On Her Majesty's Behalf (26 page)

 

Chapter Thirty-nine

The Storage Room

St. Thomas's Tower

Q
UEEN
V
ERONICA WAS
eyeing the door nervously when Freeman spoke for the first time since she'd pulled him out of the wreckage following the crash.

“Don't worry; he's coming.”

She started in surprise and spun around to find the major watching her from where he sat propped against the rear wall. His skin had a gray, shallow cast, indicative of all the blood he'd lost, and there were dark circles under his eyes, but at least he was conscious and making sense.

Maybe.

“Who's coming?” she asked, as she crossed the room to crouch beside him and check that he hadn't loosened his bandages when he'd awoken.

He sat patiently through her ministrations—­grunting in pain as she tightened a bandage here and there—­and then said through gritted teeth, “My brother. He won't let us just rot away in here. All we need to do is hold out long enough and he'll find us. That's what he does.”

Veronica watched him, looking for any telltale signs of a head injury. His eyes seemed to be reacting properly to the light and there didn't appear to be any knots or swelling along his skull . . .

“I'm sorry, Major. You have me at a loss. I don't know who you are talking about.”

For a moment he just stared, then broke out into a weak chuckle that turned into a coughing fit. When he finally settled down again, he gave her a short grin.

“My apologies, Your Majesty. I thought you knew. Madman Burke—­
Major
Burke—­is my brother.”

Veronica sat back on her haunches, taken completely by surprise. She'd heard the two men arguing—­had known they had a history of some sort together by the way they were acting—­but she had no idea that they were related.

Her thoughts were on her own family, lost to the bombings and their aftermath, when she said, “It must be reassuring to know you've family who would risk so much for you.”

This time Freeman's laughter was heartier and went on for several minutes, which just confused her even more. She sat staring at him, seriously considering examining him again for a concussion or similar injury, anything that might explain his strange behavior, when he waved a hand as if to dismiss her unvoiced thoughts.

“I'm sorry, Your Majesty, truly I am. You have no idea how ironic your comment is to me. Burke may be many things, but a loving brother he is not.”

“But you just said . . .”

“Who I am doesn't matter a lick in this situation,” Freeman said, reining in his amusement. “No, I could be the son of his worst enemy and he'd still come after me if that's what his orders said. The man's a stickler for orders.”

That's not such a bad vice to have,
Veronica thought.

But Freeman wasn't finished. “Besides, it's got nothing to do with me,” he said, glancing away with what seemed to be some hidden disappointment of his own. “I saw the way he looked at you.”

Veronica was so surprised by his revelation that she didn't bother to try to hide the flush that washed over her at the thought of Burke's possible affection. With death looming outside the door, she'd be a fool not to admit it to herself at this point.

Hurry, Burke,
she thought.

Freeman was overcome by a coughing fit at that point, chasing away any other thoughts Veronica might have had beyond their immediate survival. When he was finished, she noted flakes of blood on his lips.

That wasn't a good sign.

The bullet wound in his shoulder was obvious, but now she found herself wondering what other unseen injuries he might have sustained in the crash.

He must have caught the worried expression on her face, for he tried to smile. “Don't worry about me, Your Majesty. I've survived being held prisoner in a German POW camp after being shot down by the Red Baron, and growing up as the illegitimate son of our illustrious president. No way I'm going to let a ­couple of rotters take me out.”

Son of the president . . . ?

Before she could ask, Freeman's so-­called rotters began pounding on the door in earnest, as if to remind them that they weren't safe yet. The door creaked and groaned, but still held.

Heaven only knew for how much longer, though.

Freeman must have had a similar thought, for abruptly he asked, “Can you shoot, Your Majesty?”

Veronica nodded. “Yes. Quite well, in fact. My father believed in making certain his children, male and female, were ready for whatever life might throw at them.”

“Sounds like a wise man,” Freeman said, as he choked back another round of coughing. He stuck a hand inside his flight boot. “Here, take this.”

It was a standard ser­vice pistol for the American troops, a Colt Model 1911. Veronica had fired one several times in the past, and although she might not be proficient, she was certainly familiar with one. To illustrate that fact she triggered the magazine release, checked to see if it was fully loaded, and then slotted it back into place with smooth easy motions.

When she looked up, Freeman was holding out another magazine to her.

“With my shoulder messed up the way that it is,” he said, “I won't be able to shoot so well. It's best that you have everything you need.”

Taking it, she slipped it into her belt.

“Let's hope we don't need to use it.”

He eyed her carefully for a moment, then said, “Do I need to tell you to keep two in reserve?”

