by James Rouch
He joined Hyde by the window. ‘You sure that guy’s on our side?’ ‘Well he is, but I’ve never been sure of it. He’s ex-border guard.’ Hyde offered the American a boiled sweet.
‘Thanks, don’t mind if I do.’ He sucked loudly. ‘Can’t say I’m too fond of those creeps. He’s hurt so bad, I don’t suppose there’s any real hurry.’ ‘No, none at all.’ Sergeant Hyde offered the bag again. ‘I think we’ve got time for another.’
The Zone - Southern Sector
In a concentrated weekend of action, Yugoslav regular and irregular forces have succeeded in closing virtually every airport being used by the Russian Airforce. Sixteen fighters, forty helicopters and thirty-seven transport aircraft were destroyed on the ground. The action was timed to coincide with the closing of the Vardar Valley, and the destruction of the main road/rail links with Bulgaria by irregular forces supported by air-strikes provided by US 6th Fleet, Mediterranean.
Warsaw Pact Forces inside the country are being forced to feed themselves off the land, and there have been several clashes between farmers and foraging Bulgarian troops. Six civilians died in one incident.
The World Council of Neutral Nations has again called on Russia and Hungary to remove their troops from Austria.
Switzerland has admitted responsibility for the shooting down of the C-141 Starlifter of 55th US Aeromedical Airlift Squadron. The aircraft came down near Andelfingen, on Euroroute 70. The crew and fifteen medical attendants, plus all seventy-five litter cases from the 27th US Division were killed in the crash. No explanation has been offered.
Switzerland has complained of harassment and physical assault on its nationals in several German cities, and demanded compensation for the burning of its Consulate in Munich by American Forces personnel.
TWELVE
The respirator helped. Its filters had been designed to keep out microparticles of toxic chemicals, and now they reduced the amount of smoke Revell was forced to take in with each painfully laboured breath. Flame gushed up the stairs, gouted through every crack in the floorboards. He felt the heat strike at him, so fiercely that every movement which brought his clothes into fresh contact with his body was a moment of pain.
Cohen was still holding the radio pack. Now he found Revell’s arm, and too hoarse to use the mask’s short-range built-in radio, urgently signalled to the upper floors. He repeated the gesture as Revell shook his head.
‘No good, no good.’ Fumes bit into the major’s throat and reduced him to cryptic abbreviations of what he wanted to say. ‘The back, the back.’
Part of the front wall fell away, and was replaced by a sheet of flame. Revell didn’t waste more time on words, shoving Cohen towards the rear of the building. To reach it, they had to skirt the roaring jet coming up from the furnace below. As they drew level with it the air became unbreathable, and plucked at them, sucking them towards the yellow and red inferno streaming to the top of the building.
Hell was below them, all about them, and Revell could only see Hyde’s ghastly parody of a face wherever he looked. Better to get it over with quick, than cling to life like that.
Then they were past, and heard the room they had left thunder down on top of the burning tank. Now fire curled along the ceiling as well, pushing rolling black clouds ahead of it Light fittings and ceiling tiles caught and dripped fire on to them, falling with rippling zipping sounds, like vertical streaks of miniature tracer.
Bars blocked the window and the vision of Hyde returned. Revell sought another way. His fingers made contact with a metal bar. A fire door ... it had to be. He ran his hand around the edge of the steel panel until he found the bolts he’d been expecting.
Had to stay calm, that was it, stay calm. Damn, that hurt A blob of something molten struck the back of his hand. He could feel the pressure of the radio-man’s grip on the sleeve of his jacket.
‘It’s OK, found a door, out in a minute.’ He shouldered his repeater 12-gauge and tried the release bar. The door remained stubbornly shut. Oh God, don’t let it be warped, or rusted or jammed by expansion in this heat. Another attempt, and all he managed was to skin his knuckles. He didn’t dare to turn and look at the flames he knew would be there.
