Chapter 47

Derby, Derbyshire. June, 32 hours after the queens speech.

“Oy, you lot. Fuck off ‘ome, you’re not wanted ‘ere.”

The speaker was a senior assault leader in the Safety Patrol. His target was a group of eleven people, eight men and three women, standing outside what had been the central police station in Derby. It was locked and boarded up, but oddly for a police station at this time, it was actually, at least from the outside, in pretty good condition. The Patrol had occupied what they considered a better building about a mile away. Closer to the city centre pubs and what was left of the night-life. Night life that was only available to paid up members of the Truth and Freedom party.

“Ah,” said one of the men targeted, “I see you have come to hand over your weapons, as ordered?” He turned the statement into a delicate sounding question.

“Hah, wouldn’t you like?” sneered another of the Patrollers.

“You have been so ordered.”

“By ‘oo? Not anyone we recognise. That bitch Beatrix will be dead before the week’s out. You’ll see.”

“Beatrice you ignoramus, not Beatrix. Her majesty Queen Beatrice. And I’m quite sure we will see. And it won’t be her death we’ll be seeing.”

So far the eleven police officers, for though not in uniform, that’s what they were, and the four Patrollers, had not attracted any attention. Not that there were many people around at not quite seven thirty on a Sunday morning. Both sides were secretly relieved by this, as neither side was too sure of their support locally. Derby had never been the most extreme on either the pro or anti Thorn side, and what demonstrations there had been were small and half hearted. On both sides.

After a few seconds of a tense stand-off, the Patrollers left, muttering about making sure they, the policemen, were not there later “otherwise there would be consequences.” Those ‘consequences’ were not stated, but none of the policemen felt overly comfortable.

“I hope someone turns up with a key soon,” one murmured. “I’m not hanging around much longer. Not out like this.”

His colleagues made noises of agreement, but nobody actually said anything. Within five minutes three more people had arrived, and shortly after that, someone did turn up with a key.

“Right,” said Chief Superintendent Alex Raizon. “Let’s get in quickly. We won’t do much today, just see who’s going to come in, and what everyone’s situation is. All right?”

There were mutters of agreement and most people showed some relief at his words.

Once inside the fifteen people just stopped and stared in mute horror. The building was a mess. Worse than a mess. No one had been here since the TaF had moved out shortly after the police had been sacked, but in those few days the TaF had ransacked the place. Worse, they had left food and other, nastier, mess around, and the rats and other vermin had moved in. “Oh hell, I hate rats. And spiders,” said one woman shakily.

“Let’s find some coveralls, the ones SOCO uses, and see if we can start some cleaning up.”

Working in teams of three, they cleaned out two of the smaller offices, the toilets, one of the locker rooms, and the canteen and attached kitchen. There were actually two locker rooms, but the women’s was in a far worse state of destruction, so for the time being they would have to share. By one pm when they decided to break for lunch, they were all exhausted, but they had done a lot of work and all felt oddly happy.

“I’ll pick up some rat poison and traps over lunch,” Alex told his crew. They had all very quickly turned to using first names, even though under normal circumstances for some of them at least, it would have been unthinkable.

“Let’s eat at the pub round the corner.” Said another man, a fairly young constable. “I know it’s still open, and I know it’s not generally frequented by Patrollers.”

The others all agreed, and while Raizon went to the local DIY store to hunt out rat poison and other cleaning supplies, the others made their way to the pub for lunch. By the time Raison got to the pub, everyone else had eaten and they were starting to get concerned at how long he had been gone.

“You okay sir?”

Raizon nodded. “Aye. I found someone who will come in about six this evening to help set up the traps, and show us where best to put out the poison. He’s going to bring it with him as it’s very dangerous stuff, and he has all the kit and training.”

They all looked happy at this news, particularly the younger of the two women.

Raizon looked at the menu. “Are they still serving food?”

“Till 3pm,” he was told. “Then just snacks until five, then they do proper food again after five.”

They remained in the pub for nearly another hour. Now they had seen what needed to be done, they could plan better what to do next to get the place into a usable state more quickly.

“It’ll be a nuisance, and we’ll probably have to close off parts of the building.” Raizon shook his head. “We won’t get them clean without spending money, and that’s just not available.”

