Them-2 - Chapter 15

Chapter Fifteen – St Peter Port, Guernsey

The atmosphere in the pub was deathly quiet. The news from the BBC was both shocking and surreal. The patrons automatically leaned towards a large screen television set over the main bar, even though they could see and hear it without difficulty. An attractive female news anchor was running the footage of the giant ant lying on the Bowling Green Mall parking area. News of the event had flashed around the globe and was the major story on thousands of news channels.
“Ugly beasties!” Hamish MacTaggart blurted, motioning for the barkeep to fill his pint. MacTaggart was practically a beast himself, at six foot six inches in his stocking feet, two hundred sixty pounds, and a generous mane of flaming read hair covering both his head and face, he was a giant of a man. In his mid forties, MacTaggart was retired from the British Special Air Service, the famous British Commando unit, and spent the majority of his time golfing, drinking, and occasional volunteer work at Castle Cornet as a tour guide.
“Powerful looking creatures,” remarked his drinking partner, Jean Claude Dorbec. Dorbec was also recently retired. He served twenty-four years with the French Commandos Marine, the equivalent of the U.S. Navy SEAL’s. They were widely known as Les béret vert, or, the Green Berets in France. In his early forties, Dorbec was two meters tall, weighed around two hundred pounds, and had an abundance of rich dark brown hair slowly turning gray at the temples and frosted throughout his well trimmed beard. He had a generous mouth and a grin the women swooned over.
The two had first met during a NATO training exercise held at the Naval Special Warfare Center (NSWC), in Coronado, California, where the U.S. Navy trained it’s pre-eminent fighting force, the U.S. Navy SEAL’s. MacTaggart was there to brief the Americans on a new and highly classified Special Warfare system, and Claude was teaching them how to anchor recently developed underwater listening devices.
Both were residents of St Peter Port in Guernsey, located among the Channel Islands off the coast of Normandy. While in the SAS, Hamish spent a short tour of training duty on the island and fell in love with the place and Dorbec’s family had been local residents since 1794. His ancestor, a wealthy French nobleman, moved his family to the island during the French Revolution in fear for their safety. Noblemen were quite literally loosing their heads at the time. Although the island had remained under British control since the thirteenth century, there were many old established French families still living on the island. Having two things in common, both Special Forces and both from Guernsey, the two became close friends and their families spent a lot of time together.
A portly balding man further down the bar held up a sausage-sized finger and made a shushing noise for them to be quiet. The anchorwoman was adding more detail to the story.
“According to reports, the giant ants have killed an unknown number of civilians, though believed to be in the hundreds, who were shopping at the mall. A spokesperson for the military stated that a nest was located near the mall complex but it was not known how many of the creatures inhabited the nest. The military have yet to disclose the origin of the giant ants, but information spreading on the Internet indicates that two scientists at the local university believe the creatures were hatched from frozen prehistoric eggs recently found in Antarctica. A FBI Agent by the name of Chuck, or Huck la Roche, is the one who initially warned about the existence of the monsters. His report was followed up by a worldwide notification on the Internet by a Doctor Schmitt and Doctor Gallagher. No additional details are available at this time.”
As the news anchor moved on to discuss the fantastic story with a British Entomologist, the patrons at the bar went back to their pints with panoply of amazed and mostly inaccurate viewpoints.
“la Roche,” Dorbec stated. “That’s the young naval officer attached to us while we were in California?”
Hamish thought for a moment. “I believe your right. Huckleberry la Roche.” Hamish grinned. “Poor man got saddled with one heck of a name didn’t he?”
“And Hamish is not odd?” Dorbec smiled back.
“He was a Navy SEAL last I knew,” Hamish continued. “Young lass on the tube said he worked for the FBI. Think he would remember two old wind gassers like us?”
“He was sweet on my youngest sister,” Dorbec replied. “I believe they’re still writing to each other on the Internet. She’s been trying to nail him down from the way she swoons when his name is mentioned. He was a nice kid, and, he was one of us, Special Forces.”
“Kid? He’s only about ten years younger than us, that makes him somewhat a man.”
Dorbec motioned for the barkeep to refill their pints. Most people thought all French drank only wine however; Dorbec could put away pints of ale faster than any Britt, although he preferred German beer to the weak English Ale.
“There’s more to this story than giant bugs,” Dorbec burped. “Can you imagine those creatures getting out and about? If they reproduce like their tiny cousins, there could be millions of them in no time.”
Hamish shuddered at the thought of millions of those giants on the loose. “Take a bloody division of infantry to take them down, it would.”
“Or a company of French,” Dorbec chided.
“Your Froggy smell would drive them away,” Hamish countered. “What with all that garlic and Gitanes you French eat and smoke.”
“And I suppose Haggis and Cullen Skink doesn’t smell?”
“Here you been saying’ all along you love my wife’s Tipsy Laird.” Hamish acted as if insulted.
“May I remind you that your wife puts three times the amount of whiskey in it than called for,” Dorbec grinned. “Anything that soused would have to taste good.”
“What say we stroll down to the Internet café and see if we can contact Huck?” Hamish hunched his massive shoulders.
