The Forever Man: Axeman Read online

  ‘When do they get time for schooling?’

  ‘They receive rudimentary reading, writing and arithmetic skills. The Brigadier believes that too much focus on intellectual pursuits will be damaging to their development as soldiers. Some of the more feeble ones, ones of less physical strength, are selected for more cerebral offerings.’

  Nathaniel kept his face devoid of expression and simply nodded and went on his way.

  Next he came across a group of four civilians, a man and three women of indeterminate middle age. Standing near them was an armed soldier. Two of the women were sweeping the snow off the roads and sidewalks and the other two were polishing the road signs. The soldier nodded a greeting but the civilians kept their eyes downcast and avoided looking at him as they concentrated on their menial tasks. As he drew away he heard one of them coughing, a deep wracking cough that sounded like the precursor of real problems.

  Nathaniel continued his aimless stroll, noting that all of the signs were highly polished and the fences newly painted. The village was in parade ground condition. No longer a village and now an obvious military base. Once again he wondered where all of the inhabitants were.

  He walked alongside the blast wall until he came to one of the sentry towers. It stood four meters high and was constructed from steel scaffolding. A ladder ran up the side to the platform.

  Nathaniel gave the sentry a shout. ‘Hey, soldier. Mind if I come up?’

  The soldier peered over the side, took in the marine’s rank and gave him a thumbs up. ‘Help yourself, sir.’

  He shimmied up the ladder and stepped onto the platform. The area was around six square yards, three-foot high railings and a 7.62 mm machine gun mounted on a swing mount that was attached to a steel stanchion.

  The marine nodded to the soldier. ‘Nathaniel Hogan, marine master sergeant.’

  ‘Private Johnson, sir. Surrey territorials.’

  Nathaniel pulled out a pack of cigarettes and offered. Johnson accepted with alacrity, a huge grin on his face.

  ‘Thank you, sergeant. Ran out of these over a month ago. Commissioned officers only.’

  Nathaniel lit for both of them and then gave the rest of the pack to the private.

  ‘Here, take them. I’ve got more.’

  Johnson slipped the pack into one of the pouches of his webbing, his face still agrin.

  The two soldiers smoked in silence for a while and Nathaniel surveyed the land. About six hundred yards from the rear wall he could see a group of people working in a field, scraping the snow to one side and digging up something that looked like potatoes. Three armed guards stood close by them. He also noticed small groups walking through the forest. Groups of threes and fours. Each with a soldier.

  ‘What are they doing?’ He asked Johnson.

  ‘Laying traps, sir. Rabbits, birds, small game. The meat is brought back and either used straightaway or smoked and salted for storage. Also general forage, wild carrots, tubers, fruits. The Brigadier has set up a system. We need to be fully self sustaining ASAP. No relying on old generation tinned foods and such, sir. We are the new generation.’

  Nathaniel dragged on his cigarette. Said nothing.

  ‘These people owe a lot to the Brigadier,’ continued Johnson. ‘We were on exercises in the area, using the local base, only a couple of hundred of us. The bulk of the boys were in Afghanistan when the power went. Within a day the Brigadier had a plan, reckoned that the base was indefensible as well as being unsustainable. So we decamped to this village. If it weren’t for us it they would all have starved. Now we have food being stored for the winter, running water, defenses. The continuation of our civilization. And it won’t stop here. In time we can expand, bring more people under rule. Make more people safe.’

  Nathaniel nodded. Whatever he thought, it was obvious that the Brigadier had achieved a great deal in a small amount of time.

  ‘Right then,’ he said to Johnson. ‘Thanks for the info. See you later.’

  He climbed back down the tower and continued his circuit of the wall finally ending up at the village green.

  There was a large army tent erected in the middle of the green and he could see through the entrance that it was full of trestle tables and a variety of chairs. Most of the tables were full of people sitting down and eating and there were still long queues at the chow line as people waited patiently, bowls in hand, to get some sustenance.

  Nathaniel could smell the food from where he stood and it seemed to consist mainly of boiled turnips, potato and cabbage. Way in the background a slight smell of meat. Probably rabbit. The villagers looked lethargic, faces pale and movements slow. Whenever he caught someone’s eye they immediately looked down, their faces showing obvious fear.

