by James Rouch
Death March
( The Zone - 10 )
James Rouch
THE ZONE 10 • DEATH MARCH
A Russian General plans to use refugees as a shield for his assault on a city. The Special Combat Force has been sent behind Russian lines to retrieve a damaged nuclear demolition device. They find they are the only NATO troops in a position to obstruct the enemy attack. The risk to them is as great as it is to the enemy.
SYNOPSIS
The Russian troops attacking Nurnberg are the dregs of the Warsaw Pact armies. Even the vast supplies of ammunition given to them does not make up for their being drawn from third rate formations and penal battalions. Then NATO uses nuclear demolition bombs to close their convoy routes and even that advantage is lost to the Russian General commanding the attack. He finds himself fighting intrigue within his own command as much as the NATO troops lined up against him.
Major Revell and the Special Combat Force have been sent to retrieve a damaged nuclear weapon from behind Warsaw Pact lines. They have to make a wide detour to return with it and discover the Russians have concealed a highly disciplined Division whose purpose is to make a flank attack on the city using refugees to breach the minefields and provide a shield. The Special Combat Force is the only unit that can thwart the surprise attack but to do so the risk is as great to them as it is to the enemy.
PUBLISHED
First IMPRINT E-Book Edition April 2007
First IMPRINT Publication E-Book Edition May 2005
First Revision IMPRINT Publications E-Book Edition April 2007
James Rouch
DEATH MARCH
Cover illustration: Carrying case for the Mk-54 SADM 3AD “Suitcase Bomb”. The Mk-54 Special Atomic Demolition Munition (SADM) had a yield from .01 to 1.0 kiloton. The entire unit weighed less than 163 pounds. This weapon was in 3AD inventory with the US Army 23rd Engineers from 1964 into (apparently) the 1980’s.
From Reuters. International News Agency.
To all news editors desks.
Europe, USA, Asia.
01.45 GMT. 25th March
NATO Command has today announced that it has stalled the Warsaw Pact advance in the area of Nurnberg, Bavaria. American and British troops are stabilising a defence line based on the River Main. Heavy fighting continues in the eastern suburbs of the city.
Russia has accused the NATO forces of employing five atomic demolition charges, resulting in the destruction of road and rail junctions. NATO High Command has responded by counter claiming that it is Soviet forces that have employed sub-kiloton weapons in attempting to clear a path through NATO roadblocks and rearguard positions.
If the latest reports are correct then that would indicate that the total of nuclear weapons employed within the Zone to date, including sub-kiloton neutron devices, has now reached one hundred Kilotons.
* * *
Positioning the device hardly called for precision. Its detonation was going to bring down the over-pass for at least a hundred yards. That combined with the cratering of the lower levels would block all main road approaches to the city from the east and southeast. It was likely the twin track rail line would also be severed, passing as it did close to the convoluted autobahn intersection.
The man worked fast, releasing the parachute straps first, and then those securing the bulky pack. It had been a clean drop, the light breeze enabling him to fall within his target circle. Grabbing up the bundle of material and the trailing cords he stuffed it beneath a nearby truck. Among the derelict vehicles of the salvage yard he worked fast, feeling the sweat pouring down inside his jump suit.
In the distance he could hear the fuel tanks of his transport exploding. The night sky reflected a fierce glow. The Soviet missile had struck the aircraft only moments after he had jumped; so close that one red-hot fragment had passed through his canopy. Luckily its heat had sealed the edges of the tear and it had not developed in to a threatening gash across the fabric. There had been no other canopies; his escort team had not made it out.
It was likely that enemy on the ground, their attention grabbed by the exploding aircraft, had seen him falling and would already be pushing patrols into the area. By the light of a small torch he quickly unfastened a panel set in to the top of the device within the pack and started to check some settings. Even as he did he heard a heavy vehicle approaching. The rough engine note and grinding of gears were evidence it was a Soviet wheeled armoured vehicle. A prowling scout car most likely. It stopped on the road outside the compound and a bright beam of light passed over the assembled civilian wrecks.
