They’ll be blowing bridges next.’
‘I hadn’t realised it was so serious,’ said Macken.
‘Life on the border, Jolly. It’s not like the seaside. There’s always a threat. There always will be.’
Gracey kicked one of the tyres.
‘The Specials are one of life’s necessary irritants. They’re clumsy. But they’re the prime minister’s pets, so you can’t kick their arses when they dig holes without telling us.
‘And they come in handy when the shooting starts.’
The three men assessed the car. Cedric had shot through the floor and dashboard.
‘Still looks driveable,’ said Macken.
‘What’ll we do, Billy?’ asked Cedric.
The sergeant glared at him. ‘The first thing, Constable Andrews, is to shift it.’
Gracey put the car in neutral and the three of them gripped it under the front bumper and strained together, lifting it up and back from the trench.
‘Cedric, pick up your gun and the shell cases. Jolly, make sure we’ve not left any bits of the car lying around. Leave no traces.’
‘What about the car?’ asked Macken. ‘There’s no hiding damage like that.’
‘Oh, is there not?’ said Gracey. ‘You leave that to me.’
Gracey started the engine.
‘I need a road back to the border, Cedric. Close by. But quiet, mind.’
‘Aah…’
‘Come on. Quick now.’
‘There’s a forestry track round the corner.’
Gracey slewed the car round. After a few hundred yards, they turned through a break in the hedge. The dim, dry, earth track was strewn with pine needles. They threaded through a plantation of conifers. Part of the Brookemartin demesne, explained Cedric. He pointed down a slope to a stream, which he said marked both the boundary of the estate and the border itself.
‘We’re definitely on the right side?’ asked Gracey.
Cedric pointed to cuts on the tree trunks. ‘Those are His Lordship’s marks for which trees are to be took down. We’re still in Ulster.’
Macken stared across the stream. It looked no different. He thought better of reminding them that it was Ulster over there too – one of the three Ulster counties left in the South when the border was drawn. Easier for northern Protestants to forget. They might feel embarrassed at abandoning them. Much like how the rest of Ireland felt about the six counties up north, he supposed.
Gracey checked the magazine from Cedric’s gun.
‘Not much left. Lord God, Cedric, you’re an almighty eejit. Jolly, take his gun. I still haven’t forgiven him for trying to kill us.’
‘What are we doing, Sergeant?’ asked Macken.
‘Right, this is what happened.’ Gracey paused to be sure they were listening. ‘As we carried out our patrol with due diligence and attention, I noticed signs of suspicious activity in this wood by the border.’
Macken interrupted. ‘What signs?’
‘Ah… broken branches. Like a large vehicle had gone through. Cedric, go back and snap off some branches at the entrance. Keep out of sight, unless you have to stop someone coming in.’
Cedric hurried off.
‘As we investigated, we came under fire from… from over here. And from in front. Jolly, go over there and when I give the word, rake the front of the car with what Cedric has left you. When that runs out use this.’
Gracey tossed Macken a spare magazine, and stepped back, raising his own gun.
‘Hold on,’ Macken slung his gun and raised his hands. ‘You’re not going to shoot up our own car, are you?’
‘No, Jolly. We are going to shoot up the car.
‘You’re not expecting me to traipse back into town and say we accidentally opened fire on our own car while we were in it, are you? Would that look good on your personal record?’
‘But I…’
‘Don’t worry, Jolly; I’m not trying to pin it on you. But have you no loyalty to young Cedric? Do you think he’ll have a future in the force after that piece of prime stupidity? Whose side are you on?’
‘No one will believe it,’ argued Macken. ‘We’ll never get away with it.’
‘That’s more like it. You’re coming round to the idea,’ nodded Gracey. ‘We will get away with it, if we do it here and now. And don’t forget to aim high.’
The sergeant raised his gun. ‘Now, Macken, I’m ordering you to open fire.’
What was this madness he had stumbled into, thought Macken? It must be a set-up. He was the one about to be riddled with bullets. In these, his final moments, the world around him seemed to grow distant. The sounds of the forest and his companion fading further and further.
Suddenly, the deafening rattle from Gracey’s Sten gun slapped into him, like physical blows. Macken began to shake and a dull pain grew in his hands as he squeezed his fists harder and harder. His vision swam and then began to clear as he realised he was still standing. Dizzy. Alive. He looked at the car, windows shattered, rocking back to settle on its wheels.
‘Christ almighty, Jolly, it’s like waiting for the day of deliverance. Will you be joining the party any time today?’
Puzzled, Macken turned his head to see who had addressed him by his Christian name. A man in dark clothing, like himself he realised. Rough looking. A peaked hat. A gun in his hands. Not pointing at him, but at the car, from which glass was still falling.
Macken looked down at the gun in his hands. He raised it and looked over again to the man. The face staring at him had changed, no longer wearing an expression of complacent control. The eyes were narrowing to slits, then widening. He was pointing now and shouting.
‘The car! For fuck’s sake, shoot the fucking car, Jolly!’
Macken looked towards where the hand was pointing. The car. It was their car, he thought.
‘Shoot the car!’
Yes, thought Macken, as his finger crept slowly onto the trigger, and the gun leapt to life. A great yell burst from him as he raked the front of the car and down the side, bursting the lights, shredding the tops of the seats through the windscreen and plugging the bonnet and the nearest tyre again and again. Release and rage pulsed through him till the bullets stopped. He heard a wailing that made him wince, till he gasped and realised it had been himself shouting.
The
