by James Rouch
“I have a job for you.” The Colonel kept glancing to the stiff backed officer beside him, as if he suspected he was keeping secret notes. “The Soviet advance was faster than we expected. Intelligence…” Here again the Colonel half looked towards the ramrod officer who flanked him, “…had reported only the presence of second rate units opposite this sector. Their sudden advance, employing massive fire power… it wasn’t anticipated.”
Taking out a handkerchief, the Colonel looked as if he was about to mop his brow with it, but he appeared to decide against and instead wrung it between his hands, twisting the crisp white cotton into a creased, damp, mass. He took yet another sideways glance before going on.
“Circumstances forced us to employ exceptional measures… It was decided to take out an important road junction to the east of the city that the Warpac forces would need for their principle convoy route. You know what it has been like out there. Their assault units and artillery were expending ammunition at a prodigious rate. It’s a tactic they’ve used before, just pouring in fire indiscriminately, keeping the refugees moving, panicking, getting in our way. If they’d had any decent armour they’d have rolled right over us. As it was we cobbled together some scratch units, slowed them down and managed to blow the river bridges in their face.”
Colonel Lippincott was speaking slower than usual, exchanging his usual rapid-fire delivery for a more measured style. It was like he was allowing the Intelligence Officer to step in at any point if he wanted to, if he was saying too much.
The tactics outlined were ones the Russians had applied frequently, Revell was well aware of that, though usually it had relied heavily on a massive air assault component and tank division. Those had been conspicuously absent on this occasion.
Certainly they had been using the maximum weight of firepower to keep a situation fluid, unleashing torrents of automatic fire to stampede civilians trying to flee the zone as it expanded.
The refugees in turn would make it difficult for NATO to set up roadblocks and defensive positions before they were swept aside by the stampeding and terrified population.
“But it is a tactic that only works if they can be rapidly re-supplied and this time their expenditure of ammunition has been prodigious.” Lippincott looked full at the man beside him as though hoping for some congratulation on saying the right thing, or for not saying too much. “Usually if the need is urgent then their helicopter fleet would be employed. In this case even their best efforts would not be sufficient to maintain the ammunition levels required and actually on this front the Commies seem particularly short on rotary wing aircraft. So they are relying on columns of trucks to rush ammunition forward. In fact they have commandeered every scrap of civilian transport they can lay their hands on. They’re turning the roads into one-way systems, loaded vehicles entering the city by one route, empty ones leaving by another. It’s the same system the Red Ball express employed in France during the Second World War. It’s highly effective if the roads can be kept open.”
Getting no assistance from the Intelligence officer, the Colonel turned to look at a large-scale map on the wall. “This is an old city, lots of winding roads, not many direct routes through it from east to west. We knew the way those convoys would be forced to come.”
At this point he wiped his face and his throat, pushing the edge of the material inside the collar of his shirt were the colour had darkened with the sweat that was soaking it.
“By demolishing a handful of junctions and bridges we have been slowing the Soviets, creating one hell of a logistics problem for them and reducing the flow of ammunition to a trickle. But this last time…something went wrong.”
This pause was longer, and it stretched out. Revell saw the Colonels’ hands were twitching. After a long pause the Intelligence Officer stepped in.
“A special unit was tasked with blocking a potential Warpac route on the edge of the city, where their traffic would be critically concentrated and vulnerable. A small commando unit parachuted in with a specialist who had a device that would do the job. His aircraft was downed but we know he jumped just before that. His ground beacon functioned for a few minutes then went off the air. We don’t know what happened to him or his… device. It’s reasonable to assume though that he and his three-man escort are KIA. They were a tough lot, the roughest, and would have gone down fighting rather than surrender. In fact its possible his escort were lost when the aircraft was hit, that they never got to jump.”
“You’ve lost an atomic demolition weapon! Right?”
At Revells’ interjection the Intelligence officer stiffened, his jaw setting tight and his lips compressing.
