by James Rouch
Instantly, there was a swift succession of explosions as every mine was triggered by the massive over-pressure. A puking wave of compressed and super-heated air raced outwards, setting the meadow into wave-like motion.
It gave the major no satisfaction to have his guess confirmed. The clearance technique was a refinement of the aerosol bomb, an American invented fuel/air munition that was seeing wider and wider application, as commanders grew to fully appreciate its value as an area weapon, rather than just as a sledgehammer way of clearing mines and booby traps.
Before the mass of debris raised by the blast had settled, the tanks were moving again. It was self-preservation as much as discipline that prompted the crews to maintain a safe distance between each other. The mine clearer began to follow, as the first vehicle of the column’s main body came into sight.
‘They’re not bunching. They’re going to motor straight through.’ Hyde’s fingers hovered over the miniature keyboard. What was that bugger waiting for? If Revell didn’t give the order soon, at the rate the Ruskies were motoring they’d all be clear in another couple of minutes.
The slight cratering caused by the multiple detonations didn’t even slow the T84s. They took it at speed, their suspensions soaking up the bumps and passing little of the jarring of the corrugations to their hulk.
‘Make a hole in the road. Take out that fourth vehicle.’ An anti-tank missile had jumped from the grass and was jetting towards its target even as Revell’s order came through. Hyde only had to keep the sight aligned on the target, as the flame-tailed projectile skimmed the tops of the grass, receiving its commands from the control box via the twin wires unreeling behind it.
Struck as it traversed the broken section, the round’s powerful warhead punching effortlessly through the side armour and into the pressurised fuel compartment, the Soviet mine clearer turned into a tracked bomb.
Ten times greater than its predecessor, the explosion sent flame, chunks of road and anonymous pieces of armour plate high into the air. A four-barrelled Shilka anti-aircraft tank, following fifty yards behind, was pushed off the road by the blast, and shed a track.
‘OK, fire as targets present.’ They’d have to be quick now, hit and run. That second blast had flattened much of the meadow, making them conspicuous. Revell watched the crew of the flak-tank as they baled out. The last man from the big radar-topped turret threw up his arms and tumbled over the side, as a third burst from Kurt found him.
Now the fields on either side of the road swarmed with targets, as the Russian column split up and drove around the obstructing crater. Hyde wasn’t confused by the choice of victims. Playing the control panel like a concert pianist, he sent missile after missile towards the racing Soviet armour. His second round was also a hit, square on the skirt armour of a T84, but it kept going. There was no mistake with the third, it struck an exhaust-spewing T84, setting off its ammunition and sending its turret soaring into the air, accompanied by the flaming bodies of its crew.
‘Ten rounds with the mortar, and then we get out.’ The chorus of protest from Hyde, Andrea and Clarence was not unexpected, but Revell knew it was too good to last -and it was.
It was Cohen who spotted the danger first. ‘There’s a Shilka and a self-propelled gun looking like they mean business.’
Using a disabled tank as cover, the quad-barrelled flak-wagon employed short bursts of tracer to direct the 152mm howitzer of the SP mount. ‘Let them have the decoys.’ Sods of earth rained about them, as a high explosive shell struck the ground between Revell’s and Hyde’s positions. The major spat dirt and grass, holding his breath against the rasping fumes and stench of high explosive.
Well away from the crest, the fringe of a clump of trees was brightened by flashes, simulating the back-blast signature of rocket launchers. Other pyrotechnique devices sent showers of powdered metal and foil strips into the air. It worked. The flak-tank switched its fire. Blurs of red and white tracer laced the trunks, bursting with bright splashes on impact.
Unable to resist the broadside target presented by the self-propelled gun, as it slewed round to face its thickest armour towards the trees, Hyde fired his two remote Dragon rocket launchers at it simultaneously. Both rounds struck at the same moment and every road wheel and track link was blasted from the vehicle, and its engine torn out.
A last air-burst from the mortar banged off above the stricken SP gun, as a blackened figure struggled to escape from a roof hatch.
