Limbo 56 by Mike Morris (suggested reading .TXT) 📕

I had to be strong.” He looked into the eyes of the four men standing before him and cringed.

“Don’t say any more,” Shadrach told him. “Except to tell me where the General is. Tell me now, or I’ll let the others have you.”

“Yes, yes, the fat man cried. I want to tell you, I don’t want to go to Hell.” He licked his lips. “General Cross is at the lunatic asylum at Dury.”

“Ah.” Shadrach straightened up. “That’s where we must go.” He turned to the sergeant. “We’ll need your help…”

But the sergeant was backing away, horror in his face. “Keep away from me. You’re dead,” he said. “I saw you killed. You and your corporal are Devils. He looked wildly around and snatched Roker’s pistol from the ground. “Keep away from me,” he shouted, voice cracking.

“Sergeant!” It was the young lieutenant. He nursed his arm, but the faraway look was gone from his eyes. “Get control of yourself,” he said sharply. “Give me the gun.” He took the pistol from the trembling man. “I need you, Sergeant Jakus. We need you,” he said softly. “You’ve kept yourself together for a long time. You’ve kept me from cracking up for a long time.” He patted Jakus on the shoulder. “This is a man, a live man,” he said. “I don’t know what you saw, but only one bullet hit him, and it bounced off the armor plate he wears.”

“But I saw four bullet wounds to the chest,” Jakus said, anguished.

“Sergeant, you’ve been through a lot lately. I don’t know what you thought you saw, but I saw one bullet hit him, and it bounced off the armour plate. We have all seen too many bullets, too much death. No-one blames you for getting it wrong.” The lieutenant paused. “This man saved both our lives, remember that.”

The sergeant groaned. “I’m sorry sir,” he said to Shadrach. “This is the first time I’ve let this war unbalance me. I’m willing to accept the consequences.”

“Don’t be foolish,” Shadrach told him. “You heard your lieutenant say we need you.” He looked up suddenly and circled behind the chair where the fat man was sobbing quietly. He signaled to the corporal – gag, now. Harry picked up some material that he had been using for bandages and circled the chair. Before the fat man could react, Shadrach had efficiently gagged him. “We’re all tired,” he told them. “We are forgetting that we are in enemy territory, surrounded by Roker’s guards. We have to get to your men, lieutenant. We have to get control of headquarters.”

They sat round a small table, planning a coup. They were well armed. Shadrach had retrieved several guns from Roker’s private collection. The lieutenant kept glancing nervously at the door. “We don’t have a lot of time,” he said, “before they investigate. The guards must have heard the shots; they probably think the fat bastard is letting us die slowly, but they will check up on their leader soon.” Shadrach decided that Sergeant Jakus, would alert the soldiers in the barracks; the other three would have to fight off the guard until help came.

“You saved our lives,” the lieutenant said, after the sergeant had left, “whoever you are.” He fished an empty pack of cigarettes from his pocket and threw it down irritably. “The Sergeant is a good man,” he added. They smoked Shadrach’s Gitanes for a while in silence. “Peculiar uniform you have,” the lieutenant said.

“Not too peculiar,” Shadrach said. “I’m a colonel, I had to revert to captain to fit the orders I carried.” He searched in his greatcoat and brought out some scraps of cloth. “Well, Harry,” he said, “I might as well promote myself.” He turned to the lieutenant. “I am a genuine colonel. I have commanded men for years.”

“I’ll sow your flashes on for you, sir,” Harry said placidly. “I told you that your uniform looked peculiar.”

“Funny thing, Harry,” the lieutenant mused. “I hardly noticed you at first. You were like a shadow, just visible from the corner of my eye. And I kept forgetting about you.” he mused. “Do you think I’m cracking up like the sergeant,” he asked innocently.

The uniform was barely restored when the guards came. Shadrach opened the door and grinned at four grim-looking troopers. As fast as they were, he was faster and only one managed to duck into cover. Then the action turned hectic. A gas cylinder, tossed through the bars landed at the lieutenants feet, and he hurled it back. After that, the guards concentrated on pinning them down. It soon became evident that, with their superior numbers, they required only patience to finish off the three men.

The guards began to shoot at random through the barred windows. Either they were indifferent to the possibility of killing Roker, or they thought him dead. Hidden behind barricades, they took pot shots into the room, and bullets ricocheted off the steel cabinets like angry hornets. One of them took off Shadrach’s index finger, and he calmly held it in place while it re-attached itself. Opening the door to return fire was suicide. About fifty of the guards deployed, inside and outside the building, well positioned behind barricades. “Let’s take that gag off Roker, and see if his squeals for help will give them pause,” Shadrach said. He turned and looked at the glassy-eyed fat man. A random bullet had smashed the man’s head, and he had died without a sound. “How long before the sergeant gets back with reinforcements,” Shadrach asked the lieutenant, who shook his head.

“If he made it to the barracks, he should be back in about another two hours.” The lieutenant drew a sharp breath as a bullet tore through his hair.