“It will save time if you just tell me.” Revell could see why Colonel Lippincott was so uncomfortable. This was knowledge usually confined to the very highest levels and the men carrying out the mission.
The Colonel said nothing but nodded. Once, barely moving his head, and then twice more, vigorously, as though to say he knew the situation but was happy to let some one else explain it.
“We know the device was delivered to its intended detonation point, or close to it, and that the arming sequence had commenced. Automatic signals relayed via satellite confirmed that. But from just moments afterwards we don’t know what happened to the weapon.”
“You want me and my unit to go in and retrieve it? Or is it still the plan to set it off?” Revells’ first thought was to wonder just how much of what was obviously coming he would be allowed to tell his squad.
“I shall be straight with you major. The best-case scenario would be to retrieve it. And it’s a job we want you to do, with some specialist help.”
The Intelligence officer had a dry voice that somehow sounded like he was about to clear his throat any moment but was too polite to do so in company.
“I am sure you read the newspapers Major, you’re an intelligent man so you’ll know the NATO Council is debating the use of nuclear weapons in the Zone. There are votes coming up…Political considerations shouldn’t play any part in war, but of course they do, in every aspect of it, from budgets for weapons to the employment of certain…devices.”
Revell found it amusing the Intelligence Officer was coy about using the word. Rather like a little old lady will mouth some words during a gossip with a neighbour.
“With hindsight the decision to use another atomic device so close to the city was not the right one, but that is not down to us. As it didn’t detonate we have a second chance.”
The Colonel was looking more comfortable now the subject had been broached and it had not been himself who had done so. It even gave him the confidence to rejoin the exchange. “Apart from anything else, if the Soviets find it intact they will have a PR field day. Until now they haven’t been able to offer the worlds media any hard evidence that some weapons used have been…not theirs. That’s the beauty of these things when they work properly. No fingerprints or other evidence is left behind.”
The Intelligence officer stepped in again, taking over now that the heart of the matter had been reached. “We’ve muddied the waters in the past by insisting the earlier explosions have been from their bombs, detonated during careless handling. They do have an appalling safety record in their nuclear industry.”
“What if they have found it already. They’re not just going to give it back to us, no matter how nicely we ask.” Now that the subject was out in the open, Revell hoped he could ask some of the flood of questions that occurred to him.
“If we move fast, really fast, then most likely they won’t have moved it before you get there. The bomb has anti-handling devices, several levels of safety mechanisms. Our people reckon it will take the best part of twenty-four hours for the Russians to neutralise them, if they can.”
Smugness, a degree of self-satisfaction was creeping in to the Intelligence Officers tone.
“It would be longer if they have to ship in experts from the depths of the USSR. That is our main hope that we can get to the bomb before the
Russians have had a chance to disarm it.”
“What if the Reds have found it but haven’t succeeded in neutralised it, can they still move it. I am guessing they don’t want to leave it hanging about near their convoy route.” Revell was surprised when the Intelligence Officer answered without hesitation.
“If it can’t be disarmed then moving it is fraught with difficulties. If it has been knocked about, if some of the six safety devices have been by-passed due to damage or ham fisted handling or inefficient attempts at disarming then carting it about the country is not a good idea.”
It was difficult to foresee their possible reactions but Revell had to wonder how his squad would feel about sharing their transport with an unstable nuclear device. “What are the odds the Reds will be able to fix it and prevent detonation.”
“If they can get the right people then it can be rendered safe, providing it’s not too badly damaged.”
Revell could see that the Intelligence officer was weighing just how much to reveal.
“You know the Commies. The well-being of a handful of transport troops would not be high on their list of priorities. But the first attempt to lift the brute might be the one that sets it off, then they would be doing our job for us. We know it is in the location we intended and if it goes bang then the autobahn flyovers will be down, their route will be buggered.”
The Intelligence Officer spoke with a brisk authority, in the manner of a man who knew his subject or who had been well briefed and remembered it all. Revell wondered if that was really his unit. There were virtually no insignia on what appeared to be a brand-new uniform. It looked like it had been drawn from stores just for this meeting. Perhaps it had.
