by James Rouch
‘Bloody good one though, Sarge.’ It had taken an effort by Libby not to gratify the big oaf by laughing out loud.
‘I don’t have any use for a funny man, this is the Zone, not a three-ring circus.’
Having saved Collins from trouble by nudging him hard to shut up his giggling before Hyde found some other way of doing it, Cohen sidled over to the sergeant. ‘A silly bastard at times he may be, but there’s a lot of Commies who don’t think so, come to that they don’t think any more at all.’
‘I’ll believe that when I see evidence of it for myself.’
‘Here’s your chance.’ Fastening his body-armour tighter about himself, Cohen went back to his place.
It wasn’t in sight yet, but the throaty low revving rumble of an approaching truck was very clear in the still evening air. Clarence, further along the road and able to see more of the track, briefly put in an appearance and held up two fingers. No order was given, no man looked to another, but as though at a signal all of them slipped off their packs and reached for their knives. Cohen patted Collins’ arm. ‘Stick with me. This is where it starts to get messy.’
Major Revell had already been over to a front window twice, and now he found himself there for the third time, looking down the long winding track leading to the farm.
They would not have the light for much longer, and the hollow among the hills holding the workshops would be the first to lose the sun. Already a band of shadow was starting down from the crest of the rise partly hiding it from the farm. In an hour it would be like night down there.
The sinking bloated orange ball was shining directly in through the window, almost blindingly bright. It was very quiet. Even the whores in the adjoining room were silent. Kurt and his men had finished their ‘turns’. Andrea was in there now, guarding the women.
The regular patrons were not expected until after sunset, and Revell could only hope that none of them, like the officers Libby had killed, and the two junior sergeants, would try queue-jumping.
He had spent most of the afternoon observing the workshops. There had been no vehicle movement anywhere in their vicinity, and with only the surrounding ground to study he had come to know every inch of it, ‘picking the route they would take and the best spot for their sniper. After repeated examinations of the far slopes he’d even tentatively identified the position of one of the flak guns their prisoner had mentioned.
The Russian was still lying bound in the loft. At first Revell had called Andrea at every impassioned outburst from the soldier and tried to make out what it was he was so urgently trying to tell them. On the fifth repetition of his conversion and devotion to the capitalist system and his earnest intention to desert to the West, Revell had gagged him with his own belt.
There was no way, with his limited command of the language, that Revell could determine whether or not the soldier was genuine, or opportunist. A lot of men had deserted from the Soviet forces, a few still managed to do so, but the numbers had fallen drastically since the Communists had instituted a system that relied on brutal reprisal for its effectiveness. Those who came over from Russian units were mostly Armenians, Estonians, Turkomans; single men without family ties, who didn’t care what happened to the men of the units they deserted. That was an ironic result of the deliberate Communist policy of splitting up the various ethnic and national groups, so that men from the far reaches of the Soviet territory, speaking hardly any Russian, would find themselves thrown among others with whom they had nothing in common, not even language.
Each time Revell thought he had seen every last repugnant facet of Communism he discovered a new one and it was always uglier, nastier, more calculated than the previous ones.
A large portion of that nastiness would come their way if they were caught. The various conventions of war had been thrown out of the window by the Soviets. While they screamed at any hint of the West ignoring them, they flouted any it suited them to, and most of the time that was all of them. Better by far to go down fighting, take some of them with you, than fall into their hands alive.
The noise of approaching engines broke into his thoughts. Engines! Hell, that wasn’t right. Hyde was supposed to be bringing only one vehicle, if he could. Turning into the lane was a Russian command car, and behind it a six-wheeled, tilt-rigged Ural truck. Two hundred yards away both halted, and heavily armed men began to jump from the transport.
Two steps up the stairs he stopped abruptly. ‘Dooley, you step on my bloody heels once more, just once more…’
THIRTEEN
‘Five seconds more and I’d have told Kurt and his cut-throats to open up on you. It was only because I saw Dooley… ‘
The two captured vehicles had been driven up to the farmhouse, and Revell had just finished inspecting them.
