The plan was fairly simple, but demanded split-second timing. Aurora would make a diversionary strike on the zepplin station -usually referred to as the Aerodock- and cause as much mayhem as possible. Whilst the police, fire servce and so forth were sorting that out, the riots would begin.
Once we were thouroughly engaged with the enemy, supported by barges mounting heavy machine guns, a small picked band of gyptians would raid various significant buildings in Whitehall and grab any useful information that they could find. Once they were successful, a pyrotechnic signal would call Aurora in for a devastating airstrike on the buildings targeted, eliminating any evidence of a break in.
As far as possible, individual 'riot squads' were given freedom of action; battle plans tended not to survive engagement with the enemy, so it was better to leave squad leaders to make their own decisions.
It had taken a lot of work to prepare for this. Once Mary and I had patched up the Drive and got enough performance out of the damaged engine for one jump, I took Aurora back to our own world for a proper repair job and some resupplying. Fortunately, the system Mary had devised for telling where a fissure led based on frequencies of background radiation or something worked perfectly, and I reappeared just off the coast of Norfolk. My contacts obtained replacement engine parts and some Hellfire air-to-surface missiles, as well as more minigun ammunition. Linking them to the helmet sight for the rockets was easy, as the software package was designed to be used for both; it was basically a modification of the system from an Apache helicopter gunship. I also acquired additional small arms, survival kit and a flight suit for Lyra.
Aurora only needed one person to pilot, and the turrets weren't exactly a skilled job, so only Mary found herself in the air. I wound up leading the Canary Wharf mob.
"Come ON, Mary. What's taking so bloody long?" I threw away another cigarette butt, and checked my rifle for the hundredth time. Our standard weapon was the Heckler & Koch G36, a compact and powerful 5.56mm weapon that looked a bit like a prop from Space: Above and Beyond. With the stock folded up and the magazine removed it would fit inside an ordinary gym bag.
Elaine sighted along her SPAS 12 pump action shotgun; of course, SHE had to be different, didn't she? For all that, it could take the hinges off a door pretty well, and provide deadly close-up punch. "Stop worrying," she told me. "What's the rush? The damn Ministry of Red Tape and Pointless Beauracracy isn't going anywhere in a hurry."
"I know, I know. It's just that I reckon just sitting here waiting is even worse than actually getting shot at..." A dull boom of sound was followed by a volley of detonations, as Aurora strafed the Aerodock's main landing stage with rockets and guns. "Right, that's our cue!"
(Author's note: another 'hum this song' moment; try Pulse by the Mad Capsule Markets.)
My group of sixty men and women armed with an eclectic mix of weapons charged out of the alleyway we had been lurking in. An extremely startled constable drew his revolver and fired, then blew his whistle until he was cut down. He was the first.
We charged through the streets, shooting at every copper we saw, hurling Molotov cocktails and generally making lots of noise. However, we found ourselves facing more organised opposition. The police had responded quickly, with as many men as they could lay hold of running to intercept us. Most groups found themselves locked in static gunfights, with nobody having a clear advantage and very few of the shots fired actually hitting anybody.
The barges, internally and inconspicuously armoured beneath their wooden exteriors, were a godsend. They kept both the police and the rapidly deployed soldiers pinned down well away from the waterfront with .50 calibre fire, and gave the hastily scrambled fighter aircraft almost as hard a time as Aurora. Under Mary's guidance, our big silver bird was twisting through the sky, blasting seven kinds of hell out of anything and everything.
Meanwhile, our inside contact in Whitehall slipped quietly out of a back exit, unnoticed by the panic-stricken employees of the Ministry of Theology. Doubtless it never occurred to them to vet the young messenger-boy, even if he was of gyptian origin.
Our 'surreptitious entry' specialists obtained a large number of documents, and made a hasty exit. I know this because we were in a pitched battle with police and troops near the Ministry. A small lad of about Will's age legged it to our impromptu barricade, and ducked behind it.
"They've done it," he said. "We might want to be somewhere else now, you know!" I looked at him very, very carefully. This could be a hoax, or a trick to get us to break cover. I finally realised that he looked so much like Tony that they must be brothers just as Aurora took out the building. We were out of Mary's line of sight so she couldn't have known we were there.
There was a bang, and a blast that lifted me over the heap of purloined grain sacks which were doubling as sandbags. I hit the ground pretty hard, but not fatally. In theory, Hellfire missiles won't smash a building up too much, but the moulten copper they spray out to penetrate armour plating will start fires readily. I was therefore rather surprised when the building fell over on top of me.