“Realistically, if the weapon is still there, what are the options” Already Revell was ticking off the obvious questions. The answers might not be nice. “I presume it has been considered but why not just call down a cruise missile or two.”
“If the bomb is badly damaged, or if the Russians have made it unstable by unsuccessfully trying to disarm it then yes, it will have to be destroyed on the spot. Calling down missiles or artillery fire is a non-starter, it is too small a target for artillery. Even a direct hit from a shell might leave evidence, as might a missile solution, no matter how accurate.”
The Intelligence Officer was running through the possibilities, discarding those which Revell would have been happiest to see employed and answering some of his questions even before he posed them. “If the Reds experts make it safe then the area will crawl with their troops. They’ll have their P.R. trophy and have blocked our efforts to hamstring their convoy system. A double whammy if ever there was one.”
The Intelligence Officer was watching for any reaction from Revell. Others might have been flippant or turned the whole scenario into a drama. He was relieved to see that the Major indulged in none of that, just quickly and quietly taking in what he was told.
“But before that, while they work on the device, it is reasonable to assume they will maintain a cordon sanitaire around the site with just a minimum of personnel in the immediate vicinity. If only a small detachment of troops and specialists are present then you may be able to get to the device and either destroy it or spirit it away.”
“You will be supplying some one who can make the judgement as to which course of action is called for, and supply demolition materials for if we need them?”
“Taken care of, you’ll be getting two good men and forty pounds of material for destroying the bomb. You’ll get a thorough briefing shortly, but any questions right now?”
It was with surprise and pleasure Revell heard him call the bomb by that name. The coyness had begun to irritate him.
“One, just one. The destruction of the bomb, if it turns out we can’t move it. Has this been done before in any way, shape or form?” This time Revell monitored a perceptible hesitation before he got an answer.
“The method of destruction we have in mind will probably work. There will be residual radiation but there is nothing we can do about that. It’s the price we have to pay.”
“Probably?” Revel knew that was the main question that would be asked by the members of his squad.
“It’s not something we have ever envisaged doing before. It has not been tried. But I am assured it should work” The Intelligence Officer tried to inject confidence in to his tone but knew the words alone would convey the doubts that existed.
Revell took a long moment to consider that. “How big is this thing, what’s the yield and if it goes critical…that’s the right word isn’t it? If it goes critical do we have time to make a run for it?”
“It’s a Mk 54, our smallest warhead, a good sized fifty kilo pack. The interior gizmo’s are a mix of electronic and clockwork. It is of variable power and the specialists can reset it quickly. But our man had no instructions to do that so it is set for point one of a kiloton. So the men you take with you will know what they’re handling.”
He paused again, much longer this time and didn’t look at Revell as he spoke. “If all the safety devices fail, if the weapon has been badly damaged then it can go at anything from instantaneous to one hour. At the setting it’s on you need to be a half kilometre from ground zero and behind armour. The ground shock and pressure waves will be bad but you’ll be OK at that distance, if you have the time to make it.”
Colonel Lippincott tried to move the conversation on. “Major Revell, considering you’ll have to carry two technicians and two large packs internally, how many men will you take?”
“Driver, communications board operator, turret gunner and myself plus a squad of eight including a medic and your two experts. That will leave room, at a squeeze, for your specialist and his escort if we can find them alive.” Revell waited until the orderly had returned to the outer room.
“One last thing Major Revell. The Intelligence officer lowed his voice to a conspiratorial whisper that wouldn’t be heard by Colonel Lippincott, who was busy on the telephone. “If for any reason, after finding the specialist alive, you cannot bring him out then make quite sure he is not in a position, or condition, to tell the Reds anything. The same goes for the ones you’re taking in, should there be the risk of their capture.”
Revell saw behind the coded words. He knew what was expected of him. The mission was getting dirtier and dirtier.
