Body Count

by James Rouch

  “So, allowing for a handful to have gone astray, my first guess of about two hundred won't be far from the mark.” Revell felt pleased with himself.

  “Yes, I mentioned your estimate. I am afraid that proving the elite units wrong may not have added to your popularity with them. Hence ...” Gebert swept his hand in a gesture that took in the deserted street and the disabled police vehicle.

  “Do you know who, besides the SAS, is in on it now?”

  Gebert looked to where his driver was .vainly trying to staunch the flow of blood from his bullet-pierced earlobe. “Not everyone. SAS are certainly in command, but they're too thin on the ground to hog the whole show to themselves, so they've grudgingly allowed two squads of GSG9, Stadler's SWAT teams, and a platoon of Bundeswehr Airborne Infantry to join in.”

  “Generous of them. Are they getting results?” Revell saw the tracer of a cannon shell smack into the top storey of a tower block a kilometre off.

  “That's another reason you're not popular. They're keeping a score board. Going solely on actual body count, your Special Combat Company is in the lead. The police would actually be at the top, but each of their kills is being chalked up as a separate engagement.”

  “How accurate is the tally then?” Revell had a lot of experience of field commanders and higher ups, falsifying body counts. He'd known them not just be doubled, but increased as much as tenfold.

  “That I have to give them.” Gebert moved on to the sidewalk as an army ambulance pulled up, accompanied by a pickup crammed with armed police. “They are only allowing verified kills. When I left, they were waiting for the fire brigade to get into a burning school before adding what they believe to be three more to the sheet.”

  The urge to ask the total had to be fought down by Revell. Gebert was shrewd enough to know the question he wanted to pose.

  “One-hundred-and-fifty-seven when I left twenty minutes ago. The cost is mounting enormously though. I do not mean that in a monetary sense.” Watching the driver being assisted to the rear of the Land Rover ambulance, Gebert dismissed he smashed front of the jewellers.

  “As yet we do not have a figure for civilian casualties. It is likely though that it will rise into the hundreds, I think.”

  Revell considered telling him about the shelter with its suffocated inmates, but decided against it. Soon enough he would learn the death toll was well into the thousands.

  The ambulance departed with its overburdened escort vehicle. As it left a police crew bus arrived with a motorcycle escort.

  “I suppose you'll be kicking your heels for a while.” Gebert went to board the vehicle. “Until they find some routine task for you.”

  “I expect so.” Revell knew that to be more than likely. “In the minds of a lot of the military - even outfits like SAS and Delta Force - we're considered to be no better than a private army.”

  “Then if I ever need one, I'D know where to come, will I not” Revell watched Gebert depart on the next stage of his inspection tour. He didn't envy the mayor. When all this was over, there were going to be a lot of people wise after the event. Mostly it would be those who were out of town, or who, now skulking in the recesses of a deep shelter, would appoint themselves as critical analysts of what had happened.

  Heads would roll, both among the military and political circles, where blame could thought to be attached. Only the administrators would escape the condemnation that would follow the inquest likely to be conducted by the media. Snug in their town hall offices, exempt from military service, comfortable with the expectation of their indexed pensions, they would ride out the storm of criticism.

  Checking in by radio, Revell was told only to stand by. For what, or when any task could be expected, he wasn't informed.

  “Sgt. Hyde.” Well if they were going to be kept hanging about, there was no reason why they couldn't do it with a degree of comfort. “Find us a decent hotel. There's no point in us bumbling about when we're not wanted. We'll only get our heads shot off. Let's put our feet up for a while.”

  “This lot gets too comfortable, Major, they'll probably fall asleep. It'll be a hell of job waking them.”

  “That's a chance I'll take. Make it somewhere close at hand. Don't consult Ackerman though. My stomach is still rebelling over that food at the restaurant he found.”

  Sitting on the hood of the abandoned police car, Revell took off his helmet and fingered the long crease in the layered material. The high velocity round had cut a neat furrow in it.

  It wasn't the first time one had come that close. With luck, though it might be the last in Munich.

  THIRTY

  From the rooftop restaurant, Revell had a panoramic view of the city. Most of it was blacked out still, but here and there an imperfectly curtained window let slip a sliver of light.

  And there were the fires. He counted at least eight. While most showed as no more than a glow over the rooftops, there was a large conflagration in the general direction of the fairground. If indeed it was some or all of the rides and sideshows that were going up, the mass of painted and varnished wood would make for a spectacular blaze.

  Down in the streets there was more traffic than he might have expected. Fire engines, ambulances, and police cars made up a large part of it. There were military vehicles also. Mostly it was armoured cars, but he saw a couple of wheeled APC's and a single self-propelled gun.

  That unwieldy monster was making slow progress, and was led and flanked by a large number of military police Hummers and motorcycles. Revell watched it until it was out of sight.

  “If they try using that, the repair bill is going to be higher.” Andrea straddled a chair and began to pull the well-crisped skin off of a drumstick.

  “The threat of its employment should be sufficient. I imagine it'll be used to winkle out the last stubborn few.”

