Oppression by William Haycock - HTML preview

Chapter 7

No-one ever told me about this. I’m resting on this kind of platform, and there’s this whirring blade above it. I don’t even want to examine it. A crowd has gathered round, jeering and cheering. A shot is fired, causing them to back away for a moment, before they carry on. I take a trip down memory lane: the first time I played on the swings, at harmony with gravity. The time I gave a rose to Julia, who I was in love with at secondary school. Beer with my mates in the pub, only just underage. None of that matters any more. I can sense the blade fall, tear at the skin, the muscles, the bones, the nerves. The pain is indescribable. I find myself thrown to the ground right in front of the crowd. They all whoop for joy, cheer, point and laugh. My brain is separate from the rest of my body.

At least...I died....fighting....

*

Having waited for a few hours, the officers are getting bored. Suddenly, the phone rings.

‘Yes?’

‘Can you get to 100 Parchment Street? Someone has not attended temple for the last two weeks.’

He sighs.’ Yes, ok. We’ll be there straight away.’

He turns to his accomplice, known as Eric. ‘Fuck this. We’ll just go and deal with this one now. Actually, if you stay here and I go, that’d be better.’

Eric’s phone is now buzzing. He answers it.

‘Someone’s just been jogging in Maple Road. Your urgent attention is required.’

‘Ok. I’ll see what I can do.’

‘We’ll just have to leave this place.’

Just as they are driving, they are interrupted by another phone call.

‘Someone’s just bought a can of Schweppes from the Asda in Fort Goldfax.’

‘I didn’t realise they were still around.’

‘They’re operating illegally. We’re going to put them out of business, but it’s your job to stop it on the street.’

‘Ok, I’ve got another case to deal with, but I’ll be there soon as I can.’

They turn into Parchment Street, looking around frantically for 100. Not all the houses are numbered. They only so have much time to find their way through this labyrinth. The moon is out in its full glory. The officer longs to admire it, but avoids it.

‘It must be that one.’

He leaves the car while Eric stays to make sure it isn’t stolen. The phone continues:

‘It’s ok. The jogger’s been beaten up now. Case cancelled.’

‘Can-buyer last seen in Maple Road.’

‘Can you help? Someone bought some bread at 7.26pm.’

He looks round to see Eric dragging some bins outside. He takes what seems like a decapitated head and sticks it onto one of the railings, before entering the car again.

‘That was a bit much, wasn’t it?’

‘It’s a grade A offence: it’s ok to do that. Let it be an example to the heretics!’

‘Yeah, I can understand why you’d do that.’

‘Any phone calls?’

‘The can-buyer’s in Maple Road.’

‘Right. Let’s go!’

As they make their way to the right, they notice a fleeing person with a mark on their forehead. Angrily, Eric turns the steering wheel around. The fugitive notices what’s happening. In desperation, she changes direction, but it’s too late. They high-five each other. Suddenly, a car comes towards them.

*

Across the country, unexpected visits are paid to random houses to ask about the residents’ spending habits. As no-one has been told about the survey, they are unable to avoid the interrogation that takes place. As soon as the questions finish, they are asked to sign a confidential form. Following this, rumours are spread that those who failed to meet the target are heretics. In some places, further visits are made on which the doors are marked. Knowing what will happen, a number of them become frightened to go out. Those who do are bombarded with verbal abuse, threats and home-made missiles. Some receive excrement through the letterbox. Some are even murdered.

*

Jim ambles forward, nervously. It seems like everyone is staring at him. As he looks around in all directions, he realises that this is true.

‘Traitor!’

‘Scoundrel!’

‘You piece of shit! If I just got your hands on you, I’d...’

‘Heretic!’

‘Heretic!’

‘Heretic!’

He tries to block it all out, which goes very much against his nature. However, this is not the first time he has been bombarded with such hostile language, and it is becoming meaningless. He figures that there is nothing that he can do, that the only way is to give up listening to people: to avoid getting hurt, and because they have nothing to offer him. He is now in Broad Street: he decides to go into the newsagents. He will get a paper and some tobacco, to cheer him up. He looks round the place. He wonders if there is any food here: he is getting very hungry, but cannot find a place to buy it. The familiar dark blue floor is there, and the layout exactly the same. However, as he looks to the counter, the staff seem to have completely changed. John was always there, whenever he went in. What has happened to him? There are several copies of a newspaper known as The Chronicle, on the stand in the centre. He decides that he will choose what’s on offer. He drags it along to the counter. The tobacco range is the usual anywhere: every packet has the familiar NW emblem on it.

