out to where he himself had learnt his skills.

Where Robert had become The Hooded Man.

'Sherwood? Are you serious?' That had been Mary. 'You can't go off again now, with everything that's happening.'

Jack had broached similar concerns. They were only just starting to figure out the cult, with Tate's help, and for their leader to keep vanishing like this…

'I'm not vanishing. You know where I'll be if you need me,' he argued. The first trip to Hope had been