  They were alone. None of the others had bothered to take the lift to the top floor. In all the hotel they had encountered only two staff - a pair of hopelessly inebriated waiters - in the cocktail bar. With no doors locked the rest of the men had found all that they needed on the ground floor.

  Revell remembered another time, when he had stood looking out over another city. That had been Hamburg, from the top of the television tower. Then his companion had been another beautiful woman, Inga.

  Hamburg had been destroyed when the Zone had rolled forward to surround and engulf it. Inga had died with the city. He wondered if Andrea ever thought of Hamburg, as he so often did. It was she who had discovered that Inga was a Russian agent ... and killed her.

  “What are you thinking?”

  He'd never expected her to ask him that. His instinctive reaction was to think of something, anything, rather than what had been in his mind. Then he rejected that. “I was thinking of Hamburg ...”

  “And the girl Inga?”

  “Yes, I was. We stood and looked out at the city, just like this.” “You know I killed her.”

  Andrea's tone was flat, emotionless. He wondered if she was trying to goad some reaction from him. If so, she would fail. The event was long in the past, the thought of it did not touch him anymore.

  “Why do you think I killed her?”

  Again a question he could not have anticipated. She was acting very differently tonight. Had she been drinking, before joining him up here? There was no way he could tell, unless he detected it on her breath. In the past though, alcohol had made her even more withdrawn than her usual taciturn self.

  “You found out that she was an agent. I know that. With your hatred of all things communist, did you need any other reason?”

  Down in the street, a Marder tracked APC trundled past. Its commander was risking using dipped headlights. That could be a fatal mistake Revell thought, with enemy snipers in action. But then the Marder had decent armoured protection, at least against small-arms fire. The commander would have to stay closed down though. Even with all the sophisticated night vision devices he had available, that still brought other penalties .
.. Revell realized he was deliberately letting his mind be sidetracked, avoiding the conversation, trying not to hear her words.

  “I enjoyed killing her, but not just because of what she was. She told me all of the things you had done together. I made her. Have I told you that before? I think the drinking I have done has affected my memory, but I am not drunk now.”

  Revell turned to her, and found she was looking at him. “Was Sophia right about you? Or are you just a frustrated cock-teaser?”

  “Perhaps I am a lesbian. When I was quite young, I had a special friend. She used to stay at my house at weekends. We would share a bed. I liked her touching me, and I did the same for her.”

  “Why all the soul-baring?” Her conversation was so unlike any he'd ever had with her, he felt out of his depth.

  “That I cannot tell you, because I do not know. I just felt I had to talk. As I know how you feel about me, I thought you would at least listen, without reacting to the sexual arousal you might experience at such a conversation.”

  “I am human. Why do you think I would have more control than any other man?”

  “Oh, I am not talking about control.” Andrea undid her belt. “Self-discipline I would expect you to have.” She unfastened her jacket. “You will not grab me because I am a dream you have. Touch me, yes. Watch me masturbate, yes. But to go all the way?”

  Revell didn't take his eyes off her as she removed her jacket and threw it carelessly across a smart table setting.

  “If you do that, what other dream do you have to replace it? You are a soldier, your battles are fought in the Zone, most of the time.” Andrea glanced out at the city. “For you there is no dream of comfortable retirement. You will not live to pensionable age, and you know it. So you made me your dream, your something to look forward to.”

  “You're presuming a hell of a lot.” It was like she was reading his mind, but even that he couldn't admit. Like so much else he repressed it, pushed it aside. “So if this is what you believe, why bring it up? Why chose this time and place?”

  “Because I feel there will not be another. Out there they are still fighting. I know you do not think so, but somehow I know this city has not finished with us yet.” “A premonition, is that what you're saying?”

  “Give it what label you like. Call it the fabled woman's intuition if you prefer. I only tell you what I feel inside.”

  “If you were right, is there anything I could do to prevent something happening?” Revell searched for a word. “Preordained, isn't that what it's called?”

  Andrea looked hard at the major, trying to determine if he was having fun at her expense. Certainly he was smiling, but not in derision. It was a sad smile, like he was sorry for both of them.

  “I've never shattered a dream before, especially not one of my own,” Revell looked towards the lifts, “and we might be discovered, I mean disturbed ...”

  “You will not like it as much if we had more time and comfort.” Andrea sank down on her knees, then rolled sideways to lay full length on her back. Her hands began to edge her clothing lower.

  “Please, don't tell me what I will and won't like. Don't try to do my thinking for me.” As her legs parted, Revell knelt beside her. He had seen her body before, watched her working it with her fingers to a climax.

  While inside he screamed at himself to go faster, his shell moved slowly. She was right about him not liking the discomfort. Improvised lovemaking had never been to his taste. It least though, by not hurling himself straight on top of her, he could salvage some tiny measure of satisfaction of more than just carnal needs.

  Andrea knew what he was doing, sensed his need to get more from this, their first intercourse, than the quick fulfilment of a physical need. She did not try to hurry him when he gently brushed his lips against hers, though she realized how little time they had. His actions called for no response on her part, not even when he lightly ran his fingertips across her stomach, between her legs, and then on to her thigh. Laying still she waited, feeling his erection warm against her leg.