‘Excuse me! What are you doing?’

He raises the newspaper up in his hand. ‘I’d like to buy this and...’

‘We’re closed.’

‘Well, why is it possible to go in then?’

‘We’re closed to you. You must go to another shop.’

Jim sighs. ‘Why do I have to....’

‘It’s not something to be questioned. Just leave, now!’

Jim goes to the stand, and puts the newspaper back.

‘What are you doing? You were trying to steal it! I’m going to call security!’

Jim quickly makes his way out of the shop, and back onto Broad Street. He makes his way into the official NW off-licence, which is not distinctive as they are all NW now. It is quite similar in decor to the newsagents, suggesting that they were designed and built at more or less the same time, except that the floor is a lime-green colour with swirls of red, carpets to each side of the rack in the middle of the room, and the ceiling is a mad fluorescent blue colour, which Jims finds mesmerising. He stares at it for a moment, before suspecting that it is a trap and carrying on with his business.

‘Good day, Sir. May I help you?’

Jim has not been used to being spoken to like this. He reels from the shock, hoping that the shopkeeper doesn’t misinterpret this.

‘Uh...uh...hi. Yes, I was looking for some beer. Is there anything you can recommend?’

Suddenly, the shopkeeper’s pupils dilate and he starts breathing heavily.

‘Heretic!’

Jim doesn’t argue. As he exits the building, the sight of a mob approaching him tells him all he needs to know. He just has time to register that one of them is examining the mark before the adrenaline kicks in. For a brief moment, he freezes, uncertain what to do, before instinct takes him over. He is sprinting down Broad Street, not caring where he goes. He feels like he could end up anywhere, and wherever it is, it doesn’t matter, so long as he escapes the fate that potentially awaits him. That’s something that....

A sharp pain invades the area just adjacent to his spine. He wonders as to the source of it. However, none of that matters, as long as he gets out of here. He is now at the gates of the park. He is pushes past a young mother with a pushchair. Shame hits him like a well-executed hook, but he knows he has no choice. Annoyingly to him, the park is primarily an open space. At this point, he realises what it is next to his spine. He doesn’t know where the nearest hospital is. He thinks of giving himself up, just so that he can find it, but compared to that, he doesn’t care if he dies. He tries to find somewhere to hide. A piercing scream echoes from somewhere near the gates, and a number of people look round.

If someone calls an ambulance, will that get me away?

There is still the risk of arrest. He is on the verge of collapse: if he falls unconscious, they’ll catch him. If he throws the can, perhaps it’ll work as a distraction? He turns round and it leaves his hand, before the pain stings him again: this time it is somewhere just below the ribs. The can falls somewhere on the ground before him...so much for that idea. Suddenly, his surroundings disappear.

*

 ‘Here’ says Mrs. Evans ‘is the point where we will attack.’

She is pointing to the area just north of Caen, in France.

‘Once we take over, we have a base in Europe. It will also provide people for the army. From there, we will split the army into two regiments: one will go south-west, towards Rennes. The other south-east, in the direction of Paris. If the government finds out, it is likely that they will escape further south, so this must all be done quickly and insidiously. Once you have completed this mission, I will advise you again.’

She is facing Jason Bennett, who has just been made Chief of Defence Staff.

‘Here is the map, on which I have drawn the plan. Show that to the generals, and they will enact it. And, one more thing: there are to be no atrocities. There is much more in the way of reporting over there: if anyone finds out, our reputation will be tarnished. You shall enact the plan as soon as possible. Agreed?’

Jason nods. ‘Agreed.’

Mary blows a sigh of relief. ‘Well done.’ She wonders whether she is saying this to Jason or herself. 