  The marine contemplated missing dinner as the smell of boiling turnips was turning his stomach, but he hadn’t eaten since that morning so he figured that he had better try to get something into his belly while he had the chance.

  He continued past the green to the village hall where Clarkson had told him the officers’ mess was. The front doors were closed and he let himself in. The first thing that struck him was the atmosphere. Someone, a young girl it seemed, was playing a piano in the corner. Classical renditions of pop songs. The place was well lit with candles and mirrors and a fire crackled away in the hearth, filling the place with warmth. And the smell of the food immediately made his mouth water.

  Fried chicken, mashed potato with butter, peas, gravy, corn. There were bottles of red wine at the tables as well as jugs of water and fresh fruit juice. It was as if he had entered another world. A world of privilege and power. And then he realized; that is exactly what he had done. Outside were the new world peasants. The grubbers of dirt and the wielders of plows. And in this room were the leaders of the elite. Soldiers. Warriors. Men with power.

  Nathaniel took a deep breath and walked into the room.

  The brigadier, who was sitting at the top table, saw him and beckoned to him.

  ‘Mister Hogan. Join us.’

  The marine walked over and sat down next to the commanding officer.

  ‘So, mister Hogan,’ continued the Brigadier. ‘You’ve had a good look around. What do you think.’

  ‘I’m a sergeant, sir,’ responded the marine. ‘Not my job to think.’

  The Brigadier smiled. But only with his lips, no humor touched his eyes. ‘I give you permission to think. Go ahead.’

  ‘Very efficiently run outfit, sir,’ said Nathaniel. ‘Not sure if I’d want to be a civilian.’

  The brigadier raised an eyebrow. ‘Why?’

  ‘Well, sir, never been one for grubbing in the dirt and surviving on turnip soup.’

  The brigadier nodded. ‘I see. You appear to have come across the lower echelons being fed. The tent on the green. Yes,’ agreed the brigadier. ‘It’s a tough life for them. However, better than being dead one might say. But what you do not know, mister Hogan, is those were only a part of the community. The lowest and least skilled of the village. There is another kitchen closer to the gates where the middle echelons are fed. Those are the people with more discernable skills. Blacksmiths, engineers, farmers, farriers and such. Their fare is substantially better than turnip soup.’

  ‘As good as this?’

  The brigadier laughed. ‘Of course not. We are officers. The enlisted men get similar food, no booze. But the middle echelons get a meat ration and bread with their soup. An adequate amount of calories to survive and to work.’

  ‘There seem to be many empty houses, sir. Casualties?’

  ‘No,’ answered the brigadier. ‘Thanks to us there were very few casualties in the village. We’ve had, perhaps, a ten percent die back. Diabetics, people whom were on various life giving drugs that ran out, the elderly. The empty houses are part of the new order. One is assigned housing depending on one’s usefulness to the community as a whole. The lower echelons share housing. Four to a room, male and females separated. The middles echelons get their own house, ranging f
rom a three bedroom for the farrier down to smaller one or two beds for farmers and assistants. The doctor has a very decent digs as does the priest.’

  ‘As do you, sir,’ interjected Nathaniel.

  ‘Yes, I am the commanding officer. My place used to belong to a city trader. Now he is one of the lower echelons. Good for nothing but wielding a spade. No discernable skills whatsoever.’

  ‘And what are the empty houses for then?’ Enquired the marine.

  ‘Newcomers, such as yourself,’ said the brigadier. ‘We accept all comers, interview them, allocate them a job and in return they get food, shelter and safety.’

  Someone put a full plate of food down in front of the marine and he concentrated on getting it inside him. The brigadier sat silently for a while, sipping on a glass of red wine. After a minute or so he stood up. Immediately everyone in the room stood to attention.

  The brigadier waved them back down. ‘As you were, gentlemen. I grow weary and shall take my leave.’ He left the hall followed closely by his two armed guards and everyone sat down and continued with their meals.

