Body Count

by James Rouch

  “Once they get in there, it's going to be a hell of a job to find them.” Hyde checked the spare magazine he carried. “The place must cover a whole square kilometre. It's vast.”

  “I can't say I'm wildly enthusiastic about conducting a fire-fight in there.” For the first time since they'd engaged the Russians in Munich, Revell was glad their ammunition did not include tracer rounds. Even so, a spray of any type of bullets among the pressure and storage tanks was likely to have a spectacular and lethal effect.

  When four hundred meters separated them, Revell gave the order to advance. Despite the fact that it was flat, walking was not easy. Ripples of ballast and splintered ties lay hidden among the weeds.

  Revell saw a woman's shoe and, within a few paces, speckles of blood on a bed of sharp granite chippings. The footwear's recent owner would be likely to slow the Russians. There was nothing Revell could do to prevent what he knew to be inevitable. A moment later there came a single shot.

  Halted by the chain link fence and its topping strands of razor wire, the Russians formed the terrified civilians into a crescent about them as they tackled the obstacle.

  Several shots were aimed at the advancing troops, and at three hundred meters, Revell ordered them down. Even at that distance, he could hear the wires snapping and whipping as their tension was released.

  It was all a question of timing. Having almost achieved their objective, the Russians were unlikely to waste ammunition gunning down the civilians. If Revell and his men advanced too soon though, several of them would fall in the inevitable fire fight.

  Once through the fence, Revell was sure the Spetsnaz would abandon their hostages. They had only a strip of gravel and a perimeter road to cross, then they would be in among the mass of pipes and distillation towers that filled the site. In that great metal maze, they could go off in any direction. So large an installation would have a substantial staff. Their presence offered fresh captives if required, and certainly replacement transport.

  A burst of fire zipped overhead. Revell knew the moment had come.

  “On your feet. Let's go.”

  If the Russians had left even one rearguard, they were an easy target now. Revell passed the sprawled body of a woman. Ahead the remainder of the civilians huddled together. Beyond them he could see the Russians sprinting for the cover of a stack of pipe fittings.

  Andrea had moved out to the flank and stopped to loose off a ten-round burst. A single figure pitched forward, then recovered and tried to regain its feet.

  Before Andrea could fire again, one of his comrades turned and aimed his weapon at the wounded man. He appeared to fire, but nothing happened. He threw down the pistol and went after the others.

  At the last possible moment, the civilians scattered from the hole in the fence. Hyde dived through first and managed to get off a couple of aimed shots before the Russians were hidden from sight. His second found a mark. A man fell heavily. This time no one came back to try to finish him off.

  The Spetsnaz in the road raised himself on one knee. The discarded handgun was close by. Ripper took no chance. His snap shot tore into the man's throat and he toppled.

  The victim of Hyde's shooting was dead, killed by a bullet that had deformed on impact against the base of his spine. It had gone on through his body to tear a huge exit wound below his ribs.

  A little distance away, drops of bloods and scraps of flesh and camouflage material indicated that the sergeant's first shot had also found a mark.

  “Ten left.” Revell looked up, and then off to either side. In all directions the huge complex dwarfed them. “Where the do we start looking.”

  “They'll try to put in a bit of distance at first.” Hyde picked up the pistol. “So I reckon it'll be a straight line for the first few minutes. Then they'll make a break to lose us, but whether they'll dive to the right or left ...” He withdrew the pistol's magazine. I thought maybe that Red didn't finish off his buddy because his gun jammed. It wasn't that. It was empty.”

  “We can't count on them all being out of ammunition.” Revell was thinking the same way as the NCO. It had to be unlikely that the Reds would set an ambush for them, but he had no delusions about the dangers of continuing the chase.

  It would take only one bullet, or a grenade, to unleash all the horrors contained in the pipes and tanks about them. And besides, he and his men had already done all that could be expected of them. Hell, they weren't even supposed to be armed.