It swept back and though he hunched low over the pack he knew from the shouts he had been seen. There was no chance of running and certainly not of abandoning the pack and hiding. He knew he could not out run the enemy patrol and his training drove him to first finish his work on the packs contents. All he needed was another thirty seconds to activate the device. Then he would make a break for it. He’d have to cover half a kilometre and find hard cover. And that while doing his best to avoid capture. The odds were heavily against him. His hands moved across controls with long rehearsed skill. He was used to doing it in the dark, had done so before, many times.
A rifle shot echoed across the industrial area and a bullet kicked up a spurt of dust and tarmac at his side. Jumping to his feet he drew his Browning Hi-power automatic and went to snap off a shot towards the source of light. Before he could a long burst of automatic fire slashed from a silhouetted squat turret and hurling him backwards with its multiple impacts. The pack too was hit, toppling over and rolling on to its side in the oil saturated dirt. An inspection panel fell open. A dial hand rotated for a moment longer, then its clockwork mechanism jammed. A short row of glowing numbers blinked and went out.
The first thought of the Russian troops who approached the body and the pack was looting. Finding nothing on the blood soaked corpse, not so much as a scrap of paper, they spat and kicked at it, then turned their attention eagerly to the canvas wrapped object trailing strong straps. Roughly they hauled the heavy pack upright and ripped open its covering. Again they registered crude and noisy disgust that it was nothing of value.
The officer who sauntered to join them looked first in puzzlement at the solitary paratrooper, and then at the object he must have been carrying. Cautiously he lifted an inspection panel and took a long look in at it. The first few moments were just curiosity, those that followed, and in his mind seemed to stretch into forever, were not so casual. Fear rooted him momentarily, froze his voice, and took his breath. He saw the two close spaced bullet holes, saw the panel with the faint ghost of the figures barely visible in the darkness. He was turning, running, screaming all in the same instant as wild fear energised him.
Looking at their officer as though he was suddenly insane his troops watched him run to their transport, shouting orders to the driver even as he threw himself aboard. As the eight-wheeler began to move his panic communicated itself to them and they too started to run. Two of the men were crushed as the APC swept through a tyre scrubbing turn, riding over them without hesitation. Others clung to projections on the hull, their boots scrabbling to clear the thrashing deep treaded rubber.
In a moment the compound was empty, save for three bodies and the pack.
* * *
There were at least twenty Russian bodies in the field. Some had fallen facing forward, most had been hit as they turned and ran. Only a handful of wounded gave any sign of movement, flopping about in pain they could not cope with, or trying to crawl back to the drainage ditch.
“You think they’ll be coming a third time?” Sergeant Hyde nestled deeper in to the shallow scrape beneath the thick hedgerow.
“I was amazed they came a second, not after most turned
and ran the first time.” Major Revell handed two magazines to the NCO. “That’s the last.”
Hyde laid the replenishment neatly at his side, tapping each to ensure the spring hadn’t jammed and the rounds would feed smoothly. He blew on the open end of the cold metal to remove any dust.
He looked back over his shoulder to the autobahn service centre where they had so successfully carried out their demolition task. The steel frame walkway across the multiple carriageways had collapsed and now completely blocked the route with tangles of twisted girders and shattered concrete beams. A fire was starting to sweep through a section of the wreckage. A fitful breeze was dispersing most of the smoke but constantly lifted clouds of ash and dust from the ruins.
In the distance a Soviet T72 recovery tank was trying to tow into the cover of a cutting a T80 battle tank that Revell had knocked out with their only anti-tank rocket. Dragging a broken track the disabled vehicle was crabbing across the road and enmeshing itself with the central crash barrier, resisting the forces being employed to move it.
“How did the Major know to move forward just before that artillery barrage?” Simmons worked while he spoke, deepening the hole in which he lay, tossing aside the earth, chopping through the tangled roots of the hawthorn. He worked automatically, speaking to Corporal Thorne while watching the officer and NCO conferring.
