plenty of concentrated and canned foods. And a large tank of drinking water.
Next to three bulky anti-contamination suits that hung from the roof was a row of weapons. Four 7.62mm FNLI rifles, two Sterling L2A3 submachine guns, and two Smith & Wesson .38 revolvers.
“We’re packing a lot of firepower,” Slocock observed. “All these and those two guns on the roof.”
“A 7.62mm machine gun on this roof and a 7.62mm GEC minigun mount on the roof of the driver’s cabin. Both are remote-controlled from inside the cabin. The only drawback with them is that you’ll have to go outside to refill their ammunition boxes. And I’m afraid you’ll also have to go outside if you have a need to use this.”
Buxton bent down and opened up a long metal box that was lying across several cases of 7.62mm ammunition. Slocock whistled. Inside the case was a Breda NATO-issue antitank gun. “You’re familiar with the weapon, I trust, Sergeant?”
Slocock nodded. “How many rockets?”
“Six.” Buxton touched an ammunition case with the toe of his boot. “In there. They each contain a pin- stabilized hollow charge round which can penetrate 320mm of armor plating at 0 degree incidence, and 120mm at 65 degrees incidence. Effective range is approximately 600 meters.”
Wilson said, in astonishment, “Why on earth do we need something like that? I thought our only danger, apart from the fungus itself, was from angry mobs of infected people.”
“Dr. Wilson, an awful lot of people have been cut off inside the quarantine area, including a number of military units. We know for certain that some members of these units have mutinied. On several occasions to date soldiers have attempted to break out through the quarantine barrier using their equipment. The result has been pitched battles between them and units outside the quarantine area. So far, we’ve kept them in.”
Wilson looked grim. “You’re saying we may have to fight our way through fully armed groups of soldiers? This whole thing gets more and more hopeless with each passing moment.”
“Hopefully you’ll be able to avoid any such confrontations. The beauty of the Stalwart here is that it can go practically anywhere, including through rivers and canals. If you should spot any army vehicles ahead of you, just try to detour around them,” said Buxton.
“Yeah, easy,” muttered Slocock.
“There are also two portable flame-throwers in a locked container clamped to the rear of the vehicle. Not enough room for them in here, besides they’d stink the place out. Your air systems wouldn’t be able to cope. But they may come in handy when you reach London. I hear the fungus can grow pretty thick in places.” He looked at his watch. “I suggest you get moving at first light, which is less than four hours away.
“Sergeant Slocock, I’ll have one of my engineers give you a run-through on all the equipment so you can familiarize yourself with it.”
“No need, sir,” said Slocock quickly, anxious to hit the sack with his bottle. “I’ll pick it up along the way.”
Buxton gave him an expressionless look. He said quietly, “I think it would be a good idea to have the run- through, Sergeant. The automatic gun controls are especially tricky.”
The Major’s tone of voice told Slocock it would be a waste of time arguing. Besides, he didn’t have the strength. “Yessir.”
Buxton turned to Wilson. “As for you, Doctor, you might as well get some shut-eye.”
“All right, but first I want to check in on Kimberley.”
“Yeah, you do that, Doctor,” said Slocock with a barely concealed sneer. “And while you’re at it take her temperature for me too.”
“That’s enough, Sergeant,” said Buxton curtly. “Stay here. I’ll send Sergeant Boardman along. He helped customize this beast so he can tell you everything you need to know. And I’d appreciate it if you didn’t touch another drop of what’s in your kitbag. Understand?”
When the Major and Wilson had gone Slocock slumped onto the bunk and pulled the bottle out of his bag. He took a long drink and frowned as he thought about Wilson. He’d been clucking around Kimberley like a bloody mother hen ever since they’d left Bangor. And she, the bitch, seemed to be lapping it up. Well, he’d put a stop to that somehow.
“I hope you won’t have any trouble with him,” said Major Buxton as they left the shed.
Wilson glanced at the young, serious-faced officer. “With Slocock? Should I?”
“I’ve been talking to his commanding officer in Belfast. The Sergeant’s a good soldier in many ways but he has a record for being a trouble-maker. And there were certain incidents involving him that were under investigation.”
“Incidents?”
“Shootings. On three occasions he has shot and killed men, while on patrol, who he claimed were carrying firearms. A gun was found on only one of them. Apparently the other two men had no connection with the IRA. And as all three incidents happened in a relatively short space of time it suggests that the Sergeant has become, how shall we put it—?“
“Trigger happy?”
“I’m afraid so. Not the sort of chap I’d personally have picked for a job like this.”
“But I understand he volunteered.”
“Yes. Which is rather worrying, don’t you think?”
Wilson found Kimberley running a checklist on her medical supplies and equipment which she’d laid out on her bunk in the empty barrack room. She was looking a little better but was still shockingly white and her army- issue t-shirt was soaked with sweat despite the coolness of the night.
“Almost time for us to have our shots,” she said. “Where’s the Sergeant?”
“Still outside, playing with his battle-wagon.” He then told her what Buxton had said about Slocock. She didn’t seem alarmed.
“Someone who shoots first and asks questions later is the sort of man this situation calls for. The Major’s living in the past. What does he think his men are doing out there at this very minute?”
She was referring to the gunfire that had been going on in the distance ever since they’d arrived. The camp was close to the barrier. The troops strung out along it were continually shooting at refugees who were trying to escape from the ever-growing infected area. Even so Wilson was a little chilled by the callousness of her words. It revealed an aspect of her that he hadn’t suspected existed.
“But the Major has a point in wondering why Slocock volunteered for this job. I mean, what man in his right mind would?”
She gave him a weary smile. “You did.”
“No. I had no choice. I was drafted. But Slocock—”
A thought struck him. “And you. You volunteered. You know our chances of surviving until they find the means of eradicating the plague are pretty slim, so why are you throwing your life away?”
She shrugged. “I want to see the fungus stopped and destroyed. It’s as simple as that.”
Is it? he wondered.
They got underway at 5.45 a.m. They were escorted to the barrier by Major Buxton in a Saracen armored car. The barrier consisted of great rolls of barbed wire that stretched off into the distance in both directions. Behind the wire, small groups of soldiers were positioned at regular intervals, backed up by the occasional armored vehicle. There was a gap in the wire where it crossed the road. Two tanks sat in the middle of the road, plugging the gap. They began to trundle to the side as the Stalwart approached.
The Saracen also pulled up on the side of the road.
The opening between the two tanks yawned like the mouth of some monster.
“Well, cheerio chaps,” came Buxton’s unnaturally jovial voice over the radio. “This is as far as I go. But I’ll be with you in spirit all the way.”
“You have no idea what that means to me, sir,” said Slocock into the mike.
Buxton ignored the sarcasm. “Don’t forget to report in on this frequency at half-hourly intervals or in the event of emergencies. Goodbye and good luck.”