“If no more people show up, then we’re not going to need much more anyway,” said another, a man who normally served as one of the custody suite officers. The custody suite itself was going to be out of bounds. The mess the TaF and the Patrollers had left there was just plain nasty. Faeces, blood, probably animal, but still nasty. Food waste that had gone mouldy, and mixed in with that at least one dead cat. They hadn’t ventured any farther. The smell and the swarms of flies were enough to keep them out and away.

They all just nodded. “We’ll just have to see,” said one of the inspectors, a watch commander.

Raizon looked at his watch. He sighed. “Let’s go back and do a few more hours, until the vermin man gets here, then we’ll call it a day. Meet back same time tomorrow.”

“Bring more suitable clothes for tomorrow,” said one of the woman. A family liason officer.

“Get that bloody woman off my television.” Thorn was red-faced and apoplectic with fury. “Why haven’t you captured her yet?” This was directed at Boase, who was standing some ten feet away in Thorn’s office at Chequers in central Buckinghamshire.

“It’s our highest priority,” Boase said smoothly. “I actually think she’s in hiding and this is a pre-recorded message.”

“In hiding or not,” spluttered a still furious Thorn. “I want her found and executed.”

“I think we really should start confiscating TV’s and personal computers,” Boase countered. “That way even if these broadcasts continue, no-one will be watching.”

“Do it!” snarled Thorn. “And while you’re at it, find out how she continues to broadcast.”

“Yes sir.” Boase didn’t like the last command. Britain wasn’t that big, not really, so finding one woman, a woman at or near a broadcast centre shouldn’t be too difficult. But that was still almost ninety-six thousand square miles. It just took time and patience, and patience, Boase had learned, was one thing Thorn didn’t have a lot of. Unfortunately Boase had a sneaking suspicion that the broadcasts were being done by some sort of new technology that he hadn’t come across. The problem was, neither had any of his people.

“If that will be all Prime Minister?” Boase bobbed his head and tried to withdraw, but Thorn stopped him.

“No!” snapped Thorn. “It isn’t!” He paused a moment. “Police and army. Have they tried to reform as she is claiming?”

“We’ve arrested between thirty and forty people who turned up at various police stations in London, but that’s about all. There’s no evidence anywhere else. Unfortunately she hasn’t said where the muster points for these army regiments are. We’ve seen no evidence of any reforming.” Boase had just told a whopping lie. He personally knew of two incidents where both Safety and Security Patrollers had been ambushed and captured or killed by soldiers returning to their barracks. Horse-guards parade, just meters from Downing Street, would have had many soldiers based there in the past, but this barracks at least was still very firmly in the hands of the Security Patrol.

The problem was, there were both army and air force bases fairly close to Chequers, and he had strong reason to believe that RAF Halton had now been re-activated. Although RAF Halton, one of the larger RAF bases, was primarily a training base for junior airmen and women, it could still house up to 2100 people. Driving from his own home in Bedfordshire, to come to Chequers, he had taken a detour and deliberately driven through Wendover to go past the base. It looked active, and that worried him. He would have Patrollers attend to it as soon as he got back to his own office.

“And outside London?” Thorn asked coldly.

“The same,” Boase said. “No sign of anything happening.” Once more Boase was lying. He now knew that outside of London the army pretty much had complete control of everywhere except the centres of the larger towns and cities. And even here the Patrols didn’t have the upper hand all the time. For his own safety he was keeping this information from Thorn. He just hoped that Stewart, who had found out some of this just recently, didn’t tell Thorn.

“Very well,” snapped Thorn. “Make sure it stays that way. Dismissed.”

“Sir.” Boase bobbed his head more out of fear than respect, and discreetly left.

Boase had not been pleased to be summoned to Chequers, and rather than use his ministerial car, a very obvious Jaguar XJ, he was driving his wife’s old and somewhat battered Ford Mondeo. The Jaguar was a lovely car, well protected and armoured, but he didn’t want ‘people’ knowing he wasn’t at home. His own home wasn’t quite as well protected as Chequers, but it was further off the beaten track, and well hidden. Going out in public like this, he wanted to be anonymous. The Mondeo gave him that. He hoped.