  Surely she should have felt more than this. Bracing herself to take his weight as he moved on top of her, she was surprised at how little discomfort there was; the effort he made to support himself.

  “This is the first time... with a man.” The words came without her planning them. They surprised her, and she waited for his reaction.

  At the moment the tip of his penis entered her body, he checked for an instant. Then he was pushing into her. His mind was in turmoil. He had speculated, for so long, to himself. Not that he could ever have hoped ... if she was telling the truth.

  Beyond the windows a whole city was struggling to survive. On the floor in the deserted restaurant, two people were managing to forget it existed.

  THIRTY-ONE

  “Can you trust him?”

  The SAS Colonel stalked from behind his desk and glared at Boris, though it was Revell he spoke to.

  “So far I've had no reason to think otherwise.”

  “Shit, shit, fucking shit.” Col. Granger looked at the document that Boris had just translated. “At least it confirms what we've obtained from interrogations. And it almost matches the number of chutes that have been retrieved.”

  “It matches exactly.” Revell noticed that the Russian was edging towards the door. “The Police have spotted two canopies on the roof of the Olympic Stadium. Bodies are still attached.” He saw Boris finally manage to sidle from the room.

  The Colonel didn't bother to add the figures again. The body count stood at one hundred and ninety exactly. All the available evidence indicated that a total of two hundred and two Spetsnaz troops had made the drop.

  “What about those snipers you engaged ? You claimed no kills. Where was it ? Oh yes, a side street hotel and the bank on Marienplatz. So how about it, think you're being pessimistic?”

  “I'd like to think I'm being realistic.”

  “Could the bodies have been destroyed by the fire or explosion?”

  “I couldn't say, Colonel. I stick by what I know for sure. We left the hotel starting to burn nicely. On Marienplatz we scored a direct hit. We got no more fire from either location, but that doesn't say that the Reds had hung about waiting for us to hit them.”

  “In both cases I'm waiting for police and fire brigade reports. Do you think you got two sections with those hits?” Granger rubbed his hands hopefully.

  “I'd think it highly unlikely. We weren't utilizing that sort of firepower.” A motorcycle messenger entered and handed the colonel a paper. He unfolded it, and had to turn it hand over hand to get it the right way up.

  “Shit, fucking shit. You missed them.”

  Revell wasn't about to labour the point again. If the colonel chose to persist in deluding himself by thinking that Revell and his unit had put in false claims, then let him. He truly didn't care any more. He was too tired and had too many other things on his mind.

  “We're still missing twelve of the bastards.” “Maybe they've deserted. Taken vehicles and skipped, right out of the city, perhaps. After all, we ran into a few who were trying just that.”

  “Because you've seen a lot of men do that in the Zone, it doesn't mean every unit is likely to disintegrate if it gets half a chance.”

  “I wasn't suggesting that, Colonel.” Revell could kick himself for suggesting anything. “But I do think we're helping the Russians by building up this superman image of their Spetsnaz troops.”

  “You're an authority, you've fought them before?” “No, all I'm saying is that I don't believe the Russians have managed to build up and maintain elite troops trained to the standards that these are rumoured to have achieved.” Revell sought an example, and found an obvious one. “How about your outfit? Even with years of preparation, do you think you could find and train upwards of thirty thousand men to your standards?”

  Col. Granger had flushed an angry red when the major had started speaking; gradually he managed to bring his temper under control. “So what are they
then, boy scouts ...?

  “Simply well-trained troops who've had a good PR campaign organized for them in the West. Among them will be the good, the bad, and the deserters.”

  “Fortunately I don't subscribe to your theory, Major. I believe they will be holed up somewhere in the city centre, waiting for things to get back to normal, before popping up again.”

  “You could be falling into a trap, Colonel, one of your own making. You work on that supposition, and you'll be tying up troops and snarling up the city for a long time to come.”

  Revell could see the colonel was not about to be convinced, but felt he had to give it one more try.

  “They've had plenty of time to make a rim. They could have stolen transport, or hidden and waited to mingle with the first of the crowds coming from the shelters. Easy enough for them to obtain civvy gear.”

  “That's enough, Major. I’ll take care of matters my way. Don't you have some transport waiting?”

  For a moment, Revell stood his ground, then tiredness and apathy swept over him. What the hell, it wasn't his fight any longer. Maybe he should make one more try. No, the hell he would.

  Abruptly, Revell left the room. In the outer office he collected Boris. He was not alone. There were a number of the colonel's troops there, all tough-looking heavily armed men. Their proximity was clearly causing Boris considerable distress. His manner was nervous and agitated.

  “Major.” Boris hissed out the corner of his mouth as they went out. “In the last few hours, you have made me go up against drunken Spetsnaz, and sit in a room with ten SAS men. My bowels will not take what you are putting them through.”

  “You'll be okay. We're finished with Munich. Transport is laid on. We leave as soon as we're boarded.”

  “Then my only regret is that it was not thirty-six hours sooner.” Going out through the front door, Boris walked straight into an SAS machine gunner draped with belts of ammunition. He jumped, apologized in Russian, and then went deadly pale as he realized what he'd done.