  The civilians had been released, and the Spetsnaz still on the loose posed a small threat to anybody now. It could only be a matter of time before they were located and rounded up, or finished off.

  From the flyover, the police would have had a grandstand view of what happened. Reinforcements were certain to be on the way. There was just no need for the him and the section to put themselves further at risk.

  Even as he reasoned that way, he sensed that the others were looking at him, waiting for his decision. The same thoughts would be in their minds. Revell could be pretty certain that all of them were coming to the same conclusion.

  “Okay, we're going in after them. Stay in contact, but don't bunch. No firing without a clear target. Our ammo situation isn't that much better than theirs.”

  They started forward, walking into the complex under a gantry that carried runs of piping over a service road. Walkways crossed and recrossed overhead. Steam hissed from of large retorts. Lights on control panels glowed an eerie green and angry red through the clouds of drifting vapour.

  “Shit.” Ripper looked at Andrea. “This is like walking into hell.”

  THIRTY-FIVE

  A smear of blood gave them the vital information they needed. It told them the point at which the hurrying Russians had turned off the road, into the heart of the chemical plant.

  Hands that must have been clutching a gaping wound, had for a moment sought support on a stanchion. In making an effort to get going again, the wounded Russian must have pushed himself off. Where his fingers had dragged and left parallel lines of blood, they pointed to the fresh heading as clearly as any signpost.

  Revell and his people were in a narrow passageway this time, hemmed in by masses of complicated pipe runs. Girder latticework carried more of the same above them.

  The traces of blood became more frequent. It was clear from the signs that the disabled man was having to stop and rest more frequently, was having trouble keeping up. Just as obvious was the fact that no one was offering him assistance.

  Twice more the trail of blood indicated changes of direction, until they were travelling along between rows of tall anonymous distillation vessels.

  With the sky overcast, it was impossible for Revell to be quite certain, but he had the feeling they had begun to go in a wide circle.

  He couldn't believe that the Russians were doing it deliberately. They must have seen the police on the flyover, must know the autobahn no longer offered an escape route. So if they were going back on their tracks - and he was becoming certain they were - then they were doing it through disorientation.

  Perhaps it had been brought on by exhaustion, or an accumulation of stress. Whichever it was, advantage could be taken of it, if they acted fast.

  Through a gap in between the towers, Revell saw an elevated walkway. He pointed it out to Sgt. Hyde. “If we use that, I think we can get ahead of them.”

  Without waiting to see if he was followed, Revell started up an access ladder. Pipes that he brushed past felt warm. Some throbbed with the pulsing volumes of gas and liquid being pumped through them.

  Their feet made the mesh of the catwalk rattle and clatter. The major could only hope that the other noises created by the plant would cover it. They'd travelled two hundred meters when they recognized below them a junction they had passed earlier.

  Spreading out, they sought what concealment there was. Revell took up position behind an intersection of two huge pipes. His elevated vantage point gave him a clear view of the junction and the first few meter
s of the roads that ran into it. He didn't have to wait long.

  There was no opportunity to count them. One second the road below was empty, the next the Spetsnaz were walking into their sights.

  Shorts bursts and single shots lashed into the group. Suddenly and unexpectedly, those Russians who were not down were throwing away their weapons and putting their hands in the air.

  Dropping down to the ground, Revell's first move was to toe away those rifles that might still be within reach. Joined by his section, Revell examined the Spetsnaz who had been hit.

  Three were already dead, another three would be shortly. A mortally wounded NCO died even as Revell turned him over to remove his knife and pistol. The other two had only moments left.

  Shot from above, the bullets had entered through their shoulders and upper torsos. Tearing down through their bodies, the tumbling rounds, misshapen after hitting bones, would have inflicted massive multiple injuries internally.

  The three who had surrendered had escaped serious injuries, collecting no more than four flesh wounds among them. All looked as shocked as if they'd been hit badly.