“I take it I get to choose my own men, apart from your specialists, for the mission.”
“You’ll be including the Russian deserter?”
Revell had wondered if the matter of Boris being included would be raised. “I trust him, he’s brilliant with our radar and radio and computer equipment so yes, he goes with us.”
“Who else? Any more surprises?”
There was no way Revell was going to let the Intelligence Officer influence his selection so the others he listed quickly, burying the girls name in the middle in the hope it would go unnoticed. “The crew are Burke and Libby our driver and turret gunner. Boris you know about. Sergeant Hyde, Samson our medic’ and then Corporal Thorne and rankers Simmons, Ripper, Andrea, Dooley and Clarence.”
“I’ve seen the files on the men, good mix of youth and experience and all with useful special skills. The girl is an ex-East German border guard I understand. What’s her speciality.”
“Killing Russians.”
As he left the room Revell noticed that the Intelligence Officer was looking thoughtfully at Colonel Lippincott. He couldn’t think of anything his commanding officer had said that he probably should not have, but then you could never tell with those spooks. He was glad it was not a world in which he moved. Retrieving damaged nuclear bombs was an easier option that perpetually having to watch your back when Intelligence Officers were prowling about.
* * *
“I’ve arranged a really neat series of decoy barrages for you.” The artilleryman kept breaking off his conversation with Revell to issue further instructions to a stream of signallers and Nco’s that were constantly rushing up and vying fo
r his attention.
“We’re going to put down smoke. Lots and lots of lovely smoke, mostly incendiary phosphorus rounds. The Soviets hate that stuff; they’re terrified of it. It will be like a pea soup fog on the other side of the river so I hope your thermal imaging gear is up to scratch. There’s access to an old slipway, just down stream of the bridge they blew behind you. On the other side, a hundred metres further down is a shattered dock. The rubble will make a good exit ramp if you can take a bit of a run at it.”
“What about deception tactics, I was told that was being arranged.” The impact of mortar rounds on the top floor of the multi-storey car park was sending down regular trickles of dust from between the thick concrete slabs of the structure. Revell had constantly to brush the fine powder from his camouflage smock and shake it from his hair.
“Oh plenty of that. Just for once I am being allowed to use more than a couple of rounds per barrel. In fact I don’t know what they’re up to but they’ve allowed me unlimited access to the dump. I am going to make the most of it, have a bit of fun. The chance doesn’t come along that often.”
On the hood of his Landrover the artilleryman spread a city street plan. A broad slash of green, following the line of the river, marked the boundary between the two armies. In succession his finger stabbed down on a three locations. “All of these are getting the sort of treatment you’d expect if we were covering a river crossing. Another four are just getting smoke or like yours, a light mix.”
“It is going to have the effect of putting them on the alert.” Revell saw that the artilleryman’s enthusiasm might just have the reverse effect to that he hoped for. With the chance to be profligate with ammunition his elaborate fire plan looked likely to prompt the Soviet defenders into maximum vigilance rather than lull them in to complacency.
“Ah yes, I knew you’d say that.” Ticking boxes and scribbling a note on the margin of a clipboard thrust at him, the artilleryman grinned broadly. “And that would be the case if we did it all at once. But you don’t kick off for another two hours and we’ve started already. By the time you go the Ruskies will be sick from rushing back and forth between one imagined danger spot and another. My men are switching targets all the time and we’ve started to run them ragged. Besides killing a few and wrecking their supper arrangements we will have made sure they have exhausted themselves. They will have settled down with their heads below their sandbags, waiting for us to either do something or stop playing silly buggers. Oh yes, and I’ve got some of the infantry and anti-aircraft batteries along the bank to join in. It’s an idea from the Second World War, called Pepper Pot. We lace the whole area with heavy machine gun, mortar and light cannon fire. That keeps them ducking and diving all the time, great fun. To top it all off my brother is in command of a tank troop close by and a couple of his big ones are going to join in with a spot of direct fire.”
