Sky Strike tz-4

by James Rouch

  They were only inching forward when Burke turned them on to the conifer-lined, deeply rutted track. Grass had long since hidden the wheel marks, but the corrugations remained and the long vehicle rose and fell as though in a swell.

  ‘Hold it.’ Half-hidden among trees that had grown to envelop it, a notice board stood at the side of the track. There was an indecipherable symbol at its top, and his scant German was no help in reading the near illegible words beneath, their lettering also victims of the sun’s fading, and the weather-induced flaking of the red paint. ‘What is it, mines?’

  Andrea squeezed forward, and allowed herself a tight smile as she let the tension build a little longer. ‘There is a penalty if you go beyond this point, but only if you leave litter on the picnic ground.’

  ‘Hey, now that ain’t funny.’ Ripper pulled out the flak-jacket he had been sitting on from beneath him. ‘Next time just come straight out with it Thinking you might lose your balls is damned near as unpleasant as doing it,’

  ‘And what would you do without your nuts?’ Hyde laid the sarcasm on thickly.

  I’ll tell you, Sarge. Afore I came out here, I asked my doc’ what would happen if I lost my little bag of marbles. A fella ought to know about these things, it pays to be prepared.’

  ‘So… go on.’

  ‘Seems if your tool ain’t included in the damage, you still got a mite of screwing time left, before your hormones start to get real mixed up, and you end up getting screwed yourself.’

  With the last ounce of power, Burke parked the APC beneath the canopy provided by a stand of mature pines, as the temperature of their remaining engine finally crossed into the red under the loads that had been imposed on it When he switched off, the smell of hot oil filled the compartment.

  ‘All change.’ Ripper’s loudly proclaimed reference to their earlier form of transport earned him a growled, spanner-waving threat from their driver, which he ignored.

  Burke paid for his display of ill-humour, dropping the rusty tool as he climbed out, and having to scramble on his hands and knees to look for it in the gloom, among the heaped needles of the forest floor.

  Taking off his helmet, and resting his rifle against a tree, Ripper breathed deeply and did a few gentle setting-up exercises. ‘Now this is a better place to break down. Will you get a load of that air.’

  Even as he had climbed from the APC, the heavy scent of the pines had struck Libby, washing the taints of stale sweat and cordite and oil from his lungs. It was intensely quiet, the trees and springy surface underfoot absorbing every sound without echo. When the engine covers were thrown open the disturbing noise was of short duration, as though the forest had dampened and abbreviated it.

  With every step large cones rolled beneath his feet, crunching and crackling as they were crushed into the carpet of slim brown spikes. But that, like the distant call of a wood pigeon, did not disturb the sombre mood of the place.

  ‘Be a nice place to live, up here.’ Through the stiffly standing trunks Libby could see along the track where it curved down the hillside. The trees lining it framed the sunset, now made a blotchy red by the dust clouds it shone through. Fog was hiding the details of the lowlands, only a few soft-contoured hills standing like islands upon it to give any point of reference.

  Bending down to pick up a handful of the deep covering of needles, Dooley let them run out through his fingers as he straightened. ‘Yeah, you could be right. Ground like this would soak up a lot of slurry.’

  ‘Don’t you ever think about anything but pig shit?’ Dooley treated the sniper’s question seriously. ‘Of course I do, sometimes, when I’m on a forty-eight hour. But right now we’re in the Zone. While we’re here, can you think of anything better?’

  Using a map board as a tray, Boris was distributing cups of coffee. ‘This is the last. We have found some soup, enough for a little each, and then there is nothing.’

  ‘The nothing sounds better. Someone else can have my share. You found that soup aboard the carrier. No way am I going to eat Russian muck.’ An incredulous dine watched Clarence drink at one go the boiling coffee that was burning his fingers even through the thick enamelled mug. ‘Even if I had a gullet like his I wouldn’t, so you know what you can do with your cabbage soup.’

  ‘Actually it is bulyon, chicken broth, and you would be missing a treat. It is delicious.’

