by James Rouch
‘Well, there wouldn’t be, would there? Inflation you know, wicked, but I can hardly give it away can I? And it does rather depend on what you’ve got to offer.’ Again he caught Ripper’s eye and flirted, and was a little put out when the young American deliberately wandered away and feigned interest in an old telephone directory hanging on the wall by a pay-phone.
‘We’ll take a case each of the pilchards, the treacle pudding, the hamburgers in onion gravy, the baked beans…’
‘I really must be fair, for such a good customer it wouldn’t be right of me to let you take those. Not that I’d ever sell anything that was… off, but I think there is a chance, just a chance that they may be, shall we say, suspect. I’ll let a couple of tins go cheap, well, at a discount, to some of the locals. That should tell us, then if they’re alright you can have them next time. Take prunes instead.’
‘I’m overwhelmed by your sense of decency.’
Half turning to pat Clarence on the wrist as a mild rebuff for his sarcasm, the transvestite stopped. He’d seen the look in the sniper’s eyes and it had made him go cold. Bustling back to the business he tried to hide his discomfort.
‘Now, you must have something very special to offer for such a big order. Oh, do hurry, I can hardly wait.’ His fingers making fluttery birdlike movements, the proprietor sat across a table from Hyde as he accepted the bundle from Clarence, and spread the gold and jewellery on the bright metal surface.
‘Which of those do you want?’
‘Which… Oh, you’re being unfair, you’re making fun, you saucy thing. Now, do come on, show me what you’ve brought.’ When nothing more was produced he looked at Hyde, then at the others, and then back at the trinkets and coins. ‘Those,’ he swept them to the floor so that they rolled and scattered across the room, ‘those wouldn’t buy a can of each. Do you think I run a charity shop? Get out.’
‘Remember, your bum-chum’s not here now.’ Burke shoved the snarling ugly-mouthed freak back into its seat.
‘Find the stuff.’
‘NO.’
As, on Hyde’s order, the others began to pull the place apart the proprietor yelled and fought to get free and Boris had to assist in pinioning him.
The search didn’t take long. There was a small combined bedroom and kitchen behind the bar, some very basic lavatories and that was it. All that was found was two tins each of ham and potatoes, and four of sliced peaches.
‘Where’s the rest of it?’
Ceasing to struggle, the transvestite spat at Hyde, missed, and was cracked across the face with the flat of the NCO’s hand. Blood trickled from a split lip, staining the fluffy sweater and making a dark glistening patch amid the sparkling sequins. The voice now was more normal, more masculine, but still had a distinctive soft edge of affectation. ‘I don’t keep it here, you fools. It’s hidden, where you’ll never find it, and you won’t get me to talk. I like pain, if I talk you’ll stop hurting me. You can’t win.’
‘Let him, it, go. Pick up Dooley’s gear and let’s get out of here.’ Ushering the others up the stairs, Hyde hung back to wait for Clarence and Ripper.
‘Won’t you watch my act before you go?’ Mounting the stage the transvestite attempted to push his wig straight as he began a hip swaying dance in time to the tinny music from a portable cassette player he set on top of the electric organ. ‘Of course, I’m not in my proper costume, and the lighting’s not good, but this’ll give you an idea.’ He slid a hand into the neckline of his top and rubbed his chest.
Clarence walked to the edge of the stage and in one fluid movement grabbed a metal-legged stool and swept the dancer’s legs from beneath him.
Alone in the room, Ripper didn’t hear Hyde calling for him and went to the edge of the stage. Nursing a swelling ankle the transvestite saw him and dragged himself to the edge.
‘You look nice in your uniform. Stay here, I need a helper, I’ll let you do things, anything.’
‘Mister, you are sick.’ With that Ripper brought the butt of his rifle down on the damaged ankle, laddering the dark fishnet tights. As he followed the rest of the squad he could hear the transvestite calling after him, and hoped the others couldn’t.
