Tamsin Beech Ch. 10: Soteria

"Oh," Vladimir Zakhvatchikov's heart seemed to pick up its pace quite considerably.

. . .

"Time to go," Tamsin pushed herself to her feet and scrambled down onto the stony beach, the sounds of gunfire and screams chillingly clear from half a mile away. Ahead lay a mile of open mud flats - freshly uncovered by the receding tide, leading across to Lindisfarne's Snook Point and Goswick Sands.

"Ye sure about this?" McTavish growled.

Their Reekies would be itching to join the fray. But they had their own work to do once they got onto the island. Tamsin nodded, "I was held here for four years McT. I noticed a few things in that time. The tides, the weather patterns. South of the causeway it's just deep mud with one safe channel marked by wooden posts. Up here on the north side it's mostly rock underneath. We'll be safe."

Signalling the Reekies to spread out, they advanced out into the freezing cold water, staying low and wary - the wind whipping the wave tops into white foam as Tamsin hoped that she was right and that the tide would be out far enough by the time they reached the island.

. . .

Inside the lead T-14, the driver called to his commander, "Ser! Oni delayut pereryv za eto!"

Sure enough a group of the savages had broken off from the main group and had taken off across the mudflats towards the island, firing intermittent bursts wildly back at them from stolen Kalashnikovs.

"Otkrytyy ogon!"

The massive turret mounted Kord machine gun swivelled and strafed across the open mudflats, bullets tearing into thick, oozing mud and Reekie bodies alike.

TAKATAKATAK!

"Ser, oni slishkom bystryye," reported the driver. The Reekies had known what was coming and spread out to make themselves more difficult targets, legs churning frantically as they moved further out into knee deep water.

The T-14's commander considered for a moment. The island was well defended but it wasn't going to look good if they allowed even a handful of the savages to get across. Without proper maintenance the tank's Target Detection System no longer worked so they were just going to have to give chase, "Sleduyte za nimi!"

The driver nodded and gunned the Armata's diesel engine. With a belch of exhaust, the 55 ton tank lurched forward down onto the shoreline ...

. . .

It was Yeonmi who turned first when the door to Zakhvatchikov's presidential suite swung open. Ludmila Mudak immediately lunged across the bed and punched the distracted North Korean girl squarely in the face.

In walked Volk ...

"Volk!" Vladimir Zakhvatchikov exclaimed, "what the hell are you doing here?"

Volk's eyes darted around the room, taking in the girl Yeonmi scrabbling naked to her feet clutching a bleeding nose, Ludmila Mudak - also nude, snatching up a discarded dagger. And the president himself sitting up in bed sporting an impressive erection.

Vladimir's eyes widened as he caught sight of the MP-443 Grach gripped tightly in Volk's hand, "Wh-what the fuck is going on?"

Volk forced his attention from the naked Ludmila Mudak and shoved the steel hatch closed behind him, "I was about to ask the same question. Who's she?"

"Her name's Yeonmi from the Baekdusan," Ludmila reported as she began dressing, "the president's current favourite fuck. I think we've stumbled on another assassination attempt by the North Koreans."

"Always a sucker for a pretty face eh, mister president?"

Vladimir self consciously tugged a sheet up to cover his genitals. He was astounded that his throbbing erection was showing no sign whatsoever of subsiding, "C-call the guards Volk. Have this girl taken to the brig. You and Major Mudak ... have both done the Coalition a great service."

Volk slowly shook his head and handed the Grach to Ludmila, "No mister president. Not yet we haven't."

As Volk approached the bed, Vladimir Zakhvatchikov was horrified as he watched him reach inside his jacket and draw out a tiny hypodermic syringe.

. . .

McTavish grabbed Tamsin's arm as she slipped on an unseen rock beneath the surface. Kelp fronds wrapped around their legs as they moved as quickly and silently as possible. They'd already made it halfway across without being spotted - the tide on its way out but the sloshing water still up to their waists.

"C-can't you feel how fu-fucking freezing this is?" Tamsin's teeth chattered with bone numbing cold as a gust of wind blew salt spray in her face. McTavish simply shrugged in his threadbare kilt. Having grown up in the draughty halls of Edinburgh Castle she guessed the Reekies had built up some resistance to the cold.

Tamsin peered off to their right. Volk's men were still engaging Fraser's Reekies back at the causeway. A good sign. The longer their attention was occupied the longer she and McTavish would have to get onto the island.

Then fear seized her in an icy grip as she heard the sound she'd been dreading coming from the sky to the north ...

THOKKA-THOKKA-THOKKA ...

