This United state tac-16

by Colin Forbes

  'I could put the radio on,' Mrs C. said brightly. 'That is, if anyone wants it on.'

  No one wanted the radio. The silence was oppressive. But the radio squawking away would be even more irksome. Tweed again checked his watch. Paula bit her lip to stop herself protesting. With Tweed it was not nerves – he was probably the coolest person sitting at the table. But he knew how time could suddenly flash by.

  Paula got up, went outside. The moon was high and brilliant she was thankful to see. They would need its pallid light to detect signs of movement. She took a deep breath, almost felt giddy. The temperature had dropped below zero. She hurried inside again.

  'What is it like out there?' Tweed asked casually. 'I know I could find out for myself, but why should both of us freeze?' he asked humorously.

  'It's god-awful cold. But the moon is up and casting plenty of light.'

  'Couldn't be better. Just what I ordered from the weather man.'

  'Any more coffee for anyone?' asked Mrs C.

  'Have some, Paula,' Newman urged. 'Keep you alert.' 'For your information, Mr Newman, I have never felt more alert.'

  'Suit yourself.'

  'That's exactly what I propose to do. Thank you, Mrs Carson, but I've had enough for now.'

  'It's fairly near ten o'clock,' Tweed announced, after checking his watch. 'Bob, could you describe again – for everyone's benefit – the small advanced landing craft your American friend showed you when you visited that naval base in the States six months ago?'

  'Very hush-hush,' Newman began. 'Had to sign a document that under no circumstances would I publish anything. These vessels, for use by the SEALs, are about the size of a small country bus – but they have no roof. They're amphibious, very stable on water. But also when they reach land huge wheels like snow tyres project underneath the craft. Driver just pulls a lever. On land they can move at about forty miles an hour.'

  'How many occupants?' asked Tweed.

  'Maximum of ten SEALs per craft. Three doors on either side – so they can get out fast. On land the powerful engine makes a gentle purring sound.'

  'We have to call them something,' Tweed said. He gazed into space. 'Got it. Something that's at home in water and on land. Crabs. That's what we'll call them.' He pressed a button on his mobile. 'Tweed here. If the enemy has landing craft we're going to call them crabs.'

  'What's that?' Mike's voice queried. 'Got it. Crabs. Like the name, matey.'

  He came back on the line less than five minutes later. A cool voice. Everyone had switched on their mobiles.

  'They're coming now. Enormous ruddy fleet. Stretches back miles down the Channel. Wait a minute.' At the table they all sat upright in silence. 'Now I can just make out a ruddy great aircraft carrier, big as a football pitch. Hang on, one warship well ahead is turning this way, belting towards the coast at a rate of knots. Hang on a mo.' Round the table they seemed to wait forever this time. A crackle on the mobiles. 'Looks like they're coming for us now. Lowering crabs over the side Hang on.'

  'How many crabs?' asked Tweed.

  'Three in the sea now. I think that's it. Three crabs coming.'

  'I suggest we all take up battle positions now,' said Tweed. 'Do not forget my earlier order. No one opens fire until – or unless – they start shooting at us, or try to break through the wired hedge. I want to be able to say later they opened hostilities first.'

  'Matey, another crab lowered,' Mike warned. 'Following the first three heading for the shore now. Fast.'

  'That's forty men,' Tweed said coldly. 'We're outnumbered. So the first shot they fire, we all open up. When we see a target.'

  'Matey, another crab lowered over the side. Now following the others.'

  'Fifty men, then,' Tweed said. 'Same instruction as before.

  51

  Paula was first outside. She had slipped on her warm coat earlier while Mike was still talking. She wore surgical gloves. They'd keep out a bit of the cold, but she needed flexible fingers to press triggers. Over one shoulder hung her shoulder bag with her Browning inside, over the other was looped the heavy canvas holdall. She'd grabbed her machine-pistol and extra ammo off a couch.

  Mrs C. followed her. She had the same equipment. She caught up with Paula and chuckled, brandishing her weapon. 'Used this to shoot rabbits. They were overrunning us. Men are bigger than rabbits. We're both Sector A.'

  'Centre of the hedge where they'll probably attack,' Paula replied drily. 'Some kind of a compliment, I suppose.'