The rest of the squad were working just as frantically hard but still being careful not to throw the spoil beyond the vegetations shadow and being cautious not to do any obvious damage to the plants when they pulled tangles of branches down over their excavations.
“Experience.” Clarence was slowly panning the lens of his Barrett sniper rifle across the distant landscape. “We’ve been fighting the Ruskies so long that at times we think like them, but I will admit that the weight of that barrage came as a surprise. They’re firing off shells like they’ve got to get rid of them. Usually if a Ruskie company gets in trouble, gets held up, the best they get in the way of support is a couple of medium sized shells or two minutes of half hearted mortar fire. This time they must have put down fifty rounds at least.”
“There’s something going on down by the ditch.” Wiping dirt from the sights of his M16, Dooley waited for a signal from the Major. “Heck, they’re coming again.”
Three hundred metres away, barely showing above the curve of the ground, brown clad figures began to rise into view.
“They’re no keener now that they were before.” Dooley watched as the distant men milled about, many turning around to offer help to others following them from the irrigation channel, hauling them out and up in to the open They were doing all they could to delay their own start across the open ground.
Again shells screamed overhead. Most fell on the Fir trees bordering the far side of the service centre car-park but a couple missed the position Revells’ men had just vacated, smashing in to the buildings of the autobahn café and motel complex. The pounding high explosive completed the work of destruction begun earlier and tore up the white-lined surface of the car park, tossing long abandoned civilian vehicles about.
“They can’t see this hedge. I don’t reckon they will until they’re over half way here.” Revell slid to the earth, not bothering to look back at the cascade of shells. “We’re concealed by the slight rise between us and them. They think we’re still in the area of the buildings.”
More high explosive dropped and this time several rounds fell short of their intended target and red-hot slivers of shell casing slashed through the light overhead cover. A nearby pylon was hit, vibrating wildly, the strain bringing down one of the power lines. It fell, inert, into the long grass of the meadow.
Once again the Warsaw Pact infantry shook itself out in to an extended line and finally after much urging from officers began to step out. Here and there a man would stop and be grabbed, threatened and hustled forward by an NCO.
Revell watched through binoculars. He knew that to be the likely limit of the corporals and junior sergeants responsibilities. If the officers went down they would display no initiative and the attack would crumble. He just wished it were easier to select those targets. The officers must have been experienced even if the troops were clearly not. Kalashnikovs were being carried by all and that way the officers were not making themselves obvious.
At an unseen signal the Russians levelled their weapons and opened a wild automatic fire. In the gloom of the overcast early morning the multi-coloured tracer flashed wildly across the field, gouging furrows in the fresh green barley shoots where they impacted. Even more flew over-head, hopelessly wide of their target. “I think I have an officer lined up…” Clarence had to raise his voice to make himself heard.
“I have a group around a man with a radio. They are using him as a shield.” Andrea levelled her grenade launcher and tracked her selected targets as they steadily, reluctantly, approached.
Still Revell held back. The Russians slowed even more as they began to pass between the bodies of the men chopped down during the earlier assaults. “Not yet.”
Very carefully Burke moved his finger to flick away a red ant making an erratic path down the barrel of his rifle. He longed to brush away all the others that swarmed on his arm, but remained still.
Behind them the barrage seemed to increase in intensity with more rounds falling short and sending slabs of red-hot steel through the top of the hedge. From behind the advancing enemy a single wheeled armoured personal carrier drove in to sight. It moved out to a flank and added long bursts from its turret heavy machine gun to the storm of light automatic fire. The tracer passed over the hedge, hosed towards the ground about the shattered remnants of the autobahn buildings.
The deluge of shells ceased abruptly.
“They must think that has finished us.” With a fractional adjustment of his telescopic sight Clarence turned his attention towards the camouflage painted vehicle. Still no order came and the enemy infantry had covered more than half the distance towards the hedge. Seeing it ahead of them, and having passed safely through the zone where their compatriots had been mown down they gathered confidence and speed. Those in front almost tripped over as they shuffled quickly over the ploughed ground, hurrying to seek the imagined shelter of the hedge.
