Forgotness: Book 1: 200m

“Wake up Ma’am.” I’m not sure how many times he had been saying that before he touched my arm. That was what woke me up. I almost reprimanded him but thought better of it.

“We’re just coming into Tissington.” He explained, though I could see that for myself.

I straightened my uniform and ordered the driver to go straight to Headquarters to drop me off and then take the rest of the platoon back to Kirk Ireton.

It occurred to me that I probably ought to phone my husband to let him know what was going on. But first I had to report to the Tissington Commanding Officer.

When we arrived I got out of the truck and marched into Headquarters and asked to see the CO.

The CO wasn’t in. I asked for the Head of Security and was told to wait. I sat down and telephoned my husband who was very understanding and sympathetic, sure I was miserable to not be with him and the children. I let the call go on as there was nothing else to do and it would help in the long run if I seemed interested and caring. I didn’t want to go home later to shouts, arguments and recriminations. So, he talked, I listened, then I was put onto the children who told me about their games and dreams and recent smells. Eventually I said I had to go.

“I’ll be back home as soon as I can. I’ll see if I can extend my leave as well to make up for it.” I said, fairly certain that I wouldn’t be able to.

“That would be good darling, you take care and don’t let those nasty Wetters touch you,” my husband said, “love you.”

“Love you too.” I disconnected the call.

Thing is. I did love him. God he was beautiful. And good with the kids. So much better than me. He knew what to say to them. I’d sit on the floor and want to talk and laugh with them but I didn’t know what to say. What do you say? Whatever I said: how was school, is the teacher nice, what’s your favourite subject? I just got monosyllabic answers: OK, all right, fine, good. He’s not even very clever, my husband. Well, not at all. Good family, rich. Beautiful, good god, you should see other women look at him. But... but what, sod it? Think about the job. I was a Trident sailor. We were the ones that pushed the button when it needed to be pushed. We saved what could be saved by amputating, cauterising the country. We were hated for it, we were feared for it, but we saved their lives. I was not going feel guilty about it.

“Commander?” I looked up. A captain was looking down at me.

“Commander Colme,” I stood up and shook his hand.

“Captain Cronin, yes, you’ve been in pursuit of some Wetlanders I believe. Do come up to my office.” I followed him. The Tissington Headquarters were not purpose built. This had been some small country house before the docks were built up around it. It was a maze of passageways and small rooms in the sub ground floor, large bright rooms on the ground floor and first floor and then ever smaller rooms as we got into the eaves. Walls had been knocked through, computers and their operators lined the sloping walls.

“Who are you listening to?” I asked, not expecting to be told.

“Oh, the usual suspects: the locals, see what’s being smuggled in, the importers and exporters, see who they’re dealing with, the Priests, see who they hate today, Evangelicals, Scientologists, sometimes even the Wetters when they come in range.”

“Do they have phones?” I asked, surprised. “Can they get online?”

“Yes, some have phones, some even seem to be able to connect to the web. They have some electricity. Most of the satellites are still up and running. So, yes. Not sure if they have old computers that never got wet or they’ve managed to dry some out or bought them. But they’re there.”

“Who would sell them computers?” I asked.

“Scandies, I suppose, who else?” Replied the Captain taking me through to his little office.

“Can’t listen in on Linux though?” I asked.

“No, sadly, Linux, Linux is difficult, and ever more difficult as well, they keep improving it, but Windows hasn’t been updated for 20 years now or more. Anyway, what can I do for you? Have a pew.”

“You know about the break-in at Hulland?” I started.

“Curious choice of place to enter.” The Captain pointed out.

“Well exactly. And the behaviour of the one I have been following has been odd to say the least. For a start he’s not bolted inland, he cut across to Hognaston where it seems he took a look at the outpost there and then again this morning instead of heading north to relative safety he’s moved on to here, the docks.”

“And you think he’s actually spying? Marking our positions?”

“That would seem to be what he’s up to. Yesterday he got past my line and instead of escaping north he headed south and west, here. And he attacked a soldier when he didn’t need to. Though that makes even less sense. It’s possible the soldier was lying but I can’t think why.”