  'I'll be with you,' said Newman as he joined them. 'Paula, you take A. You took your searchlight out there earlier?'

  'Of course.'

  They walked quickly across the flat earth, but refrained from running. With what they were carrying that could be fatal. Paula had lost her edginess. She was now cool, determined, alert. In the moonlight they could see the distant hedge they were advancing towards clearly. It had a blurred look at night, more like a wall. Paula revelled in the ice-cold air. It had become stuffy inside the farmhouse.

  To their left and right shadowy silhouettes of men moving quickly were ahead of them. Alf's mob were swift on their feet. Hunched forward with the weights they were carrying, they reminded Paula of the opening scene in Silas Marner. There a shadowy figure moving through the night had been laden down.

  'Rabbits,' said Newman, who had heard Mrs C.'s earlier remark. 'That means rabbit holes, risk of twisted ankles. We'd better be careful.'

  'No need,' Mrs C. replied, moving quickly. 'They're all in that south-east corner – and beyond the hedge.'

  Tweed was the only man who had not joined the relentless march to the southern hedge. After putting on his coat, he had gone out and climbed a wooden staircase Mrs C. had shown him. It was attached to the side of the farmhouse and led to a platform at the top. Standing on it, he could see clearly over the top of the roof. It did not give him the panoramic view from the observation post, but it did provide an uninterrupted view over the hedge and Romney Marsh beyond. He focused his night glasses on the hedge.

  'Matey, four crabs landed on beach. Crossing it. Heading inland at speed towards us. Crab number five now beaching…'

  'Everyone,' said Tweed into the mobile slung close to his mouth, 'get into position as soon as you can. You heard the latest report. Keep your heads down.'

  Tweed, who normally mistrusted mobiles, thought the communication system was excellent. Everyone could hear him. Everyone could hear the reports from the observation post. Knowledge was power. Could make all the difference to the outcome.

  'Matey, four crabs approaching. Number five, coming up behind. Fast:'

  Tweed refocused his glasses to see a low ridge on the marsh. Within a minute he saw four of the strange vehicles poking their snouts over the ridge. They came over it. They were advancing towards Sectors A. B and C. A frontal attack. Just like the Americans. Get up and go.

  'Matey, count ten men in each crab. Number five a weirdo. Seems only to have the driver. No other men aboard it.'

  Tweed frowned. He could see No. 5 now. Heading for the centre of the hedge. The first four crabs stopped suddenly. About one hundred feet from the hedge. Large men, uniformed, wearing helmets, jumped out from the four stationary crabs, spreading out, weapons gripped in their hands. No. 5 continued advancing, stopped no more than thirty feet from the hedge. What the devil was its purpose?

  'Everyone in position?' Tweed asked into his mobile. 'Yes… Yes… Yes…'

  The stream of replies continued. Paula's voice first, Mrs C.'s next, then a jumble as confirmations overlaid each other. Tweed was satisfied that everyone was where they should be. He spoke into his mobile.

  'They've left their crabs. Forty men advancing. Objective appears to be Sectors A, B and C. Close in on those sectors.'

  Any moment now, he thought. Would the invaders open fire? Or would they try to keep advancing through the hedge? He couldn't guess this one.

  Sharon was driving the limo at manic speed. She had just left Ashford behind. She accelerated. T
he speedometer climbed. By her side Denise Chatel was petrified. She crouched back in her seat. Sharon sat very erect.

  'Where are we going?' Denise asked.

  'To check that a key installation has been destroyed.' 'What key installation?'

  'Shut your stupid mouth.'

  'But where are we going?' Denise repeated.

  'If you want to gab, we'll gab. For starters, how did you get hold of that file I found you reading?'

  'You sent me to fetch you a file. I must have picked up the wrong one.'

  'Crap.'

  'It was all about the investigation into my father's death in a so-called car crash in Virginia.'

  'It was a red file.'

  'I found it on your desk.'

  `You're lying. Most of my files are green. The one I sent you to get was on my desk. You poked your nose into my filing cabinet. I'd forgotten to lock it. That red file was in front of the cabinet.'

  'I don't know what you're talking about. And I did read some of that file, which reported doubts as to whether the so-called car crash was an accident.'

