The Yeoman: Crying Albion Series - Book 1 (23 page)

The
eight ton machine began to pivot around nimbly, making an opening wide enough
for one vehicle.

“Overwatch
get through that gap!” came the radio’s voice to Lorraine.

The
Puma’s engine was just about done but the grinding pistons worked for all they
were worth.

Behind
them the gap narrowed by their nemesis.

Eighty
feet.

Fifty
feet.

The
dying engine wheezed and banged as they reached the metallic guardian of Albion
territory.

The
little Puma passed the slender gap between concrete dragons teeth and the tank’s
tracks. As they did this the heavy diesel engine roared again to herald the
movement that would seal the way in, but the Interceptor kept on coming.

As
the tank began re-rotating side-ways Nichols did not let up.

“We’re
not
gonna
make it! Hit the brakes!” Templeton warned realizing they were heading
disaster.

“I
thought you wanted them this badly?” spoke the man mockingly, knowing they were
too far committed to turn back now.

Rebecca
could not even respond as the Yeomanry garrison opened fire from the guardroom and
defensive sanger. Rounds struck the Interceptor causing her to try and keep
down low.

“You
cowering whore!” he insulted as the powerful 7mm projectiles struck home.
Several were slowed down by the bullet resistant glass but not stopped. A
couple glanced off but one with a steel core ripped into Nichols’ chest. The
Interceptor hurtled on though, aiming for the now-shrinking gap.

The
Interceptor almost slipped between the dragons teeth and tank but it was a gamble
too far. The sharp tracks of the tank slammed into the side of the Ministry
machine, blowing a tire and winding Rebecca as her door partially caved in. The
side-windows shattered, sending the fragments all over the place. Then they
were beyond the tank and racing towards the swerving chicane lined with
razor-wire. It was meant to slow down a threat but Nichols kept his foot on the
gas. He felt the violent numbness of the gunshot wound intensify, and saw two
Yeomanry Provost on foot ahead of them, where the razor-wire ended. Both men
wore their distinctive red berets and had SMGs slung as they dragged the last
line of defence across the road. It was a heavy spike chain there was no
avoiding. The guardroom was over a hundred yards distant though and confusion
reigned. Beyond the obstacle was their prize, the Ford Puma and their prey
within. It had broken down and the engine spewed steam.

Both
occupants were getting out and no Yeomanry, save the two Provost half-way
across the road were noticeable. The Scimitar tank rotated its coaxial machine
gun but could not risk firing given the darkness and friendly forces nearby.

“How
badly do you want them now Kaslar!?” Nichols said angrily, almost unhinged by
the craziness of the chase. He aimed the car at the edge of the obstacle where both
men were.

The
Provost men were both Lance Corporals but one had the foresight to throw the
chain the rest of the way across the road. He was closest to the dragons teeth
than the other and jumped for them. The other
naively
believed the car would stop short or swerve.

The
redcap was struck head-on by Nichols and died instantly as he went flying over
the car to land savagely amid the shard-wire. The car smashed off the compact
concrete pyramids, injuring the sheltering Provost in there.

The
remaining three tires were rendered useless by the sharp spikes and the Ford
Mondeo went violently out of control. It swerved once, then twice before
leaving the road towards a tree-lined drainage ditch.

Gearson
and Riley could only watch as their relentless pursuers missed the first
outlaying trees, but go on to smash into a lone oak tree.

Nichols
seatbelt was on but no airbag was triggered from the steering wheel. His body jerked
against the restraint like a ragdoll and his head struck the glass in a
horrific fashion. Templeton’s seatbelt and airbag saved her from serious injury,
but the incredible whiplash wrenched both her shoulders.

Still
barely conscious she watched as two figures approached with guns drawn. Her
face was bloody from the glass cuts, and red streaks were already showing on
the clean white material of the airbag. With a last attempt at defiance she attempted
to reach for her pistol. The nest of pain from her shoulders made her cry out
in agony and the defeat descended into her heart. Then the pain was too much
and she fell into unconsciousness.

Chapter
20

Fragile
Sanctuary

Their enemy was taken to the hospital at
the nearby Yeomanry Redoubt of Westfield. Originally Westfield was a small town
garrisoned by an army base, now it was a Yeomanry garrison of Rangers and light
armored units.

On the other side of the border, with the
rain pounding down once more, the watching police could do nothing. They
couldn’t even salvage their wrecked interceptor unit as it was on the other
side of the bridge. The Scimitar light tank watched them with a wary eye,
training it’s light cannon on the flashing machines. An Albion machine-gun nest
manned by Yeoman Rangers relayed information to the Yeoman barracks and beyond
to The Estates. From there the aftermath started. It should have been over, but
Yeomanry politics was a complicated business, and with the bloodshed at Beaverbrook
a subtle maelstrom was forming.

*

Rebecca Templeton began to awake two hours
later in a hospital bed. Someone had undressed her and a hospital gown was now
all she wore. Both her shoulders were back in their sockets but the pain
lingered, her head was a nest of numbness and her right hand was bandaged
tightly. Her face was mostly cut with shallow wounds from the glass, but a deep
cut under her ear had five stitches.