“Now!” The range was about one hundred metres when Revell shouted the order.
With short sharp burst the NATO men chopped down the leading rank of advancing Russian infantry. A smudge of dirty smoke marked the impact of a high explosive grenade on the chest of a radioman. He seemed to dissolve and it was just his pack that fell, several of his cowering escort going down with it.
Ignoring the nearer targets Clarence took his time aiming on the distant APC. His first shot went in to the turret a fraction of a centimetre below the opening through which the machine gun barrel protruded. The penetration was marked only by a brief pinprick flash of light and then a wisp of white smoke. A slight adjustment to allow for the breeze and as the vehicle began a clumsy turn Clarence put his second armour piercing round in through the centre of the drivers closed steel visor, immediately below the vision slit. Momentarily the APC surged forward and then the wheels shuddered at an impact. It side-slipped on a moss-covered mound over the stump of a tree. A dying crewman was convulsing, thrusting unthinkingly hard on the foot pedals. The vehicle slowly fell sideways into the ditch, sending up a spray of stagnant water. Just visible, the wheels continued to rotate, sending out a fan of earth where they brushed against the sides of the water channel.
Hyde’s weapon pecked with neat precision at the advancing line of infantry. Several times rounds passed through two or even three men as they bunched behind one another. The enemy broke under the accurate fire, turned and ran again. Many who fell were hit in the back as they threw down their weapons to enable them to frantically shrug off their backpacks, to lighten their loads in the cloying soil. They made the best speed they could for the cover of the ditch.
Clarence continued chasing them with single shots as the
y reached and began to throw themselves in to the excavation. This time they didn’t stop, clambering up the far side and racing for distant woodland. The snipers last bullet cut down an officer waving a pistol as he threatened the men hurling themselves in among the timber, at eight hundred metres range.
He was not alone in the vengeful selection of targets, firing until the last possible moment. Beside him Andrea sent air burst grenades after the fleeing men. Several times she seemed to catch small groups of Russians as, zigzagging across the ridged earth, they were only a step or two from safety. She was the last of the squad to stop firing, not ceasing until she had exploded a grenade between two soldiers who were limping, far behind the others. They went down and didn’t move.
“Time to get out.” Major Revell gathered up two fragmentation grenades he had laid beside his scrape and snaked backwards from their cover. “They’ll know about the hedge, and were we really are, now.”
As he led the squad, all running bent double, the first retaliatory 105mm rounds fell just short of the hedge. Before they were clear of the field that first smattering of explosions had transformed in to a deluge that hid and swiftly obliterated their recent position.
The sign-written panel van was still parked in the service station access road beneath the trees. A civilian who had climbed in to the cab and was searching for a means of starting the Volvo jumped out and ran when he saw the squad approaching, others leapt from the back, empty handed, having found nothing to loot.
A single shot from Andrea hastened their departure, the bullet grazing the would-be drivers arm and eliciting a yelp of pain and panic.
“That’s enough.” Revell grabbed the barrel of her Colt pistol and prevented her taking a second, more carefully aimed shot. “The civvies are not our problem.”
* * *
The drive back in to the city was a nightmare. Nurnberg’s roads were clogged with refugees from the Russians sudden onslaught. Frequent craters were rimmed with torn flesh and the dead and dying. Twice they passed through roadblocks manned by nervous conscript West German infantry who looked unlikely to stand their ground when the Russians reached them. The barricades were hastily erected and composed mostly of civilian commercial vehicles loosely linked together with assorted debris taken from nearby out-houses and stores. They looked no more likely to withstand the first Russian attack than their guards. At the second a Leopard tank, its engine running, covering a tangle of poorly positioned barbed wire in the road. The motor was constantly revved, as if the driver just waited for the command to reverse out and make his way back.