*

Caen has now been captured, and the people are rounded up, though several have escaped further to the east. Half of those who are left are randomly selected and given a choice between military service and slavery: all of them choose the former.  The rest are allowed to carry on life as normal. It was planned that they would be given a briefing on the new regime, but no-one knows the native language. In his own tongue, General Andy Patton lets his comrades know his opinion of Mr. Bennett. He gasps, realising that his career could be over very soon. He tells them that, if word gets round, the army will be disbanded. Deciding that this is a bad idea, he tells them he was just having a laugh. He commands them to go forth in two different directions. News does not get round to rest of the country, as citizens have been ordered to stay in the city, and a patrol has been formed on its outskirts. The 2nd Brigade marches into Rennes, and adds to its numbers with the same method employed as that for Caen; the 3rd Brigade reaches Paris, where General Shaun Smith orders a search for government buildings.  After many hours of deliberation, they find two buildings suspected of government activity. Trying to avoid being accused of atrocities, Smith demands a search, followed by capture of anyone in the building. He also moves a quarter of the brigade to the outskirts, where they are to prevent citizens and ministers from leaving. Barracks are found in the city: a selected group from the 3rd Brigade march in with flamethrowers, setting alight every corner of the building, and every occupant. Two of the group receives wounds from rounds fired by Uzis, but they keep on going. Having destroyed the barracks, they douse the fire with the extinguishers, accessible by a trigger at the back of the weapon. The next day, the mission is declared complete, and a temporary military government is installed. Evans punches the air when he receives the e-mail about the news. He sets about his reply quickly: he demands that a quarter of the womenfolk are sent over the Channel, so that they can perform domestic duties. He outlines that he will give further orders when he has discussed the issue with his cabinet, but for now they must make sure no-one knows. He urges anyone who tells to be killed in cold blood. Realising his policy on atrocities, he quickly e-mails again to say that they must be taken prisoner somewhere. Having finished his e-mails, he walks over to the window. Something fundamental dawns on him: the view from here is not remarkable anymore. He is ready for something greater. He wonders where else he could live: but that is a hypothetical question, because he will have to conquer it first.

*

Evans can barely contain his excitement as Martinsen prepares to sign the deed that will mark a historical occasion. He rubs his hands together, staring at the clock, practically shaking at the prospect. He doesn’t notice his potential new ally reading through a clause just before the signature, pausing and frowning. After a few seconds, he shakes his head. He says something in Norwegian, the other main language of Scandinavia besides Swedish.

The translator speaks to Evans: ‘No. This can’t be done.’

‘What do you mean it can’t be done?’

Martinsen speaks very firmly and clearly to the translator, who sends the message to Evans: ‘There is a clause here which requires me to be a subordinate in your parliament. I am not willing to accept this.’

Evans throws his hands up and lets out a sigh which suggests abject frustration to anyone in the same room. ‘That’s the whole point! Oh, just get out of it. You’re not welcome here anymore.’

The translator sends this message to Martinsen. He nods. He gets up and prepares to make his way out of the backroom in the NW Theatre, where the meeting is being held. As soon as he is out of the door, Evans speaks again: ‘If he’s not going to help us, we can start to blow his country to smithereens. Shit! I just remembered that Finlandish guy is arriving. I’ll just tear up the contract and have him killed.’

‘Killed?’ The translator asks, wide-eyed with panic.

 It’ll be fine, don’t worry. It’s only the soldiers who should be ashamed.’

‘That’s a bit harsh.’

Evans goes over to the area behind the bar. He asks the translator if he would like a drink. Suspecting what might be happening, the translator declines the offer. No sooner does he think about leaving, than he hears something hit against the wall. He is out of there before he can even find out what it is. 

 ‘How am I going to get hold of the little shit?’

A phone call to the police leads to a promise for a search for the traitor, but Evans suspects that it’s futile.

‘Still, maybe he’ll go over to Scandinavia, which we’ll take over. He won’t have a hiding place then. The only trouble is that people will still get to know.’ He puts his head in his hands. ‘It’s lost. It’s all over. I can’t continue with this anymore.’

