Blind Fire (9 page)
Now why the hell had the major had to ask that? Hogg saw the interrogative look aimed at him. Oh what the hell ...‘Not exactly ... I guess ...no.’ Brother, did that sound lame, even to him. Heck, so what, this hard bastard wasn’t going to turn him away, he needed the help. ‘We’ve all got to learn sometime, Major. Shall I set up my men now?’
‘Yes, get on it. Make sure there’s a good mix of weapons at each strongpoint. I’ll be along in a minute.’ Cannon fodder. It was a term Revell had always despised, and one he’d always sworn would never be applied to any men under his command. Now, as he heard Hogg descending the stairs, he crossed to the window and looked out at the newcomers.
They were typical of the hangers-on, supernumeraries and supplicants to be found skulking about any large headquarters. A good third were obviously veterans, men who’d been trying to locate their units, and having lost patience with a staff too busy with other matters to help, had opted to join the lieutenant’s expedition as an alternative to kicking their heels. Another ten or so were painfully conspicuous. Uniforms as yet unsoiled, clutching factory-fresh M16s, they somehow had an air of ignorance and eagerness. They might have stepped off the plane only an hour or two before. If that was the case, then from now on jet lag was going to be the least of their problems. Within an hour at the most, they were going to get a crash course in total warfare.
It was among the last ten that Revell noticed one or two soldiers who did not appear entirely happy with their situation or surroundings. It crossed his mind to wonder just how many of that contingent had actually gone through the formal process of volunteering. Included in their number were a few who bore the stamp of men well versed in the arts and skills of keeping out of officers’ paths - and the firing line. Flushing them from hiding, from their card games, their bolt holes, would not have been easy. Their presence on the battlefield indicated the existence of qualities in Hogg that Revell would not have expected, judging from their short acquaintance.
If a man was going to turn and run though when the fight got nasty, it wasn’t certain he’d be from that last group. Sometimes it was the veteran of twenty or more actions who broke under the strain. The shysters would measure the risks and, unless a building was burning around them, would stay put and keep their heads down. The youngsters would muddle through, probably supported and encouraged by more experienced men, like Cohen, who always saw himself as a father figure, although he was only in his mid-twenties. And if one of those kids did fail the test, then most likely he’d freeze, or do something real stupid and, either way, die so fast no one would ever know.
Every man had his breaking point, those who lived to reach it swelled the numbers suffering from battle exhaustion to over twenty per cent of all casualties. This war, more than any other, had proved itself capable of wounding minds as freely and as savagely as it did bodies.
Revell knew that if no bomb or bullet found him first, sooner or later he’d be joining the neurotics in the army’s many psychiatric hospitals. It might happen suddenly, without any warning, or if he was alert he’d detect the minor symptoms developing: the nightmares and consequent fear of sleep, or maybe hypersensitivity to shellfire, or exaggerated caution in action. If he turned himself over to the shrinks in time, he’d be among the third who made it back into the line, if he was lucky - if that was being lucky.
He could see that Hogg had just about sorted his men out, and picking up his 12- gauge assault shotgun he went to check the arrangements. It felt comfortable in his grasp as he started down to the street. He’d long since grown accustomed to its weight, accepting that penalty in exchange for its murderous effectiveness in close combat situations, where the edge it gave him had saved his life on several occasions.
‘Cohen, with me. Find out how much longer we’ve that prowler overhead. It must be near the limit of its endurance.’ Without waiting for the radio-man, Revell strode out into the street. The rain had stopped, and fitful bursts of sunlight slanting through gaps in the overcast sky made the buildings and road surf ace sparkle. ‘What do you want to do with this?’ Hogg indicated the multi-barrelled mini- gun in the back of the truck.
‘How many rounds did you bring? One burp of fire and that could chuck all the lead we’ve got.’
‘About six thousand, mostly armour-piercing incendiary, enough for a couple of minutes if we take it easy.’ Jumping into the back of the vehicle, Hogg pulled aside a sheet, revealing a pile of large ammunition cases and the small generator which provided power for the gun’s motor.