The range was too great for the 40mm grenades Andrea was firing to be effective, and she gripped the weapon tighter as successive rounds fell short. Beside her, Clarence fired carefully aimed single shots, bringing down two crewmen who had abandoned their T72 when its auxiliary fuel tanks had been opened and ignited by an air-burst, and now flared and spouted fire over the tank’s rear.
It was time to get out, and Libby didn’t need to be told. He was already pulling the leads from the box as the order came through. Kurt fired off the last of a belt and then both of them were up and running for the Chinook.
‘Did you see that?’ Dooley fell in step alongside them. ‘Put that last one down on the fucker’s head, and I set off the spare gas on another. Not bad, eh?’ He carried the mortar and two unused cases of bombs as though they were nothing. ‘Better than piddling about with a box of shitty gimmicks and fireworks, ain’t it?’
The dig didn’t bother Libby. He just did his job, whatever job he was given. For him the war didn’t matter, staying in the Zone did. Blast it, that column had been slowed by no more than a few minutes. Now they’d be chasing off to get in front of it again, all the time getting nearer the edge of the Zone. That wasn’t what he wanted. If he was going to find Helga he had to stay in, for as long as it took, if it took forever.
Clarence and Andrea were the last over the crest, and as they half-ran, half- skidded down to the helicopter, it erupted behind them under the savage pounding of several large calibre guns. They scrambled aboard as the Chinook’s undercarriage lifted clear, and it skimmed away between the low hills, using them as cover until it was well beyond the range of the column’s SAMs.
‘See you got your stripes a bit dirty at last then.’ Burke added his grubby fingerprints to the smudges of mud despoiling the chevrons. ‘Don’t tell him that.’ Sensing entertainment, Dooley joined in. ‘Next thing you know hell have us licking them clean for him.’
‘Not on your bloody life. Not for all the money and the other stuff he’s got crammed in that flak-jacket.’
It wasn’t difficult for the corporal to ignore Burke. Now that they were flying again, it took all his concentration to stop himself from throwing up. Dear God, and he’d thought skimmers were bad, but those armoured hovercraft were nothing compared to the yo-yo flight pattern this mobile sex shop was executing.
‘Oh, I don’t know.’ Dooley had been considering the proposal. ‘If he threw in all his back pay. I know he hasn’t spent any of his own money in the last year.’ ‘He doesn’t have to the way he wins at cards ...’
‘Sergeant Hyde has work for you two.’ Ignoring the ritual undertone of complaint and the pair’s sour expressions, Revell sat down beside the communication board. ‘We know what road they’re taking now. That advance guard took the left fork, so it’s Frankfurt for certain. Pass that on to our ECM merchant when it arrives. Is there any sign of it yet?’
‘It’ll be on station in a couple of minutes. Word is, it’s a four-seat Prowler, so there’s no way those Ruskies are going to yell for help, or chat to each other.’
‘Good. It’s a pity they don’t carry radar homing missiles. Could have taken out a flak-tank or two for us. Did you get that count I wanted?’
‘Close as I could. I might have missed one, what with the smoke and filth they kept shovelling over us, but I figure we destroyed a couple of T84s, damaged two more and totalled a self-propelled gun. With that Shilka losing a track and Sergeant Hyde plastering the countryside with that fancy mine clearer, I reckon it’s not a bad score.
’
Dooley staggered past, holding a crate whose other end he believed Burke to be supporting. ‘Chewed them up real good, heh, Major?’
‘Give him the other figure.’ Revell watched Dooley’s face as Cohen referred to his message pad.
‘Thirty-four, maybe thirty-five pieces of armour got past us. So you should chew a little harder next time.’
‘Do we have another go, or is that us finished? I’d like to know, I’ve got this vested interest - me.’
‘Yes, Dooley, we’re having another go, and another, and another. Until we’ve slowed them enough to give our armour time to get into position for an interception, or until there’s no more for us to have a go at.’
‘Or no more of us to have a go.’ Clarence had been listening to the major. There wasn’t any fear in the sniper’s voice, or doubt, or relish. He was simply making a statement.
If the sniper was expecting a snap denial then Revell would disappoint him. He nodded. ‘Or until there’s no more of us left.’