*

Having just put the remains of the visiting Prime Minister in a sack, and buried it in a nearby cemetery, Evans takes a taxi over to 10 Downing Street, where he e-mails Jason Bennett, asking him to start bombing cities in Scandinavia and Finland. He offers the possibility of Bennett’s becoming the Prime Minister if he successfully carries this out. Bennett is astonished that he is being offered a reward rather than a punishment. He suspects that it’s a trap, and considers ignoring the order. However, he decides that it’s best to carry on with it. The next day, military aircraft is sent out to Bergen. The patrol at Rennes is broken through by a group of fleeing civilians. 1,000 die from wounds received by bullets before they receive medical treatment. The remainder reach Angers, which is still not held by troops. 250 are treated at the hospital, with 20 in a critical condition. With the lack of central government, trade between the cities has ceased, but militias are being formed in each, ready to take on the invaders. A new government is being formed in Toulouse, with is currently under siege by British forces. The militia, armed with bottles, rocks, shotguns (which now require no licence), and anything else they can find, is so great in number that the army are being forced back. Although the militia are depleted rapidly by the army’s superior weaponry, they keep on arriving from all over the country. General Smith announces the news to Jason Bennett. Bennett sends an e-mail to Evans the following day. Evans is at a flat in London with a war captive, who has arrived there on his orders. He spends the day watching television with her, before giving her a severe beating, after which he lets her go in a state of distress. When he finally gets home in the evening, he reads his e-mails. He is furious at the news. He automatically types in the message ‘Fuck off, you’re fired.’, before deciding that perhaps the other campaign may go better. He replies to Bennett, enquiring as to what is happening. Bergen has now been virtually destroyed, but civilians escape further east. The news reaches Bennett a few days later. By now, Evans has announced the decision to keep him on. Anxiously, he plots his next move.

*

As the assault ship HMS Bennett lands on the coast near Stavanger to unload the 5th Brigade, everyone is fired up, promised with the prospect of a lavish retirement if they complete their mission. They are equally motivated by the possibility of life in the Great Abyss if they do not. Just south of the city, they unexpectedly meet an army of what seems like 40,000. Tanks designed to fire Hypersonic lasers, which can melt armour with minimal contact, tell them all they need to know. If the reconnaissance mission is to be believed, the 5th Brigade will be virtually destroyed if it continues. If they go back home, the consequences will be even worse. The general, Rowan Jones, is just about to make the decision to turn back when a laser, turned up to full force, burns a hole right through his stomach: he dies instantly. The soldiers near him are so horrified by the spattering of blood, which forms a trajectory seemingly of the speed of light, that they do not even pay attention to the lasers that take them next. Those on the flank have seen the lasers and charge forward, hoping that their afterlife will be a satisfying one. One of the tanks is set alight by a flamethrower. As the gun of the tank rotates around, everyone within sight is reduced to a corpse. The driver of the tank suddenly freezes as his vision registers how they die. He has been told some stories, but he never knew it would be like this. He knows he has only a matter of time to save himself from the inferno which was once the vehicle he was assigned to. Desperately, he looks away from the carnage showing on the screen, climbs out of the tank, and runs to nowhere. In a panic, someone from the left flank launches a flamethrower right into the group: he watches in disbelief as a human bonfire takes place right before him. He has seen this in towns and cities, but he never knew he would see this happening to his own. Artificial lightning terminates his life before he can regret his blunder, and its considerable consequences. With nothing to douse the fire, the rest of the left flank follows him in his footsteps to the bitter end, some of them destroyed by the lasers before being roasted. The guns gradually cease, as everyone realises that there is no-one left to shoot. The regular soldiers have already gone north: the tanks did the work for them before they were needed. There is one thing everyone is certain of: this will never happen again.

*

Jason Bennett e-mails to Evans outlining that Toulouse has fallen, and that he would like further instructions on where to direct the military effort. He also explains that he has not heard back anything about Scandinavia, and lies that this is probably because it has gone so well that no-one has time to write back. Just at the very moment he is typing his message, the roof of the NW Temple crashes down, crushing everyone inside before they realise what is happening. Only those outside take in the fireball that suddenly forms, and its source in the darkened sky. At once, they commence a journey round the area, knocking on each door, letting them know that demons have attacked.