  ‘I ain’t never had Ruskie food, what’s it like?’ At the risk of burning his mouth, Dooley was using the unsweetened black coffee like a mouthwash, but swallowing it after swishing it around his gums.

  ‘When you can get it, at its best it is superb, but for a long time now only Party members and senior officers have been able to get enough food of good quality. For most there are only queues, disappointment and growing hunger.’ Boris thought back to the brief stay he’d spent in Moscow, soon after completing his training. Most, virtually all his time there, had been a hell he’d rather soon forget; but there had been one night, out with a friend who was a well-connected Party member, when he had eaten at a restaurant.

  ‘The best meal I ever had was in Moscow. There the Party fat cats take good care of themselves, and once, just once, I saw what it was like. I started with smoked salmon, do you know I had never even seen it before; and with it a glass of chilled vodka, Stolichnaya, the very best. Then there was chicken breasts filled with butter, so rich, so full that it splashed my best uniform but I did not care. And then I had ice-cream with three kinds of fresh fruit and then brandy with Turkish coffee. When I got back to my barracks I was sick. And then I served ten days in military prison for the damage to my uniform, and I never wanted to eat well again.’

  ‘I still prefer German chow…’

  ‘Good, then I’ll help you work up an appetite for pork and spuds,’ Hyde interrupted. He indicated a tall tree. ‘Shin up that and keep a watch for aircraft. We could miss them from down here. Not much we can do about them, but we might as well be prepared for whatever they call down on us.’

  ‘Fuck that. I’m not a bloody monkey.’

  ‘Do it.’ There was no inflexion, no irritation in Hyde’s voice. ‘And if I don’t?’ Dooley stood his ground, though a fraction less sure of himself. He noticed the others had moved away from him. The sergeant was carrying his rifle.

  ‘You’re right, I can’t make you. Apart from the fact I wouldn’t waste a bullet on you, if I did you’d be in no state to climb. So I tell you what, if you don’t fancy doing it, just nip over and tell the major. He’s watching you now.’

  ‘Anybody got a banana?’ Throwing his assault rifle to Ripper, Dooley hitched his trousers and started up the tree.

  Ripper watched him go. ‘Hell, I don’t know what the Commie bombers might drop on us, but sure as eggs is eggs, it couldn’t be as bad as if he does.’

  ‘I fucking heard that, you shitty pox-faxed hillbilly.’

  ‘He sure do have a way with words, don’t he?’ Ripper tried his coffee, and found it had gone cold. ‘You lousy bastard, listening to you and Boris I’ve let my coffee go cold, it’s all your damned fault. What you gonna do about it?’ From somewhere above them floated Dooley’s response. ‘Oh hell, I am sorry. Tell you what, I’ll make it up to you, I’ll let you have something warm of mine.’

  There was a brief pause, and then the trees shivered and sent down a deluge of needles as a long loud fart shook the forest.

  When Ripper looked down again, many of them were floating, or in the course of sinking, in his coffee.

  The white sickle of the new moon gave just sufficient light to work by as Burke toiled at the broken pump. ‘Sodding awful this Russian equipment. No wonder they always rely on bloody numbers when they fight. They need to send a hundred of these crates into battle to make sure ten reach our lines.’

  ‘And then they find they’re facing only two of ours.’ Libby tested the strength of the drive belt he had improvised from various pieces of webbing, putting his foot in it like a stirrup and pulling as hard as he could. ‘Be
nice for us to surprise the Commies for once. Even this blooming Kothen show was a shambles. Some light flak… I’d like to meet the staff officer who wrote that.’

  Cline sat by them. He shifted uneasily, alternately cradling his Russian rifle, and nervously pointing it towards the heart of the forest. ‘You hear anything?’

  He got only negatives from the men busy with the engine, and craned forward, turning an ear towards the direction of the sound he thought he had heard. ‘You sure you don’t hear anything?’

  ‘Either shut up, or go for a trot and check it out.’ The would-be belting had snapped, and Libby’s temper was also close to doing so.