Think, he had to think, had to force himself to slow down, rationalise. Two bolts, he’d done them. The locking bar itself, he’d tried that every way. He was being stupid, it had to open, damn it, it had to. Again he pulled with all his strength, and the door didn’t budge an inch. It must be something basic. This was crazy. As a kid he’d never had any trouble opening the emergency doors to let his friends in for free... Once more he took hold of the handle, lifted it until he heard the ‘clunk’ of the lock disengaging, and pushed. The door swung gently open and, with Cohen in tow, he tumbled out on to the fire escape.
Tearing off his respirator, he gulped in fresh air. Tears still flooded his eyes and blurred his vision. When he started down and reached for the railing he missed it and slipped the first few steps, skinning the backs of his legs. Cohen grabbed him and arrested his fall.
Ammunition was cooking-off inside, every explosion bringing down a lethal shower of broken tiles and flame-blackened glass from the windows.
Their legs wouldn’t carry them far, and they gratefully slumped to the ground, as they fought for breath and flapped at the sparks running along the edges of their jackets with bare hands. Behind them the building, flame and black smoke boiling from every door and window, began to fall in on itself, doing so floor by floor like a folding house of cards.
With the settling of the last wall, Revell became aware of something new, alien, and frightening. Silence, almost total silence. It was as if the structure’s collapse had marked the battle’s crescendo, and signalled its end. There was a horrible sick feeling in the pit of his stomach that had nothing to do with the taste of smoke in his mouth.
‘I kinda lost track towards the end.’ Cohen rung a finger in each ear in turn and flicked the wedges of wax from beneath his short nails. ‘Those guns have stopped for only one of two reasons. Do we tiptoe away now, or do we go and see who’s won?’
When he exerted himself to stand again, Revell was astounded to find that he didn’t emit smoke when he exhaled. ‘On your feet, we’re tiptoeing, but towards the main street.’ The confidence he injected into his words was belied by what he felt inside.
Cannon fodder, that was the term that had run through his mind earlier. He was about to find out how near the truth it had been. A call on the radio would have told him at once, but he was in no hurry to find out.
‘Better give Casevac the numbers.’ The major looked at the two groups of wounded sitting, sprawling or lying on the sidewalk in front of the coffee shop. ‘They’ll either have to send a couple of choppers, or work a shuttle service.’ The Russians formed the largest group. Under the watchful eyes of Clarence and Andrea they sat still and quiet, those still conscious staring sullenly ahead at nothing, seemingly oblivious to the pain of multiple wounds, including extensive burns and jutting fractures.
‘You want me to ask for our chopper now?’ Having sent their call-sign, Cohen waited for an acknowledgement.
‘Not yet. When we’ve got our casualties away.’ Revell turned to Libby. ‘Is this all of ours?’
‘Just these six, Major.’ Taking a safety pin from between his teeth and securing a bandage with it, Libby looked back towards the centre of town. ‘There may be more, but we can’t get to them.’
A fierce blaze engulfed several blocks around the scene of the battle. Houses and stores that weren’t already alight were steaming in waves of heat. Budingen was being rough dried before being consumed.
‘How are they?’ Only Kurt’s face was recognisable to Revell, the other five were from among Hogg’s recruits.
Libby moved out of earshot of the wounded. ‘It looks to me like three of them aren’t going to make it. That includes our Grepo.’ He wiped blood-smeared hands down the front of his jacket. ‘There’s another, with internal injuries, who’ll be
touch and go, depends how fast they get him back. The other two will pull through, with luck.’
‘Right. When you’re finished here, you’d better see what you can do for the Ruskies.’ Revell held up his hand to stifle the expected protest. ‘I know, that’s not your way, but we’ve been fighting right on the High Command’s doorstep. They’ll be expecting some live ones, well half-alive. Do your best.’
Libby begrudgingly gathered together the various torn strips of tablecloth and the remaining field dressings and went over to the Russians. Andrea stepped forward to stop him as he bent to attend to a senior sergeant who’d lost a hand and a lump of flesh from his side, through which his glistening stomach wall could be seen.
‘They will all die soon.’ She waved her M16 over the Russians. ‘What can it matter if some die sooner?’
Ignoring her, Libby moved on to his next patient. As he did, the man he’d just attended to tore off the wadding that had been applied to his side, and tried to do the same to the swaddling about the stump of his wrist.
