The Yeoman: Crying Albion Series - Book 1 (24 page)

“Corporal Sykes,” Burnside said to a man
nearby, “you got a good look at this woman?”

“I did sir,” he answered immediately,
“I’ll recognise her again when I see her.”

“Peruse the database, go through all
recent admissions, get me the wards and room numbers.”

Sykes and two of his underlings pushed
past the doctor who protested and began searching the computerized database.
Another one moved in and restrained the doctor from interfering.

“When we find it, don’t stand in our way,”
the officer declared, called out to them.

“I can’t let you pass.”

“I’ll have you taken down for this Weyland!”
Burnside shouted, losing his cool. “Your Raven rank may keep you safe from me
arresting you, but not from punishment!”

Weyland
felt
tempted to relent and give in to the demands. Yet despite his conscience going
back and forth like a tug-of-war rope, he remained resolute.

Doctor Monroe who stood nearby now spoke
up, having found his courage again. “Captain Burnside, if anything should
happen to one of my patients by you or your men you can forget about us ever
patching up a wounded Yeoman in the future.”

“Doctor, Yeoman Law states the Next-Of-Kin
of a slain Yeoman can have sentencing rights. I’ve just visited his family to
deliver the news of their loss and they want her shot, after my interrogation
of course.”

Staff Sergeant Garnett who was with the
Redoubt Detachment now spoke quietly to Burnside. “What if she is integral to
our intelligence war? Maybe the only chance we’ve got of getting Major Matthews
back alive.”

Burnside took a deep inhalation, he was no
big supporter of Matthews. He considered him too much of a wildcard. Then there
was the fact one of his relations had been killed at Belgravia. The officer
told Garnett who nodded gravely.

“The reservists want vengeance
Garny
, a slain Ministry spy will calm their blood.”

“Aye, but so will getting Matthews back
too.”

Weyland
,
watching the discourse saw the writing was on the wall and changed his
approach. “Sir if we can just wait for a colonel—”

“No more talk from you Yeoman. The
establishment slaughtered too many of our own in Belgravia to expect mercy.”

“I didn’t answer the call-to-arms ten
years back to see helpless enemies dragged out of hospitals,”
Weyland
pointed.

Both sides stared each other out and
Knight tensed for a fight. There was no way they could defeat Burnside’s
Yeomanry. Stood as they were a gun battle would be insanely one-sided. Half of
Burnside’s men would back him in a fight immediately, the rest would come rushing
in from outside after the first gunshots.

Weyland felt confident they had a slender chance
to retreat back down the corridor, and hold them off for a while. Yet dying in
a hospital over his enemy, albeit his former lover of long ago, grated him
nonetheless.

The Captain was about to demand Weyland’s
sidearm when another faction of the Yeomanry arrived outside. They entered past
the infantry cordon and went through the main doors to appear behind the
Provost and infantry detachment. To Weyland’s relief he saw it was the
Commander of Eagle Intelligence, Major Garenby. With him were several Yeoman
Rangers and more were outside.

“He must have already been nearby already
to get here this soon,”
Weyland
replied quietly to
Knight.

“Well I passed word to his base on the
secure line, just before we set off from the Estates,” Knight said grinning.

Weyland
was gobsmacked. “You could have told me that earlier mate!”

“I had to leave the message with a duty
clerk, I wasn’t sure if it would get to him in time.”

Garenby and Burnside conversed but the
latter was growing frustrated and Sykes’ team were making progress. Sykes had
been struggling to work the complicated database but finally found an internal menu
screen. He began to slowly cross reference the data with dates of those
patients admitted.

“Yeoman Law states—” repeated the Provost
Captain for the umpteenth time.

“I know what it states,” Garenby said. “A
family should be given time to deliberate on such a thing. You can’t just
expect a rational answer after the death of a loved one.”

After some more back and forth bickering
occurred it was a deadlock. Nothing more took place until Colonel Seymour
himself arrived on the scene, thirty minutes later.

His navy-blue dressed bodyguard watched
the scene carefully as their leader listened to both sides arguments. Garenby
was indirectly Yeoman Weyland’s point of contact and naturally supported him
against Burnside’s hard-line direction.