‘We came up on the place before I was expecting it. I realised what you might think when you saw two wagons coming, so I had the men de-buss in case you started popping off.’ Hyde patted the roof of the utility-bodied command car. ‘We cut three Commie throats to get these, so I thought we might as well use them both. What do you think, Major?’
‘Oh, I think we can find a use for them both. Let’s get inside.’ Revell led the way. ‘I’ll brief the Grepos now. Have two men relieve Andrea and tell her to bring Kurt and the others to the kitchen. We have to move fast before we lose the light.’
Only Burke and Dooley were available, all the others were busily engaged in checking and setting up the weapons in the six-wheeler.
‘Just remember, you two. We’re moving out in a matter of minutes, don’t start anything. I don’t want to shout and have you trot down the stairs with your tongues out and your pants round your knees. Have you got that, do I make myself clear?’
‘Very loud, extremely clear, Sarge.’
‘And you as well, Dooley.’
‘Sergeant Hyde, sir. I hear every word. I promise not to let them seduce me. I shall also keep a tight hold on my weapon.’
‘Funny man.’ Misgivings flooded over Hyde, but there wasn’t the time to change the arrangements. ‘Follow me.’
‘That one, I think.’ Dooley stuck his hand down the front of his pants and unashamedly rearranged his rapidly expanding self. The object of his attention did not reciprocate his interest, she yawned. ‘Oh fuck me…’
‘No thanks.’ Burke declined the invitation. ‘…look at them, have you ever seen such a wanked-out bunch of old hags in all your life.’
‘Not all at once, no.’
Becoming impatient Dooley crossed to the women. They all avoided his eye, and his attempts to pull one of them from the herd. ‘How about you, you fancy a quick one?’ He addressed the remark to the youngest, she shook her head. The words hadn’t meant anything, but the question was a familiar one and she understood its tone.
‘Shit. I don’t bloody believe it.’ Dooley pounded his fist into the crumbling piaster on the wall, and left a row of indents. ‘I’m in a brothel, a real live fucking brothel, and all the tarts are on strike. Bloody hell, the sodding unions are killing everything.’ He grew desperate. ‘Come on, one of you, any of you.’ From various pockets he extracted all his worldly goods; two packets of cigarettes, twenty marks, mostly in change, and a cheap lighter. ‘You can have all this.’ Again the fist battered at the fabric of the building.
Burke scanned the women. They looked terrible. He’d seen rough before, but not like this. ‘Back off mate. You’re better not poking one of these, look at them, they’re red-raw.’ He indicated a middle-aged individual who was slouched in such a way, with one foot tucked partially under her, that she was completely exposed. ‘What this lot need is a jai of Vaseline, not another cock.’
‘I’ll skin the major. Why’d he let those scabby GDR cruds have a go. They’ve screwed it up for us.’
‘For you, you mean, I’m not touching one of them. The Ruskies don’t have them inspected regular like we do. I bet you there’s more pox to the square fanny in this room than anywhere else in the whole of
the Zone.’
‘I’d have risked it, whatever shape their fannies were. Did you see that piece with the major? She’s not with this mob.’
‘I saw her.’ Burke was glad the conversation was changing tack, even if only slightly. ‘Nice, if you like them hard. She looked the sort that if you woke up beside her in the morning, the first thing you’d do would be to check she hadn’t bitten your balls off in the night.’
A low growl escaped from Dooley. ‘Christ, what I wouldn’t give for something like that.’
‘Not a chance for the likes of us, maybe not for the major either. She’s something special. I don’t know what sort of bloke she’d go for, but he’d have to be at least as hard as her.’
‘OK, you two.’ Revell put his head around the door. ‘Herd this lot downstairs and stay with them. Keep them out of trouble, and keep them out of the way.’
‘What are we going to do with them. Major?’