Weyland watched the woman with memories of
old from where he sat watching her. He smiled as she suddenly relaxed her gaze
on him.

“Hello Rebecca.”

She was not shocked or surprized yet nor
was she blazing with her usual fanatical hatred of the Yeomanry. Perhaps it was
the fact she knew Eric Weyland already or perhaps it was resignation too?

“It was the nurses who undressed you, in
case you were wondering,”
Weyland
said.

Templeton was groggy from the painkilling
drugs but the agent narrowed her deep eyes at
Weyland
.
She felt without any shame or embarrassment at her near-nakedness beneath the
sheets.

“Very funny Eric,” she pulled her wrist,
feeling a metallic bracelet that revealed itself to be a handcuff.

“You’re in a Yeomanry Redoubt, Westfield
Hospital, about an hour from the border. And you’re Albion’s prisoner now.”

“I’ve lost this one,” she said softly in
resignation.

“Yes you have, and it’s a shame it came to
this.”

“It’s a shame you left me to join the
Yeomanry,” she said with a hurt look.

“I asked you enough times to come with me,”
he said gently. “Back then, with you and Lorraine at my side… we could have
been unstoppable.”

“My former best friend?” she said with a
barbed slant. “The one you convinced to abandon the army and join Seymour’s
uprising. The three of us fighting with fascist Albion? Not on my ancestors
would I choose that.”

“It’s not half as draconian as the
media-fuckwits make out and you know it.”

“Where’s Nichols? My driver?”

“Dead, gunshots and the crash killed him,
your airbag worked, his
didn’t
,”
Weyland said emphasizing the last part.

Weyland knew from their own intelligence
that Interceptor Units had retuned airbags for intense collisions only. For it
to be deactivated completely spoke of sabotage. Templeton immediately knew the
implication.

“I’d switched seats during the pursuit, Nichols
always used to drive as passenger…”

Weyland nodded slowly, not sure whether to
believe her or not.

“That means he or maybe someone in your
organization wanted you dead or out of the way.”

“No, that’s insane.”

“It isn’t for the enemy you serve,” Weyland
said firmly.

She looked away from him to stare at the
high ceiling.

“When this is over, try and leave this island
Rebecca, you know too much and I think your own side want you dead or out of
the way.” The proud woman shook her head and
Weyland
spoke
on. “Nichols was going to turn you in.”

“Turn me in?”

“We found a recorder on him too, had you
talking about Lorraine on it ?” Weyland shrugged. “It just shows another reason
why you chose the wrong side.”

“The wrong side doesn’t abuse my folk,”

“Oh don’t start that nonsense again. We
get enough of it pumped out from the Ministry Media.”

“And after I’m well enough your precious
Colonels will have me on a televised show-trial and executed. Just like after
the coup.”

“I don’t think so. Times have changed.”

Lorraine Riley entered the room despite the
protestations of a nurse. Her arm was in a sling and she still felt jarred with
whiplash.

For a moment there was a silence as the
two women took in one another. Then Weyland broke the silence.

“The pact we made at the oak is complete
my love,” he said to Lorraine. “We are as a trio again, but one is now our
enemy,”
Weyland
spoke with a touch of finality to his
words. “The pact must be ended, one way or another.”

“I didn’t want to shoot you Rebecca,” her
former-friend said.

“I know,” she conceded, “but Eric’s right it
must be ended, or else it will destroy us the next time.”

“I agree, I don’t think such a thing was
meant to help now given our choices since then. Instead it’s twisting and
threatening more than us I fear.”

“End it then,” the SOTF woman said. “It’s
better enemies should oppose enemies than destroy themselves from within.”

“Can you lift the pact Lorrie?” he asked
doubtfully.

“I can try, it will take a few minutes
though. We can’t have any interruptions.”

Weyland locked the door as Riley began to
lift the pact that bonded Rebecca to them both.

She had just finished the ritual when tense
commands and distant commotion from the lobby became noticeable.

“They are coming for me,” Rebecca said
fatalistically. “Nichols ran through some of your men at the border, they’ll
want Kaslar blood.”

Weyland initially thought Templeton was
being gloomy and despondent but Riley reluctantly nodded her head.

“I was there Eric, it was a bad scene and crash,
she’s lucky we had a radio-link to Station Twelve to calm things down so we
could get her here.”

Weyland heard more shouting from beyond
the doorway and corridor. He knew tempers could flare easily given such an
agitated number of warriors and healers arguing it out. Already a back and
forth argument distantly filtered through into the room. A name among the
jumble of words became noticeable, it was one he recognized all too well.
Captain Burnside.

“It’s Captain Burnside,” Weyland said
tensely. “He must be the duty officer from the border crossing. That’s normally
his turf I think.”

“Oh no,” lamented Riley. “I had no idea he
was in that district!”

“They moved him from the Scottish border
last month. He’s hardcore, even by my standards. During the war he wasn’t shy
about killing. They say ever since the war he’s been a bit pissed-off it ended as
soon as it did. He’s a good warrior, but dangerous to cross.”