“I see,” said the Captain. He paused as if deciding whether to tell me something. “You’re under Admiral Rackson, yes?”

I nodded.

“Well, I’m going to have a word with him as I think you may be on to something. We’ve been hearing things out of the South and well, yes, look, why don’t you go down and get some lunch. Corporal!” A small man rushed in and saluted.

“Take Commander Colme here down to the canteen and get her fed, show her where she can clean up. I’ll probably be a couple of hours. Maybe see you for a cup of tea around fifteen hundred hours?”

I agreed.

“Good, well, see you then. Should have some news for you later.”

“This way Ma’am,” the Corporal lead me away, back through the warren of attic rooms and down to the canteen, a rather nice room with large windows and a polished wooden floor.

“I’ll see what the kitchen’s got ready Ma’am.” The Corporal showed me to a table and left through another door.

I got up and went over to a sidetable with a large hot plate and huge pots of tea and coffee and helped myself.

An orderly came out and took my order. The choice was standard military fare: a large pot of stew, a large pot of curry, a large vegetarian lasagna. I went for the lasagna. Not because I was a vegetarian but I thought it better for me to not eat meat every day. Perhaps I was a part-time vegetarian? That would mess with the hippies. Not that there were many nowadays though it did seem that there were more every year. And that was because people like Linux were allowed too much leeway. Just because they got a lot of technology going again after the EMP, the nation-wide Blue Screen of Death (something else we got the blame for, rightly so, in that particular case), does not mean we should be eternally grateful to them. In fact the longer we left it the bigger the problem would become. Not that the military should get involved with politics. Unless it absolutely had to step in. If things went too far. If chaos was coming. Then we would have to press the button. Like we had last time.

My husband didn’t think about it. He had the kids, a nice house, I got a decent pay and we were the cream of the Scottish military and in the Senior Service, we had a certain cachet. The nice uniform helped. And the fact that the sea had become more important again of late. We were important, so I was important, so he was important and it never seemed to occur to him to worry about the price I paid.

But why did I still keep thinking about it, nearly thirty years on. Fifty million people dead, though no one was sure. Millions made their way to Southern Europe and America. Tens of thousands just sailed away, still were sailing in their millionaires’ paradises. Many bought their way into Scotland. Sorry Topland. The rest: I nuked them. Sorry.

The lasagna was cheesy and when I had finished it the Corporal came back and showed me to a room with an ensuite bathroom. He had laid out a new uniform (and guessed or found out my sizes correctly). So I had a shower and changed my clothes and discovered that the Corporal had also provided me with a complete kit: a wash bag, some rations, underwear. Enough for a few days on the road. He knew his stuff.

There was a knock on the door, the Corporal had come to take me back to Captain Cronin.

We went up to the Cronin’s Office where the Captain sat waiting for me. He stood up as we entered and shook my hand again.

“Ah, Commander, I hope everything was satisfactory. The mess is not too bad down here.”

“It was all good, thank you,” I replied, “and thank you for the room, your Corporal was very thoughtful.”

“Yes, he knows his stuff doesn’t he, couldn’t do without him. Look,” he went on, “following on from what we were talking about this morning I’ve had a chat with the Admiral and he’s happy for you to be seconded to us for the time being, to sort this mini Wetter invasion we seem to be in the middle of.”

“OK,” I said, taking a seat, “is that what you think is happening?”

“Well, we don’t have much to go on. It’s not like they are sending encrypted messages to each other. It’s just a matter of hoovering up all the conversations, see who’s talking to who and listening to what they’re saying.”

“Who is saying what to whom?” I asked.

“It seems that Linux is in contact with some Wetters. The Wetters are talking about a raid. And it seems that Linux is, I wouldn’t say encouraging it but is interested, curious, I think.”

“But that’s treason!” I exclaimed. “We can finally shut down Linux if that’s the case.”