‘You see. They want to die, let them.’
Another tablecloth fell in strips about his feet as Libby used his teeth to break its hemmed edge. ‘Why don’t you go away and have a bath in blood, or whatever it is you do for enjoyment? Just let me get on with what I’ve been ordered to do.’
Andrea levelled the assault rifle at the Russians, her finger, as always, on the trigger. ‘We waste time, we should kill them now.’ ‘Not bloody now you don’t, not after I’ve torn up this lot. When I’ve finished, if the Major says so, you can cut them up with a blunt steak knife, but right now you’re guarding them, so just bloody guard.’ ‘What’s the body count, Sergeant?’ Revell hadn’t waited to overhear the outcome of the argument before turning to the NCO. ‘Including an estimate of those who never got out of their vehicles, I reckon about sixty, plus of course the Ruskies we’ve got here; seventy-five in all’ ‘It looks like a flak-tank and maybe a couple of APCs managed an about turn and are now going hell for leather for the safety of their own lines, but that still leaves a heck of a lot unaccounted for. What would you put it at?’
Hyde had already considered that, and had a guess ready. ‘Not too many. These commies are pretty predictable. The majority of those who made it to cover will now be hoofing it as fast as they can for the Soviet side. There can’t be above a half dozen still skulking here, and most of those will be the ones too scared even to run.’
‘Well we’ll leave them to others. I expect a few patrols will be along to mop-up any leftovers in the next day or two. If you’re right about that armour that got away, I can’t see it getting far. They’ll either run out of gas, or bump into our forward positions.’
‘Major,’ Cohen interrupted, ‘that Prowler is going home now. He wants to know how we did. You want to speak to him?’
‘Yes, give me the set. I’ve a report to send as well, so I won’t be needing you for a while. See if you can give the Lieutenant a hand.’ Not needing to be told a second time, Cohen wandered off. Keeping at a safe distance so as not to get involved, he watched Hogg supervising the setting out of the landing markers in the middle of the square, for the casualty evacuation helicopters that were due soon.
‘I knocked out that one.’ York indicated a burning T84. Recognising it as a tank Hyde had destroyed, Cohen was tempted to say so, but didn’t.
‘And that one.’
York pointed to an APC that Revell had knocked out. The notion that a lesson might be in order, occurred to Cohen. ‘That’s good, very good. But you know you should finish them off a bit neater.’
‘Neater?’
‘Didn’t you know?’ Keeping his own deadpan, Cohen enjoyed the incredulous expression on York’s wrinkled face. ‘When the fires are done the engineers come along and clear the route. Can’t leave the place all cluttered up with big black lumps of steel, can we?’
‘No?’ York wasn’t at all sure. ‘No, I guess we can’t. But what’s all this about being neater. This some crazy joke?’
‘No way. A joke it isn’t. Fussy guys these engineers, fussy and tough. If there’s one thing they don’t like it’s having to shift a tank with damaged tracks. Captain I knew did it twice. First time the engineers dumped it in front of his married quarters. He couldn’t get his car out for six weeks. The second time it was worse.’ ‘How, how worse?’ Incredulity and curiosity mingled in York’s face in equal proportion.
‘The second time he blew both tracks and half the road wheels off a T84, made them real mad; so they did it up in brown paper and sent it carriage forward to his home in Burbank. He’s still paying, last I heard.’ ‘You’re having me on.’
‘On my life, I’m not.’ Deciding there was still room to embellish the fabulous tale, Cohen shifted his angle of approach. ‘Seeing as you’re new out here though, maybe I can fix it for you.’ He gave that a moment to sink in.
‘OK, so go on...’
It couldn’t be that easy. Had he at last found the ultimate sucker in York? Cohen decided to pitch easy this first time, he could try a real wild one later, if this worked. ‘I’ve got this brother, he’s in the metal recycling business.’ The continual nodding by York didn’t appear to confirm understanding, it was more like confirmation that his basic auditory circuits were still functioning, and he could hear.
