Killing Ground (10 page)

Voke’s wide grin exceeded by a considerable margin any he’d produced so far.

‘We need to buy time.’ Revell looked up. The cloud ceiling was down even lower. The topmost towers of the castle were now hidden for much of the time. ‘It’s what they push up by road we have to worry about most, at present. If we can push that stone bridge down that should hold them for a while.’

Voke looked at the map. The old mill was marked in also. ‘Of course when we blow the top off the castle much of the wreckage will fall onto the road, and of course the way into the valley will be blocked at the same time. It would take the heaviest earth-moving equipment some time to make them passable even for tanks.’

‘That’s fine, but I’d like to hold them off a bit farther away than on our own doorstep. Have your men throw an assortment of mines and demolition gadgets aboard a truck. We’ll try to get to the bridge before them and see if we can’t blow it up in their faces.’

‘No problem, Major.’ Voke called in Dutch to one of his men, who immediately dashed for the church. ‘Before the order came to complete the setting of charges and evacuate we had prepared such a load. There was no point in unloading so we parked it under camouflage behind the church.’

As he finished speaking there came the bellow of a powerful diesel engine starting, and out from between the buildings came the great slab front of a Scammel eight-wheeler.

Revell was relieved to see it was a version with an enlarged crew cab. ‘Perfect. Sergeant Hyde, pick two of our bunch and take two of the lieutenant’s men as well…’

‘I have two who are good with explosives, and can speak some English,’ Voke butted in.

‘Okay.’ Revel cast an eye over the partially sheeted load on the Scammel’s long cargo deck. ‘And grab a fifty-calibre for the ring mount and take a couple of Stingers if you can find the room. We’ll blow the castle in…’ He glanced quizzically at Yoke.

‘It is ready now. The detonator box is in the timber yard.’

‘…one hour, so you’ll have to shift. We daren’t leave it longer.’

‘I’ll take Burke as driver, and Ripper. I’d like Andrea, as well. She’s got the best eyesight and her accuracy with a grenade thrower could make all the difference if we run into trouble.’ He watched the major’s face at mention of the woman, but saw nothing to betray any emotion.

‘Fine.’ The word did not come easily. Revell would have preferred her to stay with him. As he said it he saw her climb into the cab and struggle with the weight of the heavy machine gun Ripper handed up. ‘Remember, one hour. Once the fort comes down and blocks the road in, the only way back will be through the minefields. It’s not really an option; I’ve seen them.’

From a low growl as it idled, the motor sent its exhaust note rising in volume until with a last stab at the gas pedal Burke sent a spout of carbon-laced smoke high above the vehicle.

Not waiting to watch it go, Revell turned away. He pointed to the Bradley. ‘Thorne, driver. Clarence and Carrington in the turret.’ He paused, and held the map out toward Voke.

‘I know you didn’t have time to show me everything, but I made some notes in the margin of things we might need. If they’re not already up there, can you move them inside an hour? If not, we’ll have to manage without. Minutes after we press the button I want us tucked up inside.’

Scanning the spidery writing, Voke nodded. ‘The grenades are there in large quantity, and terminal-guided rounds for the mortars.’ He pursed his lips. ‘I should have thought of thermal imagers, and I’ll see if I can find some drum magazines for that ferocious . shotgun of yours. Fire extinguishers and NBC suits and respirators I have not seen here, but with so many ... I will put as many men as I can spare on to searching for them.’

‘Do your best. You seem to have everything under control.’ Revell added that, feeling the lieutenant deserved a pat on the back, but more especially because he had appeared so crestfallen at having those omissions brought to his attention. It must be hard for him too, to hand over when this might have been his first independent command in a combat situation.

It took the young Dutch officer only a moment to regain his spirits. As Revell boarded his transport he could already hear an indecipherable gabble of orders being yelled. As the door closed Scully risked a traumatic amputation and shoved a huge slab of steak into his hand. It was nearly cold, but his teeth were in it almost before he’d registered the fact.

Not taking the chance of bogging in the water-logged fields, Thorne stuck to the side road to the farm. Even so there were sections where the tracks slewed out of line when the loose surface failed to offer traction.