He wondered whether his plan of forcible recruitment, conscription, into the patrol would be approved. He needed another two hundred thousand men, and quickly, if he was to have any hope of getting Britain back under control.

“I wish Her Majesty hadn’t recalled all the troops,” General Sir Mike Gold, C-in-C land forces, grumbled to his deputies and assistants. “We haven’t got all the muster points sorted out.”

“It’ll only be two more days,” one of them pointed out, “and she’s, in effect, put everyone on alert.”

“Yes, but she’s also put Thorn and his goons on alert as well.” He sighed. “Though I’m sure that can be dealt with.”

“Yes sir,” one lieutenant said with a grin. “That’s all taken care of.”

Mike looked at the younger junior officer. “Your idea?”

“Sort of sir. Myself and the Army Sergeant-Major came up with the idea in one of those slightly odd but free-ranging discussions yesterday morning.”

Mike nodded, he knew the sort of thing. Almost a brain-storming of ideas. “And?”

“I mentioned it to Major Ponts and he’s set the wheels in motion.”

“Yes?”

The lieutenant nodded. “Basically we’re going to get a number of armed people, either Maquis or, preferably, currently deployed units to stake out the muster points from about thirty-six hours before we even announce them, right up until the muster is completed. They’ll take out anyone they suspect is one of Thorn’s thugs.”

Mike Gold nodded. “Good work Lieutenant.” It was a fairly obvious and logical thing to do, so he suspected that a lot of people had come up with pretty much the same idea. Still, he wished Her Majesty hadn’t jumped the gun though, but he supposed it wasn’t all bad. And it had to be done some time, so, well. He gave a mental shrug. Maybe now was as good a time as any.

The following day, in Derby, two officers who had been there the previous day, a man and a woman, didn’t turn up. However four other men did.

“We were watching to see what happened. See if anything went shit-shaped. We made a joint decision,” one of them told Chief Superintendent Alex Raizon. Raizon just nodded; he understood what they meant, but was disappointed that two had left already, and that no more than this had shown up.

By the end of the week they had a functional, and almost working, police station. One of the two who had turned up on Sunday, then not on Monday, had turned up again Tuesday and the rest of the week too. His reason for missing the Monday was fairly prosaic: he had had a dentists appointment to have his wisdom teeth removed.

There were now sixteen officers and four civilians, and between them they had completely cleared out about a third of the station, including the main reception, the main control room, the break room, and a number of the offices. Raizon’s own office, plus the entire custody suite were still out of action, but the women’s changing rooms were now usable, and actually in better repair than the men’s. There was very little in the way of usable equipment though. Most of the control room’s computers and radio systems had been deliberately damaged beyond repair, the rest had simply gone missing. Stolen. Some of the police vehicles were missing, most of the rest were damaged to a greater or lesser extent. None were currently usable and only one might be reparable, but none of them thought it worth while to do so.

To a point the twenty people despaired. They weren’t even sure of the reception they would get if they went out on the beat.

“I think, for the moment, what we need is beat officers,” Raizon told his skeleton crew. “We haven’t got enough people to do either seven days, or twenty-four hours, so for now it’ll be five days a week. Monday, and Tuesday, then Thursday to Saturday. No Wednesday and no Sunday. And on those five days we’ll do a nine to five rather than the standard twelve and a half hour daytime shift of seven am to seven-thirty pm.”

“How about,” one of the inspectors, Paul Wu, spoke up, “just two patrols a day, one before and one after lunch? Two to three hours at a time?”

Raizon nodded. “My thought was two to two and a half hours, and three people rather than two. Other than that, yes.”

There was general nodding. “That gives us time,” said Paul slowly, “for us to write up what we have seen, plus maybe, plan our next set of patrols, or just clean up some more of the mess here.”

There were a few good natured groans at this. Raizon smiled slightly, acknowledging the point.

He nodded. “Now. We have no custody suite, so there’s no point in making arrests. Not unless we are going to caution or release on police bail the same day.”

“Are the magistrates even working?” a detective constable asked. “And if so, what would they likely do? Could they remand?”

“Could we trust them to not be TaF puppets?” an older constable asked.

