by James Rouch
Stone plant troughs, heavy concrete benches and fancy wrought iron statuary were thrown and rolled from beneath the ride skirt as it expanded to its maximum size and lift. Stone walls disappeared beneath the APC as it accelerated over the raised gardens. They reappeared in its wake stripped of soil and shrubs. Windows flanking their route shattered as fragments of brick scattered in every direction.
“Just keep going. Open her up wide.” Revell knew that the wave of sound they were creating would bring trouble fast and it came even quicker than he expected. There was a flash of light across their route and an explosion pounded a dry fountain to rubble, sending white stone chippings and lengths of copper piping high in the air.
At almost the same instant the RPG impacted, a light machine gun hosed tracer across their path. It ceased as they reached it. None of them saw precisely where the fire came from but every upper floor window above a baby-wear store was lashed by return fire from the flanks and turret of the hovercraft.
From the far end of the pedestrian area came a stream of heavy automatic fire. It was high, passing well above them but Revell knew there would be more to come. The size of the tracer indicated a cannon, or more likely a pair of cannon of at least twenty-three millimetre calibre.
As they surged forward, throwing ahead of them a constant avalanche of street wreckage, machine gun fire was hosed across their wake, missing as abruptly alerted Russians drastically under-estimated the vehicles velocity. Enemy infantry were running from the cafes and bars.
“They’ve been stuffing their bloody faces and getting smashed.” From a firing port Ripper hosed a whole magazine in to a gaggle of enemy who had lurched from a heavily sign written bar, struggling to bring their weapons to bear as they staggered. The men’s heavy coats were instantly stained with blood as the high velocity rounds plucked at their clothing and went on to penetrate their bodies.
More streams of fire lanced towards the APC, hastily and inaccurately aimed Russians were caught with their weapons still slung and carrying big pots of beer or handfuls of sausage and bread. Some were unable to scream when cut down as their mouths were full of food.
Impacts could be heard as the spare Kevlar sheets shielding the turbo-fans and the sloped aluminium armour of the upper hull absorbed or shrugged aside the rounds aimed at them.
“There must be a whole company of the bastards.” Hyde mowed down a knot of infantry who were struggling up from where they lounged on benches with food spread on a table. None succeeded in reaching the weapons.
Rapidly closing the range on the unseen source of the cannon fire, Burke skidded the APC to a path close to the buildings. It was done barely in time. The distant Russian gunner had lowered his sights and sent a great blaze of cannon shells down the centre of the pedestrian area.
In the turret Libby had been waiting for just that and unleashed a return fusillade of armour piercing shells, aiming precisely at the point from which the enemy cannon shells were fired and that he could now identify by the powerful muzzle blasts and the wild thrashing of ornamental trees and shrubs.
All three rounds impacted on their target and momentarily a six-wheeled armoured truck was revealed by an ammunition explosion that stripped foliage from the concealing plants. The detonation among the anti-aircraft vehicles magazines sent the twin barrels rearing into the air and then all was hidden by smoke wreathing the vehicle.
Still picking up speed they passed the victim of their turret gun and crossed a road to enter another pedestrian area. A single line of light tracer flicked after them and Clarence silenced it with another pyrotechnic display from the rear gun port. Every round he sent against the Russian gunner went in through the top floor windows of the building from which that last fire had come. Briefly the rooms interior was revealed by tracer ricocheting about it then the curtains flared up and smoke hid all detail.
“Slow down.” Panning fast through the command cupola vision blocks Revell saw they had entered an area identical to that from which the deluge of fire had been launched. But despite the roar of the twin engines and another succession of collisions continuing the avalanche of noise, the enemy fire had ceased. “On your left, the arcade, put us in there stern first.”
Executing a sliding turn to line up with the narrow opening, Burke gave the motors a burst of reverse thrust to set them down among the debris of children’s rides and broken fancy goods stalls.
“Dooley, Andrea, out. Recon’ report…the immediate area. Turret gun, cover them.” Revell watched the pair out through the small front hatch then ignoring his usual weapon, the assault shotgun, he followed close on their heels with an M60 that trailed a fifty round belt. He knelt in the arcade entrance to add covering fire if it should be needed. Above his head came the whine of the traversing motor keeping the turret gun aligned with the two scouts.
He watched them dive from cover to cover, searching the surrounding buildings through the sights of their weapons. The street was darkening and smoke was starting to come down it in eddies from the distant flak truck. Through his glasses he could see a small but fierce fire burning at the top of the gun mount. Occasionally there would be a sudden glare of light as a round among the ruined magazines cooked off and a fraction of time later he would hear the report.
In five minutes the pair were back. It was Andrea who reported. “Nothing. We went as far as the next intersection. We can see down it for half a kilometre in both directions. Some evidence that fighting passed this way when the Russian assault came in, but nothing for a while The wrecks are all cold, so are the bodies.”
“And no one is stalking us. Who ever blasted at us just now has no interest in following up.” Dooley was surprised at that. Though the calibre of the Russian troops they had recently encountered was poor, he would have at least expected a couple of gung-ho medal hunting types to be sneaking along with an RPG.