. . .

"Volk?" Vladimir called as he scooted desperately back across the bed, "what are you doing?"

"Don't take this personally sir," Volk popped the plastic cap from the syringe, "but your leadership is weak," he climbed onto the bed, "if I'd been in charge the resistance would have been wiped out. The Reivers would have been wiped out," he impatiently grabbed one of Zakhvatchikov's scrawny ankles and dragged the old man towards him, "and we wouldn't have had to rely on the fucking North Koreans for anything."

Across the room, Yeonmi's eyes darted from side to side, seeking either a means of escape or of completing her mission.

"Don't fucking think about it!" snarled Ludmila, keeping her covered with Volk's handgun.

Vladimir struggled as Volk pinned him to the bed by kneeling on his upper arms. At his age he lacked the upper body strength to push the younger man off, "Wh-what's in that?" he nodded fearfully at the syringe.

"Wolf's Bane and a few other ingredients prepared by one of the villagers on Lindisfarne," Volk informed him, "it should have the effect of slowing your heart rate to such a degree that it stops."

"Th-then what?" Vladimir guessed that if his heart beat any faster he might just have a heart attack anyway.

Volk grabbed his president by the throat, "Ludmila here calls your bodyguards and doctor in here and tells them you've had a heartache while fucking her. Too many of your blue pills. There haven't been the facilities to conduct a proper autopsy for over forty years so ... with a little convincing, they'll eventually believe her. And as the only suitable candidate ... I'll be your successor."

"I ... I was going to name you my successor anyway!"

Volk sneered, "But that involves waiting. And I'm not a very patient man mister president."

"What about the girl?" Vladimir gasped, "Yeonmi?"

Volk frowned, "That ... is a problem. Two bodies might arouse suspicion. I'll give it some thought. Now ..."

"Y-you ... won't get away with this ... Volk ..."

"On the contrary mister president," Volk said coldly, "I already have."

Holding the president's head still with one hand around his neck, Volk carefully forced the needle of the syringe deep into his left ear and quickly pressed the plunger down. The puncture wound would be virtually undetectable.

. . .

KRESSHH!

Flames exploded across the armoured body of the second T-14, engulfing the turret, periscopes and useless sensor array as Reekies launched a storm of Molotov cocktails at it. With its thick steel plate the tank's crew would be safe inside, but for the moment - blind.

"Faigh timcheall air!" Fraser screamed. A Coalition bullet had torn a chunk out of his shoulder, splintering the bone, but he remained upright and still very much in charge, "make es much noise es ye can!"

The air stank of burning petrol as his Reekies dodged nimbly between the two massive tanks, shrieking battle cries and making short work of any panicked Coalition conscripts unfortunate enough to be in their way. Many had only ever fought frightened refugees or guarded remote workcamps. So being charged down by Reekie berserkers wearing armour made from human bones was a somewhat enlightening experience. Hacking with blades, bludgeoning with clubs, the Reekies ploughed on as behind them the turret of the burning tank slowly rotated.

The third Armata stood its ground - blocking the road onto the causeway and simply waiting. Fraser's simple plan had worked.

With their vision impeded, the second tank couldn't risk opening fire without possibly hitting the third. But behind them on the road up to Beal village, a Coalition BTR squealed to a halt on the wet road and yet more of Volk's men clambered out. Discarding his axe, Fraser grabbed a dead Russian's Kalashnikov and swore under his breath, "Fuck! BRAITHREAN!" he bellowed at what remained of his clan, "move ontae the causeway!"

. . .

Covering the president's body with a sheet, Supreme Marshal Volk stepped back off the bed and hid the empty syringe in his uniform jacket.

"Is ... is he d-dead?" Ludmila asked him fearfully. To plot an attempt on the president's life was one thing. To actually go through with it was something else entirely.

Volk shrugged, "If he isn't, he soon will be," he regarded their prisoner, the North Korean girl Yeonmi intently, "you're a pretty young thing. Offering the president your tight little ass so you could get close enough to slit his throat eh?"

"She doesn't speak Russian," informed Ludmila.

Yeonmi looked him defiantly in the eye, blood from her fractured nose dribbling down her chin and dripping onto her bare breasts.

"The way I see it, we've no alternative but to let you go," Volk ran a manicured fingernail lightly down the upper slope of one breast and across Yeonmi's taut nipple, leaving a bloody smear. She shuddered, "if Zakhvatchikov's bodyguards find her here she'll be interrogated. This way she can tell her superiors she completed her mission ... and everyone's happy."