“Maybe. I share your enthusiasm as does High Command in fact. But we need a bit more. You know, something a bit caught red-handed, light goes on: hand in the biscuit tin sort of thing.”

“So, you want me to not catch this mutant but see who he leads me to?”

“Yes, I think that would be good.”

“And therefore to help him on his way even, if er... things go against him?”

“Maybe. You say he’s not killed anyone?”

“No.”

“But he could have, your soldier...”

“Johnson, yes, alive and well, unfortunately perhaps, but yes, not killed. Which was odd.”

“Well exactly,” said Cronin, “I, we, think this Wetter is trying to reach Linux. Maybe the others involved in the break-in are the blinds, to mislead us, spoil the hunt.”

“So, I’m to follow and find out what Linux is playing at.”

“Yes. Up for that?”

“I think so.” I replied. “But there is one problem: I’ve lost him.”

“Well, he’s got a long way to go. As far as we can tell Linux is still in Aviemore being the Prince’s ‘Saviour of the Nation’. A position I believe you in Trident feel should be your place.”

It wasn’t just me who kept bringing it to mind then. But this time I wasn’t sure if there was some measure of spite in Cronin’s voice. Maybe he wasn’t so on our side as he made out. But, he wouldn’t be in this position if he wasn’t, so...

“We did, and do, our duty.”

“Quite.”

“So, what happens now?”

“Well, if Linux is in Aviemore then that’s where our Wetter has to get to. He can’t lie low and get a job picking fruit on the moorsides. He has to go north. He’ll be seen somewhere. We’re setting up checkpoints at all the crossings between here and the Capital. As soon as he’s spotted you’ll be on your way. In the meantime I would get a bit of rest and be ready.”

I thought for a second.

“Do you have a firing range here?” I asked. Cronin laughed.

“Yes, it’s small, in the cellar here. I’ll get the Corporal to take you down.” He pressed a button on his desk. The Corporal reappeared and a few minutes later we were at the firing range which was, as he said, in the cellar.

We were allowed through the gate and I went into one of the stone archways off the central passage. I asked for 2 boxes of cartridges from the armoury. At the far end was a wall of sandbags and some remains of targets. There was a table just inside the door with large ear defenders. I put on a pair and took out my Glock.

Two hours passed in seconds. I do find target practise completely engrossing. Time flies when you are having fun.

I spent another hour in the armoury stripping down my pistol and cleaning it all thoroughly.

Then I went back up to my room and sat on the bed wondering what to do next. I considered telephoning my husband again?

Instead I got changed, left a note at the front desk and went for a run round the streets of Tissington.

I got back. Had another wash. Changed back into my uniform. Went back down to the mess and had a cup of tea.

I tried to find something to read but there were no books, not even magazines. Since the recent changes to copyright law making infringement criminal, even public bookcases were seen as file servers, and magazines or newspapers on tables were frowned upon. And copyright wasn’t for life plus a hundred years, it was forever now. At least it encouraged artists to produce long after their death.

My cup of tea stopped midway to my lips: that was exactly the sort of thing Linux would say. Was I becoming a liberal?

I shook the thought out of my head and had a sip of tea.

I tried to browse the internet on my phone but there was very little new to see, as ever.

I left another note at the front desk and went for a walk round Tissington.

Back to my room.

Back to the mess for a light supper.

Back to my room.

Finally phoned my husband again. Same conversation as before. Felt worse at the end.

Back to the mess to see if anything was on television. Nothing.

Left another note at the front desk and went for an evening walk round Tissington.

Back to the mess.

Back to my room.

Got undressed and got into bed.

Stared at my phone. Played solitaire.

Midnight. Turned my light off.

Stared at the ceiling. Watched the lights move with the night time traffic.

Wished I could fall asleep if just to pass the time.

I woke the next morning and did everything again and nothing for a whole day. I never spoke to Cronin.

Midnight. Turned my light off.

Stared at the ceiling. Watched the lights move with the night time traffic.

Wished I could fall asleep.

There was a knock at the door. I checked the time, nearly five in the morning. Had I slept?