While this is happening, one of the statues, in the west of London, suddenly catches fire. No-one is in the magnificent park which has been created alongside it at the time, so they do not notice the fire engulfing the entire area. The ruins of the television centre, which have still not been built on, deter the menace in the sky from carrying on further, as it acknowledges that someone else is already doing what they were planning. Evans instructs Bennett to split the armies into two again, one going south into Spain, and the other east through the rest of France, towards Italy. He also asks him to keep him posted on the Scandinavia campaign. A week later, he finds the site of his latest speech in ruins.

‘Just as well. Was a shit place anyway. Gets me out of having to do this speech. What do they want now?’

He travels back home, where he sends an e-mail to Bennett, asking him to keep some soldiers back home to patrol the site of the temple. The following month Bennett reports that Montpellier has been captured, while Marseille and Barcelona are under siege. He still has no idea what is happening in Scandinavia. Something dawns on Evans: it wasn’t protestors who destroyed the temple.

‘There’s no way we can win this war.’ He sighs. ‘May as well just quit. Though maybe with outside help it’ll be possible. Pretend to be their friends for a while, then we can launch a sneak attack. The trouble is, who are we going to get on our side?’

Following the devolution across the Atlantic and in Asia, there are no global superpowers left. Evans imagines the possibility of his empire stretching across the land he has already conquered.

‘No....it just won’t do.’

He sends e-mails to the leaders of every country outside Europe, complaining of terrorism in London from his neighbours, and urging them to help out. He has received 40 replies by January, all in the affirmative.

‘It’s on!’

*

Newspapers across the world announce the death of Henrik Martinsen: ‘He got what he deserved’, ‘The death of terrorism’, ‘Take that, you brute!’. It took 15 to 25 minutes for the President, hiding near Stockholm, to be taken to the occupied city and roasted by a flamethrower squad before a jubilant crowd. His last words were ‘I don’t deserve this’, ‘You’ve got this wrong’ or ‘Well done, it serves me right’.

Bennett learns that Spain and Portugal have now been taken over, while Rome is under siege. Evans asks him to concentrate on the effort further north: perhaps it is time to capitalise on what has become a global situation and take over countries in that region, such as Denmark, which will be easier to accuse of terrorism? He admits that the Central European Federation is somewhat out of bounds.  He sends an e-mail half an hour later ordering a bombing of Rome, and an invasion starting in Denmark, pushing forward into the CEF. It is explained that there will be a number of allies helping, so only around 10,000 people will be needed. Forces from Primorye, Yakutia, Pennsylvania and Michigan land near Skagen. Just as this is happening, Lille is descended on by an army from across the border....

*

The backroom at the NW Theatre has dark grey walls and a ceiling with a strange abstract pattern drawn on it. There are several posters of both Evans and Reeves, with slogans written on them in bright red letters: ‘The Saviour of Freedom’, ‘We Shall do Our Lords’ Duty on Earth’, ‘The World is Rightfully Ours’, ‘There Is Only One System of Beliefs, and That is Ours’ and ‘Elected By The People, For The People’. In the middle of the room is a wide, white circular table with a number of coasters on it, all with the NW symbol. There is a bar to the right of the room, with the now-familiar NW products: Pub Beer, Pub Spirits, Pub Wine and Pub Coffee. All the drinks are kept in an oak cabinet with glass panels, except for the coffee, which is extracted from a machine.

‘All new, aren’t they?’ asks Mary, while gazing at the posters admiringly.

‘That’s right. We are putting them up in all public places.’

‘Wow!’

‘So, why are we here?’ asks Reeves.

‘First, to let you know that under no circumstances will you be Prime Minister, so don’t ask me questions, you pathetic wanker.’ Mary smiles at her husband, flirtatiously. ‘Second, to discuss some new proposals.’

There is silence, and he carries on: ‘I would like three statues of myself to be constructed in London, and one each for Manchester, Birmingham and Liverpool. You will be responsible for that.’ He points to Reeves.

‘But...but....’

‘No buts, just-get-on-with-it-you-fuckhead.’

‘I RESIGN!’ shouts Reeves. He gets up from the table and marches off.

‘Yeah, and where are you going to go, you little dipshit?’

Reeves turns around. ‘I’ll form my own party. I’ll do what I like and we’ll trounce you in the election.’

‘We’re not going to have elections.’ Evans’ smug smile appears again. However, as soon as he has said this he regrets it.

