Doctor Who_ Warchild - Andrew Cartmel [33]
‘We need to get you out of there, dear,’ she said. ‘I don’t suppose there’s a ladder in that shed?’
The armoured car rolled towards the council estate in the moonlight. Redmond had cut the engine as soon as they came off the main road. Now they were rolling silently, drawn by gravity down the small entrance road that curved around the estate.
‘This thing has a bayonet attachment,’ said Roz.
‘You don’t see many of those,’ said Redmond. He selected a staging point and let the computer take over, steering the armoured car the last 50 metres and parking it in the designated spot. He unstrapped his seat-belt as the armoured car rode up on to a wide concrete podium.
All around them were small clusters of low houses with small private gardens, grouped into an estate by concrete walls and access lanes. Redmond left his seat at the control panel as the computer slowly braked the vehicle to a halt and began the parking manoeuvre.
‘What are we doing?’
‘Parking,’ said Redmond in his mild Irish accent. ‘The firepower in this vehicle is concentrated at the nose of the thing. It’s clever enough that when it parks, it points the nose towards the area of maximum threat.’
Redmond came down the narrow aisle and joined her in the small cubicle that served as the vehicle’s armoury.
Overhead compartments, like those on an airliner, held a variety of small arms and anti-personnel weapons. Roz looked up at him, her face smooth in the pale blue armoury light, her eyes dark.
‘And where is the area of maximum threat?’ She handed him the weapon she’d chosen. A Styer AUG designed for civil disturbance and house-to-house combat in urban areas. It did indeed have a bayonet fixed, a lethal thin tongue of metal jutting out from under the barrel.
‘Over there,’ said Redmond, pointing out a small house on the far side of the wide flat podium. It was lost in a dark cluster of buildings, but electronically generated cross hairs singled it out on the front windscreen. ‘Private dwelling, owned 99 years leasehold, 98 remaining, by Sutton, R. and Morrell, J.’ Redmond squinted at the luminous read-out on a small corner screen. ‘J for Jessica. Profession: airline stewardess. Jessica would seem to be our caller. R is for Roy and he sounds like the unlucky fellow in the kitchen.’
‘How many animals in the house?’
‘Just the one.’
‘Piece of cake,’ said Roz. She put a night-sighting helmet on. ‘I go in, get J. Morrell and shoot the dog if it rears its pointy head.’ She adjusted the bayonet on her gun. ‘Seems like excessive firepower, actually.’
‘Don’t be so certain,’ said Redmond.
‘All this for one dog?’
‘Others may turn up.’
‘Others?’ Roz laughed.
‘In fact, on reflection,’ said Redmond, ‘I think you should stay with the vehicle and let me go in and do the business.’
Roz stared at him. He was serious. He had his hand on her shoulder. She shook it off. ‘No way, Redmond.’
He turned away and swore, rubbing his lean face. He slumped back into the command-chair and looked at her. ‘I’d come with you but one of us has to stay with the vehicle.
Those are strict orders.’
‘Nothing we can do about that then.’ Roz smiled and winked at Redmond. Her eyes and teeth were bright in the faint combat-ready light. Redmond watched her as she clambered out of the roof-hatch.
‘Go down on to the street and enter by the front door,’ he yelled after her.
She turned and looked at the armoured car. Redmond’s head popped up out of the hatch in the roof. ‘And be careful!’
‘Any more concrete advice?’ asked Roz.
‘Yes, don’t offer it any dog biscuits.’
Roz turned and marched away towards the houses.
The moon was high. The light from it was cold and clinical, giving good visibility except where inky patches of shadow lay. Roz could hear her own footsteps echoing off the surrounding walls as she marched across the concrete apron.
She followed Redmond’s advice about going in by the front door. The only rear access to the dwellings was through a maze of small, walled gardens. A shadowy labyrinth which would be perfect for an ambush.
So she listened