Yeonmi watched him blankly as Volk collected up her clothes and red satin lingerie then handed them to her, "Go. Take a launch and get off the Lenin. Don't speak to anyone. Just go."

After a moment's hesitation, Yeonmi began to hurriedly get dressed. She hadn't understood a word of what Volk had said but the intention was clear. The Russians were letting her go.

Volk turned to Ludmila Mudak, "You better switch on the tears. You're about to inform Zakhvatchikov's bodyguards that their beloved president has died."

. . .

The nearest twenty foot wooden post marking the safe channel burst into splinters as the first speeding T-14 lumbered into it. The Reekies had successfully lured it out onto Lindisfarne's mudflats, but now what?

"Bystreye!" urged the Russian tank commander. Thick metal tracks skidded sideways in the slimy mud and rock pools as the T-14's driver wrestled with the controls. Plumes of knee deep murky seawater fountained skyward as the vehicle plunged further from shore in pursuit of the scattering Reekies.

TAKATAK!

"Ser!" called the gunner, "my ne znayem, gde eto bezopasno."

It was true. Many of the other wooden posts marking the safe route across had rotted or been washed away. Without them there was no way of knowing what they were heading into.

"Der'mo!" the commander swore as the Armata's nose abruptly lurched forward, with nothing but a void beneath its starboard track. With a jolt - and 55 tons of armoured weight behind it, the main gun's barrel ploughed a deep furrow into the mud of the bay - the driver cursing as his forehead smacked into the rusting steel bulkhead.

"Obratnyy!" shouted the tank's commander frantically, "polozhi nas v obratnuyu storonu!"

But it was no use. There was nothing for the tracks to grip. Listing drunkenly at almost a forty five degree angle into the sucking mud, with the barrel of its main gun holding it down, the T-14 slowly began to settle. Farther out towards Lindisfarne, the fleeing Reekies paused ... then began to make their way cautiously back.

. . .

An alarm blared as Volk stepped out into the aircraft carrier Lenin's corridor from his VIP quarters, feigning the effects of being suddenly woken from a deep slumber. Navy and army personnel sprinted past on their way to duty stations. Shrugging on his uniform jacket that he'd only removed five minutes before, he grabbed the arm of a passing lieutenant, "What's going on?"

"The president, sir. He's dead."

Volk took a step back, trying to look shocked and surprised, "D-dead? How?"

"Apparently a heart attack sir," the young lieutenant glanced up the corridor. It was obvious he had somewhere else to be, "Major Mudak was ... with him. She's being questioned."

Volk looked confused. Which he genuinely was, "So ... why the alarm?"

"Our garrison on Lindisfarne sir. Reports say it's being attacked by an army of Reekies."

"Shit!" Volk buttoned up his jacket, "go to the bridge. Tell the captain I'm assuming command of the fleet."

"But sir ..."

This was an unexpected turn of events. What better way to prove his worth as the Coalition's new president than a good old fashioned crisis? "No buts lieutenant. DO IT! It's time we dealt with the Reekies once and for all. Get the presidential bodyguard to meet me onboard the carrier Baekdusan."

"The Baekdusan?" it was the lieutenant's turn to look confused, "but sir, that's the North Korean ..."

"And the only ship in the fleet carrying nuclear weapons," Volk interrupted, "now go!"

It would only be a matter of time before the senior staff contacted him, formally inviting him to become Vladimir Zakhvatchikov's successor. In the meantime there was work to do. And the completion of a task that was long overdue.

But first, he had to rescue his co-conspirator Ludmila Mudak from the clutches of the Spetsnaz interrogators.

. . .

Something grazed Tamsin's cheek as she and the Reekies continued their desperate slog across to the island. Perhaps if they could reach the cover of the dunes along Goswick Sands they might be able to hide from the approaching Kamov.

THOKKA-THOKKA-THOKKA ...

She lifted a shivering hand to her face, fingertips coming away red with blood. Then something plopped into the water next to her, "What the ...?"

McTavish and many of the other Reekies froze, looking fearfully at the distant navigation lights of the approaching Coalition gunship. But also at the ominous blackness moving in from the north east ...

A mixture of gritty rain and salt spray suddenly drenched them as more objects plunged like hailstones, unseen into the water nearby. The wind intensified. One Reekie screamed and fell back as a spear like shard thunked into her face.

"DEBRIS STORM!" Tamsin yelled in terror, "everyone get to cover!"