“What’s this agent’s name Eric?” Seymour asked
casually.

“Agent Templeton sir, one of their best.”

He nodded, paused at the name before
smirking slightly. “I see. Captain, that agent is indeed vital to Albion’s
interests,” he looked at the pair of Yeomanry operatives guarding the corridor.
“From a special team dedicated to hunting our special team you might say.”

“But sir, the family’s sacred wish is
sacrosanct!”

“No action is to be taken against her. I
will decide her fate, it will be appropriate.”

“Sir I must insist, Yeoman Law states—”

“I know Yeoman Law I helped
write
it!” Seymour said sternly.

Neither Sykes nor his two helpers noticed
the Colonels arrival and he saw the description and ward number for Rebecca
Templeton. “I’ve got the agent’s ward number!” Sykes called over to them.

Before he could speak on Seymour’s voice
roared over the Corporals. “Shut your fucking mouth soldier,” the Colonel said
boldly pointing his finger. Sykes backed away from the terminal, fear showing
on his face on seeing who it was. Almost like a switch Seymour returned to
speaking in his more profound manner. “Now, there is an exception I insisted
upon when Yeoman Law was being written in case of… complications such as this
one.”

“An exception?” the Captain responded
dumbfounded
.

“An exception in which a non-Albion
visitor who kills or murders is, upon expulsion from Albion, may be declared
outlaw by the aggrieved family. The said family can freely seek out vengeance
at their leisure.”

“That means it’s the families call after
she leaves our territory?” Burnside pondered.

“Correct,” the Colonel turned to address
his Intelligence men. “Major Garenby, Raven
Weyland
,
let’s go and meet this popular agent I keep hearing about.”

Together the three of them moved on deeper
into the hospital. Seymour’s elite troops and Garenby’s Yeomanry warily watched
Burnside’s men for a time. There
there
were no more
threats from the Provost after that though.

Chapter
21

The
Conflux

At the Estates the following day the
Colonels argued and debated about what to do next. The complete, uncensored, unedited
media footage from the Belgravia Massacre was sent out. The effect was almost
immediate and public opinion began swaying towards Albion and not away from it.
No longer was the mainstream media of Britain considered sacrosanct and more of
their citizens tuned into listen to Albion’s side of the story.

The data from Malthar, while enlightening
about the Inner Way’s updated agenda, was cause for great concern at the same
time. At first there was some talk of fleeing Albion for the sanctuary of
Scotland, this was avoided by a majority being against it. To do so would
almost certainly mean they’d become pawns of Scotland. The lingering risk the
Scot’s could curry favour with their enemies was too dicey. Then there was the
fact they’d be hypocrites by fleeing like refugees from their own hard-won land
and not standing to face the coming storm.

“Yet what is to be done?” became the
driving impetus. Each of the twelve Colonels gave their strategy or supported
those they agreed with. Colonel Ian Penkin stood with them listening, he was
the fourteenth officer present but had no real authority.

“A strike team extracts the Prime Speaker
from London and forces him to sign a confession,” Colonel Lawrence Dudley said.
He was a shrewd and cunning officer. The man was one of several veterans of the
first coup that took down the government of old. “We have Veitch admit his
traitorous ways and let him turn words against his masters who put him in
power. Our media can broadcast it and any remaining support for the Coalition vanishes.
We cut off the head of the snake, their body dies and the problem is solved. No
mass-immigration, the remaining New Europeans can kept at a distance, moved to
areas of their own choosing and those that want to be around them. Eventually
they’ll self-deport, just like those that have already left Albion.”

This had some impact and several nodded
their heads.

“Laurie, that might work on paper, but
it’s almost certainly tantamount to a suicide mission old friend.”

“Veitch is due to visit his relations in
the Middle-East. He flies out of Heathrow this November, I’ve calculated a
seventy-percent success rate.”

“That’s too long to wait, the Welcoming Bill
will be taking effect next month! We need to act far sooner than that or we
won’t even have an England to save!” Lysander said ardently.