“They’ve found the bomb Major. It’s got to be that.” Andy stood beside them, yawned and stretched. “They’ve located it and are working on it, or plan to in the near future. Looks like they have cleared an area, cordoned it and we’ve just entered it. No one is going to chase us in to here. Either because they know what is going on and they are shit scared or because they have orders to provide a cordon and nothing more. You know what the Commies are like. They obey instructions to the letter, no initiative.”
Carson finished adding embellishments to his helmet. “They sure as hell are being ultra cautious and setting the perimeter a long way out. They can’t have any idea what they are dealing with. Must think it’s in the Kiloton range.”
“Maybe that’s why they put the old truck on guard. They have positioned an expendable reserve unit to create the cordon.” Samson instinctively ducked as a crackle of fire from the flak-mount sent tracer rounds showering the storefronts. “They were not about to risk decent front line equipment, a Shilka or something on those lines where it might get flipped by a hefty whack from a pressure wave.”
“So we’ll be able to ride in and collect the bomb?” Burke had kept the turbines ticking over and constantly checked the temperatures were not rising. “Whether they are already working on it or not, there is bound to be some sort of guard detachment present.” Revell knew it was never going to be that easy. “If they have commenced disarming it, what’s the likely number of men we’ll face?”
“A couple of specialists maybe, plus a handful of guards, KGB and very few of them. It will be a punishment detail most likely. They will run if any shooting starts.” Carson smiled. “At least that’s my experience. Proximity to A-bombs is no good for the nerves of men who are not used to them. Especially if they are not of a good calibre to start with.”
“Well if they had the jitters before, the racket we’ve made will have jangled their nerves still more. We may be a fair distance off, but they must have heard that.”
Revell would have given anything to be able to listen in to the local Russian military radio traffic at the moment. If anything were being reported
by the troops they had just encountered it certainly wouldn’t be believed at their HQ. The hover APCs were so rare that few of the enemy had ever heard of them and certainly never seen one. Any estimate of their speed was bound to be grossly inaccurate and if that were dismissed as fantasy then other aspects of the report would be. And now that the intruder had passed them and entered an area certain to be controlled by the KGB, any infantry commander would be happy to dismiss the whole thing as some isolated incident, a lost NATO patrol trying to make a dash for their own lines.
Andrea had sat quietly once the firing stopped and she had nothing more to occupy her. She heard their banter about the nuclear bomb but knew they were never going to bring it on board. It would be insane, especially when they had the materials to destroy it safely where it lay. At the thought of transporting the weapon she found her hands shaking. She gripped her M16 tighter to stop the nervous reaction.
An exchange of automatic and mortar fire far off to their right interrupted her thinking. A moment later there was another outburst, even further away and in the opposite direction.
The Major listened until the exchanges of fire died away. “That is happening all the time and all over the place. Who ever is baby-sitting that bomb will be getting more than a little nervous. Our recent exchange will be another bit of background noise to worry about. We carry on as planned. You getting anything useful on the radio intercepts Boris.”
Hunched in tight against the display consol of the radar and radio position. Boris, with his headphones clamped down hard had made no contribution to any of the conversations.
“Nothing significant major.”
“They’re maintaining a radio silence?”
“No, I do not think it is that.” Boris again scanned the frequencies he would have expected the Soviet forces to employ. “I think it might be something else. We know they are employing second-rate units and reserve equipment. I think it may be the case that they have simply not been issued with decent scales of communication equipment. What they have they may be too ill trained to make good use of.”
“You’d know, wouldn’t you.”
Boris ignored Rippers dig, not looking up as he knew the American would be displaying his mass of small teeth in a wide grin. He squeezed closer to his electronics position and ignored them all.
Revell made sure that Burke understood the route and then took over in the turret for the final approach.
Once they were out of the arcade and the last lengths of window frame and pieces of glass had fallen from the hull their progress was whisper quiet. At barely a walking pace Burke was able to avoid obstacles and kept the noise to a level where the crew would be able to detect incoming fire by hearing it well before they could see it, almost as fast as the hostile fire locator would pick it up.
While the squad stood guard at the firing ports, Carson carefully embellished his webbing with any peace symbols he could find room for. Satisfied there were no more spaces he began to carefully draw artistic patterns on the seat covers. That done he took out a small polished disc of titanium from a slim pocket in his flak jacket and using it as a mirror proceeded to give his face an elaborate arrangement of camouflage patterns.
Andrea looked at him from her kneeling position on the bench. “You know that is a permanent marker?”
“Don’t worry, I’ve got something that will wipe it off.” He stroked the thermite casing.
Revell would not have thought it was possible for their vehicle to move so quietly and so slowly. Any moment he expected the barely adequate draft from the near stalling engines to fail and the APC to smack down on to the road.
Burke though was an artist and he located the precise position his officer had indicated, silently nudged in among abandoned and burnt-out vehicles and bringing the Iron Cow to rest virtually touching the partially collapsed wall of an old church. It appeared to have been converted to a workshop. Lathes and pillar drills showed through a hole in the wall.