  'You shut your mouth! If I didn't need both hands for the wheel I'd slap your idiotic face. And,' Sharon sneered, 'you've no idea how stupid you look in that riding outfit.'

  'You wouldn't give me time to change. Look out!'

  Sharon had swung off the highway where a signpost pointed to Ivychurch. Before leaving she had attached to the dashboard a map showing the route to the Bunker, a map radioed to her from Washington. Instead of a main road, she was now driving along a winding lane at speed. Denise had called out because as they rounded a bend a single light rushed towards them. The motorcyclist was only moving at thirty miles an hour. Before Sharon could brake the limo swept past, its side brushing the motorcycle. The machine toppled over, hurling the rider into a ditch. Denise just had time to stare back – to see the inert body in the ditch, the machine on its side, its wheels still revolving futilely.

  'We may have killed him,' Denise gasped.

  'Killed who?'

  'That motorcyclist you hit.'

  'What motorcyclist are you talking about? Must be your imagination. I haven't seen anyone.'

  'You're dangerous.'

  'Don't talk to me like that,' Sharon responded, her voice and her expression now very calm.

  The eerie silence of the night on the Romney Marsh was broken only by a single eerie sound. The purring of the engines which had not been turned off, the engines of the motionless crabs. To Paula it sounded like the purring of some monstrous and evil cat. She was crouched down, as were all the others. She had no idea what was happening and the tension was growing.

  It was broken by one powerful shout of one word. She thought the American accent was Texan.

  'Barrage!'

  The night came apart. A thunderous fusillade of gunfire coming from automatic weapons shot at the same moment caused her to press her head into the earth. The commander of the invading SEALs was a Texan. He was also not a man to take any chances – even though there was no sign of life from the invisible installation. It was the American way – equivalent to the battleships far out at sea which had once bombarded the Vietnam jungle, killing no one.

  The fusillade had been aimed at the middle of the fields beyond the farmhouse. The rain of bullets spurted up tufts of grass, pellets of soil. The barrage, deafening, continued for a short time, then stopped as abruptly as it had started. The SEALs were reloading.

  From his platform Tweed observed all this, realized that there had been no casualties among his own troops, who were too far forward. He spoke quickly into his mobile.

  'Shoot any target you can see.'

  Marler, stationed in Sector C, to Paula's right, aimed his Armalite. A heavily built SEAL, confident he could take on anybody, swaggered forward as he reloaded his automatic rifle. Marler's bullet hit him dead centre in the chest. The SEAL stopped, let out a strangled yell, dropped, lay still.

  All aimed his automatic rifle at two SEALs standing too close together. He fired twice. Both men sank to the ground. Then a fresh fusillade was let loose, aimed at the same area as its predecessor. More grass tufts, more soil jumped into the air. Tweed spoke again.

  'Wait till they've stopped…'

  The Texan commander, who believed in barrages, as opposed to any individual shooting, waited for his men to reload. One six-foot SEAL had had enough. The guys should be breaking through the friggin' hedge. He had reloaded quickly. Now he ran forward, plunged into and across the hedge. His body fell onto the hedge, onto the concealed barbed wire. He screamed, then stopped moving.

  Mrs C., close to Paula, saw an even taller, heavier SEAL rushing forward. He'd realized he could use the prone body as a bridge. Mrs C. hissed at Paula.

  `Use your searchlight. Quick.'

  A second SEAL followed the first, with the same idea in mind – they had a bridge. Paula swivelled the light, aimed it just above the prone body, now dripping blood. The incredibly powerful glare shone at the moment the first SEAL was treading on the body, standing upright. Mrs C. let rip with her machine-pistol. The SEAL remained upright briefly, his arms shot up, releasing his weapon, which curved in an arc, landing on the far side of the hedge. Mrs C. continued blasting, bullets thudded into the second SEAL. The first SEAL toppled over backwards as the SEAL behind him staggered, moved a few steps as though drunk, then sagged to the ground.

  'Barrage!' roared the Texan.

  'Cease fire for a moment,' Tweed ordered.

  'Barrage!' shouted the Texan.