“What’s that old Boy Scout motto?” Dorbec downed his mug and stood. “Be prepared?”
“Use a condom,” Hamish blurted.
“Pervert!” Dorbec lit a Gitanes cigarette as soon as they exited the pub. Smoking in public places like pubs and cafés had been banned several years earlier. The British were uncivilised in Dorbec’s opinion, to deny a man his personal pleasures. Next thing he knew they’d ban Pernod like the Americans had.
On their way to the café they passed the bridge to Castle Cornet in the harbour of St Peter Port. The Castle had a long and distinguished history going back as far as the thirteenth century. The British and French fought over the castle for several hundred years, although it remained in British hands for most of the time. Since 1204 the island of Guernsey remained loyal to Britain.
Hamish had memorised most of the history and as a tour guide he was unequalled. He was not only a great story teller, able to tell the history with wide sweeping arms and a roaring voice, his size and stature impressed the tourists as much as the daunting walls of the castle. The five-acre Castle was surrounded on all sides by water with a six hundred-meter causeway bridge leading out to it from St Peter Port’s harbour.
Try as they may they could not contact Huck through the many layers of bureaucratic channels surrounding the FBI. Hamish finally resorted to using his Special Operations connections and went through military channels. Within ten minutes Huck was online. Hamish was accustomed to using a satellite radio capable of worldwide connections, so the slow pace of the Internet flustered him.
“MacTaggart and Dorbec here,” Hamish slowly typed.
“Wonderful to hear from you.” The reply came back quickly. “How are your families?”
“Chantal is well and Iona is getting fat and broad in the beam,” Hamish typed.
“Let me take over!” Dorbec demanded. “Those sausage fingers of yours hit too many keys at one time, plus you’re slower than my two hundred year old grandmother.”
“Iona is as slim as ever and doesn’t deserve a husband like this Scottish boar,” Dorbec typed. “All is well here, any news we need to know?”
As usual, Dorbec got straight to the point.
“Situation critical,” Huck typed back. “Information being held from the public to prevent panic. You need to secure your location ASAP. Possibility of hundreds more queens escaped and building nests. Government not taking it seriously.”
Hamish and Dorbec glanced at each other. Just as they thought, governments around the globe were not reacting to the deadly threat that the giant ants presented.
“Will obtain satellite radio and call back,” Dorbec typed. “Estimated time scenario?”
“Point of no return approximately five weeks,” Huck typed back. “No government action by then, worse case begins.”
“He’s telling us that if the world governments do not eliminate these nests in just over a month, there will be too many ants to kill,” Hamish stated. Their faces were suddenly deadly serious.
“Give us your frequency and call sign,” Dorbec typed. “Will call as soon as a satellite phone is secured.”
As soon as they received the information from Huck, Dorbec cut the connection. They knew what they had to do and they had very little time to do it. Guernsey Island was approximately 24 square miles in size and had a population around 60,000.
Luckily, they had one definite advantage. Although Great Britain was responsible for the defence of the island and the queen was the regent, they knew the Governor, Bailiff and Chief Minister on a first name basis. Sir Geoffery Dillon, the Lieutenant Governor and man who did all the work, was retired Royal Navy and everyone looked to him for leadership. He, Hamish and Dorbec had become very close friends over the years. Within minutes they were sitting in Sir Geoffrey’s office sipping Port and Scotch and Hamish laid out the situation in short informative words.
“Way I see it we need to organise a corps of watchers,” Hamish sighed.
“Like we had during the blitz?” Sir Geoffrey politely sipped his Port.
“Precisely, but instead of looking for Nazi planes we’ll be on the look see for these queen beasties. If we can keep them off the island and prevent them from building a nest, we should have no problem.”
“First thing we need to do, after we form the observation corps, is to search the island thoroughly,” Dorbec added. “It’s doubtful that our little paradise has been the target of one of these stray creatures, however, for our own safety we must be certain.”
“If you agree, Dorbec and I will establish a tentative plan of operation,” Hamish stated. “Once we’ve determined what our needs are now and may be in the future, we’ll present the plan to you for consideration and tweaking.”
Sir Geoffery grinned. “If what your Yank friend said is true, time is of paramount importance.”
“Time is critical,” Hamish blurted. “These things may be producing nests at this very moment. It’s sound thinking to state that they could have made their way to Europe and the other continents, even to England. If the authorities do not react to the threat in time, they may pay a terrible price.”
“You are certain this FBI Agent is reliable, not jumping the gun, as the Yank’s say?”
“He is Ex-Special Forces,” Hamish solemnly replied, as if that was enough. “Special Forces personnel do not exaggerate or over estimate the enemy or the situation. If Huck says time is critical, then time is critical.”
Sir Geoffery glanced at his watch. It was shortly after noon. “Can you have a plan completed by six this evening?”
“Give us a few Bobbies and lasses to help and we will make it happen,” Hamish grinned. “Preferable pretty lasses at that.”
Sir Geoffery smiled. He knew Hamish was joking about the women. He also knew Hamish’s wife Iona wore the pants in that family.
“Off with you now,” he commanded. “I’ll contact the constabulary and get you some help. You can use offices in Government House.”