THE CHIMING OF THE BELL 4

                         

THE CHIMING OF THE BELL  [Part 4 & Last] 

By Richard Banks        

While regretting his unintended enlistment Sebastian was nonetheless heartened when he was issued with his uniform consisting of a camouflage jacket and a peaked cap that Mr Dyson insisted he wears the right way around. Learning that the three stripes on the sleeve indicated that he was Mr Dyson’s second in command he was still further encouraged by the deference now shown to him by his fellow residents, even those with better cars than his own.

         After several days in which they practised marching and saluting they moved on to target practice in the woods where they nearly shot a squirrel and Mr Pry tripped over a tree root and had to be carried back to his car.

         Fully trained, or as trained as they were ever likely to be, Mr Dyson issued a martial command that ‘Lethal Outcome’ was to begin on the following Friday. Accordingly, Sebastian and the rest of the number one platoon took up their position, under cover of darkness, on Mr Simpson’s garage. Steeling themselves for the battle to come the gallant defenders waited for their enemy who duly arrived at 11.30. Aiming the searchlight at the masked men entering their road Mr Dyson gave the order to fire only to find that Mr Jones, their designated gunner, was on a comfort break. Urged by their leader to take his place, Sebastian hurried forward and delivered a rapid burst of gunfire that struck a bush producing an indignant meow from a cat sheltering beneath it.

         The advancing foe armed with nothing more than a dustbin lid and a stick to beat it with, broke off their war cries and after a chaotic attempt to find cover were urged by their leader to, “get the ---- out of here!”  While “it” was not defined the invading force responded by running back the way they had come, surviving another volley of bullets from Sebastian who somehow manage to shatter two street lights and a satellite aerial.

         Fearing a feigned retreat Mr Dyson ordered his troops to stand fast while peering through night vision binoculars and muttering darkly about a further attack. On learning of the likely resumption of hostilities Mr Jones, who had just rejoined his comrades, retreated once again to the bathroom in order to retrieve his glasses. On his return, a bright light in the sky heralded the arrival of a helicopter that hovered overhead while a police van screeched to a halt outside Mr Patel’s shop. Observing the arrival of twelve armed officers, the Greenacre Action Force greeted their comrades in arms with a resounding cheer that nonetheless saw the comrades take cover and point their weapons at the gallant defenders. Sebastian, fearing that he would be their first target, acknowledged them with what he hoped would be interpreted as a friendly wave.

         Encouraged, if not entirely reassured by both cheer and wave, a man with a megaphone cautiously emerged from behind a wheelie bin to demand their unconditional surrender. He was, he assured them, Superintendent Ernest Nabber, a name he had every intention of living up to, and he was at the head of a force of elite marksmen, with telescopic sights, who had been practicing only the week before. The SAS were on their way and the RAF, not to be outdone, had jet fighters massing over the Thames Estuary. All resistance was futile. Their only choice was death or incarceration under the 1824, Overthrow of the State Act.

         Mr Dyson advanced to the edge of the garage to assure him that no such thing was intended. They were on the side of law and order, “just like themselves,” and that the police should be pursuing the hooligans who had been rampaging up and down their street on a nightly basis.

         The Inspector replied that had they complained to 101, their call operators, Molly and Eric, would have been only too pleased to offer them counselling or send them any one of a number of really useful leaflets. But they, ungrateful citizens of this Sceptred Isle, had chosen to walk on the dark side and perpetrate the very worse of crimes, which was to try and enforce the law themselves. This made the police look really bad and could not be tolerated. He therefore had no hesitation in bringing down the full force of the law against them, and any law would do. He only regretted that hanging and quartering had been discontinued. As for the hooligans of which they complained, they were no more than Mr Watts and his employees making a rumpus in order to boost sales of their security equipment. This he had known about for weeks and fully intended doing something about next week, or possibly the week after that. In the meantime, they had more pressing priorities, of which the overthrow of the State was now top of their list. If they did not surrender he would have no option but to unleash the destructive might at his disposal.

         Mr Dyson considered what Churchill might have said at this moment. Deciding that, “OK Gov, it’s a fair cop,” was something that would not have passed his lips Mr Dyson frantically searched his mind for the words that would save him and his confederates from imprisonment or certain death. Concluding there were none or at least none he could think of, he turned to his comrades and raised up his arms in a gesture of despair that unfortunately was not dissimilar to the signal to fire. Sebastian’s finger tightened on the trigger and as the gun fired, almost without him knowing it, a volley of bullets came forth the other way striking him, and then the others, with mortal effect.

         In his death throes he heard the chiming of a bell and hoping that he may have been, ‘saved by the bell’ opened his eyes to find it so, himself in bed and Margo downstairs in the hall talking to the man who had come to read the meter. But, when wearily closing them again, he knew not which was the real world and which was not. Only when he opened them again would he know. Could he open them? That would indeed be the test. It would not be easy. He needed to rest a few moments, to gather strength. All that was required of him was to count up to ten, open his eyes and all would be well. There was still hope, but on reaching five his counting stopped. 

 

The End

 

Copyright Richard Banks