“Then there’s the fact the fat slob might
change his plans, “ Bladen said drily. “The Coalition could end up replacing
him with someone worse.”

It was Colonel Edward Fairclough’s turn to
speak next. “We hold back and wait,” he spoke calmly and humbly, he was one of
the most peaceful of the Colonels. “The people will not stand for this Prime
Speaker to ride over them like this. We wait for mass protests and uprisings. Then
we deploy to all towns and cities to announce our support for them against the
tyrannical ways of the Prime Speaker. A pro-Yeomanry leader can be elected to
ensure Albion’s long-term survival and prosperity.”

“That’s all well and good Eddy,” Colonel
Penkin said evenly, “but we rely on the populace having the wits about them to
go out and do something. Then there’s the fact no one can assemble large
protests without police approval anyway. If they do they’ll be kettled into a
corner and starved into submission. What remains of the regular army will quell
any dissent the police enforcers avoid.”

Colonel Donaldson had his turn to speak
and he relished the opportunity. “We wage defensive war, both conventional and
irregular upon ANY non-European that tries to enter our borders. If they do
they are dropped right back over the other side. If they resist, lethal force
is used.”

Over half the room was in agreement but it
was not enthusiastic.

“That will outrage the other European
nations Dougie.”

“
Some
of the other nations, not all,” he responded. “We could end up gaining
supporters and volunteers from overseas as well.”

Gearson, Weyland and Riley had arrived
only a minute ago but now they took in the scene and listened to Dudley. He was
supporting Donaldson’s idea.

“Our ancestors would have done this right
at the start and called it for what it is, an invasion by outlander people who
have no business being here!” Dudley stated bluntly.

“The problem isn’t just the invaders!”
Colonel Lysander warned. “At least a quarter of the populace in Britain thinks
being multicultural is normal now. The other quarter are indifferent, a third
quarter is actively promoting and enabling it and we are the last slice who actively
oppose it!”

“If we get the regular army on our side we
could hold the line,” Seymour turned to Penkin. “Ian, do you have it in you to
pull strings and get the generals over there on-side?”

“There’s little chance,” he shook his head
regrettably, “nearly all of them are either anti-nationalist, bought and paid
for, or part of the Knowlen Lodges who want a global-unity. For them
nationalism is entirely secondary to universalism or supranationalism.”

“What’s the answer then?” Bladen lamented.
“Do nothing and watch as our heritage dies out within the next three to four
generations? Our children and children’s children will curse us for eternity!”

There were loud shouts and exchanges for
several seconds, but out of the noise a bold voice spoke up from the other side
of the room.

“We’ll do something but it will have to be
something our enemies are least expecting and when we strike, the blow will
resound so strong and loud, no-one can ignore it.”

Everyone turned to see Gearson suddenly on
his feet and commanding the room with a steely presence. Next to him stood
Yeoman Weyland.

“Who is this man?”

“It is Kallan Gearson the one from the
Underways, those our ancestors knew well, ”Weyland introduced.

 
“They
say you have a hidden army that sleeps underground,” Colonel Donaldson said
disparagingly, “yet no-one ever sees them?”

“Armies ought to always rest for a time,
at least before a war starts,” he responded. “Yet like you, my faction is
divided,” Gearson said evenly.

“Fragmented we stand though,” countered
another. They’d known too many others from oversea who claimed to support
Albion but were too tame to do anything but talk. “Perhaps they aren’t brave
enough to wake and help us at this critical hour?”

“They are brave but only a few like myself
feel bonded-strongly enough to aid surface-landers. As you feel strongly
against the populace of indifference and apathy as does my faction against
yours.”

“You are no Colonel Mr Gearson and this is
Yeomanry business.”

“I say let Kallan speak,” Colonel Dudley
said after waiting for the heated exchanges to fade.

“When we were walking this earth of old,
things happened for the good of the tribe, the people and the realm as a whole.
When we were kings destroying a danger was easy, we saw it and did what had to
be done if it threatened. Now the dark-strangers are coming and they will
slowly overwhelm Europa because the age is weak and corrupted. You stand right
now, but it’s not enough against the relentless ways of our enemies.”