THREE
Burke threw the half-eaten slice of garlic sausage out of a window, and tried to wash away the taste with a gulp of Dooley’s equally ferocious black coffee. He pulled a face as he returned the flask. ‘Bloody hell, what do you have for your ruddy afters, a bowl of pepper?’
‘I like my food to have a bit of flavour. You don’t know good food when you taste it.’ Using his bayonet, Dooley cut off a large chunk of the fat-marbled meat and popped it into his mouth. He chewed slowly, rubbing his belly in exaggerated enjoyment.
‘Will you go and eat elsewhere!’ Cohen’s complexion was flickering through the spectrum again.
‘If you ate some of this,’ Dooley illustrated his point by waving the powerful smelling sausage under the radio-operator’s nose, ‘you wouldn’t have all this silly fucking trouble.’
‘What are you offering him, kill or cure?’ Sergeant Hyde butted in. ‘Finish that muck fast or throw it out. The whole damned cabin stinks.’
Major Revell was only half-aware of the conversation and exchanges going on behind him. They were back over the road again, and he was watching it from between the two pilots, looking for a natural obstacle that would stop the column and force it to deploy when they next brought it under fire. Too near the advancing Russians and there wouldn’t be time to set it up; too far ahead and there would be no chance of setting up a third ambush if it were needed.
Hell, who was he kidding? Of course it would be needed. The way the Reds had ploughed past the first roadblock was proof of more than blind determination. He’d seen them come on like that before, lots of times, and later interrogation had always uncovered the nature of the orders that had driven them suicidally on.
The words ‘or else’ were never actually included in the orders, but every Russian officer developed a genius for reading between the lines. False economy, particularly in respect of casualties, was never a factor behind the decisions arrived at by the Soviet Command. If a target was of sufficient importance, then forty tanks and two hundred and fifty men were utterly expendable to capture or destroy it.
Frankfurt was that important. The column, while formidable on any battlefield, was totally inadequate for taking a city, but the panic their appearance on the streets would cause, before they could be mopped up, would be catastrophic.
‘That’s what we want. Put us down there.’ The chopper sank to a fast bouncy landing in a field not far from the stone bridge. Revell had the door open before it settled, and was shouting instructions even as he jumped out.
‘Cohen, get us air-support. Tell them we’ll have a backed-up armoured column for them in… in forty minutes. Sergeant, I want explosives under that bridge, enough to bring down most of the span. Any mines we have left go on the far bank. Concentrate them at the most likely locations armour might use to cross.’
‘What about the bus?’ The pilot had come out of the Chinook, and approached Revell as he assisted in the unloading of the stores. ‘Hang on here until we’re finished, then you can lift us to that farm over there.’ Revell indicated an extensive sprawl of barns and sheds, surrounding a shuttered four-storey house fifteen hundred yards away. ‘That’s fine by me, just don’t leave it too late. If we’re in the air when the Ruskies show, then we won’t be for long.’ He turned to go back in, then paused. ‘You need any help?’
‘Every bit we can get. Take these over to the bridge.’
‘OK.’ The pilot held out his arms and accepted the load of explosives and fuses. ‘Matter of fact, I’ll be glad when the last of this ordinance is off my old bus. Since I came over, I’ve mostly been hauling vehicle spares, it was beginning to get kinda boring. Now I reckon I’m looking forward to the stink of axle grease again.’
The co-pilot was not as pleased to be roped in to help with the portering. The sweat that poured from him, as he lugged the charges to where Libby was setting them against the underside of the single arch, had little to do with the effort involved. His peace of mind wasn’t helped by Dooley who, seeing his nervousness, cut a thin slice from a block of plastic explosive and put a match to it right in front of him.
‘Save the party tricks and get on with it,’ was the only rebuke offered by Hyde, as the co-pilot made a peculiar strangled noise and backed away, to turn and run clutching the seat of his pants to the nearest ditch.
Libby had rested the charges on the ledges of large steel I beams, that had been set into the structure some time in the past to strengthen it. ‘That’s the best I can do without more time to play around.’
