would take the risk of arming their intended victim. It made no logical sense so Dan stowed his gear, poured a lukewarm coffee and lit a cigarette.
Just under an hour later he heard an engine. He put himself on the other side of his Defender and waited. A military roofless version of his own car arrived towing a small covered box trailer painted in military colours with netting tied up on the sides. The man got out of his own vehicle which was left running, quickly scanned a three hundred and sixty-degree sweep and unhitched the trailer in silence.
He climbed back into his own Land Rover, looked at Dan and said “You’ll not come back here again” It was a statement, not a question.
He hitched up the trailer and made his way down the road, not wanting to consider the consequences of attempting a refund or exchange.
THE SOLITARY SENTRY
For someone who had spent twenty years surrounded by fellow soldiers, the Sergeant now felt so terribly alone. There were three squadrons based at the barracks, along with permanent support staff attached. Usually only one squadron was there at a time in full; the others either being deployed overseas or away somewhere training.
Some days there were very few people around, and permanent training staff like him could do as they pleased. It was one of those places that ran itself and officers were lucky to be there; not like most camps where the officers dictated everything.
When it happened there were less than thirty people on site. Lots of the married soldiers had houses nearby, and only the singles really stayed in the base. Of the thirty, only he had survived. He didn’t understand any of it. He went into the intelligence cell for answers and found only bodies. He armed himself, and set a patrol routine as he waited for orders to come. He watched a few people pass by, never stopping or threatening his post.
He was a man of conscience; he would never allow the sanctity of his base to be breached by any outsider and he would defend it with his life, but the man who came had said something which had affected him deep down.
He had women and children to protect.
The Sergeant couldn’t ignore that, but he couldn’t abandon his post or invite outsiders in. He decided to offer what little assistance he could without breaking the rules too much. After he was alone again, he lapsed into the start of a depressive cycle which he could not escape.
He was a professional soldier. A trained killer and he had seen active service on four continents and taken a fair toll on the enemies of Her Majesty.
None of that made a damned bit of difference anymore, because he was alone.
BIG BOY TOYS
Dan had set up for the night in a small roadside fuel station. He had to put on his gloves and mask to drag two bodies out of the back door, followed by three bin bags of rotting food. He wound up two of his camping lights and hung them on the open doors of his new trailer. If this was a payoff to keep him away from the camp, it certainly worked.
He saw four modified M4 carbines, multitudes of magazines and boxes of 5.56mm rounds. Two pump-action shotguns, one with a full length stock and the other had a pistol grip, with three boxes of cartridges. These weren’t the normal cartridges he’d scavenged for hunting; these were heavy duty slugs. People killers.
There was also a belt-fed support weapon, an old General Purpose Machine Gun with three whole crates of heavy belted ammunition for it. Another crate contained six Sig Sauer 9mm handguns, spare clips and boxes of ammo. A Peli case contained two sets of night vision goggles. There was another box of attachments for the M4’s and shotguns. Reflex red dot sights, 4x zoom wide optics, torch mounts and even a couple of suppressors.
Dan could hardly believe it; he’d gone to scavenge what he could find and had been gifted enough weaponry to start a war. He had more guns than he had people to use them.
He put the hunting rifle in the back, along with the
Just under an hour later he heard an engine. He put himself on the other side of his Defender and waited. A military roofless version of his own car arrived towing a small covered box trailer painted in military colours with netting tied up on the sides. The man got out of his own vehicle which was left running, quickly scanned a three hundred and sixty-degree sweep and unhitched the trailer in silence.
He climbed back into his own Land Rover, looked at Dan and said “You’ll not come back here again” It was a statement, not a question.
He hitched up the trailer and made his way down the road, not wanting to consider the consequences of attempting a refund or exchange.
THE SOLITARY SENTRY
For someone who had spent twenty years surrounded by fellow soldiers, the Sergeant now felt so terribly alone. There were three squadrons based at the barracks, along with permanent support staff attached. Usually only one squadron was there at a time in full; the others either being deployed overseas or away somewhere training.
Some days there were very few people around, and permanent training staff like him could do as they pleased. It was one of those places that ran itself and officers were lucky to be there; not like most camps where the officers dictated everything.
When it happened there were less than thirty people on site. Lots of the married soldiers had houses nearby, and only the singles really stayed in the base. Of the thirty, only he had survived. He didn’t understand any of it. He went into the intelligence cell for answers and found only bodies. He armed himself, and set a patrol routine as he waited for orders to come. He watched a few people pass by, never stopping or threatening his post.
He was a man of conscience; he would never allow the sanctity of his base to be breached by any outsider and he would defend it with his life, but the man who came had said something which had affected him deep down.
He had women and children to protect.
The Sergeant couldn’t ignore that, but he couldn’t abandon his post or invite outsiders in. He decided to offer what little assistance he could without breaking the rules too much. After he was alone again, he lapsed into the start of a depressive cycle which he could not escape.
He was a professional soldier. A trained killer and he had seen active service on four continents and taken a fair toll on the enemies of Her Majesty.
None of that made a damned bit of difference anymore, because he was alone.
BIG BOY TOYS
Dan had set up for the night in a small roadside fuel station. He had to put on his gloves and mask to drag two bodies out of the back door, followed by three bin bags of rotting food. He wound up two of his camping lights and hung them on the open doors of his new trailer. If this was a payoff to keep him away from the camp, it certainly worked.
He saw four modified M4 carbines, multitudes of magazines and boxes of 5.56mm rounds. Two pump-action shotguns, one with a full length stock and the other had a pistol grip, with three boxes of cartridges. These weren’t the normal cartridges he’d scavenged for hunting; these were heavy duty slugs. People killers.
There was also a belt-fed support weapon, an old General Purpose Machine Gun with three whole crates of heavy belted ammunition for it. Another crate contained six Sig Sauer 9mm handguns, spare clips and boxes of ammo. A Peli case contained two sets of night vision goggles. There was another box of attachments for the M4’s and shotguns. Reflex red dot sights, 4x zoom wide optics, torch mounts and even a couple of suppressors.
Dan could hardly believe it; he’d gone to scavenge what he could find and had been gifted enough weaponry to start a war. He had more guns than he had people to use them.
He put the hunting rifle in the back, along with the
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