‘Good, that we can use.’ Revell looked down the street to where, several blocks away, the other two Dragon teams were set up and waiting. In his mind’s eye he pictured their field of fire, and then that of the weapon in the hardware store at the top of the street. ‘We’ll set it up here, but it’s too late to emplace it. Clamp it to the bed of the truck, then drive the whole rig into one of these side streets so it can fire out. I’ve got a man who’s expert with these. I’ll send him along. He’ll need two loaders, and there’d better be a driver in the cab for a quick shift of position if it’s needed.’
‘And where do you want me?’ It was a question whose answer Hogg couldn’t anticipate, but he wasn’t about to let the uncertainty hovering over his part in the ambush dampen his feelings. Hell, he felt good just being here, just being involved. Let the other guys build bridges, he was going to do some real fighting.
‘You’re in charge up this end. The Russians will pass you first. Keep your men out of sight, don’t open up until I do, then hit the rear of the column as hard as you can. If it all goes right, then between our two positions we should bottle-up about a third of the column. I can stop them going on, you can prevent them turning around and Hyde’s Dragon and the mini-gun can hammer what’s trapped between us.’
‘Sounds fun. We should be able to take care of them.’ ‘You’ll have to. I’ll have my hands full taking care of the lead armour when it turns around and comes charging back to bail out what we’ve got trapped.’ By now Revell didn’t expect anything to wipe the idiot smirk off the lieutenant’s face. ‘Any word from the ECM platform yet?’
‘Got it now, Major. Just signing off.’ Cohen sat on a huge hi-fi speaker, the radio resting on its twin. ‘He’s got a full set of ferry tanks, so we’ve got him for another ninety minutes yet.’
‘That should be long enough.’
‘Hope you’re right, Major. The guys up there say they’ve been playing ring-a- roses with relays of Hind helicopter gunships for the last half hour. When he goes, they come. Can we be a few miles from here when they do?’ ‘What makes you think we’ll be in any condition to travel by then?’
Cohen made to answer the lieutenant, but decided against it even as he opened his mouth. His stripes were new, they’d leave no telltale mark if they were removed, but he didn’t see any reason to invite their loss so soon. So the extra pay didn’t amount to much saved for a year, it wouldn’t equal what he could make in an hour in one of the refugee camps. But money was money, and he wasn’t about to throw it away. And besides, he liked being a corporal; maybe he didn’t rate a staff car and yards of gold braid, but it was a start. He tagged along as Revell led his contingent of the lieutenant’s men towards the south end of the main street.
Sergeant Hyde was putting the finishing touches to a carelessly piled barricade of shop fittings, concealing a missile launcher inside a gutted delicatessen. Next door, the semi-naked dummies in a dress shop window added a touch of absurdity to the war-like preparations.
‘I’ll be taking over Libby’s Dragon at the south end of the street. There’s a mini- gun up the road needs his touch.’ Without waiting for any comment from the British NCO, Revell set about dispersing the newcomers to the pre-selected positions.
Waiting until the last of his men had left to assume their fire posts, Hyde marched up to the officer. Before speaking he made it clear with a jerk of his thumb that he didn’t want Cohen nearby.
‘Are you sure that’s a good idea, Major? You can’t take out tanks and direct the action at the same time.’
‘Once the shooting starts, Sergeant, there won’t be any need for orders. The men have their places, all they have to do is hold them. This is our last chance to hit the column inside the Zone: if everyone does just that, hits it and hits it hard, then there’s nothing else to be added. And besides, I’ll be more useful on that launcher than I will be sitting on my butt trying to make out what’s going on through a pea- soup obscuration of smoke and dust, shouting orders that aren’t needed to soldiers who haven’t time to listen. You ever done street fighting?’
The question instantly put Hyde on his guard. ‘Yes, some, six weeks in Grosshansdorf, outside Hamburg.’
‘I heard that was a real rough house... so you’ll know what it’s all about. Was that before the Russians closed in, or had the siege already started then?’ ‘We were rotated a couple of days before the Elbe was mined, got out just in time.’
Hyde knew what it was all about. Street fighting… grenades and flame- throwers, bayonets and booby traps. Fast, fluid and dirty, that just about summed it up, especially dirty...
SEVEN
Clarence put his hand out and pushed. The big gilded eagle rocked. He pushed again, harder, and this time the heavy cast lectern toppled and hit the floor beside the altar with a loud crash that echoed and rumbled through the church, bringing curtain-like falls of dust from the arched ceiling high overhead.