Masonry, timber, glass, wreckage of vehicles and even corpses had been snatched up and carried aloft by freak storms for over forty years after Thanatos. Whipped into swirling, unpredictable maelstroms by the addition of other weather systems the terrifying phenomena had circled the globe - strengthening, weakening but never quite dying out. Their lethal payloads gradually eroding as it all smashed against itself in the blasting wind, a debris storm no longer meant potential death by crushing, but by being cut to pieces by all that remained ...

... billions of tiny, wickedly sharp splinters, striking sparks as they clashed together.

The Reekies were already moving, running desperately towards the distant beach as the sky darkened above them and the Coalition helicopter gunship descended for a strafing run.

. . .

"Thankyou, for coming back for me," Ludmila Mudak stretched up to kiss Volk's cheek. She looked dishevelled, her hair a mess and mascara dried in black streaks down her pale cheeks from crying. For anyone loyal to President Zakhvatchikov would surely be distraught at his passing. Her questioning had been merely a formality. Everyone knew that the ageing president's hedonistic appetites might one day become too much as he bedded men and women a quarter his age.

"Not here Major. Someone will see," Volk glanced around, but the entire crew of the Lenin appeared far too busy to have even noticed. The two of them hurried across the aircraft carrier's 305 metre flight deck as sleek grey Sukhoi Su-57 fighter jets were readied for a possible air strike against the Reekies, "I think your dream of fucking in the presidential suite may have to wait. Now ... did the North Korean woman get away, d'you know?"

The wind was picking up from the east as if a storm might be blowing in. With no satellites to monitor the weather, making an accurate forecast had become nigh on impossible since Thanatos.

"Yeonmi? Yes, as far as I know she caught the launch to the mainland. But why didn't we just let her assassinate President Zakhvatchikov? It would've saved us the trouble."

"Because it had to look like natural causes," Volk explained, "if our senior staff had reason to blame the North Koreans the Coalition would be over. And we'd never get our hands on their missiles."

They reached one of the semi permanent bridges. A sturdy but flexible construction of netting, steel cables and interlocking plastic slats that stretched between the Lenin and the North Korean's flagship - the aircraft carrier Baekdusan, anchored two hundred yards away.

Beside the gently swaying bridge, the presidential bodyguard of two dozen elite Spetsnaz waited. Both men and women, faces concealed, wearing body armour and carrying weapons. The Voyska Spetsial'nogo Naznacheniya - an umbrella term for special operations units in the Russian military. Their motto - Any Mission, Any Time, Any Place. If the North Koreans refused to relinquish command of the Baekdusan, they'd have a serious fight on their hands.

. . .

As the sinking T-14's commander poked his head out of the tank's turret, he took one look around at the crackling black storm looming from the north of Lindisfarne and yelled back down to his crew, "MUSOR BURYA! Vernis' vnutr!"

With their periscopes plastered with mud, he hadn't even noticed the Reekies they'd been chasing, who'd circled back and surrounded the beleaguered Armata. An expertly thrown tomahawk embedded itself in his face and he slumped back down into the tank. Instantly the Reekies swarmed over the vehicle, leaping down inside and making short work of the other two crew.

Sharp slivers of rusting metal and shards of smooth worn glass pinged and clattered off the scratched armour plate as the edge of the debris storm drew closer.

"A-MHÀIN!" hollered one Reekie, a muscle bound amazon of a woman, "gu sgiobalta," as she urged the others to get inside before the storm hit.

. . .

The water was by now only ankle deep, but the hidden boulders and slippery patches of bladderwrack still treacherous underfoot. Tamsin Beech gritted her teeth against the cold and the pain lancing through her knee joint as she sloshed the last few metres up onto the beach at Snook Point with McTavish's hand hooked under her arm.

Glass splinters and shards of metal chopped into the oil streaked sand at their feet ...

TAKATAKATAK!

Behind them the Coalition Kamov gunship swooped in low over the mudflats, guns blazing. Before she had chance to look away, Tamsin spotted a dozen Reekies literally ripped apart by large calibre bullets, "We're sitting d-ducks out here!" she yelled over the howling wind at McTavish, "but there's no cover at this end of the island!"

They'd reached Lindisfarne. But for the time being their plan would have to wait, as merely surviving the debris storm had suddenly taken priority.

"We need to get to the village then," McTavish ducked low as a gust blasted more lethally spinning debris at them.

THOKKA-THOKKA-THOKKA ...

They both knew that Lindisfarne's one and only village lay roughly two miles to the east. With a debris storm and one of Volk's Kamovs gunning for them it was highly unlikely they'd make it. Tamsin shook her head as she spotted the helicopter banking around for another pass, "Th-this guy's persistent. Any sensible pilot would have set down in this weather."