Shadrach quietly edged up to the door and peered through a bullet hole. The guards were cautiously moving closer, pushing makeshift shields ahead of themselves. He glanced back into the room. Harry and the lieutenant, surrounded by filing cabinets, were crouched tensely in a corner. Harry was nursing his arm, where a bullet had barely missed touching an artery. “Are you a good shot, lieutenant,” he called softly.

“Yes,” the lieutenant said simply.

“Then come up here, and when I open the doors, give me covering fire.” Shadrach carefully loaded four pistols and stuck two of them in his belt.

“That’s suicide, man,” the lieutenant said, and grimaced. “Maybe not,” he said, “for you.”

Shadrach stretched his hand out, grasped the cold brass doorknob, and flung it open. He ran towards the barricades, howling a banshee wail, and a hail of bullets hit him. Staggering and sick with pain, he circumvented some cabinets, and mowed down five of the Praetorian Guard. The lieutenant cut down a sixth guard. Gasping, howling and spitting blood, Shadrach limped towards another barricade. Seven or eight men, unmanned by the sight of a giant gushing blood from multiple wounds, still on his feet and lumbering towards them like an avenging angel, ran, and other clusters of guards followed. A couple who stood their ground were cut down by the expert marksmanship of the lieutenant. Head reeling, Shadrach turned and staggered blindly towards the door, legs bending like rubber underneath him. Only when the door of their refuge slammed behind him did he crash to the floor, sliding in a pool of his own blood.

When he opened his eyes, his two friends were bending concernedly over him. “Let me rest,” he said wearily, and closed his eyes. He came to about an hour later and sat up. They had bathed him and sewn his uniform. He was wearing a huge pair of Roker’s black puttees. “How undignified,” he murmured. He learnt that all the fight had gone out of Roker’s guards after his banshee charge. If their sergeant had been upset by seeing four bullets enter his chest, the guards were terrified. The trio waited a little longer and heard the steady trot of the lieutenant’s troops as they approached at the double. The sergeant entered alone and cautiously approached as Shadrach hastily dressed.

“I thought you might be dead,” he said. He stared at Shadrach. “That’s a nice pair of puttees you’re wearing, sir,” he said. “More appropriate to your new rank,” he added, grinning. He was obviously at ease now with this eccentric officer, and was prepared to show it by exercising a little informality. “We captured most of the guards, sir,” he said to his lieutenant. I don’t know what you did, but they were running as if all the demons in hell were after them.”

The following day, the two officers and the sergeant met to discuss plans for the headquarters camp. “I need you, colonel,” the lieutenant told Shadrach. A lieutenant and a sergeant cannot run a headquarters base alone.” They cleaned up the camp, and located a loft full of carrier pigeons. They sent out messages and re-established contact with the rest of the war. In the name of the General, Shadrach pulled back his army to defensive positions and issued orders that the troops were to avoid contact with the enemy wherever possible and await reinforcements. Roker’s guards were given the option of being transferred to the front or facing courts martial and exhausted men began to trickle into the camp from the battleground. Pigeons returned from British Army East headquarters informing them that an enquiry was to be held, and that a delegation of officers would show up in a few days.

“You’ll come up smelling like roses,” Shadrach told the lieutenant one early morning, as he and Harry prepared to leave. “The General disappeared and his insane nephew was running the camp in his name. You just saved the day and hundreds of lives, with a little help from a mysterious colonel from military intelligence, what was his name – Shadrach Jones. Of course, that may not even have been his real name.” Shadrach held out his hand. “I hope you get the promotion you deserve. I’d recommend you myself if I thought it would do any good.”


Chapter 8 – The Asylum at Dury
Once more, the colonel and the corporal started out across the blasted fields, avoiding roads and contact with military personnel. It was only about ten miles to Dury and the asylum, fifteen, following the circuitous route that they used. Sometime close to noon, they came upon an old man who was tending vegetable beds and asked him if he knew how to get to the asylum. “I’ll show you,” the old man said. “I have time.”

They skirted some flowerbeds, red roses, white lilies and others that Shadrach, who was no expert, did not recognize. “Those are mine too,” the old man said with some pride. “Of course, it’s self-indulgent of me to grow these beautiful, inedible plants when there’s a war going on around us.” He smiled at them. “You should see my tomatoes, though; they’re the best in the province, maybe the whole country.”

“You speak very good English,” Shadrach said.

“Thank you,” the old man replied, “I was a professor of English, before I retired. It wasn’t a top-notch college he added modestly, but I have done a great deal of translating in my time and one never forgets.” He turned to Harry. “And you, young man, I suppose you’re the Colonel’s batman. Interesting word, that. I believe it has something to do with the French word for luggage carrier.” Harry nodded, and the old man continued. “I suppose you miss your lady friend, back home in the North of England.” He chuckled at their surprised faces. “I’m good at recognizing accents, and what young man serving overseas doesn’t