‘Oh, oh, don’t go, you can hurt me if you want. Oh, you bad boy, you’ve made me… oh, I’m wet… don’t go…’
‘These will not go far, after we have given Colonel Horst his share.’ They’d walked several blocks and were back in the commercial quarter before Boris took the cans from his pack and weighed them in his hands.
‘Probably start bloody rows as well. Here, give ‘em to me.’ Dooley took the food and approached an old woman. ‘Hey, old girl, frau, got something for you.’
Grabbing up her few possessions the woman scuttled off as fast as her weak legs would carry her and dived into a narrow opening beyond which the big man couldn’t follow.
‘Here, let me show you.’ Taking a can of ham, Boris crossed to the other side the road and walked past a small family group resting from pushing a handcart. As he did he deliberately let the can slip and walked on pretending not to know he’d dropped it.
The father picked it out of the gutter and held it like it was a bullion bar, carefully wiping the dirt from it with a frayed cuff. He looked after Boris, as if uncertain what to do, then caught sight of his two children and pushed it under his jacket.
‘OK, Dooley.’ Hyde gave him a shove. ‘You want to play Father Christmas, that’s how you do it.’
‘Fucking marvellous, isn’t it. You can’t give food away, you got to let them lift it. Hell, I always knew everything in the Zone was upside down, now I reckon it’s inside out as well.’
He wandered off up the road, seeding the pavement with luxuries close by those he judged to be worthy or in need of his generosity.
‘He’s enjoying himself.’ Burke watched him go. ‘Still, this time he’s not doing any harm, useless great lump.’ He couldn’t help smiling as he witnessed one of the worst pieces of acting he’d ever seen when a deaf old lady failed to notice a can of fruit dropped at her feet and Dooley pretended to see it and let her beat him to it. In that moment the old lady’s life was transformed, and it showed in her face as she hugged her prize.
The last one gone, Dooley walked on his own for a while, and when he came back streaks of clean skin showed on his face. ‘I thought I was enjoying this fucking war. I must have been fucking mad.’
He went off to walk on his own again, and each time he scrubbed his sleeve across his eye, so his face became a little cleaner.
TEN
The soaring concrete column on the TV tower looked as if a manic giant had taken several huge bites out of it. Four hundred feet up, the restaurant and observation platform looked largely intact, but above that the transmitter and receiver aerials had been smashed almost beyond recognition. Some of the great bowls and dishes had been torn away and now lay crushed and battered at the foot of the tower.
All the surrounding area appeared to have been singled out for special attention by the enemy artillery, and for several blocks the most that remained of any building was a pockmarked skeletal frame. Where less substantial structures had stood, now no two bricks remained joined.
A group of men were working at the base of the tower, and as the pair approached, a truck-mounted generator started up and roared loudly until the covers were closed.
Inga showed a pass to a guard on what had once been a doorway, but had now been remodelled by the raw energy of explosives into a ragged-edged opening, and led Revell inside. The generator provided power to a string of low-powered red-painted bulbs that marked the route through the dark interior to the doors of an elevator.
Only the inner doors ‘remained, the outer ones lay close by, torn off and holed by the round that had penetrated the walls to gut the entrance hall. Taking care not to touch the tangle of exposed wiring snaking from the control panel, Inga pressed the button for the restaurant. Squealing and jarring in their damaged dust-filled guides, the doors closed
slowly, needing help over the last few inches.
‘You sure it’s safe?’ Staggering as the elevator lurched upwards, Revell heard the cables twanging and felt the vibration they passed to the suspended compartment.
‘It has only to work this one last time.’ Inga steadied herself by taking the major’s arm. ‘A little before dawn it is to be brought down. The demolition charges are already in place. I have been given permission to go to the top a last time, to take pictures. The view is unique, I thought you would be interested.’
‘So I am, but I’ll feel more able to focus on that aspect of what we’re doing when I get out of this death trap. Why couldn’t you just let the Commies finish the task for you? Looks like they’ve been making determined efforts.’