Raizon just shook his head. “Don’t worry about that. For now we’re just on the beat and getting ourselves seen again, I don’t think we are likely to be doing much crime solving, or at least, if we do it’s not going to go anywhere I don’t think. Not yet anyway. For now it’ll have to be just crime prevention.”

“Just get a presence on the streets?”

Raizon nodded. “There are no vehicles so foot patrols only, and no farther than about three or four miles from the station, but use your common. We can’t quickly back you up if you get into trouble, so you’ll need to keep your wits about you. Plus, if we’re only doing two patrols a day, then we’ve enough people that no one needs to go out more then once every other day. We’ll revisit that in a few days or a week when we see how we are received.”

The discussion went on for nearly an hour with various suggestions and ideas to help improve safety. Most were eventually rejected, but one, that the first couple of times on each beat was to be done in civvy’s rather than in uniform, Raizon was eventually persuaded to agree to. Five routes were planned, based on routes used previously. The number chosen so there would be both a morning and an afternoon patrol on each route, albeit a couple of days apart.

For the first week and a half, the foot patrols went off without a hitch. The three officers on each beat just noted what was happening, made notes on the few petty crimes they saw, but otherwise did nothing about them. They also noted when and where they saw Safety and Security Patrols. No one was going out in uniform just yet, but Raizon and an inspector joined each of the five morning patrols on the second week. They were pretty much ignored by most people they met, but twice during the latter part of the second week, the slowly strolling group of police officers, still not in uniform, were approached.

“You’re coppers,” one woman said quietly. “All of you. Why aren’t you out doing your job?” This was on the Thursday.

“How do you know we’re the police?” the inspector answered equally quietly.

She gave him an arch look. “I don’t give a stuff about pretty uniforms and fancy cars, but I can tell a copper a mile away. So why aren’t you doing your jobs?”

“How do you know we’re not?”.

The woman gave a bitter laugh. “I know you’re not. If you were, my shop wouldn’t be being robbed every single fuckin’ day.”

“Please don’t swear ma’am,” said the inspector almost automatically.

“Now I know you’re a ffffffflamin’ cop,” The woman’s bitterness had, if anything, got worse. “Far more interested in how I say sommat than in what I’m sayin’”

“So what are you saying?”

Raizon just listened without interrupting his inspector, saying nothing, but noting, as did the others, what was happening around them. He quietly waved two of the constables to move a little away and just observe.

“What I’m sayin’ is there are a bunch of ... of ... tearaways who rob me blind most days. And the ffff, the bloody patrols won’t do sod all.”

“Oh?” Interjected Raizon. “What do they do?”

“If they catch the little bleeders they might, just might, give ‘em a clip round the lug’ole. Usually they just tell ‘em to eff off.”

“Sorry, who tells who to eff off?” asked the inspector.

“The Patrol tells the little shits they capture to get lost. But that’s all they do. If they catch them.”

“And if they don’t catch them? Do they know who’s doing it?”

“‘Course they do. It’s the same bunch of ... of...,” the woman took a deep breath to calm herself down. “There’s seven of them. I bet none of them are older than about twelve. They come in about eight in the evening and rob me of sweets and chocolates and fizzy drinks mostly, but they’ve also managed to get away with the occasional bottle of booze. Cheap lager or cider mostly.”

“And the patrol isn’t interested in catching them?”

“Nah. Nothing in it for them, is there?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, catch a twelve year old kid who’s nicked a Mars bar, what’s that gonna get ‘em? They’re only interested in catching people who are speaking out against Thorn. Or shows any support for the queen.”

“Right,” said the inspector slowly. “So they’re only interested in people who, in their terms, are enemies of the state?”

“Yup. So what are you gonna do about it?”

“You do realise,” Raizon interjected again, “that just by talking to us, you could be considered an enemy of the state.”

She shrugged. “I don’t much care. To me all politicians are the embodiment of evil. I just want someone to stop those little bast ... those little thugs.”

“So what time is best? To catch these kids, I mean,” the inspector asked hurriedly, before the discussion turned to politics. “You said it’s normally around eight in the evening?”

“Normally. Not much earlier anyhow.”

“Every night?”

“Near enough?”

“Where?”

“Do you know where The Slug And Lettuce pub is? On Iron Gate?”

“Oh yes.”