‘We’re letting them go, Burke. If we leave them here the Russians will practise nastiness on them; but if they scatter into the camps they’ll never be found.’ With that he was gone, clattering back down the stairs and out to the truck. ‘They’ll get a hell of a reception in the camp if they’re dressed like this.’ Lots of bare flesh bulged at Burke from every quarter. ‘You hang on here. I’ll find their rags.’
As the door closed behind Burke, Dooley sighed his contempt and frustration. ‘Useless bloody lot. You wouldn’t know a good cock if you saw one. Move over, you scabby cows, I want to sit down.’
The filthy lumpy mattress felt good after hours on the thinly padded bench in the skimmer. As the whores parted to make room for him a large warm breast brushed his arm and smooth satin rustled.
‘All I wanted was a bloody good fuck.’ Absently his hand went out to the nearest backside and slid beneath it. His forefinger played in the fabric covered crevasse. A hand landed on his knee and began to slide up his thigh. Other hands came at him, and he just sat there. ‘It’s no good, you’re wasting your time. You’re too late by five minutes and eight inches.’
The door flew open and an avalanche of variously coloured clothes and underwear preceded Burke’s return. ‘Hello there. You look like you’re nicely settled.’
‘No way. At this moment I couldn’t stuff a shitty olive. Marvellous, ain’t it.’ Pushing aside the hands that sought to hold him back, Dooley got up and walked to the pile. ‘Here, come and get this lot on.’
There was a mad scramble as the women fought to salvage their own things and steal all they could of everyone else’s. Dooley had to put his large boot to several similarly dimensioned behinds before he succeeded in reducing the row they were making.
Burke was repulsed rather than sexually aroused by the sight, of the fighting women. Huge rumps, hobbling breasts, all were on show in abundance and had no effect on him.
The major shouted from downstairs and the two men began to propel the women along the corridor while they were still fumbling, hopping and contorting to finish dressing.
‘No one would ever believe this.’ His erection had completely disappeared. Dooley knew it without checking. ‘I ain’t never gonna tell anyone about this, not ever. I spend fifteen minutes in a brothel: the first five I’m trying to grab a broad, the next five I’m trying to keep a load of whores from finding out that I’m not ail I’d like to be and was five minutes before, and the last five I’m forcing them to get dressed and chucking them out. I just don’t like myself at the moment. Maybe m a year I’ll have forgotten all about it; the hell I will.’
Andrea was coming down the stairs.
‘There you are.’ Revell steered her to the women. ‘Tell them to get down to the camp and lose themselves, and don’t take no for an answer. I want them out right now.’
He started up the stairs. In a crazy way he’d be doing the Russian a favour. If the Soviet security services got him to tell the whole story, and they would, including how he had given the enemy an inch-by-inch description of the workshops, then the last few hours of his life would be very painful and unpleasant.
Cradling the 12 gauge assault-rifle Hyde had brought him from the skimmer, he climbed to the top of the building. It would be best if he fired right away, from the door of the attic: no need to make a ceremony of it. He paused at the door, laid the heavy twenty-shot weapon on the floor and took out his pistol. The weight of the silencer unbalanced the Colt and he had to consciously counteract it.
As he put his hand to the door, he paused again, and checked that the safety catch was off. The air held a smell he hadn’t noticed before, like, like overdone meat. Dismissing it from his mind he pushed open the door.
Thick grey smoke filled the room, drifting in layers in the warm, still air. Wisps of it wafted out through the hole in the roof. The smell was much stronger now, almost overpowering. He felt his way to the wall and began to work his way round the room. In a far corner he discovered a smouldering bundle. It was the Russian. Blue and yellow flame still rippled through his hair and what was left of his uniform. Two empty vodka bottles lay nearby.
Revell did not make a close, examination, pumping two shots into the man to extinguish any last vestige of life. At the impact, sparks and clouds of black particles flew up and he had to step back smartly to avoid them settling on him.
The body lolled sideways, scraping off long ribbons of red-streaked black tissue on the wall. Smoke from the still smouldering belt about the lower half of what had been a face, found its way out through the misshapen holes in the charred remains of a nose.