I regained consciousness reluctantly, to find lying buried to the chest in fallen masonry. My G36 was a twisted wreck, I couldn't draw my pistol, and there were running footsteps approaching. I tried to crawl from the heap of bricks, but pain shot through every part of my body. My right leg didn't work properly, and I could barely clench my left hand. Seeing as my pistol was under my right arm, this meant that I was totally defenceless.
"Dave! Are you OK? DAVE!" It was Elaine's voice, I realised with the calm sense of detachment that only a severe head injury can provide under such circumstances. "Say something, Dave!"
"Oh bugger, a wall just fell on me," I offered with a weak smile. "A little help would be much appreciated."
Two gyptians appeared with a stretcher, and I was carried to a waiting barge. The fight seemed to be winding down, but the odd burst of fire echoed across the river now and then. The initial shock had worn off, and the pain began. A rough estimate by the few outlying areas of my mind not pierced by burning needles of agony estimated the damage at two or three cracked ribs, a broken leg and bruises just about everywhere. I felt a sharp sting in my arm, the pain eased and I drifted off...
I wrestled with the canopy, lost my patience and shattered it with a shot from my pistol. Bad idea, I realised rather late. It'd bring the bloody Argies running, as if a crashed Harrier hadn't already done that. I climbed uncomfortably out of the cockpit and flopped heavily to the ground.
Whatever else I thought of this miserable place, I had to admit that the rain meant the ground was reasonably soft. Other than that however, this was about the most depressing place on Earth to wage a war. My suspicion that we were here to retake the Iron Lady's marginal constituencies rather than the Falklands per se wasn't helping.
I directed curses at Galtieri, his airforce and the Conservative party for several minutes. It felt a bit better. Having vented some of my frustrations, I turned my attention to the matter of survival. I pulled the various helpful items of equipment from the plane (leaving everything else) and started walking in what I hoped was the direction of Port Stanley. Then, out of nowhere, a bullet sliced across my shoulder, pitching me to the ground...
"Dave? You still with us?" I made vaguely affirmative noises, and opened my eyes. I was surprised to realise that I was in my bunk aboard Aurora. Somehow, the whole crew plus Lyra and both daemons had squeezed into the room, which was barely wider than the length of the bed.
"I think so. Shit!" I clutched my head. "This is actually worse than the fallout from that big dogfight. Amazing."
"Sorry about that," Mary replied. "You shouldn't really have been there, and I couldn't see your position when I made the run."
"Not your fault; the building shouldn't have gone up like that, not with Hellfires. I wonder why it blew up like that?" I shrugged. "Any other casualties?"
"Not many, two or three dead and a dozen wounded. Lord Faa is well pleased with the results, and we got hold of some VERY interesting information," Will replied. "It seems that a lot of Church brass have fallen back to a stronghold of some sort, up North somewhere. They've built some sort of fortress, and they're hoping to hold out long enough to gather forces for a counterattack."
"But they don't know that WE know," Lyra said, grinning evilly.
"And they want to blow it up," I guessed.
"Not until we've gained a few allies; the witches, probably Iorek and the bears too," Lyra replied. "Which means you get a few weeks to recover."
"At home," Elaine added in a tone with which I dared not argue.
The five of us returned to our own world the next day, to find Frank being removed from his office by Customs and Excise officers, and all our planes being confiscated.
"Lok, I'm telling you, I didn't know about the drugs! I'd have had a bloody percentage out of the buggers if I had!" he protested. We landed at the opposite end of the field, taxied to a vacant runway, and did some metaphorical innocent whistling.
Elaine found us another hangar somewhere else, and I worked on getting hold of some AGM-54 Mavericks, which could knock out a tank and put a decent dent in a fortified building. Lyra was brought up to speed with the others in weapons and survival techniques, and Mary perfected a retractable nosecone, allowing us to put the Drive's rather fragile business end behind the same tough alloy as the rest of the plane. Will, much to his disgust, was forced to return to school. With typical ingenuity, he devised a reasonably plausible means of avoiding a truancy record- faking his own death with forged documents. I only just found out in time to put a stop to the whole crazy venture before he got himself arrested, and thankfully the Christmas break came around before he could come up with something else.
We landed just off the coast, and found a large tramp steamer waiting for us. Lord Faa, bright spark that he was, wanted to winch Aurora aboard.