I got up and opened the door. It was the Corporal.

“Sorry to disturb you Ma’am, the Captain would like to see you.”

“Thank you, tell him I’ll be right up, I know the way.”

“Yes Ma’am.” He saluted and I shut the door.

I dressed quickly and made my way upstairs and entered Cronin’s office.

“Ah Commander, yes well done. That didn’t take too long did it?”

If only he knew. Except he probably did.

“Something come up?” I asked accepting a cup of coffee from him.

“Seems so, quite interesting actually. You thought your man might be a professional, well if this is the same person then you could well be right.”

“What’s happened?”

“We are still piecing it together but four bodies have been found on the road between Woodhead and Holme.”

I shook my head.

“It’s north Peak District. It’s a road you would pretty well have to use if you were heading north from say here in Tissington to Scotland. If you were driving.” He explained.

“He’s driving? So this is what sixty, seventy miles north of here by road?” I paused. “Hang on, he’s driving? He’s a Wetter that knows how to drive?”

“It’s not impossible. There are a few islands big enough to have roads. How they have fuel I don’t know.”

“Maybe he’s not a Wetter at all.” I interrupted. “That would explain his abilities. One of the Americans? But why bother with entering like that?”

“I agree it makes things more interesting.” Replied the Captain. “But, to continue...”

“Yes, sorry,” I shut up.

“Four bodies, all locals, all tradesmen in the area, not perhaps the pleasantest of characters.”

“Meaning?”

“A few prior arrests, a few rumours, probably Masons, possibly missing persons, young female missing persons.”

“Oh. So inter-gang violence or vigilantes surely. What makes you think it’s our man?”

“Well, that’s the funny thing. The first person on the scene was a Priest. He said he was trying to trace a girl who may have been kidnapped.”

“OK, so that might make sense. Gang kidnaps girl?”

“Yes, except this was a Father Jacob, a Priest who is over here to discredit Linux and had ‘Saved’ the girl the night before at some music event up near Buxton and brought her here to Tissington to take her to the Moors.”

I raised my eyebrows.

“Yes, well we like to keep an eye on these things. He keeps in contact with the Cardinal’s Office and we, we have access to these lines of information let’s say.”

“So, this Father Jacob kidnapped her and then lost her?” It was unsettling to think this had happened in the very streets that I had been walking only this afternoon. “And somehow he knew enough to follow her? What time was this?”

“We believe early yesterday morning? We’re checking video cameras now.”

“And the Wetter in all of this?”

“Well, it seems unlikely that this girl, a Jane Dray, has the ability to stab to death four grown men, all with a history of violence, with no signs of a fight. Well, apart from a single cut off hand. They seem to been standing in a circle almost and died within seconds of each other.”

“So our Wetter...”

“Our Wetter was close to Tissington yesterday and maybe has impressive king fu skills? Or is more than one person? Or was not involved at all.”

“No survivors on the road?”

“Possibly, probably. Two cars were disabled at the scene and it looks like there may have been a third vehicle. And this group is known to include a few other men. They haven’t been contacted yet, but they’re not at home.”

“Any idea what this Jane Dray was driving.” I asked.

“Yes a white van.”

I thought for a minute.

“Any reason why this Jane Dray would be heading north? Where’s she from?”

“She’s from Colcar, which she had already passed on her way north. Who knows, I suppose it depends if she has a say in the matter. Maybe she was kidnapped. As a side note the band she was seeing in Buxton have Linux connections.”

“So, I suppose I had better get up to Woodhead and see what’s what. Do I have a car? Is anyone coming with me?”

“Yes, we will supply you with a car. No, I can’t spare anyone at the moment, but there’s plenty of help to be had if and when you need.”

“Well, I think I had better pack and be on my way.” I stood up and shook hands with Captain Cronin.

“The Corporal will sort you out with money and transport when you are ready. Stay in touch, we’ll keep you informed as and when we hear anything. Good hunting.”

He saluted me and I left with the Corporal close behind.

I packed in two minutes and was sitting behind the wheel of a nondescript car in five.

