Chapter 16 of 'The Knock 'em Down Boys'
Ghandi and Scratch organise a "special delivery" for The Wolves.
Chapter 16
Something special for The Wolves
After a fifteen minute walk with our heads down, looking out for Wolves scouts all the way, we eventually found the van we had travelled in and piled into the back.
“You drive,” said Ghandi to Scratch.
With that, we moved off to cover the short distance between where we had parked and where we were going to find the Wolves lads.
When we came to a stop, Ghandi and Scratch came from around the front and into the back where me and Sparky were sitting with El Pigface and Rook, and some of the other S.TA.B lads mixed in with some of Ghandi’s older blokes.
Scratch shut the van doors behind him.
“Right,” Ghandi started, “The Iron Horse pub is down the street on the left and the subway is about 300 metres away from the pub, on the right. There’ll probably be a few Wolves lads in the pub, but the rest of the Wolves bastards will be thinking that we’re stupidly walking into their trap, like the brainless West Country cattle that they think we are.
“We’ll show the dirty bastards chucking piss all over us. They’re gonna fucking wish they hadn’t. Get me the stuff.”
Scratch pushed his way to the front of the van, just behind the driver’s seat, and uncovered a thick tarpaulin.
Underneath it were various items: plastic petrol cans (which I guessed were full from the way Scratch was moving them), some packets of sugar, small pieces of fabric, superglue, funnels, and glass bottles – plenty of them.
Ghandi gestured for us all to come close.
“We’ll do them with this lot.”
“Petrol bombs?” I blurted it out, involuntarily.
“Yeah,” said Scratch, “You got a problem with that?”
I shook my head and looked over at Sparky. He was impassive – looking at the items and listening carefully.
“We’re going to hit them in four places at the same time,” said Ghandi, “I’ve contacted their Top Boy, and he genuinely thinks we’re some kind of backwards farm boys.
“In his mind, we’ve taken the bait – hook, line and sinker. They think that we’ll just walk into that subway after them and they’ll be able to spring their trap – some lads coming in from behind us, some more from in front.
“Well, that’s not going to happen. It’s obvious where their reserves will be. There’ll be a small group, the bait, in the subway to draw us in. A few will be in the pub, and there are two streets running parallel to the subway. The rest of their lads will be hidden out of the way there with a couple of spotters to let them know when we’ve taken the bait. Then they’ll be on us, and we’d be fucked – if we’d fallen for it.”
“So that’s why we’ve got these,” said Scratch, indicating the items we had just seen. “They’ll outnumber us, so if we go toe to toe with them, we’re not gonna win. But after what they’ve just done, we can’t let them get away with it or they’ll spread the word everywhere that you can douse Swindon with piss and they’ll just turn tail and run. So, let’s get these beauties made up now and then we can decide on the plan.”
Scratch passed out bottles, rags and superglue, and then he began to demonstrate how to use the weapon.
First, Scratch placed a funnel in the top of a glass bottle and two thirds filled it with petrol. Then he poured in sugar, swirling the bottle around to dissolve the granules a bit.
“What’s the sugar for?” El Pigface asked, smirking. “To sweeten the drink for the tossers?”
Ghandi shot him another shut up glance. “It’s so the mixture sticks. The sugar makes it stick. Whatever, or whoever, gets this on them will have a hard time getting it off – or putting it out. Now shut your mouth and watch.”
Pigface did as he was told.
Once he was happy with the fluid mixture, Scratch dried off the rim of the bottle before applying superglue down into its neck. Then, he doused a rag in petrol, and shoved it into the bottle’s neck making sure it was secure as the superglue set.
We all did the same.
When we had finished, Scratch made us all listen again, “The plan is simple. They’re expecting us, so we’ll park the van a little bit away from their pub, nose facing out of the junction for the getaway. We’ll pile out then and leave two lads in the van.”
He pointed at two of the older lads.
“The rest of us will head down as if we’re going to follow their plan into the subway. Then, just before the entrance, so their spotters don’t have time to do anything about it, we’ll split into three groups: a main group, who will go into the subway, and two smaller groups to attack their reserves. Sparky, Rat, take two of your lads to attack the reserves.”
Ghandi spoke next, “We’ll need to make sure that no one spots the petrol bombs until it’s too late, so we’ll have to keep them hidden. The ideas is that as you attack their reserves, the main group steams into them under the subway. You lads,” he looked at me and Sparky, “attack the reserves. And you lads,” he looked at the lads staying behind in the van with a smile, “you’ll put a couple of bombs through the windows of their pub and then floor it to come and pick us up.”
He paused to let everything sink in.