“There was an empty unit next door. Used to be an independent estate agents until the housing market tanked. Got it for a song and turned it into a nice little news agents. Was just about makin’ a livin’ until them little sods came along.”

The inspector nodded. “We’ll see what we can do, but I’m not promising anything. And I certainly can’t guarantee it’ll be tonight. Is that okay?”

She shrugged. “Well, it’s no worse than the patrols is it?” She turned and marched off, still very angry.

“I think it’s time we started going out in proper uniform,” Raizon said softly, a few moments later, not really addressing anybody in particular.

The inspector slowly nodded. “I think you’re probably right. Let’s get everyone in the canteen at lunchtime and talk about it.”

“Agreed. And I’ll want two sets of three volunteers for two evening shifts. Ideally for tomorrow and Saturday, but let’s just play it by ear.”

The rest of the beat went off without incident, and, at lunchtime, Raizon found that, with some minor adjustments to a couple of the routes, most of the officers were actually more than ready to resume uniformed beat patrols. There was less immediate enthusiasm for trying to catch the ‘pack of young shop-lifters’, mostly because that area of the city centre had a lot of pubs in it, some of which were now regularly frequented by the Safety or Security Patrollers, particularly into the evenings after the normal curfew time.

Only when Raizon himself volunteered to go on the evening patrol, did he manage to get any other volunteers, but they were all male, and for public relations reasons, Raizon wanted a woman. He looked at the two female officers he still had. “Are you sure neither one of you can help?”

“Definitely not this evening,” one said, “and tomorrow would be awkward. Saturday should be okay.”

“I never did do evening shifts,” the other said. “Andy,” this was her partner, “works evenings so I have the kids.” She shrugged, grimacing apologetically. “That’s still not changed.”

Raizon nodded. He turned to the first one who had spoken. “Lou, we really need two consecutive evenings. Could you do tomorrow maybe? Any chance at all?”

Lou shook her head. “I’ve sort of got something planned for tomorrow evening. Saturday should be fine but...,” she trailed off then sighed. “Yeah okay, I might be able to do tomorrow night. I’ll try.”

“When can you let me know?”

Lou sighed once more and picked up her mobile. “Give me ten?”

Raizon nodded and Lou moved to the other side of the room. She came back a couple of minutes later. “Yeah, that should be fine, but you owe me.”

“Thank you, that’s wonderful. Friday and Saturday evenings?”

Lou nodded slowly. “Mob of five?” she asked. “Looks a bit strange.”

“That’s okay, what I’d like is for you, Matt,” he indicated one of the younger constables, “and myself to go and wait in the shop, and we’ll have Steve G,” he indicated the inspector who had been out that morning, “and Steve R,” he indicated a constable who hadn’t been out, “wait in a car just around the corner.”

“Parking’s gonna be a sod,” someone else pointed out. “You might have to get there quite early.”

Raizon nodded. “I’ll investigate that this evening after we finish. Okay folks, thank you all. Now, who’s on this afternoons beat?”

“Well?” demanded Thorn.

Bob Stewart was sitting with the Prime minister in his office. “I know for a fact that a couple of dozen police stations are now active. I’ve been past them. I’m reliably informed that in fact a few hundred are. What I can’t tell you is how active or efficient they are. I have seen a couple of bobbies on the beat, and generally they are in groups of four or so, not the one or two that were seen in the past.”

“They’re scared,” Thorn said with a satisfied voice.

“Yes, probably. It’s for protection. I’ve seen one police patrol car around, but I’ve also been told there are not many at all.” He frowned slightly. “It seems the general populace are completely neutral about them. They generally ignore them but the few interactions we have heard about seem to be generally favourable.”

Thorn frowned. “They are trying to undermine the Patrol.”

“The problem is that too many at the bottom end of the Patrol are petty criminals. They were minor drug dealers, shop lifters, pick-pockets and petty thieves. Some had convictions for violence, generally not too serious, but still. Some people don’t like them. Don’t want to deal with them if they don’t have to. Almost shun the patrols if they can. It’s not a pretty picture because now there are police officers around, minor incidents are as often as not being dealt with by the police.”

“Why aren’t they being arrested?” demanded Thorn.

“It would seem that the Patrol is ignoring the police and vice versa.”