I drove out of Tissington and headed north up the A515. Traffic was light this early in the morning so I got to Buxton by seven and changed to the A6 for Chapel-en-le-Frith but after that the roads became more broken up as I skirted round the coast. I didn’t make it to Woodhead until nearly eleven and the scene of the murders shortly after that.

There wasn’t much to see now the road had been cleared and the coroner had taken the bodies. A solitary policeman stood guard by the two remaining cars and the trailer. He didn’t have much to say, he had arrived not long before I had.

I was just heading back to the car when my ’phone rang. It was Cronin.

“Yes?”

“Ah, Commander, bit of news. The van with a number plate matching the trailer’s passed a checkpoint at Calderbrook earlier today.”

“And they didn’t stop it?”

“They checked it. Driven by a young woman called Jane Dray who, by all accounts did not seem kidnapped in any way. The van was checked, no other persons found.”

“Did the girl say anything?”

“Just that she was working for a band, The Sisters of Mersey, incidentally that is the group Miss Dray had been watching when the Priest took her.”

“So it definitely was our girl Jane. Did the guards get any feeling that she was faking it?” I asked.

“Both the Lieutenant and the Private who stopped the car were convinced that there was nothing amiss.”

“Calderbrook?”

“Yes, it’s the bridge to Pendel, the furthest you can drive north before taking a boat to the Yorkshire Dales.”

“Did she say where she was going?”

“Ah, now, that is interesting. Seems she was very specific about going to Keighley and taking the ferry to Scotland from there.”

“So, she did say she was going to Scotland, but was probably lying about Keighley.”

“Or maybe she’s lying about Scotland and telling the truth about Keighley and is going to run off to Scandinavia.”

“Which do you think Captain?”

“It’s your call, but you may be interested to hear that Father Jacob turned up at Calderbrook and asked much the same questions.”

“I see,” I answered, “and what do we think he made of it?”

“Well,” said the Captain sounding rather pleased with himself, “I know exactly what he made of it because he phoned home.”

“Oh?”

“He’s got a patrol boat picking him up at Briercliffe this afternoon and he’s going to be patrolling the sea over Skipton and West Marton.”

“And,” Cronin continued, “he said he saw a lone figure jump on the lorry that Jane was in, just outside Tissington.”

I felt my grip on the telephone get tighter.

“He saw our Wetter?” I asked.

“Seems so. And just the one. And if this is the one who took out those four Masons outside Woodhead then I’d take jolly good care around it if I were you.”

“Father Jacob could be wrong. They could be going to Keighley.”

“Might be,” said Captain Cronin.

“Do we have any ships at Keighley?”

“I can see what we’ve got and make sure the fastest is waiting for you?”

“Yes, please. I’ll go to Keighley, make sure it wasn’t a double bluff, and if that draws a blank come round the coast over Skipton and see what we see.”

“Sounds like a plan. Stay in touch.”

“Will do.”

I drove off with half an eye on the map. As ever there were short bursts of decent road then lots of single track country lanes and half finished strips of road that cut round the ever rising sea.

It wasn’t particularly far to go but I reckoned that it would take two to three hours. I would be in Keighley by early afternoon maybe.

Sometime later Cronin phoned again to say that there was a ship waiting at Keighley docks if I needed it.

I asked if he could check passenger details in Keighley or if he had access to any cameras to look round the docks for the van.

An hour after that he called again to say that not much was computerised at Keighley and that they only had cameras at a couple of points around the dock, not enough to be sure.

I drove on thinking about Father Jacob.

When I was a young 1st Lieutenant on board the Vigilant, thirty years ago, when we were ordered to make the Trident strike on our own people, we knew we had to do it. It was the same with any strike: it’s the best worst option and most of us didn’t question it. They were just coordinates hundred of miles away from us. The captain had hung himself that night and I had had to take over. Those first few hours had been tough. I had shot a man and arrested many more. I had been promoted. It was only later that we found out that those that were allowed onto high ground were not the worthy, the good, the indispensable, they were just the rich who could afford to buy their way in.