  Warrant officer Clarkson, who was sitting on Nathaniel’s left side, offered the marine a glass of wine. He nodded his thanks.

  ‘He’s a great man, you know,’ said Clarkson. ‘What you see is just the beginning. Soon we shall start to expand our net. Bring in more villages and towns under us, set up communications via fast horse. Expand the central army to include a militia. Create centralized farms and production units. Everyone will have equal access to food and shelter.’

  ‘Except for the military,’ rejoined Nathaniel.

  ‘Well, obviously, yes. For any civilization to achieve, one must have a ruling class.’

  The marine said nothing.

  ‘You seem skeptical, master sergeant.’

  ‘I don’t know if skeptical is the correct word,’ answered Nathaniel. ‘Perhaps incredulous is closer.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Military rule? Armies are run to fight wars, not to rule civilizations. Look at Hitler, Adi Amin, Stalin, Genghis Kahn. Power can be gained by the barrel of a gun but never held by it.’

  ‘You misunderstand, master sergeant. We do not seek to conquer. We seek to help. We have no political agenda at all.’

  ‘War is the continuation of politics,’ argued Nathaniel. ‘And before you say that you aren’t at war let me tell you – you are. What would happen if you stood your soldiers down and disarmed them?’

  ‘Obviously there might be a breakdown of discipline,’ admitted Clarkson.

  Nathaniel snorted. ‘A breakdown of discipline? The people would rise up and bloody slaughter the lot of you.’

  Clarkson shook his head vehemently. ‘No way, master sergeant. They understand that what we are doing is for the best. The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few. As I say, a few may become a little undisciplined but not much more.’

  ‘Bullshine,’ said Nathaniel. ‘They won’t even look a soldier in the eye. They’re all living in terror. You have taken their houses and split up their families and dine on fried chicken whilst they subsist on turnip water. Wake up, man.’

  Clarkson had gone pale with rage as he stared at Nathaniel. ‘Master sergeant,’ he said. ‘You are dismissed. You are no longer welcome in the officers’ mess. Please leave this instant.’

  Nathaniel stood up. ‘I’m sorry, mister Clarkson. I didn’t mean to offend. Especially after being given such a welcome. It was churlish of me in the extreme. I shall leave first thing in the morning after extending my thanks to the Brigadier.’

  He bowed and walked slowly from the hall and into the night. A light snow was falling; little eddies of wind causing it to swirl about the marine’s head like moths around a flame.

  He took out a cigarette, cupped his hands against the wind and lit up. Then he walked back to his digs, deep in thought. He didn’t know why he was so riled up. Most of what Clarkson said was true; the bulk of the villagers would have died by now if left to their own devices. The brigadier had created a safe haven in a world gone mental. The bulk of the villagers were eating, albeit subsistence rations. But the whole thing stank like a nine-day-old kipper. Sometimes, just because you could do something, was no real reason to go ahead and do it. One thing was for sure; the brigadier was on one huge power trip. Nevertheless, thought Nathaniel, whilst the situation was not to his liking it wasn’t actually broken. People were safe and alive, far be it for him to blunder in righting wrongs that were not even considered wrongs by many of the people involved.

  He arrived at his digs and stood outside for a while, dragging on the remains of his cigarette. As he finished, the door of a cottage three down from his crashed open and two soldiers stepped out. Between them was a young girl. Perhaps fifteen or maybe sixteen. It was hard to tell in the dark but it looked as if she had been weeping. Behind her was an older man, gray hair, spectacles.

  ‘You can’t do this,’ the older man said. His voice a desperate plea.

  ‘Brigadier’s orders,’ replied the one soldier. ‘Now stand back.’

  The older man lunged forward and grabbed the girl, attempting to pull her from the soldier’s grasp. The soldier who had spoken before, casually smashed his elbow into the man’s face, splitting the flesh below his eye and knocking him to the ground, sending his spectacles flying.

  Nathaniel strode over. ‘What’s going on here?’ He asked.

  ‘Back off, ‘retorted the soldier.

  ‘Back off – sergeant,’ bellowed the marine.