  “They're an ugly-looking crew.” Scully appropriated a particularly nice knife as a trophy.

  “Have you looked at yourself recently?” Andrea finished a tally of the captured weapons and ammunition. “Only sixteen rounds between them.”

  Dooley took the Soviet rifles and, resting them one at a time against a pile of cast-iron flanges, stamped them to scrap. “Has anybody noticed there's only nine of the fuckers?”

  It took only a quick check to reveal that none of the dead or dying had a wound consistent with the type Sgt. Hyde had inflicted earlier.

  Aware how poor his Russian was, Revell still tried to interrogate their prisoners. Though the gist of his questioning must have been understood, none made a reply. Among them at least one probably comprehended English, but nothing brought any response.

  “I don't think it's that they don't understand.” Revell gave up. “I think it's more that they can't be bothered.”

  Certainly the appearance of the captured men bore that out. Whatever training and abilities had enabled them to survive so long, it all seemed to have deserted them. With their heads hanging, their manner completely apathetic, they were like cattle waiting for slaughter. But the comparison was not that accurate. Cattle, with an awareness of death, would have become restless, fretful. These men were completely bereft of animation. If they comprehended their situation, then appar- ently it didn't move them at all.

  Even when another of the wounded died noisily, they did not look up. When ordered, by gestures, to sit with their hands clasped on top of their heads, they did so without bothering to move themselves by so much as a single step from the bodies.

  “Hold them here, m take Andrea and backtrack. He can't be faraway. They probably bumped him off when he couldn't keep up any longer. No wonder they stand there looking like they're resigned to death. They kill their own so easily, life can't mean much to them.”

  Revell retraced the route by which the Spetsnaz had reached the ambush. A minute's walk brought them within sight of the missing man.

  He'd expected to find a body, but even from a distance it was obvious that he was still, just, alive. The Russian was sat propped between two squat pressure tanks. The whole of his jacket was saturated in blood, and his left arm hung limp at his side. He hadn't seen them.

  With his good hand, he held a small object to his mouth, and was tugging at it weakly with his teeth.

  Andrea and the major fired at the same instant. Their target's body jerked under the impact, and his bloodstained hand released its grip on the grenade.

  For a long moment, the dead man's jaws stayed locked on the pin, as the fragmentation bomb dangled from his mouth. Then a last rattle of breath passed his lips, and the device fell harmlessly into his lap.

  Cautiously they approached the body. As they drew close, Revell noticed a thick cloud of heavy vapour was beginning to swirl about the corpse. Where it had slumped sideways, it revealed a dent and hairline fracture in one of the pressurized containers.

  There was a low whistling sound as the gas escaped, and a subdued rumbling from within. A gauge attached to its side was registering wildly varying readings, as an indicator swung back and forth across the calibrations on its dial.

  Whatever the composition of the leaking substance, Revell recognized its corrosive properties. Already the Russian's body was being eaten up, and the material of his battledress was smouldering. As he watched, Revell saw the vapour flow over the legs of the corpse and into its lap. The grenade began to smoke.

  A moment later, with Andrea matching him pace for pace, they were running for their lives.

  THIRTY-SIX

  Revell was shouting as he ran. Perhaps he wouldn't make it, but the others had a head start, if they heeded his warning. Behind them there was a sudden thudding sound that was the charge inside the grenade detonating.

  Still making a speed that threatened to burst his lungs, Revell dared hope that there would be no chain reaction. His optimism was ill-founded and short-lived.

  A short sharp screech of escaping gas was abruptly smothered by a powerful explosion. It was as if a magnesium flare had been ignited. Although it was mid- afternoon, the natural light was replaced with-one so vivid that the world became like a photographic negative. A surface was either in bright light or pitch-black shadow.

  Feeling the heat on his back, Revell found an extra reserve of strength he'd never known he had. Even as he discovered it though, he realized that Andrea was falling behind. He reduced his speed to match hers. For an instant their eyes met, and he knew that they were going to survive or die together.