“We can’t let him hurt Rebecca though Eric!
She’s helpless and in our care now!”

“She obviously forgot about that when she
harried you all the way up from London,” Weyland said pragmatically. His cold
streak stunned the wounded woman in the bed whose fate lay in their hands. “She’d
probably turn us over in a heartbeat if it was us in a London hospital.”

He looked vengefully at her in the eyes,
causing Rebecca to turn away with a fearful look about her.

“Even so Eric, it’s not right. We can’t
just let it happen on our watch.”

Weyland took a deep breath, he loved Lorraine
but crossing a Provost captain like Burnside was very risky. Colonel Donaldson
had chosen Burnside for his war record and experience. While he was a diligent
border-commander mercy and understanding were often secondary to the pursuit of
a secure territory. Then again he felt that after all he’d been through, this
was a final test now emerging from the fog of fate.

A voice called out Weyland’s name from the
corridor outside, it was Andy Knight returning from the reception area.

“What’s going on Andy?”

“Burnside is raising hell trying to get
your prisoner’s ward details. It looks like he doesn’t want to cause a panic in
the hospital but isn’t being quiet about it either.”

“How many has he got with him.”

“A platoon of infantry from the redoubt, and
a section of Provost are with him, most of the infantry are outside preventing
people from leaving.”

“Where’s Burnside?”

He’s still in the reception area but I
don’t know for how long until he start’s kicking in doors.”

“Alright, I’m going to talk to them. Diana,
wait here and lock the door after me.”

“I should go—”

“Not this time love, you stay with Rebecca
and don’t let anyone in. If Burnside gets in, give her this!” he said, passing
the cyanide pill to Riley. He whispered what it was to before moving to the
door.

Andrew Knight joined him as he walked down
the corridor towards the reception. Unlike Weyland, he liked to make full use
of wearing his civilian attire.

“I hope you know what you’re doing mate,
there’s a lot of them,” Knight cautioned, “and Burnside matches our authority.”

He was right, as much as it gurned at
Weyland. The complicated rank and experience structure of the Yeomanry, meant
that Captain Burnside was a gray area. He and his Provost had powers allowing
the arrest of any non-commissioned rank.

“There’s no rules or guidebook on this
one,” he remarked sharply, “just follow my lead and be ready if it goes downhill.”

They’d turned a corner and ahead of them
was a cluster of fellow Yeomanry milling about the lobby. One of them saw the
flash of uniform and made the Provost leader aware.

“Waes Hails! I’m Yeoman Weyland, this is
Yeoman Knight. We’re with Eagle Intelligence branch.”

“Weyland! Good to see you!” Burnside
called back to him. “Have you just got here from the border?”

“No sir,” answered Weyland, “we came in
from the Estates a short while ago. My wife-to-be was injured recently.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. Listen, I’m
Captain Burnside investigating this place. There’s a Ministry Agent been
admitted with crash injuries here, but these civvies are not helping. Have you
seen or heard anything in your ward?”

“Of course, Yeomanry Intelligence is
interrogating her sir.”

Andy Knight had heard some of his friend’s
conversation and expected protective lies. On hearing his response he looked
shocked.

“Oh good, well we can handle that now son.”
Burnside said optimistically. “Which ward and room are they in?”

“I can’t say sir, that could jeopardize
things.”

“What do you mean?”

“I know she ran down men at the border.
That means retribution is at hand from their families and comrades. As a
Provost you’re here to see it done.”

“Yeoman, a Provost guardsman is badly
injured at the medical
center
and the other is dead. That’s grounds for execution.”

Weyland shuddered but steeled himself. He
knew he was stalling for time. Gearson was too busy at the Estates perusing the
data from London. He could only hope one of the other Colonels was on his way.
He’d left an urgent message with Eagle Intelligence but that was just prior to
speaking with Rebecca. It would take at least thirty minutes for a retrieval
team to drive to Westfield from their location.

“I know Yeoman law captain, but we killed
her driver and she too is injured. That counts for something in my book does it
not?”

“No it doesn’t,” the officer said bluntly,
“they drove through into us, not the other way around.
She
is the aggressor.”

“We have to set an example though Captain,
lynching injured patients will destroy relations with the civilians. Besides
which, the agent is high-value, she could get us Major Matthews back.”

“That’s doubtful and she is lucky I wasn’t
at Beaverbrook when they blew through the border-crossing. How Yeoman Riley and
her contact got hold of the duty driver’s Land Rover will be dealt with later.
For now I want that agent Yeoman, that’s an order!”

“I declare it an unlawful order sir and
cannot obey it. As a Raven-class I invoke Colonel Seymour’s mission authority.”

For a moment the Captain considered
arresting the pair, in spite of claiming Seymour’s rank. Yet they were violent
agents, he could tell and, like most, had heard of Yeoman Weyland’s renown.
Being of Eagle Intelligence meant they had Colonel Seymour’s patronage at the
very least, making them partially immune to Provost actions.