There was no conversation over the internal circuit, only the sounds of energetic chomping and swallowing. Revell welcomed the silence. It let him finish the food, and gave him a little time to think. He would rather have taken longer over his steak. How the hell Scully had done it he couldn’t imagine; it tasted as good as the best he’d ever had. But then field rations made you feel that about any food eaten immediately after you’d been on them for a prolonged period.

For the short drive to the farm he’d almost relinquished responsibility. Thorne was a driver who could be trusted, though he was not a patch on that goldbricker Burke. And Clarence and Carrington in the turret were a duo he’d back against the best from any nation. So he could sit back, enjoy the aftertaste of the meat and relax. Relax—it was in truth a word whose meaning he’d virtually forgotten, and a practice he’d long gotten out of. Strangely apt that they were going to a farm. In just a few hours some, or most, or perhaps all of them would have bought one.

What they were doing was crazy, Revell knew that. Stark raving mad. Everything they knew, the type of barrage, the Spetsnaz infiltrator, the determination of the crew of that scout car to take a prisoner: they all pointed to a fixed determination on the part of the Warpac forces to capture the valley and all it held.

And to oppose them, what could he offer? A fifteenth-century castle, a hundred elderly pioneers, his own thirty or so battle-weary men, and one small RAF air- defence battery.

Why the hell was he bothering, why… He broke his train of thought as he sensed that both tracks had begun to slip, then heard water cascading against the steel-covered aluminium hull. For a moment the APC skidded bodily sideways, then the tracks found their grip again. It took him a few moments to regain his train of thought.

Yes, why should they hang on around here? They could have grabbed all the armour they needed, topped it off with a handful of combat engineer tractors and been fit to punch their way out of most anything the Reds would have had this far forward by now.

He couldn’t even put it down to Voke’s enthusiasm and persuasiveness. No, he’d stayed because he’d wanted to, because of his desire to dig his heels in, to turn around and face the Russians and show them they were going no farther. He and his men had taken enough, more than enough. If the politicians were content to fudge and compromise, he wasn’t, not anymore. Europe was being nibbled away piece by painful piece. Well, not anymore, not any fucking more. They were going to be stopped, and they were going to be stopped right here.

Ripper stood with his upper body out of the roof hatch. He kept one hand on the traverse ring holding the Browning and the other he rested against the launch tube of the Stinger missile where it nestled between the back of the cab and the folded arm of the onboard loading crane. Often he had to duck to avoid low branches, and after each occasion had to clear foliage caught on the machine gun. All the time he kept watch for enemy gunships, working mostly by touch so as not to relax vigilance for a second.

Picking a shred of steak from between his teeth, Burke made appreciative lip- smacking sounds as he flicked it out through the side window. ‘Don’t you tell him I said so, but considering it was done in a bloody crematorium, that meat were good.’ He shifted down through two gears as a sharp bend before an incline gave him no chance to take a run at it.

‘Hey, Ripper.’ Burke shouted to make himself heard by their roof gunner.

‘You’re always spinning stories. Tell me, how do I ever get people to believe me when I tell them I’ve had a dinner cooked in the oven of a crematorium?’

There was no answer, but Burke had hardly expected one. The Southerner was always touchy when anyone cast the slightest doubt on the veracity of his homespun stories.

‘The bridge is just over this next rise. Take it slow.’ 

All his training, all his experience, all his common sense told Hyde they should stop short of the crest and go forward on foot to reconnoitre the brow of the hill and what lay beyond, but their schedule was too tight to allow such caution.

At the back of the cab the two middle-aged Dutch pioneers were deep in whispered conversation. Hyde took no notice, until it appeared to become heated, and voices were raised. He turned in his seat.

‘What’s up?’

‘We are having to argue, thank you.’

‘I can hear that. What about?’
Again there was a gabble of Dutch between the pair, then the other spoke up, scowling first at his compatriot. ‘I do not think we should blow the bridge. It is my thinking that we should instead drop the mill onto the road and bridge as the Russians pass.’

In bottom gear Burke crawled the truck over the brow, and there below them the view was exactly as they’d last seen it.