  Lungs burning, they reached the junction, hurdling over five bodies as they made for the open. Now there were more explosions behind them, each louder than the one before. Blast waves were tearing through the complex, creating further damage in advance of the building fires.

  Revell's foot caught a projecting piece of angle iron and he stumbled. He felt himself being grabbed by Andrea and managed to stay on his feet.

  Waves of roasting heat against their backs kept them going when their bodies had no reserves left. The chemical plant was blasting itself apart, tearing its own heart out in an increasingly violent sequence of explosions.

  Ahead was the perimeter road and the fence. Revell could see Dooley and Ripper struggling to pull a limp form through the rent in the wire.

  A colossal blast wave smashed everyone down. Looking back, Revell saw a huge ball of crimson flame soaring to a tremendous height. At its base the great steel tanks and towers were buckling and collapsing in the heat. The torn metal of broken pipes was dripping gobs of molten steel, as fierce blowtorches of flame spouted from them.

  “Leave him, he's dead.” Revell flinched as red-hot bolts and plates rained down close by. “Save yourselves.”

  The dying Russian had been unable to withstand the attempts to manhandle him through the fence. They abandoned his body draped halfway through the opening. A moment after they left it, a huge chunk of flaming debris crushed his remains and twenty meters offence, enveloping the area in a furnace of searing fire.

  Wave after wave of gigantic explosions ripped through the complex. Huge storage tanks were blasted skywards as their contents ignited. They would rise several hundred feet, and then their thousand-ton fabric would turn on its side and fall back. The impact of the landing would send a shock through the ground that made it bounce and ripple, but the thunderous report that accompanied it was lost among the non-stop roar of fresh explosions.

  From end to end, the chemical plant became a single monstrous blazing scene of destruction. Single blasts or eruptions no longer showed amongst the holocaust, a curtain of fire engulfed the site.

  The autobahn was lined with the people who had returned to their vehicles. They watched the spectacle, forgetting their recent fear and the reason for their panicking flight.

  Und
er their feet lay the corpse of the old man. It was totally ignored, except when it was cursed by someone tripping over it, or when they were forced to step across it to get to a better vantage point.

  Andrea, Revell, and the rest of section were also watching, as they sat exhausted, still recovering from the race for their lives. They looked up as a pair of Blackhawk helicopters circled low, then came in for a fast landing nearby.

  Squads of heavily armed men were jumping from each before the wheels touched, immediately forming a protective perimeter until the choppers lifted again.

  A figure strode confidently and purposefully towards the resting group. Revell recognized the SAS colonel. He was flanked by two heavily armed troopers. “Did you account for them all?” Revell didn't bother to stand. “Most of them.” “What the hell do you mean by that? What's the body count?”

  Sighing, Revell pushed himself to his feet. He felt old and tired. “Between our own efforts and theirs, we accounted for nine of them altogether. All confirmed. The bodies are back in there.” He indicated the kilometre-long pyre. Even at that distance the heat could still be felt. “The others got away? You missed them?” With the palm of his hands, the colonel was impatiently slapping the twin holsters he sported.

  “No, we got them, then they must have made a break for it when the plant went up. It was every man for himself in there. Maybe they struck out the wrong way. Who knows?”

  “What sort of body count is that? First you let them go, then you don't know which way they went, now you aren't even sure if they made it or not!”

  “Colonel, I don't give a fuck about your body count.” The trooper-bodyguards stepped forward aggressively, and found themselves instantly confronting Revell's men. Weapons were levelled, Andrea gripping the pin of a grenade.

  “Bloody private armies.” The colonel waved forward the rest of his men. “Even got a bloody woman. Still, I expect she comes in useful.”

  The colonel had been looking at Andrea. He certainly never saw Revell's fist. Connecting with the side of his face, the blow rocked him, but he stayed on his feet.