“The objective is to do as much damage as we can so that they don’t forget who we are – not to go toe to toe with them like they might expect.
“Our bombs will shock and scatter the Wolves tossers, but if they re-group we’ll be well outnumbered, so we’ll need to get out of there fast. That’s where you two come in.”
Ghandi looked carefully at the lads who would remain in the van and they nodded.
We understood the plan, but Scratch wasn’t finished with the practicalities yet, “We need to be careful with these bombs. Once they’re lit, we’ll need rid of them quick. So we light them together, and pile into them sharpish.”
We nodded.
“Oh, and another thing,” Scratch added as an afterthought, “when you throw the bombs, aim for one of two places. Either just in front of their feet or, if they’re standing near a wall, and maybe you recognise one of them that threw piss at you, aim shoulder height on the wall closest to them. When that glass smashes, the petrol will go up. And with that sugar in it, it’s gonna stick fast whatever it lands on: trainers, jeans, jackets – or skin.”
I grimaced when Scratch said the last bit, and when I looked over at our lads, I could see that they weren’t sure either.
“Are we ready to do this?” said Ghandi.
We nodded.
“Are we ready to do this!” he shouted, this time smashing his fist against the side of the van.
We all screamed out in agreement and followed Ghandi out of the back of the van.
It was a buzz.
When you imagine this kind of scene in your head, it’s something like the opening credits of that gangster film Reservoir Dogs.
You walk down the street towards your opponent looking focussed and mean. There’s a really cool soundtrack playing: something calm, ordered and sophisticated. Something that, like the top-drawer clothes you’re wearing, the well styled hair, the cocky glint in your eyes and the confident strut that carries you forwards, says “cool as fuck” and you know it. What a scene. You might even fantasise about the odd slow-motion image, showing you and the boys in a wide shot that then zooms in to show the intensity on your faces.
The thing is, once it kicks off, it’s hardly ever like that.
We knew that the element of surprise was our greatest advantage because we would be stupidly outnumbered. So we were running at full pelt down the street. Some of us were faster than others, so we seemed more stretched out than together: arms pumping, jackets flowing behind us, and hair falling out of place.
Definitely not that cool.
We had a plan though, and we were going to see it through.
When we got to the bottom of the road, Ghandi gestured to us to separate.
Without really speaking about it, Sparky went left with Rook, I went right with El Pigface, and Ghandi took the rest of the lads straight down the middle to the subway entrance.
Probably the Wolves spotters had already seen us, and we had no idea how many reserves the Wolves had positioned around the corners of the subway’s parallel streets.
The whole incident happened pretty quickly.
Adrenalin was powering through our veins and what seemed to take ten minutes, probably only took two.
I steamed around the corner with El Pigface and the Wolves were there, just as Ghandi had predicted, at least fifteen of them. For a moment, we stood and stared at them as they glared back at us. They were about 200 metres down the road from us, and when they saw us for who we were they started moving towards us.
El Pigface took a step forward, then stood firm with his legs apart. I joined him and took out a lighter. He did the same. We lit the rags on the tops of our bottles and they took.
And then we threw them.
It didn’t feel right, chucking the bombs, even if there were fifteen of them and only two of us.
We aimed a good bit in front of them. The idea was that their forward momentum would push them into the flames before they could stop. Then, the fire in front of them, and the flames that stuck to their trainers and jeans’ legs, would distract them long enough for us to get back around the front of the subway and meet the rest of the lads.
With the first few of their fastest lads, the bombs did their job, putting them well off their stride. But with the others, we just seemed to have pissed them off that little bit more.
As I grabbed El Pigface’s arm and pulled him backwards with me, one of their bigger lads jumped over and through the flames, followed by another, and I knew that we needed to get out of there.
So we turned and ran.
As we came around the street corner at full speed, several things were happening at once accompanied by shouting and screaming, which suggested that there were at least some people down.
I could see Sparky and Rook coming around their corner, running like me and Pigface at full pelt. Just in front of them were Ghandi and the rest of our lads and they were shouting to look at the bottom of the street where the Wolves pub was.
Waiting for us, back doors open and engine running, was the van. The lads inside were shouting for us to hurry and up the top end of the street it was clear that the pub had been hit by us. Thick chemical smoke was billowing out of its windows and people were milling around in confusion outside.
The van was slightly nearer me and Pigface and we threw ourselves inside, scrambling to the back behind the driver in order to ensure enough room for everyone.
Thumping against the walls, Ghandi, Scratch and the other lads hurled themselves into the van. Scratch forced his way to where I was and started banging on the window between the driver and the back of the van, “Fucking go! Now! Let’s fucking go! Come on!”
Doors open wide, and still without Sparky and Rook, the van started moving – and picking up speed.