  I’ll just have a look around then.’ He held back a moment, but no one urged him to stay put, and he began to shuffle cautiously towards the darkness beneath the trees further in.

  Shit, this was when war got stupid. If he got killed now, with no one looking, who’d ever care? Not this lot, that was for sure. It was alright charging into a dangerous situation when there were officers around to be impressed and write out recommendations for medals, but dying for nothing, that was just plain pathetic.

  It was eerie beneath the trees and near pitch-black. There were noises, he could hear them, but it was probably only animals and he wasn’t going to make a prat of himself over a false alarm. Perhaps it was wolves, didn’t they have them in Germany, or maybe escaped animals from an abandoned safari park?

  A twig snapped behind him, and he stiffened. Was that a footfall? He had a round chambered, and was tempted to fire, just to break the predominating silence. He could always explain it away as an accident. But this lot of cruds would see through that.

  Remembering the image intensifier Revell had lent him, he groped for it on his chest, where it hung from the cord about his neck. As he lifted it there was another sound behind him, and he had no time to react as a noose was dropped over his head and jerked tight.

  Libby heard the strangled shout that abruptly died in a choking splutter, and was reaching for his rifle and calling the alarm before the webbing he dropped had touched the ground.

  A dark shape came at him from behind a tree and he blocked the knife thrust at him with his rifle butt. Another figure came at him from the side and he went down beneath it as he was knocked off balance.

  Two short jabbing blows he connected elicited a soft groan from his assailant who collapsed and lay still. There were fights all around him; the others were being attacked as they jumped from the APC.

  With sweeping blows Dooley hurled three attackers from him, and was about to deliver a stamp of his boot on the face of the nearest, when by the flash of a single shot close by he saw it was a young girl.

  Others of the squad had seen similar things, and the fighting stopped abruptly. Cline staggered from the trees, retching loudly and trying with his free hand to ease the knot that bound his other, still holding the imaging device tight into his throat. ‘What the fuck is going on? I’ve just had to clobber an old lady. She was trying to kill me.’

  Several of the women were out cold or semi-conscious and had to be dragged to join the others herded together by the APC. An assortment of knives and improvised clubs had been taken from them.

  ‘You want me to search them?’ Dooley stepped forward, volunteering for the first time ever.

  Revell motioned Andrea to do it, and she worked through them briskly and thoroughly, her frisking producing another two knives, a meat cleaver and a hatchet.

  ‘Not very ladylike are they?’ Hyde toed the collection His back stung where a length of wood had been swung into it by a girl who now nursed a broken wrist, and was crying gently.

  There was confusion among the women as they heard English being spoken, a dark-haired middle-aged member of the group took a step forward. ‘You are British?’

  ‘And American, yes.’

  At the answer the woman fell to her knees, clasped Revell around the thighs and, resting her head against him, burst into tears. He tried to push her away, but couldn’t break his hold without using greater force than he wanted to, but she sensed his displeasure and let go.

  It took three attempts before she regained control of herself and stood up, wiping her dirt-streaked face with a startlingly white handkerchief. ‘I’m sorry. It is just that we have been through so much. And now we are safe…’

  She looked about, and the relief in her face changed to doubt as she took in the unmistakable outline of the Russian vehicle. ‘There are others? You have come to push the Russians back, yes? We saw your helicopters fly over, and heard the fighting. We are safe now, aren’t we?’

  There was no way to soften the blow, and Revell watched her face crumple into tears again as he told her the true position. This time they were not tears of joy, and flowed faster.

  With Andrea’s help Libby had been checking the women’s injuries. ‘Not too bad, Major. A few cracked ribs, a broken wrist and one bullet wound, a nice clean hole through an arm, hardly bleeding. The rest is just cuts and bruises, and we’ve got nearly as many of those. They fought like damned tigers.’

  ‘Do what you can to fix them up. I’ll try and sort out what the hell is going on.’

  ‘Want to swap jobs?’