"We're heading for the North!" he told us enthusiastically. "We've enlisted the bears and some of the witches, and we've nearly two thousand men already there!"
The war was beginning.
Once we were thouroughly engaged with the enemy, supported by barges mounting heavy machine guns, a small picked band of gyptians would raid various significant buildings in Whitehall and grab any useful information that they could find. Once they were successful, a pyrotechnic signal would call Aurora in for a devastating airstrike on the buildings targeted, eliminating any evidence of a break in.
As far as possible, individual 'riot squads' were given freedom of action; battle plans tended not to survive engagement with the enemy, so it was better to leave squad leaders to make their own decisions.
It had taken a lot of work to prepare for this. Once Mary and I had patched up the Drive and got enough performance out of the damaged engine for one jump, I took Aurora back to our own world for a proper repair job and some resupplying. Fortunately, the system Mary had devised for telling where a fissure led based on frequencies of background radiation or something worked perfectly, and I reappeared just off the coast of Norfolk. My contacts obtained replacement engine parts and some Hellfire air-to-surface missiles, as well as more minigun ammunition. Linking them to the helmet sight for the rockets was easy, as the software package was designed to be used for both; it was basically a modification of the system from an Apache helicopter gunship. I also acquired additional small arms, survival kit and a flight suit for Lyra.
Aurora only needed one person to pilot, and the turrets weren't exactly a skilled job, so only Mary found herself in the air. I wound up leading the Canary Wharf mob.
"Come ON, Mary. What's taking so bloody long?" I threw away another cigarette butt, and checked my rifle for the hundredth time. Our standard weapon was the Heckler & Koch G36, a compact and powerful 5.56mm weapon that looked a bit like a prop from Space: Above and Beyond. With the stock folded up and the magazine removed it would fit inside an ordinary gym bag.
Elaine sighted along her SPAS 12 pump action shotgun; of course, SHE had to be different, didn't she? For all that, it could take the hinges off a door pretty well, and provide deadly close-up punch. "Stop worrying," she told me. "What's the rush? The damn Ministry of Red Tape and Pointless Beauracracy isn't going anywhere in a hurry."
"I know, I know. It's just that I reckon just sitting here waiting is even worse than actually getting shot at..." A dull boom of sound was followed by a volley of detonations, as Aurora strafed the Aerodock's main landing stage with rockets and guns. "Right, that's our cue!"
(Author's note: another 'hum this song' moment; try Pulse by the Mad Capsule Markets.)
My group of sixty men and women armed with an eclectic mix of weapons charged out of the alleyway we had been lurking in. An extremely startled constable drew his revolver and fired, then blew his whistle until he was cut down. He was the first.
We charged through the streets, shooting at every copper we saw, hurling Molotov cocktails and generally making lots of noise. However, we found ourselves facing more organised opposition. The police had responded quickly, with as many men as they could lay hold of running to intercept us. Most groups found themselves locked in static gunfights, with nobody having a clear advantage and very few of the shots fired actually hitting anybody.
The barges, internally and inconspicuously armoured beneath their wooden exteriors, were a godsend. They kept both the police and the rapidly deployed soldiers pinned down well away from the waterfront with .50 calibre fire, and gave the hastily scrambled fighter aircraft almost as hard a time as Aurora. Under Mary's guidance, our big silver bird was twisting through the sky, blasting seven kinds of hell out of anything and everything.
Meanwhile, our inside contact in Whitehall slipped quietly out of a back exit, unnoticed by the panic-stricken employees of the Ministry of Theology. Doubtless it never occurred to them to vet the young messenger-boy, even if he was of gyptian origin.
Our 'surreptitious entry' specialists obtained a large number of documents, and made a hasty exit. I know this because we were in a pitched battle with police and troops near the Ministry. A small lad of about Will's age legged it to our impromptu barricade, and ducked behind it.
"They've done it," he said. "We might want to be somewhere else now, you know!" I looked at him very, very carefully. This could be a hoax, or a trick to get us to break cover. I finally realised that he looked so much like Tony that they must be brothers just as Aurora took out the building. We were out of Mary's line of sight so she couldn't have known we were there.
There was a bang, and a blast that lifted me over the heap of purloined grain sacks which were doubling as sandbags. I hit the ground pretty hard, but not fatally. In theory, Hellfire missiles won't smash a building up too much, but the moulten copper they spray out to penetrate armour plating will start fires readily. I was therefore rather surprised when the building fell over on top of me.
