Tony looked left and right as they neared what looked like a picturesque high street. The road had been constructed using stone paving slabs, while three-storey Edwardian terraces created a corridor of shops and eateries. Every front window had been smashed in, an echo of early looting or later Urban Vampire supply runs. It made seeing inside the buildings easier, reducing the threat of hidden demons. That safety, however, made Tony tense. It felt like the eye of a storm. They had left a battle behind them, but there was almost certainly another one ahead.
The army spread out as orders from Thomas were communicated. Orders were given to set up camp in a nearby park, scavenging, if possible, from nearby buildings for provisions. Regular patrols would secure a perimeter, and several scouting parties would go on ahead to set up in the town’s north. Their flares would act as an early warning if the enemy came. Tony possessed a marginal amount of hope that when Thomas saw what they were up against he would force a retreat. The only question would be how much the man’s thirst for victory could trump reason. Thomas was determined to go down in the history books as a hero of the new world. Not content with being a Field Marshal Montgomery, he wanted to be the next Winston Churchill.
Forget that. He wants to be the next Alfred the Great, driving the unwashed beasts from our shores. Vainglorious fool.
Tony spotted a derelict bakery chain store he had used to love, and he set his men up inside. “Dendoncker, I’ll leave you to call the shots. Most of the army will make camp in the park, but I prefer walls and a roof. When the fighting starts, get your arses in gear, pronto, but keep your heads down otherwise. An enemy attack always begins with some poor sod at the edge of camp getting taken out with his knob out. Don’t let that be any of you.”
Dendoncker nodded. The men got to work. They still had their camping supplies from their earlier mission, and it wasn’t long before they had some tuck heating over a pair of portable stoves. Tony ate a mouthful of baked beans and then left them to it.
He had to hand it to Thomas, the general had performed an impressive feat organising such a force, and there were plenty of Wickstaff’s people camped out too, showing he’d got a majority of Portsmouth on his side. He was a consummate politician, but that was a problem. Politicians had a habit of sending men to their deaths. Back in the Middle East, Thomas had been reined in by the fact he had needed to work with several other leaders. Before that, he had answered to the UK’s war council. Now he answered to nothing but his own ego. He was a successful general with no reason to doubt himself.
But Tony was fearful.
He feared for the thousands of innocent people all around him, setting up in the streets and parklands for a night’s sleep that would likely end with torn-open guts and half-eaten necks. Tony wanted to scream and shout for everybody to run and hide, to get themselves back to Portsmouth, but it would be useless. Even if people listened, Thomas would have Tony arrested and shot for insubordination. The only way out of this was to remove Thomas as the man in charge. Then, whether Tony liked the idea or not, he would have to take charge.
“It’s time for you to go, old man.”
Tony went to find Thomas, deciding he would act as soon as the opportunity arose.
Mass and his team waited until dusk before scaling a wall on the southern area of Portsmouth’s docklands. At first he had considered doing what Tony had told him to do -- to head north and find safety – but that wasn’t who he was. This was his city. He had fought for it. He wasn’t going to tuck his tail between his legs and run. And so here he was, back in Portsmouth.
The civilian area comprised closely built warehouses and offices, which made it easy to slink in undetected. It was a concern, seeing as demons would likely get in just as effortlessly, but there were many guard stations and walls further north that would, at the very least, impede their progress any further.
“So, you really were telling the truth,” said Smithy, looking around in awe. “Portsmouth’s real.”
Tox put a finger on his lips and warned Smithy to keep his voice down. “You doubted us? Why would we lie?”
“You had to keep a carrot on the stick or I might have done a runner. It would’ve broken your heart to see me leave.”
Addy rolled her eyes. “Wasn’t keeping you alive enough of an incentive?”
Mass waved his hand to get their attention. “Come on. Let’s check the lie of the land.”
An old fisherman stood on the docks, attaching bait to his hook. Mass vaguely recognised him, which meant the man had been in the city since before Thomas arrived. It still baffled Mass that an entire army had appeared during his absence, but the multiple strangers he’d already spotted while sneaking inside the city confirmed it. At least this old man was part of the Portsmouth he knew.
Mass didn’t want to startle the fisherman, so he straightened up and removed his hood before approaching. The old guy noticed him and waved. “Good to see you back in Portsmouth, sir.”
“You know me?”
“Everyone knows you. The mighty Mass.”
Mass frowned, not liking that nickname one bit. “Looks like things have changed while I’ve been away. There’s a new sheriff in town.”
The fisherman nodded. “General Thomas took over after we lost Wickstaff. You know about her death, I take it? Bloody demons.”
“Yeah, demons. So where can I find this new general? I should introduce myself.”
“Huh? Didn’t you spot the massive