Veronica shook her head. Captain Morrison had impressed on her the undesirability of being caught by the shredders what felt like weeks ago but she hadn't forgotten that lesson. She'd count her shots and, if worse came to worst, use the last two on first Freeman and then herself to be certain that they both went out with a bit of grace and dignity.

Preparations made, they settled in to wait.

The shredders had been gathering outside the door for some time now, their strange calls and odd cries an unsettling counterpoint to the constant banging they made against the door. The shredders at Bedlam hadn't been intelligent enough to make use of the tools around them; all it had taken was the sheer weight of their numbers for them to break into just about every room in the hospital until Captain Morrison and the others had managed to get the barricade system into place. These were no different; she could imagine them piling against the barrier, pushing forward continually, kicking and shoving and pounding against it, until, at some point, it would finally give way beneath their weight. It didn't matter how many of them were destroyed in the process, just as long as they reached their quarry on the other side.

Veronica knew it was just a question of time.

Trouble was, she didn't have any verifiable means of telling how much time had passed, never mind how much they had left.

At first, it wasn't too bad. When they grew nervous or the constant noise of the shredders became too much for either of them, there was always the other person to talk to.

But as time passed it became more and more apparent that Freeman was suffering from some serious internal injury. His color grew worse and his energy levels faded at a fair clip, until she was left sitting beside his near-­unconscious form just as she'd done when they'd first arrived.

Except that by this point, the shredders were making serious progress toward reaching them.

A corner of the thick, oaken door suddenly splintered and buckled, leaving a small gap that the creatures tried to exploit to their advantage, ripping and tearing at it with their hands and teeth.

Veronica rushed over and fired several shots through the gap, killing the shredders dumb enough or hungry enough to show their faces on the other side of the hole. But by the time she'd gone through most of the first magazine, she was ever the more uncomfortably aware that there were dozens behind the ones she'd already killed. She would run out of ammunition long before they ran out of undead bodies.

So as the minutes passed and the gap in the door widened, Veronica surrendered to the inevitable and returned to her place by Freeman's side, putting an arm around him and holding him close. She didn't know if he was aware enough to recognize that she was there with him, but if there was even a chance that he was, then she didn't want him thinking that he was going to have to face the end alone.

And, truth be told, it helped give her the strength she needed to face what she had to do next.

Another crash echoed through the room, another splintering piece of wood tore away from the door, and the shredder at the front of the pack began trying to work its body through the gap. It got one leg through and was trying to squirm its way forward when it was crushed from behind by the others, all wanting to do the same thing.

For a moment, there was an impasse at the door.

Do it now, while you still can,
Veronica thought.

She glanced at the gun in her hand and then at the man by her side.

What was the best way of doing this?

She wanted to be certain, but at the same time didn't want to make it more difficult than necessary as she would still need time to take care of herself.

One shot to his temple and then a second to her own?

Yes, that would do.

She checked to be sure the safety was off and then laid Freeman gently down on the stone floor beside her.

Quickly now, before you lose your nerve . . .

The sound of bullets ripped through the hallway outside. Veronica recognized the unmistakable
rat a tat tat
of an American Tommy gun accompanied by the sharp crack of several rifles, and she nearly pulled the trigger of the gun in her own hand in surprised shock.

The very notion appalled her—­to have come so far only to be lost at the last moment through her own negligence—­and she hurriedly made the weapon safe and pushed it away as she climbed to her feet.

She heard more gunfire, the shredders at the door turning away to face something behind them, and she heard a voice raised above the howl of the undead mob.

“Veronica! Veronica!”

It was Burke, of course; he'd found them.

She bent next to Freeman, whispered, “You were right. Your brother came for you. For us. Now just hold on!”

“Veronica!”

She turned to see Burke shoving his way through the all-­but-­destroyed door and the joy on his face at finding her alive matched that on her own.

She ran to meet him.

 

Chapter Forty

White Tower

Tower of London

A
FTER A MOMENT,
Burke tore himself away from Veronica to deal with matters at hand. He might have found the Queen, but he still needed to get her out of London and there was, of course, his brother to see to as well.

Doc Bankowski quickly confirmed Veronica's less learned diagnosis.

“He's bleeding internally,” he said, after looking Freeman over for a ­couple of minutes. “Probably cracked a rib and punctured a lung when the plane came down. He needs surgery and he needs it quickly.”

“Something you can do here?” Burke asked.

Bankowski shook his head. “Not unless you intend to remain behind for the next several weeks while he recovers. Once we operate, he's not going to be able to be moved or we'll risk a greater chance of infection. I wouldn't want to operate, only to kill him by dragging him through the ruins of London.”

Burke had to agree that that would be a less than optimal resolution.