“What the fuck are you doing?” I banged on the window. “Stop the van! Stop the fucking van now! Sparky’s still out there!”
Scratch pushed me and I lost my balance, falling heavily against the van’s side.
“Sit down, you prick! If we don’t build up speed, we’ll never get away – any of us!”
“Fuck that!” I grappled myself to my feet and started banging against the window of the driver, threatening to rip his throat out if he didn’t stop.
“Shut up!” Ghandi hit me across the back of the head and, with a fist full of my hair in his hand, turned my head to the van doors. “He’ll make it. They’ll both make it. Now help me!”
Sparky and Rook were gaining on the van, running until their lungs were bursting – and then pushing that bit more. Our lads in the van were shouting encouragement, but the Wolves lads were right behind them and we had underestimated their numbers.
If Sparky didn’t make the van, then he wouldn’t make it at all – full stop.
“Keep it steady,” shouted Ghandi to Scratch, who relayed instructions to the driver. Bits of concrete, wood, metal and half bricks were bouncing off the roof and sides of the van as the Wolves launched anything they could get their hands on at us.
“Sparky,” I shouted, “you can make it. Come on!”
Me and Ghandi were stretching out as far as we could. One hand and foot gripping to the side of the van and the other stretched out as far as we could without falling into the road.
Rook stumbled.
Sparky pushed him hard in the back and he half fell, half flew into Ghandi’s arms as he was dragged into the van.
I was stretching out to grab Sparky, every tendon and sinew stretching out as far as I could.
I couldn’t bear to think of what they would do to him if he fell behind – one lad, my best mate, against so many fucking mad heads.
And the Wolves were right on his heels now. I could see the anger and the hatred in their faces, the damage to their clothes, the red marks on their faces that could be burns, or just the consequence of sprinting for so long.
“Come on!” I shouted, my voice breaking into a scream, face reddening and my eyeballs nearly popping out.
Sparky looked at me for a moment that seemed so much longer. A moment that seemed to me like he was deciding what to do – whether to jump into my arms or not.
Then, he threw himself at me and while I grabbed for him, I started to topple forward, losing my balance until two hands grabbed me securely by my jacket and hauled us both in.
“Floor it!” shouted Scratch banging the driver’s partition window.
As the van doors slammed shut, I could hear the lad driving hammering the engine which roared and growled as it picked up speed.
I could see Ghandi breathing heavily, but laughing.
All the lads were cheering, punching the air, slapping each other on the back and shouting insults at the Wolves.
I was still gripping Sparky tightly in my arms while the final futile blows of hurled debris rained down on the roof and sides of the van.
As we picked up speed, the thuds receded and then stopped.
Once the triumphant outbursts calmed down, and we had all got our breath back, Ghandi asked everyone to explain what had happened.
Sparky’s story was pretty much the same as mine. Bomb thrown, clearly outnumbered, and legged it.
I had let go of Sparky by now, and most of the lads seemed happy because we had had a decent result against another mob. But I could tell from the looks on Sparky’s, El Pigface’s and Rook’s faces that they weren’t so sure.
And neither was I.
Ghandi seemed satisfied with himself. It wasn’t so much what he was saying, but a calm, reflective, you might even say contented attitude that he was conveying to us.
“What was that?” Sparky turned sharply on Ghandi.
“What was that?” Ghandi’s voice was soft and ironic in return. Almost as if he was hurt by Sparky’s challenge. “That, was a result.”
“A result?” Sparky was agitated now. It wasn’t clear what he would say next. “We didn’t even get to them properly, never mind touch them.”
“You weren’t supposed to,” said Ghandi, “you were there to distract their reinforcements long enough for us to get at their main body of lads. Those Wolves arseholes won’t be forgetting Swindon anytime soon.”
“Why not?” I said.
“Because,” jumped in Scratch, “me and Ghandi recognised a couple of the twats who were pouring piss down on us.”
“They were standing exactly where we wanted them,” said Ghandi. “We didn’t need to say anything. We just let them have it. When the bombs exploded against the wall next to them, they shit themselves and started screaming. And those we didn’t hit just stood there, fucking dumb, staring as the skin melted from the faces of their piss throwing mates,”
Ghandi and Scratch stared us out.
It was a stand off.
No one in the van spoke for a while.
“That’s why it was a result,” said Ghandi, and he sat back against the van’s side.
I looked at his face, and it was set in a menacing expression that clearly said, “Any more questions will not be tolerated”.
We’d had enough by then.
I could see it on our lads’ faces.
Something wasn’t right for us with the day’s events, but we weren’t going to argue in the confined space of the back of a transit van.
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