The words were strange to them, yet there
was an element of reality and truth to it and the man continued.

“I’ve known you people before, from when
you were at your best and your worst. You might say I’ve seen it all and heard
it all before.”

“When is this fool going to shut-up?” said
Colonel Bladen, a hardened cynic and
skeptic
.

“In the All-Forest your kindred would
already be out there watching for danger, cutting it down before it was too
deadly. Not cooped up in a small territory waiting for it to overwhelm.”

“Colonel Penkin, your contact is a
lunatic!” Bladen scorned with an angry dismissal.

“Colonel Bladen,” Gearson answered
directly and with a biting loudness, “why do you keep your Yeomanry scouts
tucked away in the north-east of Albion when they’d be best served down in the
southern reaches? Near the Black Country?”

“How dare you question my tactics!” Anger
burned through him, and he fought the urge to draw his sidearm and shoot down
Gearson.

“Let him speak Geordie,” Seymour chided.
“Kallan and the Deep Eyes have been paramount to helping us, they have my authority.”

Gearson continued. “Colonel Bladen, I
remember well how your family fortunes diminished after the serpentine Tudors
had their way with them. Only in recent times your grandparents were detained
for wanting peace during the European Wars. Then your father was blown to bits
by government agents for working to try and help Rhodesian folk only a few
decades ago. This fostered a sense of caution to you and your family with good
reason.”

Bladen was shocked into silence at Gearson’s
knowledge, he’d told no-one of the truth about his father. He’d always publicly
blamed Irish terrorists.

“Now you know I’m no charlatan. I’ve not
come to slur you good Colonels either, but to guide you.”

“What do you say is the best way to save
Albion then?” asked Donaldson.

“With some of your proposals, and a few of
mine.”

“Which are?” Bladen questioned.

“The main one to tell is a way to
spearhead and awaken the sleeping Britons. You see there’s a royal bloodline
still in this world that can turn the tide assailing this island.”

“The royalty of this land are either dead
or in-exile, we’d have more chance getting the Tsars to show up,” Fairclough
jested.

“I don’t speak of the known royalty, or
the Romanov folk, but of another royalty.”

“The House of Lancaster?” asked Dudley.

“No, the House of Albion!” Gearson
gleamed.

“How do you explain this?” Bladen
demanded.

“During the chaos of the fifteenth-century,
just before the Richard of York took power, one of the princes in the tower was
arranged to escape and a double took his place. That prince escaped overseas and
founded a hidden lineage, safeguarded by a secret society known as the Albionic
Order. Down the centuries the families secret has been safe-guarded. They
weren’t ever to be revealed unless Albion’s people were in the gravest danger.”

“Good heavens, that means there’s an heir
to the throne of Albion!” Colonel Penkin said

Gearson turned to Weyland. “Your turn
son,” he said quietly.

“When I was in Ireland I learned his name
and location. At first I thought it was nonsense, a fools ramble. The more I
dug and researched the more I found out. Then the Albionic Order contacted me
and showed me the knowledge about the heir to Albion’s throne.” Weyland
deliberately kept silent on the underground base, the less they knew the
better.

“What can you tell us about this man?”

“Well, the good news is I know who it is,
the bad news is he works for our enemy, in the middle of London.”

An outburst of groans and rolling of the
eyes occurred but several of the Colonels pressed them for more answers. After
they sat down for over an hour they put together plans and ideas on what to do
next.

“Weyland,” the Colonel said frankly, “I’ve
no doubt you speak the truth, but at this time there can be no mission to London.
Another day for such a thing.”

“But sir—”

“Hold your steel, timing is everything,”
he said coldly, “Bide your time until then.”

Weyland bowed his head and Seymour spoke
to them all.

“The prisoner exchange is tomorrow, and
the media broadcast has been successful. Already public opinion within Albion
and without is through the roof along with rising attitudes overseas. People
now know truth and the lies against us are purged, tempered by hard reality. If
it wasn’t for the massacre at Belgravia we’d have it all. As it is this is a bittersweet
victory for us all, but when fighting a war, we all know it’s rare to have a
bloodless victory.”