In two years of savage war in the Zone, the deliberate incineration of a bound and helpless prisoner was as inhuman an act as Revell had ever witnessed. It was almost the equal of the worst atrocities the Russians had committed.
He knew: he had no proof, but he knew who had done it. What had happened to Andrea, what could she have been through to turn into a person capable of this? It went far beyond anything that the motives of revenge or hate could justify.
Now there was no question of leaving her with Clarence when the attack went in. He would keep her with him and though that might make him uneasy, he was not unhappy the prospect. If there was more in her than the urge to k then he wanted to know, find out how to get past or through that tough shell she presented to the world. It would be easier or safer than the job they were about to tackle. Hyde was calling him. The men were ready for the first briefing. It was almost time.
The major connected the last wire of the intricate layout booby-traps that Collins had set about the house, then car fully closed the front door before climbing into the command car. Burke already had the engine turning over smoothly. Andrea sat between Revell and the driver. Four of the Grepos crouched on the floor in the back, still wearing the same dull sullen expressions the officer had first noticed; Mother Knoke’s. They had not altered in all those hour: save for the brief strained grimaces while they’d been with the women.
‘Damn it.’ Revell swore. ‘We didn’t rig that Merc’
‘Collins took care of it.’ Burke slowed the car after passing out of the farmyard, while he waited for Hyde, piloting the big truck, to negotiate the narrow opening. ‘It’ll go bang at the same time as the house, or maybe it’ll be the other way round. Either way, any sloppy Commies are in for a hell of a fucking shock.’ There was a lurch as the car left the track and then the vehicle’s four-wheel drive was pulling them effortlessly towards the top of the hill. The sun was still a few minutes from the horizon and sent the car’s long shadow ahead of it to the crest.
‘Take it easy as we go over, then head to your left so we hit the main approach track about three hundred yards from the entrance.’ Scouring the floor of the hollow time and again, Revell searched for other traffic. It was early yet, but as the Ural topped the rise behind them he spotted something. A lone T72 was heading in the same direction.
‘OK, stop here. Give Sergeant Hyde the signal.’ As Burke lowered the window and waved, Revell turned in his seat to watch Clar
ence jump from the back of the truck and then take the bulky packs handed to him.
Hyde had seen the Russian main battle tank as well, and noted that it was travelling opened up with its two-man turret crew sitting half out of the roof hatches. Dust and thick white exhaust smoke plumed out behind it.
‘Looks nice and quiet down there.’ Libby had to hold tight as they reached the bottom of the slope and Hyde wrenched the wheel over to turn on to the track a hundred yards behind the tank, keeping only a length between themselves and the command car in front. ‘Those tank blokes wouldn’t be so casual if they thought there was any trouble in these parts.’
‘Very likely, but I think we’ve got trouble. There’s something up ahead, at the gap in the minefield where the track goes through. Looks like a traffic control point.’
Libby unclipped a grenade from his webbing and rested it in his lap. A lone military policeman stood beside the track. Two motorcycles were parked outside a small tent, half-hidden by a movable barbed wire barricade that was pulled back out of the way.
The MP waved the tank through, then saw the command car approaching and stepped out into the road to flag it down.
With a noisy grinding of gears Hyde changed down as the lead vehicle slowed. ‘Why in fuck’s name is he doing that? He let the tank through.’
‘Perhaps we should be showing lights, or maybe these wagons shouldn’t be here at all.’ Libby watched the command car. At a couple of lengths from the Russian it had almost slowed to a stop, then with a bellow of its exhaust it surged towards him.
His shouting unheard above the roar of the engine the MP jumped back, starting to unslung his AKM as he did so. The car almost brushed him and. as the passenger window drew level, he suddenly clutched at his chest, staggered and crumpled.
‘There’s another of the bastards.’
In response to Libby’s yell Hyde slung the wheel hard over, stamped on the gas pedal and hurled the big wagon straight at the second MP who was scrambling from the little tent, pushing his rifle before him.