‘They have, or rather they did, at first. For the last six months, apart from an occasional air-burst that was no doubt intended to discourage its use by our own artillery spotters, the only shells that have hit the tower have been those in whose path it happened to stand. Now, though, it is becoming unsafe. Two days ago a man and a woman and their children were killed by falling rubble while gleaning for copper cable around the base. So the decision has been taken that we should choose when it finally falls.’
With a series of uncomfortable jolts the elevator stopped and together they wrenched the doors open and stepped out on to the slashed and rucked remains of carpet tiles. There was no illumination in the restaurant, but it wasn’t needed. The glass walls had gone, and the breeze that blew in from one side and unimpeded out through the other brought with it the continually shifting glare from descending parachute flares.
What from the ground had seemed little more than superficial damage was very different when viewed close to. Dozens of high explosive rounds had ripped through the place, tearing down partition walls and scattering the ruined kitchen equipment through the dining and reception area to lie with the broken china and fire-discoloured cutlery. A ceiling that had been set with thousands of light bulbs simulating the patterns of the star fields was now only a mass of drooping flex and fitments.
She hadn’t let go of his arm, and didn’t as they walked to the edge of the drop. Revell was in no hurry that she should, and maintained a gentle pressure. Together they looked over the city.
Their outline sharpened by the harsh light from the drifting, blazing magnesium, Hamburg’s remaining buildings took on an appearance of stark ugliness. To Revell it was like looking into the rotting mouth of a decrepit crone by the aid of a penlight, and gave rise to the same sick sensation as viewing extreme disease or deformity did.
‘I have brought a flask.’’ Inga lowered her camera case to the floor. ‘First I shall set up my equipment, then we will have a drink, yes?’
Revell was happy to agree to that, but not as pleased when she withdrew her arm and set about clearing a space to set her tripod. She hummed as she worked, brief snatches of tunes that chased each other and tantalisingly changed each time he thought he’d recognised one.
He was enjoying being with her. She was so natural, so uncomplicated, so undemanding… so totally unlike Andrea. That was the first time he’d thought of her since Inga had offered him the food, and even now she failed to fill his mind. Andrea was frustrating past, out of reach present and probably unobtainable future… Inga was here, now…
The room shook and the whole tower swayed under the influence of a near miss down at ground floor level. Lunging forward Revell grabbed Inga round the waist as she over-reached herself in saving the tripod from going over the side.
Pulling her to him he held her close until the sensation of movement passed, then deliberately but with reluctance pushed her away a little before the embarrassing hardening of his body became obvious to her also.
‘That is not a common reaction to danger.’ The brushing of her slim hips against his erection as she turned away seemed an accident, but the smile she threw back betrayed that it wasn’t. Caught off guard, unprepared, he couldn’t think what to say, and said nothing. He hadn’t expected her to be an innocent, but still the boldness of her action and remark surprised him. Taking it as encouragement he stepped to her side and tried to put his arm around her waist to pull her to him but she effortlessly avoided the advance and moved to the other side of the now camera topped tripod.
‘No, not here, not now. I must work, we have the night in which to get to know each other. When the pictures are taken, when we have talked, then perhaps. We can have breakfast at my apartment, if you like…’
If it was a slap-down, it was the gentlest Revell had ever received; with considerable skill she had avoided his clutches, put him in his place, held out hope and made a half-promise. For the remainder of the night he would be more careful, less clumsy. It would be a long wait, but as he watched her bending over to adjust a lens setting and attach an image intensifier to it, saw the material of her suit pull tight across the sleek curves of her body, he knew it was going to be worthwhile.
From far below the smoke and the smell of burning rubber drifted in. Looking down, he saw that the generator truck was on fire. About a large crater nearby sprawled its operators and the entrance guard. Another of the huge explosions occurred a couple of blocks away and in a bizarre domino effect a series of end walls were knocked over by the blast.