The Priests had been curiously quiet about it all. I heard one say ‘there are more children in heaven now’. I had almost shot him at the time.

But I suspected they had kept quiet so as not to upset Prince John. It helped them get close to the Prince, to be a moral support.

Now they were almost unanimously feared and despised by all.

I wondered what Father Jacob would be like. I could almost picture his calm, caring, listening smile, just waiting for right moment to shove a lit cigarette up your nose.

I breathed out and calmed down.

I reached Calderbrook and was flagged down at the checkpoint. I showed my ID card and enquired after the white van. The Lieutenant sounded exasperated as he explained yet again that yes, it had passed through the checkpoint, yes they had checked it thoroughly, no there had been no sign of other occupants, just a lot of junk in the back, no nothing had caught his eye, yes she had seemed perfectly happy and at ease, yes a Priest had passed through earlier and asked much the same questions and yes he had seemed a particularly unpleasant one.

I thanked him for his time, assured him that he would not be in trouble for this and that he had done everything correctly, and drove on.

I looked back over the valley. It would have been easy to spot the checkpoint before heading down to the Calderbrook Bridge. Easy therefore to drop off a Wetter or two and let them make their own way across the water and pick them up again when the van was over the bridge and out of sight of the soldiers.

About here? I stopped the car and got out and searched the verge for those small light footprints I had got to know so well. I found one on a molehill in the grass below the road about twenty yards from where I had stopped. It was a bare foot, it was small. Maybe? I looked closer, imagining seeing a slight webbing to the toes. I couldn’t tell.

Inconclusive, though I had a ferling that it was his. I got back in the car and continued the drive.

On the map I noticed that it was the A6033 that runs underwater along the valley floor, this became the A646. All underwater. But on the map it read in big letters over the blue: Great Britain. It marked the middle of old, dry, Britain, the centre point of land, furthest from the sea.

Was that irony?

Finally, after driving round Blackshaw Head the A6033 rose out of the sea and I was able to drive on a good road for the last twenty miles or so to the docks of Keighley.

Keighley was much like Tissington: a point on a map selected for its position, its new bay-like qualities and vaguely decent roads. From here the south of Topland traded with Scandinavia, and the Monastic Priests of the Moors.

Keighley was probably not as big as Tissington, but is was similarly a mish-mash of old houses and stacked containers, warehouses and lean-to pubs and I wasn’t surprised that there was little computerised here.

I drove round the car parks first. There were quite a few white vans but none with the right numberplate.

I checked at the Harbour Master’s office to see if there were any ships from Scandinavia or if there were any likely to be going in that direction. There were two: the Naglfari, a Scandi ship, more like a floating freezer, taking mutton back across the North Sea, and a Toplander ship, the Archieflower, that traded in artifacts and was stocking up on supplies

I had to bring the Harbour master himself along to be allowed on the Naglfari, they were very particular about hygiene, so they said. But for all that they were just a freezer ship of no great size and few places to hide goods. More importantly I let it be known that if Jane Dray turned up in Scandinavia any time soon then their licence to trade would be pulled.

The Archieflower was more helpful. I searched it from top to bottom and found most of their hiding places. As a Wanderer they were prone to attacks from pirates, so they had quite a few of them and though they probably would have taken Jane I doubt they would have taken a Wetter too, unless they had a lot of money. And if the Wetter had money then this whole escapade wouldn’t be happening: there were ways, even now, to buy your way into Topland and, in fact, pretty well anywhere in the world. It just took gold, or good technology.

So, at the end of it I thanked the Harbour master and went to the small naval dockyard where I was piped on board and given the Captain’s cabin of the Archer Class Patrol Ship.

It felt good to be at sea again. I was served a hot meal from the galley and lay down in the cot to catch some sleep before the chase that night.

As long as I got there before the Priest. As long as I caught the mutant before it reached the mainland.

I heard the engines start up and heard the cast off. I dozed off to the irregular bounce of the patrol boat as it picked up speed across the waves.