  The offer was made by Dooley, as Libby helped a girl out of her jacket and she whimpered with the pain of her fractured hand. ‘Piss off. Most of this lot are too young for your warped tastes.’

  ‘What do you reckon they are, a mobile knocking shop, sort of stop-me-and-fuck-one?’ Dooley found the idea attractive, and kept trying to catch the eye of one woman, but she avoided his stare.

  ‘Leave off. Not every damned woman in the Zone chucks herself on her back at every opportunity. Some of these are only kids. All they’re trying to do is reach the West Think of the state they must have been in to take the risk.’

  ‘Alright Sir Galahad, point taken, keep your shirt on.’ He couldn’t resist it, Dooley made a last attempt to get some recognition from the woman, then failing again, and being shoved aside by Libby, he moved off.

  Having calmed her, Revell had sat the dark-haired woman on a fallen tree and joined her. ‘Why did you attack us? It was a hell of a risk to take, without much chance of success.

  ‘We were desperate. Some of our people are hurt, and we could not go on. When we saw you arrive we knew you would have something we need, and we had to take the risk, it was our only hope. I do not know the word for it, I will show you. Will you come with me?’

  His hesitation was only momentary, then Revell accepted her hand and let her lead him into the trees. They did not go far. She stopped before a great pile of heaped pine branches and began to pull them away.

  Revell stepped forward to help, and as he lifted the first armful, heard the distinctive click of a pistol being cocked.

  FOURTEEN

  ‘Nein, nein, American!’

  As the woman hissed the urgent announcement the last branches fell away and Revell found himself looking into the open back of a long-wheelbase Land-Rover.

  Two heavily bandaged men were laid on the side benches. One was deeply unconscious with blood seeping from the dressings of a head wound. The other, both legs splinted and his bare chest bound with windings of what looked like torn shirts and blouses, held a pistol and was unsteadily waving it in Revell’s direction.

  The woman climbed in and gently took it from his hand. As though the effort had been too much, the man fell back and his eyes closed as his breath wheezed in and out from a blood-flecked mouth.

  ‘They tried to steal from a Russian camp, and were seen. We managed to get them back here, but unless we can repair our transport they cannot go further. It we stay we will die, if we go on we will kill them. And we are not strong, our food ran out two days ago and I do not think we could carry them far.’

  ‘By the look of them you wouldn’t need to.’ There was a distinctive smell coming from both men, the slightly sickly-sweet smell of the early stage of putrefaction, soon it would turn to a stomach churning stench as
gangrene took a hold and an already certain death would come sooner and be more painful for them, and more distressing for those with them. ‘You could leave them.’

  She shook her head. ‘They are my brother and his son. I could not do that. And now the others look to me as their leader, and would not go on without me, so…’ She left the sentence hanging.

  ‘Let me see what the trouble is with this wagon. They’re pretty tough, not much will put them out of action.’

  Getting out, and moving round the side of the vehicle, the woman uncovered a large square object on the ground. ‘As I said, we managed to pick them up after the attempt to get food failed, but a Russian sentry did this. We got away, but after we stopped to attend to Helmut and Joseph could not get started again. It was then we discovered the damage.’

  There was a hole in the battery. Made by a high-velocity bullet it had passed through without doing much more than starring the casing about the neat entry and exit points, even the plates appeared to have escaped damage, but all of the fluid had drained away save for a half-inch in the bottom.

  Revell used matches to check over the rest of the Land-Rover, and discovered no other hits. The only bullet hole had been made by that which had gone on to immobilise the vehicle. ‘I think there’s a chance we can fix this for you, get you on your way again.’

  ‘You will take us with you? You must It has taken us a week to get this far, travelling only by night. It could take as long again to finish the journey, and that will be too long.’

  ‘I’m sorry, that’s not possible. The Russians are looking for us, and we would only draw attention to you. Wait until a few hours after we leave, we will have drawn them off by then, and you should make good time. That’s the best I can offer. You must tell the others that, and then I will give you some dressings and send you back with my driver. He should be able to fix the battery. We can give you a tow to start, before we pull out.’