“All right then. Guess the scenic route is out. It's back to France as quickly as we can go.”

Which, in this case, was going to be by airship.

Burke pulled off his pack and removed the wireless unit that Veronica had strapped there after their visit to the Round Table. Watchful of any lingering shredders, Burke stepped outside and contacted the pilot of the airship that had been circling the city waiting to pick them up since they'd passed on reports of the Queen's plane going down.

A plan was quickly devised between them. Mindful that the Germans were still in hot pursuit, it was decided that Burke and his team would immediately escort the Queen to the roof of the White Tower, the highest point in their immediate vicinity, at which point they would all board the airship by means of rope ladders lowered from the gondola above. Once the Queen was aboard, the airship would transport her and the commando team back to headquarters in France, where she would already have been had things gone well the first time around.

A makeshift gurney was made for Freeman and carried by Cohen and Williams, with Doc and Veronica hustling along on either side, ready to tend to the patient if need be. Drummond led the way, with Burke and Graves bringing up the rear. With everyone in position, they crossed the inner ward as a group and quickly made their way into the White Tower.

Over the course of its eight-­hundred-­year history, the Tower of London had been many things, palace, fortress, prison, arsenal, mint, and zoo, among others. Originally built by William the Conqueror after his invasion in 1066, the tower was largely unused at the moment, the armory and barracks having been moved elsewhere at the start of the war. It was a small bastion of peace and quiet in the thick of the city, and today Burke was especially thankful for that fact for it kept their shredder encounters to a minimum.

Built on the location of the original donjon established by William himself, the White Tower was a four-­story stone building with narrow defensive towers in each corner and an interior consisting of three rooms per floor. Burke wasn't interested in any of them; all he wanted to do was get the group up the narrow staircase to the roof above.

The stairs spiraled upward in the far corner of the building. The lighting was poor and the passage narrow, which Burke took as a good sign. It would be easily defensible if they needed to keep the enemy from closing in on them.

Not five minutes after thinking them, Burke's thoughts turned prophetic. While passing a window on the third floor, Graves stopped and then pointed across the quad to where a group of German soldiers were just emerging into view.

“Company, Major,” he said quietly.

Burke watched them for a moment, his gaze seeking out one form in particular . . .

There!

Charlie's large bulk rose amid the smaller members of his squad. It seemed the two of them would have another chance at a reunion.

Let's hope this one goes a bit more in my favor.

As if on cue, the newly made German pointed in the direction of the tower.
Go get them,
the gesture seemed to say, and Burke had no trouble imagining that Charlie's orders had been something right along those lines.

“Let's move, ­people,” Burke shouted, and the group hurried its pace to the top.

It was colder up here and the clear weather of the last few days had passed that morning, leaving low-­cast clouds of sickly gray in its wake. Contact with the airship told them that the pilot was still five minutes out, which meant Burke and his men were going to have to hold their position against the German troops until the pilot could arrive on-­site. This presented a bit of a tactical problem, as Burke only had a handful of men and four staircases, one in each corner of the tower, to defend.

Knowing he had minutes, at best, to come up with a solution, Burke chose the brute-­force method, just as he'd done with the statue in Kensington Gardens. Pooling the team's resources got him several Mills bombs; he used them to render three of the four staircases impassable. Shouts from the courtyard below told him that he'd made their position quite clear to the enemy by doing so, but he didn't see that he'd had any other option. The Germans would know where they were when the big shiny airship descended out of the sky overhead anyway, and at least this way they had to defend only one direction.

“Why not destroy them all?” Veronica asked, no doubt not seeing the wisdom in leaving one stairwell intact.

Burke shrugged. “If something happens to the airship, we're going to need a way down.”

Uncomfortable but true.

Please don't let anything happen to that airship,
he breathed, though whether to himself or some higher power he wasn't sure.

“Drummond, Williams, you're with me,” he announced to the group, picking the two best marksmen he had now that he'd lost Jones.

“Doc, I want you to help Freeman. Graves, you and Private Cohen escort the Queen, please.”

“Where are you going?” Veronica asked, and Burke was pleased to see she was genuinely worried that he was leaving.

“Someone's got to keep these bastards off your back while you get aboard, Your Majesty. Turns out it's my lucky day.”

She stepped closer, so the others couldn't hear.

“Don't put me on another aircraft by myself, Burke. I don't think I can deal with two aerial disasters in the same day.”

He nodded, hearing the fear and insecurity beneath her lighthearted tone. “I'll be along right after you, Your Majesty. You have my word.”

“I will hold you to it, Major Burke.”