‘That’ll do.’ Revell looked over the parapet. ‘They’re not going to see them, and even if they do it doesn’t matter. Either way we slow them down, and they’ll eventually be forced to make a wet crossing and then we get a real crack at them.’
‘I don’t think we’ll be getting many of them with these.’ Hyde tapped his foot against a collection of mines, most of them small anti-personnel types. ‘Even using them in pairs, they’re unlikely to break a track on a T84.’
‘Set them anyway. We may get lucky, and they’ll catch any infantry they send to check the banks.’
‘Trucks coming, Major.’ It was Burke who saw the approaching convoy first. ‘What in hell’s name is going on? The MPs have had enough time to stop all the traffic. How come half a dozen six-wheelers have slipped through?’ Revell walked out into the middle of the road. ‘Clarence, take Kurt and flag them down. Tell them to turn around and get their arses out of here.’
Although he’d said nothing to her, Andrea inevitably tagged along with the sniper. She ignored Kurt’s leer. An afterthought struck the major. It was a long shot, but worth a try. He called out after the trio.
‘Check what loads they’re carrying.’
At only fifteen yards wide, Revell wasn’t sure that the water flowing between the steep banks could really be graced with the title of river. It sure wasn’t the Rhine, but the recent rain had raised its level appreciably, as the flattened weeds along the bank showed. He could only guess at its depth, but it certainly wasn’t more than six feet at best. But that would be enough.
The Russian armoured personnel carriers were amphibious, but the tanks weren’t. They would either have to waste time preparing for deep wading, or find another bridge or ford. The delay might be long enough for an air-strike to be effective. Spaced out along the road and moving fast the column was a difficult target, it would be a different matter if they could be caught waiting to cross. Andrea was suddenly beside him.
‘There is something you should see.’
It was the first time she had spoken to him directly in three days. As usual, her tone and expression were neutral. He followed her to the trucks, wishing that she was wearing the tight jeans in which he’d first seen her.
‘It’s mostly PX stores, Major.’ Clarence waved his hand over the line. ‘There’s even a mobile library, but I thought the one at the end might be of interest.’
When Revell walked down the line, at first glance the l
ast vehicle in the convoy looked no different from any of the others. He couldn’t see what the sniper was getting at. Its cargo area carried only an assortment of roped-down packing cases containing gun spares. Then he saw the two-wheel trailer on the back, and identified the lettering on its container.
‘I think we just hit pay dirt.’ He called out to the driver. ‘Is this ALX in here?’ ‘Ain’t it just. I pulled the short straw and had to hitch it to my rig. Why do you think I’m tail end Charlie of this bunch?’ ‘Drive it over to the far side of the bridge. The Sergeant will show you where he wants it.’
At Revell’s words the driver switched off his engine and leapt from his cab. ‘Hey, I ain’t no combat soldier, I’m a truck driver. I reckon I’ve been shit on enough by having to tow a trailer full of liquid explosive all the way out here, I’ll be damned if I’m going to start messing about with the goop.’ The driver turned his attention to the other members of the convoy. All five vehicles were executing lumbering three-point turns on the narrow road. His full attention snapped back to the major when he saw the Colt being pointed in his direction.
‘I’ve neither the time nor the patience to argue. Get in, start up, and drive...’ ‘You can’t do that...’
‘…where I told you. Now.’ Thrusting the barrel to within an inch of the driver’s chin, Revell looked him straight in the eye. ‘I said now.’ He cocked the 0.45. ‘Soon as we’ve used that part of your load you can be off.’ ‘Alright, I’m doing it, see I’m doing it.’ Without further prompting the driver boarded again and, the minute the other trucks had completed their turns and were out of the way, drove across the bridge.
By the time Revell was back on the bridge, Hyde and Dooley had started to spray the liquid explosive on to the far bank. It soaked into the earth immediately, leaving no trace. The largest concentration was used two hundred yards downstream, where turbulence beneath the river’s surface indicated a shallower stretch, and thus a possible fording place. Libby put one of the anti-personnel mines into the centre of each treated patch, to act as a trigger.