I regained consciousness reluctantly, to find lying buried to the chest in fallen masonry. My G36 was a twisted wreck, I couldn't draw my pistol, and there were running footsteps approaching. I tried to crawl from the heap of bricks, but pain shot through every part of my body. My right leg didn't work properly, and I could barely clench my left hand. Seeing as my pistol was under my right arm, this meant that I was totally defenceless.
"Dave! Are you OK? DAVE!" It was Elaine's voice, I realised with the calm sense of detachment that only a severe head injury can provide under such circumstances. "Say something, Dave!"
"Oh bugger, a wall just fell on me," I offered with a weak smile. "A little help would be much appreciated."
Two gyptians appeared with a stretcher, and I was carried to a waiting barge. The fight seemed to be winding down, but the odd burst of fire echoed across the river now and then. The initial shock had worn off, and the pain began. A rough estimate by the few outlying areas of my mind not pierced by burning needles of agony estimated the damage at two or three cracked ribs, a broken leg and bruises just about everywhere. I felt a sharp sting in my arm, the pain eased and I drifted off...
I wrestled with the canopy, lost my patience and shattered it with a shot from my pistol. Bad idea, I realised rather late. It'd bring the bloody Argies running, as if a crashed Harrier hadn't already done that. I climbed uncomfortably out of the cockpit and flopped heavily to the ground.
Whatever else I thought of this miserable place, I had to admit that the rain meant the ground was reasonably soft. Other than that however, this was about the most depressing place on Earth to wage a war. My suspicion that we were here to retake the Iron Lady's marginal constituencies rather than the Falklands per se wasn't helping.
I directed curses at Galtieri, his airforce and the Conservative party for several minutes. It felt a bit better. Having vented some of my frustrations, I turned my attention to the matter of survival. I pulled the various helpful items of equipment from the plane (leaving everything else) and started walking in what I hoped was the direction of Port Stanley. Then, out of nowhere, a bullet sliced across my shoulder, pitching me to the ground...
"Dave? You still with us?" I made vaguely affirmative noises, and opened my eyes. I was surprised to realise that I was in my bunk aboard Aurora. Somehow, the whole crew plus Lyra and both daemons had squeezed into the room, which was barely wider than the length of the bed.
"I think so. Shit!" I clutched my head. "This is actually worse than the fallout from that big dogfight. Amazing."
"Sorry about that," Mary replied. "You shouldn't really have been there, and I couldn't see your position when I made the run."
"Not your fault; the building shouldn't have gone up like that, not with Hellfires. I wonder why it blew up like that?" I shrugged. "Any other casualties?"
"Not many, two or three dead and a dozen wounded. Lord Faa is well pleased with the results, and we got hold of some VERY interesting information," Will replied. "It seems that a lot of Church brass have fallen back to a stronghold of some sort, up North somewhere. They've built some sort of fortress, and they're hoping to hold out long enough to gather forces for a counterattack."
"But they don't know that WE know," Lyra said, grinning evilly.
"And they want to blow it up," I guessed.
"Not until we've gained a few allies; the witches, probably Iorek and the bears too," Lyra replied. "Which means you get a few weeks to recover."
"At home," Elaine added in a tone with which I dared not argue.
The five of us returned to our own world the next day, to find Frank being removed from his office by Customs and Excise officers, and all our planes being confiscated.
"Lok, I'm telling you, I didn't know about the drugs! I'd have had a bloody percentage out of the buggers if I had!" he protested. We landed at the opposite end of the field, taxied to a vacant runway, and did some metaphorical innocent whistling.
Elaine found us another hangar somewhere else, and I worked on getting hold of some AGM-54 Mavericks, which could knock out a tank and put a decent dent in a fortified building. Lyra was brought up to speed with the others in weapons and survival techniques, and Mary perfected a retractable nosecone, allowing us to put the Drive's rather fragile business end behind the same tough alloy as the rest of the plane. Will, much to his disgust, was forced to return to school. With typical ingenuity, he devised a reasonably plausible means of avoiding a truancy record- faking his own death with forged documents. I only just found out in time to put a stop to the whole crazy venture before he got himself arrested, and thankfully the Christmas break came around before he could come up with something else.
We landed just off the coast, and found a large tramp steamer waiting for us. Lord Faa, bright spark that he was, wanted to winch Aurora aboard.
"We're heading for the North!" he told us enthusiastically. "We've enlisted the bears and some of the witches, and we've nearly two thousand men already there!"
The war was beginning.