They stared at each other a moment longer, then Veronica turned away and rejoined the others waiting in the center of the roof while Burke hustled over to the top of the staircase.

Drummond and Williams were already at work, building a makeshift barricade at the top of the stairs, with decent fields of fire downward in the direction the enemy would be coming. With enough ammo, they could hold out here for a while.

Hopefully they wouldn't need to.

The sound of an approaching engine split the air, and Burke almost missed the arrival of the enemy, so intent was he on locating the sound. Williams's shout of “Contact!” was followed almost immediately by gunfire coming up at them from the landing below.

Shooting up and at an angle was difficult; doing so when your enemy was shooting down at you from behind a well-­constructed barricade even more so. Burke, Williams, and Drummond took advantage of that fact, pouring firepower down on the enemies' heads without exposing themselves to much of the enemies' counterfire in response.

A shadow passed over them, and when Burke looked up, the airship was there, hanging over the tower. It wasn't nearly as large as the one he and the team had taken into Germany on their last rescue mission, but it was big enough to dwarf everything below it. Ropes unfurled from the gondola above, followed almost immediately by a long rope ladder. Two airman scurried down the ladder as Burke watched, weighting it down and providing some much needed stability for the others who weren't used to running about outside a ship when it was hundreds of feet in the air. One of the airmen jumped off and rushed over to the Queen, prepared to help her board. He also quickly maneuvered Freeman over his shoulder to take him up the ladder right behind the Queen.

Gunfire from below intensified as the enemy realized their quarry's salvation was near at hand. Burke could hear a commander—­
Charlie, maybe?
—­shouting at the men to rush their position, and he had just enough time to warn the others before several soldiers in dark, Tottensoldat uniforms came charging up the narrow staircase.

It was a slaughterhouse.

There was no room for the enemy to maneuver, and as one man fell, he caused more difficulty for his comrades on either side. The assault didn't make it more than a few steps up the staircase before it was thrown back.

Another glance showed the Queen ascending the ladder, an airman above her and the other behind her with Freeman. This was the part where she was most vulnerable, and Burke rained fire down on the enemy as quickly as he could to make certain she had the chance to make her destination without interference.

To his surprise, Graves and Doc didn't bother waiting for the ladder to be free, but had each grabbed one of the guide ropes and were pulling themselves upward, hand over hand. They were only saving seconds, but those seconds might mean life or death to Burke and his companions still on the roof of the tower.

Burke smiled, proud of his men.

He turned and slapped Williams on the back. “Go!” he shouted.

The other man didn't hesitate. He turned and ran pell-­mell for the rope ladder hanging there several feet above the rooftop as Burke and Drummond poured a fresh round of gunfire down on their enemies pinned in the stairwell below them. The longer they could hold them there, Burke knew, the better chance they all had of getting out of here alive.

Not all,
he thought, as the faces of the dead—­Morrison, Montagna, Jones—­flashed before him. The price had been high, and he vowed that it would go no higher; he would get his ­people out of here if it was the last thing he did.

He glanced back across the roof and saw that Williams had reached the ladder and was already clambering upward. That left only the two of them.

“You're next, Sergeant,” Burke said, as he slapped another magazine into his Tommy gun.

“Age before beauty, sir,” the other man quipped, even as he popped up from behind the barricade they were using as cover and put a bullet through the throat of a German commando who had stuck his head out just a little too far.

“I don't think so, Drummond. You're getting on that ladder next. That's an order.”

The Black Watch sergeant grinned. “And if I refuse?”

Several of the undead suddenly burst from cover in an attempt to charge up the steps and Burke had to wait a moment before replying as he emptied nearly half his magazine into the lead soldiers, knocking them back down onto the others.

When he ducked back down, he said, “You won't. Refuse, that is. Your Queen needs you more than I do.”

Burke glanced over and nearly laughed at the flummoxed look on Drummond's face. The sergeant couldn't argue with him, for Burke had said just the right thing and knew it, too.

A horn blared out somewhere above them, the prearranged signal that the Queen had safely reached the airship's gondola. It was time to go.

“They'll be coming now,” Burke said in all seriousness. “Best get moving; I'll hold them off. Besides, I've still got one last present for them.”

He held up the final Mills bomb that he'd been saving for just this occasion.

“See you topside then, Major,” Drummond said and headed for safety.

Burke stepped in front of the stairwell and held down the trigger of his weapon, sending shot after shot down the shaft in front of him, the bullets whipping and whining as they ricocheted in the narrow space. When the magazine ran dry he tossed the Tommy aside, pulled the pin on the Mills bomb, and tossed it down the stairwell.

Burke turned and ran like hell for the ladder behind him.