‘It’s very tempting and I’d love to see it happen, but we haven’t the time for fancywork like that. Okay, Burke, what are you hanging about for? Put your foot down.’

The Scammel surged forward, and was doing sixty before the brakes were applied. For a moment it seemed the back end was going to break away, but Burke corrected before a skid could develop. ‘Where do you want it?’

‘See if you can turn it around without any more bloody dramatics. Then park it out front of the mill.’ With the motor now warmed and running quietly, Hyde clearly heard a distinct new sound against the background thunder of the barrage.

Andrea heard it also. ‘Mines.’ She listened again. ‘And ammunition. The Russians have run onto the minefield where Taylor was killed.’

They jumped from the truck, Hyde shouting to Burke before slamming the passenger door. ‘Get a bloody move-on, and don’t ditch it.’

‘Fucking great.’ Burke took the precaution of speaking after the door had closed. ‘I’ve got a wagon longer than the road is wide and he wants me to try for the world’s fastest three-point turn.’

‘If you reckon you ain’t up to it, boy, I’ll always have a go.’

‘Shit,’ Burke muttered under his breath. He’d forgotten Ripper still manning the anti-aircraft mount. ‘You just concentrate on what you’re supposed to be doing. If we get jumped by a gunship we’ll be in worse crap than if I drop a couple of wheels off the road.’

Before the Scammel finally rocked to a halt facing back the way they’d come, boxes and cases were already being hauled from the back and broken open on the road.

The Dutchmen had made a hurried survey of the bridge and when they returned to Revell they were arguing again.
‘So what is it now?’

Grudgingly they broke off their acrimonious exchange.

‘It is stronger than we expected. With the charges we have they will need to be placed right underneath to be sure of bringing down the span. Anywhere else and ...’

‘How long will it take?’ Even as he said it, Revell knew he’d made a mistake by addressing the question to both of them.

‘One hour, not more…’

‘At least two…’

‘I say one…’

‘So help me if you two start up again I’ll leave both of you here.’ Hyde’s bellowed threat cut them short. He stabbed his finger into the chest of the older man. ‘We’ll go for your idea. How do we drop the mill?’

He looked smug and was about to make a sarcastic aside to his companion when he saw the NCO’s expression and decided against it. ‘That is a fuel-air bomb.’ Gesturing at a tarpaulin-shrouded hump aboard the Scammel, he began to unfasten a securing rope and then tugged at the heavy waterproof material.

It fell away to reveal a drab-painted cylinder about two meters long and half as wide. This was the first time Hyde had seen one close-up, though he’d witnessed their tremendous power from a distance.

‘Get it emplaced as fast as you can. Time’s running out on us.’ Taking up a heavy case of claymore mines, Hyde went to join Andrea and Burke, who were setting various anti-armour and anti-personnel devices to cover the approaches to the bridge.

They worked quickly, hardly needing the prompt provided by the distant reports of mine explosions. Cannon fire blended into the destructive chorus and told Hyde that the Russians were putting down a firestorm in order to blast their way through.

Hurried though the preparations were, they were thorough. Mines and launchers were set where they would be protected by the devastating sweep of shotgun mines and these in turn by smaller ones scattered among the undergrowth.

Those hidden most carefully were fed instructions to delay detonation until a certain number of armoured vehicles had passed, in the slight hope of catching a command APC or even a bridge-layer. In any event their discharge over a period of time into the flanks of the enemy advance column would be bound to disrupt it, if not bring it to a halt while the area was cleared.

‘Right. That’ll have to do. Back to the truck.’

The fat pressure tank was just being lowered behind a low wall beside the mill. In the shadow of the building, with the added embellishment of a few broken planks and sheets of corrugated iron, it blended in perfectly.

‘About five minutes to make the connections, Sergeant.’

‘Six,’ muttered the other Dutchman.

‘Seems a pity.’ Looking wistfully at the building, Burke gave a heavy sigh.

‘Whoever was doing that up must have been sick as a pig when they had to abandon it. A bit of sympathetic restoration and it would have made a lovely home. I could retire to a place like this. Look at the setting.’

Andrea was arming small mines and throwing them to lodge among the crevices of rock below the bridge. ‘None of us will live long enough to retire.’