  The soldier came to attention. ‘Sorry, sergeant,’ he said. ‘My mistake. Thought that you were a civvie. Brigadier’s orders, sergeant. He said to bring the girl to his quarters.’

  ‘Why?’

  The private shrugged. ‘Not mine to ask, sergeant. Not in this man’s army. Brigadier commands and I do.’

  Nathaniel nodded. It was the answer that he expected. A private was a mere pawn in an institution where crap ran downhill so he was constantly covered in the stuff. Every crappy job went to the lowest ranks first.

  ‘As you were, private,’ he said. ‘Just make sure that no harm comes to the girl.’

  Once again the private shrugged. ‘It will or it won’t, sergeant, but I can assure you, I will not harm her.’

  The two soldiers dragged the weeping girl off.

  Nathaniel picked up the older man’s spectacles and handed them to him.

  The man accepted them with shaking hand. ‘How could you?’ He said. ‘She’s but a child. She’s my granddaughter. Barely fifteen years old.’

  ‘I’m sure that she’ll be fine,’ replied Nathaniel.

  The old man shook his head. ‘I know that you’ve just got here, but how can you be so naïve? What do you think is happening here? Do you think that monster has invited her over for milk and cookies?’

  Nathaniel turned and started to walk back to his digs.

  The old man grabbed his cloak. ‘He’s going to rape her. He’s going to take my little girl and tear her clothes off and beat her and rape her.’ He started to weep. Quietly. Then he let go of the marine’s cloak and simply sat down in the snow, tears running down his cheeks. ‘He’s going to rape her and there’s nothing that I can do.’

  The marine stood and watched him for a while. Thoughts tumbled through his mind. The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few. These people had shelter. Food. Protection from the roving gangs. But who would protect them from their protectors? And why should it be his problem? He would go back to his house, sleep, get up tomorrow and go. Leave well enough alone.

  The old man held his head in his hands and rocked back and forth slightly. A picture of utter dejection.

  ‘Oh damn it,’ said Nate,’ as he turned and started to stride towards the brigadier’s house. ‘I know that I’m going to regret this.’

  It took him less than two minutes to reach the brigadier’s house and he walked straight up to the front door. The two ever-present guards blocked his way.

 
‘Sorry, sergeant,’ said the one. ‘No entrance. The brigadier is busy for the evening.’

  ‘No,’ said Nate. ‘Not any more.’ He grabbed the guard’s rifle and pulled the man towards him, arched his back and delivering a crashing head butt to the bridge of the man’s nose. He dropped to the floor like a sack of wheat. Nate ripped the rifle from his inert fingers, swung on his heel and smacked the butt into the other guard’s temple, dropping him in the same manner.

  Then he opened the door and walked in. He figured that the brigadier would be upstairs and he ran up the sweeping marble staircase to the next floor. He entered a corridor with a row of doors along one side and a set of double doors at the very end. Nate reckoned that the double doors were probably the entrance to the master suit so he went straight to them and kicked them open.

  The girl was naked and tied to the bed. The brigadier, still in full dress uniform, stood over her with a riding crop. The red swollen weals that criss-crossed the girl’s torso spoke of mute testament as to what the brigadier was doing.

  He turned to face Nate, his face a picture of absolute surprise.

  ‘What the bloody hell?’ He exclaimed. ‘How dare you, sergeant? Get out.’

  Nate raised the rifle and pointed it at the brigadier. ‘You filthy old animal, put the whip down and untie the girl.’

  The brigadier’s face went purple with rage. ‘Put the rifle down this instant. You are addressing a superior officer.’

  ‘No I’m not,’ said Nate. ‘I’m merely addressing an officer that outranks me. Now do as I say or I swear that I’ll shoot your dick off.’

  But the brigadier could still not get past the enormity of being addressed in such a way by a mere non-commissioned officer, so he simply shook his head and shouted, ‘guards!’

  Nate, who was not one to issue idle threats, flicked the safety off the rifle and fired a round into the floor next to the officer’s feet. ‘Untie her, or the next one will leave you singing soprano for the rest of your life.’

  The officer stepped over to the bed and quickly untied the girl.

  ‘Where are her clothes?’ Asked Nate.