‘He’s got this contract, to clean up the battlefields. At the moment he’s in Hamburg, building the biggest mountain of junk you’ve ever seen, only he can’t get any of it out because of the siege.’
‘So what?’ Suspicion was stirring in York’s befuddled brain. ‘So I’m his agent for the rest of the Zone. For twenty bucks apiece, I can have him tow away your wrecks. Before the engineers arrive.’ ‘You said he was in Hamburg...’ The suspicion strengthened. Having stretched York’s credulity as far as it was likely to go, Cohen couldn’t resist it, he went for bust. ‘He is, see he’s got this big winch, and a special long towing hawser...’
‘Piss off.’
‘You blew it money bags.’ Having sidled closer to listen, Dooley suffered a conflict of emotion as he enjoyed Cohen’s failure and simultaneously heard him throw away forty dollars of the inheritance he looked upon as his by right. Well, there was nothing he could do about the money, so he might as well get what satisfaction he could out of the little runt’s defeat. ‘You had him, and you blew it.’
Cohen affected indifference. ‘It’s nothing. It was worth it to find out that somewhere in this great big world there is someone even thicker than you.’ ‘You calling me thick?’ York bridled. ‘Maybe you’ve got a better word?’
Planting a huge paw in the centre of York’s chest, Dooley restrained him. ‘Oh no you don’t. You spill a drop of his money and I’ll tear your eyes out and use them as suppositories.’
‘I’m going to twist that lump of shrapnel in Kurt’s gut. Anyone going to join me?’ Cohen strolled back towards the group of wounded. ‘Does he mean it?’ Now York was uncertain which of the radio-man’s utterances to believe.
‘Not in a physical sense.’
There could be enormous potential for creating aggravation between the little corporal and York, and Dooley’s brain was already working overtime, outlining the first few ideas. Given a bit of time, he could arrange it so that York would never believe a word Cohen said. Hell, there was a lot of fun to be had out of this situation.
He was about to put the first into action when Cohen burst into flames. ‘Where the hell did that come from?’ Catching up with the corporal among the wounded, he threw him down and dragged him clear of the phosphorus-spitting grenade.
Another landed among the wounded as York helped scuff the globules of fiercely burning chemical from the deeply burnt flak-jacket.
Clarence and Andrea were both pumping shots at the upper windows of the coffee shop, then they had to jump back as several more of the incendiary bombs landed among the Russians. Others joined in, and, at irregular intervals, still more of the horrific cylinders would tumble out to ad
d their fuel to the smoke-wreathed fires raging among the wounded.
There was no chance of pulling the casualties clear, and those who tried to make it by themselves managed to crawl only a yard or two before the white flames engulfed them. Kurt was briefly visible, sitting up and waving fiery arms, before a long burst from Andrea’s M16 pushed him back down.
‘Get them, get them.’ Revell hurdled two charred bodies and plunged into the smoke.
Andrea and Dooley followed, Hyde holding the others back. ‘Three’s enough. York, Libby, round the back. The rest of you fan out and cover the front. Make sure of positive identification before you fire.’ Hyde dragged Cohen to his feet, smoke still wreathed from his flak-jacket, his eyelashes and eyebrows gone.
‘I’d make a fucking good fireman. Look at the practice I’m getting.’ Hands shaking, Cohen slowly unfastened the body armour and slipped it off to check none of the pockets had been burnt away. ‘That’s the second time I’ve been roasted today.’
There was a long rattle of automatic fire from the coffee shop and the stabbing flame of a muzzle flash showed in an upstairs room.
THIRTEEN
Through the partially open doorway Revell could see the legs of the Russian infantry officer he’d fired at. The man’s calf-length black boots were slashed and punctured by the storm of shot that had torn into him as the 12-gauge assault rifle had blasted him with five fast rounds.
‘Keep down.’ The major had to shove back against Andrea who was standing close .behind him. Even here, even now, the close contact with her body felt good. He took a deep breath, another, then jumped to his feet and crashed into the door. The weight of the body behind it increased its resistance to the charge and Revell felt his shoulder jar at the heavy impact. There was no one else in the room. Two more phosphorus grenades lay on a table, a third near the body, its pin unpulled.