Experience told him what type of weapon had been used to deliver such a powerful warhead. It had to be one of the huge 240mm Russian mortars. It was one thing for the city to be pounded by artillery, another altogether for the centre to be on the receiving end of a barrage from such a comparatively close-range weapon.
Revell had seen for himself the state that Hamburg’s defences were in. Old men, young boys; captured weapons and weapons fabricated from scrap and salvage: ingenuity and guts were keeping the Warsaw Pact armies at bay long after they should have been able to walk in and take over without effort.
It wasn’t right that he should be here now. As soon as he’d failed to find Thorne he should have reported back for reassignment. Maybe some of his squad were still alive, and if they were it was possible they were cursing him and Andrea for not having seen and reported the true strength of that gathering Russian attack. Damn it, there was nothing to be done about it now; there was little point in dwelling on it. But that was one of the penalties the privilege of command brought with it, the constant worry that you’d fouled up, that you’d not looked after your men as best you could.
By staying here he was failing them now, worse than that, he was failing himself. Taking off his helmet he passed his hand through his hair, and several strands came away with the combing action of his fingers. There was a giddy sickness too, not from his stomach, but from a general feeling of weakness that sapped the strength from his whole being.
A grit-filled zipper on a pocket almost defeated him and he swore under his breath as he tugged at it to overcome the resistance. The pills turned first smooth then pasty in his mouth and he had deliberately to produce saliva to swallow their residue. Finding somewhere to sit down he waited for them to start working, to combat the cumulative effects of the radiation doses he’d absorbed in the last day or so.
Some men kept a record, noting as accurately as they could the partial and whole body doses, seeming fascinated by the mounting total of the count as it steadily rose towards the level at which there would be no help to be got from medicines or transfusions, when all that could be done for them would be caring supportive treatment to ease them through the last painful hours.
To Revell’s mind the doctors had made a mistake in telling the men how much they could take before death became certain. Some might have found out for themselves, and in any event their officers would have been in the know, would have taken the right action when the time came; but for some the maintaining of the personal log became an obsession, and that often robbed them of their sanity long before there was the possibility of the radiation, stealing their lives.
Another of the huge mortar bombs exploded in the distance, followed a
few minutes later by another. The Russians were taking no chances with so valuable a weapon, its towing and ammunition carrying vehicles and large crew. They were limiting themselves to just the two rounds before changing their location to defeat the tracking radars that would be trying hard to find them.
The second shot had started a large fire. With so little left to burn above ground that could only mean that the bomb had found an underground dump, or perhaps a shelter. It might not be just supplies that were being consumed.
‘Somebody bloody catch her.’ Burke sprawled in the dust, just missing the girl.
Alight from head to foot, flame streaming behind her, she was rushing about from side to side of the street, evading the arms of the men who sought to catch her and smother the fire. Bleating screams and showers of sparks marked her fast erratic course, until gusting flame whipped into her eyes searing vision from her, and she ran into the shell of a tramcar.
Sergeant Hyde was the first to reach the girl. He pulled her down to fight the enveloping flames with his bare hands, but they rekindled as soon as he went to tackle another area of her clothing.
‘She’s gone, Sarge.’ As the NCO stood back, Burke used the side of his boot to scuff dust over the body.
They left the corpse still smouldering, lying otherwise unnoticeable among the general litter of the road, and went back to help the others.
The scene in front of the blazing building wrenched at all their senses. Many of the women who had been working in the communal kitchen had managed to get out, but there could be no hope for others who might still be trapped by the inferno. Thick slabs of exotic marble were bursting in the heat, and the frontage of what had once been a banking hall was now crumbling and melting and making it difficult for the would-be rescuers to reach those injured who’d had only the strength to make it to the street and could go no further.
Screams from the burned and maimed drowned even the roar of the fire and at least one of those laid in the road, burned black, bearing seared and splashed by molten aluminium and glass, staggered to her feet, flung up an arm to shield her face from the roasting gases, and deliberately ran back inside.