‘Does that make you feel better?’ Andrea stood in a small doorway set into a corner of the wall, partially concealed by a faded red velvet drape. ‘This leads to the tower. There is a good view, much of the main street, the side roads as well. Are you coming, or do you wish to break the windows also? Perhaps tear the Bible with your teeth, if it helps.’
There was no detectable mockery in her tone. Fitting one of the dum-dum clips into his rifle, the sniper put three fast shots into the richly illuminated brass-bound book making a tent on the floor. Despite its weight it spun away under the impact, the second and third bullets sending up a shower of torn pages and shreds of tooled black leather. ‘These are my teeth.’ He removed the magazine, replaced the spent rounds with loose ones from his pocket and snapped it back in.
‘They bite well. Shall we eat some Russians?’ She led the way up the narrow staircase.
The walls were cold and damp to the touch; cobwebs held away from the stones by the draught reached for them, clinging to their clothes and weapons. Andrea shied from those flapping at her face, turning them aside with the barrel of her M16. The angular automatic rifle looked huge in her small hands, against her slight frame, but she carried it effortlessly, in addition to fifteen grenades for its underslung launcher and the big 9mm Walther P5 pistol worn low on her right hip.
‘This’ll do.’ Clarence called a halt on reaching the platform below the bell chamber, and examined the town through the louvered windows. ‘We can go higher. It will give us a better field of fire.’ ‘So it will, and make us better targets.’ He moved over to the next flight of stairs and blocked her way as she made to go on up. ‘As soon as those commies come under sniper fire, the first thing they’re going to do is look for our likely hiding place. It won’t take them long to include the tower among the list of likely candidates. And being Russians they’ll blast the top of it, just in case. That’ll be fine by us, because all we’ll be doing is sitting tight a couple of flights down, waiting for them to finish wasting ammo. Soon as the excitement is over, we pop up again and go on making life dangerous for them.’
‘I did not think you were concerned about living.’ ‘I’m not, but I am bothered about dying. I’ve too much to do, I don’t want to go just yet. Your trouble is the same as the Major’s, you’re too keen, you take unnecessary risks. He fancies you, did you know that?’
‘Of course.’ Taking off her helmet, Andrea let her dark chestnut hair fall to her shoulders, making no attempt to straighten it. ‘Does it bother you? It should not. I know men find me attractive, I do not seek to have that effect, but sometimes it can be useful. Would the Major have fought to keep me in his unit if I had been ugly? Of course he would not.’
‘If ever any of them bother you too much, go too far, I’ll take care of them. I know there are always some who try it on, but...’ ‘Of myself I can take care, but why do you offer?’ Using the butt of her rifle, she smashed one of the wooden slats to make a wider firing aperture. ‘You are not interested in me. You have never tried to touch me.’ ‘I… I don’t really know. Perhaps I just want someone to care about again. That must sound rather weak, and silly.’
‘No, I can understand. You have lost much, and though’ you would like to, you have not been able to cut yourself off from your emotions completely. Everyone has a need, even the Russians, though with them it is a need to oppress, enslave.’ ‘What’s your need? Some of the men think you are a lesbian. As I won’t talk about our relationship they’re making up their own stories.’ ‘If you told them how it was between us, they would not believe you. For them a man and a woman together means only one thing. I am not concerned by what they think. Let them weave their fantasies, they do me no harm.’ Over the iron sights of the M16 Andrea took in every detail of the town spread out below, searching for the likely places where baled-out tank crews might first seek shelter.
‘You avoided the question. Come on, you’ve analysed me, tell me what your need is; why the hell are you in this war?’ Clarence took out a small square of cleaning cloth and began to polish the lens of his telescopic sight. ‘Why? Because the communists started a war and I could not help being involved in it. If I had not joined the Workers Militia I might have been forced into a labour battalion, perhaps sent to the armament factories beneath the forests of Siberia. Many East Germans were.’
‘But why stay in?’ Clarence pressed the point. ‘When you deserted you could have mingled with the refugees, tried to work your way west. Why join Kurt and that band of cut-throat border guards?’ ‘I joined the Grepos because they were better armed than the other gangs infesting the camps, because with them I could be sure of getting food, of living. How many refugees ever make it across the Zone? I tell you, one tenth of one per cent, and as a woman alone my chances would have been lower than that.’