‘Everyone will know now, won’t they?’ retorts Reeves. He blows a raspberry.

First, you’re going to tell everyone our secret, and you had the chutzpah to blow a raspberry at me in front of my wife. I have no choice now.

‘It’s ok. You may have the role of Prime Minister.’

‘Really?’ asks Reeves, enthusiastically.

‘Yes, really.’ He points to the seat next to him. ‘Come and sit down again. I’ll discuss it with you.’

Reeves’ eyes dart around for a few seconds. He decides to go the place at the table. He wanders over, casually, full of cheer at the news he has just been told. Just as he is about to sit at the table, hands grasp his throat. He hesitates, before grabbing at the arms. He can’t get them off him. He is gradually growing faint, and knows that he has no time. All that matters now is saving his life. With grim determination, he tries harder, but it is to no avail. The grip on him tightens. Desperately, he kicks out at Evans, not caring about where he hits. Evans is struck in the thigh, and winces slightly, but does not release the grip. At this point, Reeves realises that the force left in him is utterly insignificant: he simply has no choice except to perish, unless he does something drastic. Mary restrains Reeves’ legs, before the chair falls over. Evans takes his hands off Reeves’ neck quickly. Reeves doesn’t even notice where he is. He is busy concentrating on the future: what will happen when....

‘It’s best not to tell anyone about that.’

‘But we’re always killing people....’

‘Yes, but we don’t want anyone knowing, do we? It’ll ruin our reputation.’

Mary falters for a moment. ‘Ok, I’ll keep shtoom.’ She says, meekly.

‘Good girl.’

She stares at him intently, and wonders what it would be like to be Prime Minister. She wonders if she could make it happen but, somehow, her admiration and love for him is too substantial for her to carry out the means required for the end. There is only one thing that can allow it:

‘Simon,’ she has learnt that uttering his first name is the best way to get his attention, ‘when you retire, who will be the Prime Minister?’

‘My children will fight amongst each other for the position, but it will be definitely be one of them. That’s why I want you pregnant.’ He stares at her abdomen, and begins to fondle it. Mary begins to smirk, which she attempts to disguise by forcing a less sinister smile.

I’ll take the morning-after pill and he’ll be none the wiser.

He takes his hand away from her abdomen and straightens up. ‘Shit! Who’s going to order these statues to be built for me?’

‘You don’t actually need someone to order, you just need them to be built for you.’

‘You know, that’s a good point! I advise you to keep your pretty little mouth shut when we’re around other people, though. I can’t be seen listening to you. Now the trouble is, there’s going to be all this nonsense about planning permission. I guess if they don’t allow it we can sack the mayors: that’ll solve the problem. Also, I want some arms, but I don’t have a Minister for Defence anymore. I’ll have to get a new one. Before I do that, I need to keep an eye on what the people are up to. But, of course,’ he slaps himself ‘I don’t have a Minister for People anymore! We’ll need to recruit someone. It’ll be a real hassle though. I tell you what... could you do it?’

‘Recruit the ministers or do the other things?’

‘Well, actually, if you could do those things.... that’d be marvellous!’

Her lips burst into a radiant smile. ‘Of course I will!’

‘Great! Just.... don’t tell anyone. Otherwise I’ll.....’

This must be the only person I wouldn’t kill.

‘I’ll divorce you. Agreed?’

‘Agreed!’ The smile stays there for what seems like centuries.

‘We’re going to need to dispose of this corpse. Where can we keep it?’

Simon taps his fingers on the table. ‘I’ve got something else to sort out now.’ He mutters to himself. He keeps on looking around while he waits, as if he is going to be ambushed any minute. A strange moment occurs where he finds himself regretting all the enemies that he has probably made. As soon as he starts to reflect on this, Mary is back with a number of bin bags. Simon raises his eyebrows in astonishment.

As if answering a question, she says: ‘He’s probably not going to fit into one. Is there anything to cut him up with?’

‘I don’t think so. Not here. Look, I know what. I’ll go to my place and get something. We can always leave him here, and no-one will know.’

‘I’ll come with you.’

‘Uh....there won’t be any point. It’s not your place, is it? Besides, it’s a mess. I need to clear it up, get everything fixed, then you can move in.?