The squad left the vehicle and spent some minutes draping it with various lengths of wooden rafter and any other debris they could move quietly. That done guard positions were set up. Putting together the recon’ team, Revell was sorely tempted to lead them himself but he forced self-restrain. With Sergeant Hyde to command, he allocated Clarence and Ripper. He watched them melt into the might before taking up his post and preparing to await their return.
“Waiting is always the most difficult part.” Andrea was close to the officer’s position, her trim form almost lost to sight in the gloom.
Though he heard her whispered remark without being able to see her, Revell was glad she was there. He would have liked to reach out, to confirm her physical presence. But, not knowing what contact he might make, aware it could have been inappropriate or suggestive; he could not take the risk. And so he hoped she would speak again.
She didn’t and he had to sit there, inches from her, wrapped in the silence that was all they shared.
* * *
Sergeant Hyde led his patrol in a cautious circuit of the area and they found nothing. The precise location the weapon was to be emplaced they knew to be close to the longest span of a flyover, where the road was carried above a twin track of railway lines. The satellite-tracking device had confirmed the bomb had landed in that area but actually lighting upon it was another thing.
Carson had wanted the sergeant to take a Geiger counter but had been forced to admit that its fine setting meant it would not have registered radiation until it was almost touching the weapon. Their main reliance they put on their night vision glasses. Every few paces they would halt and check the ground to either side and ahead. He had been told the bombs pack had been treated to make it visible as a faint orange glow in infrared.
“Off to the right, by that electricity sub-station. Two vehicles.” Clarence nudged the NCO and pointed out the glimmer of flickering torchlight coming from beneath a tarpaulin stretched out from the side of a field car. That in turn was partially concealed behind a MT-LB tracked vehicle. The number of aerials on its roof suggested it was a command or communications vehicle of some sort.
It was easy to see why they had missed them on the first sweep. The location was right on the edge of the area and the close huddle of surrounding derelict vehicles made them blend with the partially stripped buses and trucks.
Using night vision goggles Hyde examined the site. The line of the tracked command vehicles sharply raked glacis plate was broken by an open drivers hatch. The roofline was interrupted by a small turret holding a light machine gun. Several whip aerials sprouted from locations on the side and top of the hull.
There was a loud cheer from beneath the tarpaulin, followed by a burst of raucous laughter then a second. Immediately afterwards noisy and animated conversation was accompanied by clinking noises, clearly bottles being knocked together. A figure came out from beneath the concealment and looked up at the sky as he relieved himself.
“Ripper, get the Major up here and be quick. Sound’s like Carson’s opposite number has succeeded in disarming the bomb.” Hyde tapped Clarence on the shoulder. “I think we got here just in time.”
* * *
“Knives only.” Crouched among the wrecks, Major Revell took his own heavy knife from its scabbard and sensed the others were quietly doing the same. The Russians were clearly in boisterous mood. They constantly called to each other and laughing as they struggled to fold the heavy waterproof sheet. The field car swayed as one soldier climbed on to the roof and made ready to receive it and lash it in place.
It was while it was being pulled down and stowed that Revell had the chance to get his men in to position. While it remained in place they’d had no way of knowing how many of the enemy were beneath it, what force would have to be employed to over-come them. By the time he had the squad positioned there was only an hour of darkness remaining. The major had been worried that the celebration might have continued until dawn, or that the Russians might have settled down to wait for it before pac
king up. At least one bottle had been emptied and hurled away to be caught by the mesh fence flanking the railway.
The armoured vehicle presented the main problem. Under normal circumstances a single grenade in through the open drivers hatch would have taken care of any crew but Revell had no way of knowing if the bomb had already been placed inside it. There had been much confused movement between the vehicles and the area beneath the sheeting as the Russians stowed their equipment.
Revell had to know what risks such a course of action might incur. “What are the chances of the bomb being triggered by a small explosive, by a grenade?”
Carson shrugged. “A hard clout from a few fragments is not going to do it any good. No way of knowing what the Russians have done to disarm the bomb, how many of the safety devices had been by-passed, even how many of the inspection panels had been removed and left off. Maybe best not to push our luck.”
Now they edged as close as they could. Four Russians were struggling to get the cover on to the command car roof rack, two more were watching, shouting advice and encouragement. Only a minute before they were to launch themselves from various points of concealment about the small encampment, there was a loud clang of metal and a hatch in the command vehicles turret was thrown open. A big man, made even larger by the greatcoat he hugged about himself, pulled his bulk to a seated position on the top. Tugging at the thick material to straighten it he next brushed himself off and then adjusted his helmet to a rakish angle. Even in another language his bellowed commands were clearly slurred.
“I shall take him.” Andrea saw the officer’s dilemma. The Russian had only to launch himself back inside and then beside having the trigger for the turret machine gun under his hands he had at only arms length the personal weapons racks and the vehicles radio. Once back inside any of the choices of action open to him spelt disaster for the squad’s attempts to secure the bomb. If he did no more than slam shut and secure the hatches then they were blocked just as effectively. “I am the lightest, and the fastest. Just let me be a pace or two ahead.”