  This new fusillade came closer, but it was still a dozen yards beyond where the defenders lay still. Three more SEALs, who had ignored their commander's order, rushed forward, guns blazing, to use the prone body as a bridge. Mrs C.'s machine-pistol chattered as they ran into the glare of Paula's searchlight. All three fell beyond the hedge, tumbling on top of each other.

  On his platform, Tweed was intrigued by the motionless crab – No. 5. Then it struck him what it might contain. He spoke.

  'Marler, bomb that forward crab. Everybody flatten yourselves.'

  Paula glanced to her right as Marler glanced at her. While he felt in his holdall for a grenade with his right hand he saluted her with his left hand, grinning. She nodded her head, acknowledging. Then she wriggled herself a couple of yards closer to Mrs C. She was moving away from the glaring searchlight, an obvious target.

  She glanced sideways again at Marler, realizing he'd had something in his left hand when he'd saluted. It was a wide-mouthed short-barrelled pistol. She had forgotten the star shells.

  As the fresh fusillade died away Butler and Nield, both holding machine-pistols, suddenly stood up. Marler waited. Beyond the hedge four SEALs, not too far apart, were reloading. Nield and Butler opened fire, swinging their weapons slightly. All of the four SEALs dropped, lay still. Marler watched Butler and Nield as they kissed the earth, waited. This was the moment.

  Marler jumped to his feet. His right arm, holding the grenade, swung in a high arc, then he flattened himself. In the glare of Paula's searchlight Tweed saw, from his platform, the grenade land inside crab No. 5. A second later Paula's searchlight went out, hit by a SEAL's bullet. – Synchronizing with the flight of the grenade, Marler began firing star shells, his body still flat with the earth. White, and then green bursts, illuminated the scene from high up. The grenade detonated. The world went wild. The crab burst as a tremendous explosion echoed across the marsh. Tweed saw between ten and fifteen SEALs hurled into the air, thrown sideways over the marsh. Where the crab had been was a deep hole. The star shell illumination was blotted out by the flash of the explosion.

  As Tweed had guessed, No. 5 had been filled with explosives intended for the destruction of the complex. More star shells burst high above the marsh, green, red and white. They showed Tweed a scene of utter devastation. Bodies lay everywhere. A few injured SEALs staggered, limped towards the two crabs still intact, their engines still purring, the only sound in a sudden deathly hush.

 
Tweed, who had been counting enemy casualties as far as he was able to, estimated more than half the enemy's attack force had been wiped out. Men were carrying injured comrades towards the remaining two undamaged crabs. There were no more shouts from the Texan commander – if he was still alive. Tweed watched for a few minutes longer. There was no more sign of aggression on the part of the SEALs. Those who had survived were concentrating on limping, hobbling, dragging themselves to board one of the intact crabs. Other SEALs, who had taken no punishment, were carrying their injured and dead comrades to the second intact crab.

  'Cease fire,' Tweed ordered. 'Marler, shout at the top of your voice the two words I just uttered.'

  'Cease fire!' Marler bellowed.

  His words galvanized the mood of the enemy. The SEALs moved more quickly, more confidently. Two came up to the hedge, began wrestling free the prone SEAL impaled on the wire. Paula turned her head away. When she looked again the body had gone but that part of the hedge was tainted a dark red colour.

  The next sound she heard was an increase in the purring noise of the crabs' engines. From his platform Tweed saw the two crabs turn round, start to move away, circumnavigating the enormous hole left when crab No. 5 had blown up. Tweed still waited to be sure. The crabs disappeared beyond the slight ridge..

  'Matey, they're going home, heading for the beach and then their mother ship.'

  'Everyone return to base – with your equipment,' Tweed ordered.

  Tweed, Paula and Newman stood on their own in the open air a little distance from the farmhouse. Everyone else had gone down into the washroom under the farmhouse. Mrs C. was the last to leave.

  'Well at least the staff stayed under ground, as they were ordered to. Think I'll go down and reassure them. They must have felt and heard the explosion when that ammunition dump inside the crab went up.'

  'Good idea,' said Tweed.

  'I think I'd sooner stay out here in the fresh air for a bit,' Paula said.

  'Me too,' Newman agreed.

  'Sensible,' said Tweed. 'After a period of tension – mental and physical – it helps to have a period of relaxation. Doing nothing, saying nothing.'