“Why?”

Stewart shook his head. “I believe that this is generally orders from higher up. On the Patrol side at least. I’m guessing the police are not trying to arrest Patrollers because they are not sure of the reaction. Some people still don’t trust the police, even if they trust, if that’s the right word, trust them more than the Patrol.”

Thorn frowned in fury. “They trust the police more than the Patrol?”

“In some cases, yes, it would seem so.”

“I want orders passed down that Patrollers are to arrest any and all policemen they see. They are to use as much force as they need. If a few die then so be it, but I want them off my streets. Ignoring them, allowing them to continue, is treason.”

“I’ll make sure that message gets across,” Stewart sighed.

Thorn’s eyes narrowed and he looked at his most trusted minister. “Why are you telling me this? Surely it’s Boase’s responsibility. The Patrol is part of MOSS not the Home Office.”

“Yes sir, Gareth said he was unable to come today and asked if I would pass on the information on his behalf.”

“Has he found Beatrice yet?”

“I believe so, but he claims she is trapped and he cannot get at her while she cannot get out. He says that the broadcasts are computer generated and that those portions that are not were recorded a long time ago and are being re-used. He says they are not live and not new.”

“Do you believe that?”

“I don’t know sir, I haven’t seen them.”

“Huh. Then I suggest you watch a couple and tell me what you think.”

“Uh, yes, okay sir.”

“And these so called army muster points?”

“Mr Boase says they are all fake. That no one turns up, and that those people that do turn up are there to oppose any soldiers that might appear.”

“I’m not sure I believe him any more, Bill. What do you think?”

Bill Stewart pulled a piece of paper from his briefcase.

“According to what information I can glean, ten to fifteen thousand people have presented, old soldiers, some of them in their seventies.” He sighed. “I can’t tell you how many of that lot might be effective, but I believe it’s not many. A couple of thousand at best.”

“A couple of thousand,” screeched Thorn, but Stewart raised his hands to try and calm his boss.

“That’s a couple of thousand nationwide. They aren’t all in the same place, and the Patrol has control of the transport network.

Gareth Boase had kept Bill Stewart and the entire cabinet in the dark about the actual state of affairs on the motorways, but even he hadn’t realised the railways were much the same. Stewart had had no reason to believe anything was out of the ordinary. He genuinely believed what he had just told the PM.

“And do people still believe this alien menace rubbish?”

“I don’t know sir. I really don’t. The few people I ask all say they don’t believe it, but they could just be telling me what I want to hear. What they think I want to hear.”

“Well find out. We’ve got to stamp this rubbish out fast. Repeating it is treason. And I mean treason. I want them hung.”

“Um. I’m sorry sir, but we don’t have the death penalty in this country. Not even for treason.”

“Well we do now,” snarled Thorn. He picked up a piece of paper, scribbled a few lines on it, signed it with a flourish, and passed it over.

“So how many?” Field Marshal Sir Ian Coulter asked General Mike Gold and Admiral Amjad Hussein. The three were on a conference call.

“Looks like about forty-five thousand,” Amjad Hussein replied, “give or take a few. We had a large number, more than ten thousand, in their sixties and seventies though, and those we sent home for the time being. We need to get the younger ones sorted before we take on the older generations.”

“Good. So just to be clear, that’s forty-five thousand all under sixty?”

“Yes sir. The next muster is in three days time and then two days after that. Going on the previous musters we’ll probably get between ten and twelve thousand. Certainly no more.”

“So that’s fifty-five thousand, roughly.”

“Yeah,” responded Mike Gold. “We had hoped to get closer to a hundred thousand and more. And it’s pretty much all army, plus some Royal Marines. Very few navy or air force. I think some people are assuming we can’t use them in the fight against the patrol, so aren’t coming out. I think they are still scared of the Patrol.”

“Are you doing anything about that?”

“Only arresting any patroller, or indeed any person, who tries to obstruct a muster. So far we’ve arrested about three hundred people.”

“Not all of them Patrollers,” added Amjad dryly.

“Indeed,” murmured Mike Gold. “There are still a lot of people out there who absolutely believe in Thorn and his propaganda. And that’s despite all the stuff Beatrice and her people are getting out.”