Civilian Slaughter

by James Rouch

  Pushing his way through to the front rank, Revell looked down. The arm and shoulder, and then the head of a young child were exposed.

  Reaching out, Revell pulled the lieutenant back. His work had already revealed another arm, to a body crushed beneath the wheel.

  “Children.” There was a deep, choking sadness in Vokes's voice. “In heavens name, how many will there be.”

  “There are two too many already.” Leaving the encircling crowd, Clarence knelt beside the find and brushed soil from a small dirt-ingrained hand. “It just goes on and on, doesn't it.”

  For a while Revell had thought the men quite capable of bodily lifting the three- ton Bedford off the grave. It had taken considerable effort by himself and Hyde to push the others back.

  “I want a guard on this site. No one is to touch anything.” “Right, Major. I'll put Clarence on first.” Hyde knew there was no way he would be able to get the sniper to leave the scene in any event. “If he's going to be hang- ing about, he might as well be doing something useful.”

  “This an experience that will be good for him.” Andrea ran his fingers along the ribbon that had been tied between the trees to mark off the ground.

  “You really are a callous bitch.” Hyde had no time for the girl, when she was drunk, or as now, surprisingly sober. She had a face men would kill for, but the mind behind it was filled with death, and needed no more. “It reminds him of his kids. He found them buried under what was left of his married quarters in Cologne.”

  “I know that.” Untwisting a kink in the tape, Andrea flicked a moth from it. “Do you know that he has set himself a target? He is killing a hundred Russians for each of them, and for his wife. At that last count he told me he had only a few to go. Perhaps now he will start again. It will give him something to go on living for.”

  It was not what the major had expected her to come out with. His instinctive reaction to the discovery of the little bodies was to rush to headquarters and throw his news at them. A moment's calmer consideration told Revell it could achieve nothing. Next he wanted to get on the radio and tell the world, well as much as he could reach, what was happening. It was more than likely though that any calls he made would be monitored, and rapidly jammed.

  Either course of action would fail to get worthwhile results, except maybe to bring down a storm of trouble on the whole unit.

  He spent an hour thinking the situation through, then made his decision. It took another hour to write out the messages, then just a few minutes to get together couriers and escorts.

  Armed with passes that would get them to their various destinations, the six teams departed, taking with them the best of the transport and all the fuel they had.

  He was taking a huge gamble, but at least this way, at this stage, any repercussions would come back on him alone. It was too late, even now to have second thoughts. There was no way he could pursue and turn back the dispatchers even if he'd wanted to. For all his determination though, he felt inside an unpleasant hollow, sick feeling.

  Casting his thoughts back to what lay within the little, ribbon-enclosed clearing banished his doubts, and replaced it with anger and impatience.

  “You getting married, and want me to make up an album? Is that it?” Swanson unslung his camera bag from his shoulder. “The boys you sent for me weren't exactly the chatty sort. Come to that, I thought they were a tight-lipped pair of miserable bastards.”

  Revell had to smile at the thought of Ripper being described as tight-lipped. “That was their orders. You'll pick up the background as you go along. The basics are that I want a complete photographic record of something that's happened here.”

  “No problem. Why all the mystery. Is it being sat on? Are you?” “Yes to both, heavily. Will your boss miss you if you're missing for a half a day.”

  “So who runs photographic? I'm my own boss most of the time. We don't fit into any cosy little niche so we get left to do our own thing. Where do I start.”

  “There's a pit on the other side of the hill. It's been burned out, but thoroughly. There might just be a chance though that something is left. Perhaps a side caved in and covered a few pieces. Anyway, you'll have some labourers with you, they'll do the dirty work.”

  “Great, sounds fun. What then?”

  “Back here. And this won't be.”

  “Oh my. I never want to see anything like this again.” Swanson stalked about the edge of the deepening excavation, the motor on his camera making an almost continual whirring sound.

  The truck had been gently pulled clear. Under close supervision the Russians were starting to remove the bodies. Twenty were laid in a neatly spaced row. More were being added all the time.

  As each was carefully pulled from the deathly hold of others, even more were revealed. The excavation had grown almost to the full width of the small clearing.

  “How soon can I have prints? And I'll want copies.” “I anticipated that a call from you wouldn't be for any ordinary event. In fact I rushed out here as a sort of advance guard. Here come the rest of my guys right now.

  The distinctive double beat of a Chinook was becoming audible. Swanson delved into his pocket and extracted a signal candle.

  “Could you have one of your men ignite that close by, that chewed up chunk of land beside the road will do. If there's a level space to set that down.”

  The giant twin rotor helicopter was hovering almost over them. Slung beneath it dangled a wheeled cabin with shuttered windows.

  “It's a mobile developing room. Knew you'd be in a hurry as always, and this way I can guarantee privacy. Won't have to send or transmit any material. Oh yes, and they're bringing video cameras, complete with sound equipment. By the time I'm through you’ll have the comprehensive record you wanted. And if you're going over to Division to ram it down the throat of whoever is keeping this under wraps, I'll film that for you as well.”

  EIGHTEEN

  “Can you erect a screen of some description? This won't be pretty. No point in spoiling everybody's dinner.” On a table made from stacked gas cans and broken planks, the surgeon was setting out a row of knives and saws.

  “I’ll have something rigged up right away.” Revell looked at the shining instruments. “How many will you want... want to...” He couldn't think of the right words to use.

  “How many have you exhumed so far?”

  “About fifty so far, Doc, but it's going to go a lot higher.”

  “Five will give us a good sample. I hope you know what you're getting us all into.”

  “This has been forced on me, but I gave you the chance to cry off.” “Yes, yes, I know you did. Sorry, that wasn't fair. Right, I’ll need an assistant with a strong stomach.”

  “There's Sampson, our medic. He should be a help.”

  “Hell, I don't need any help to do an autopsy. I want these blasted wasps swatted away from me. Can't stand the bloody pests. Prefer to work where there's an un- healthy dose of contamination in the air, keeps the garish little buggers down. Actually I will use your medic. It'll be good experience for him. At least he can watch.”

  “Anything else, Doc?” Revell ducked as a wild swing to fend off a fly nearly connected with the side of his head.

  “Sorry, thought it was a wasp. Just can't stand the stupid things. Hate the way they creep up behind you and go 'buzz' in your ear when you're least expecting it. I don't suppose you've got anyone who can take dictation have you, possibly shorthand ... no, silly question really.”

  “We have.” Revell beckoned forward a bespectacled clerk. “This is Private Watts. Borrowed him from another Division's HQ_. Been trying to get into this outfit for ages. Very keen, even brought his portable with him. He'll have your report typed out for checking before you go.”

  “Major, this wasn't quite what I had in mind,” Watts adopted a pained expression. “Office work is what I do all the time. You said hazardous duty. I can't tell my girlfriend this is what I've been doing.”

  “You can't tell
anyone what you've been doing, boy. If you do, you'll find out just how hazardous this is.”

  The surgeon pulled on long rubber gloves as a stretcher holding a light load, a child's remains, was brought to the table. Revell noticed the sudden change of colour in the young clerk's face. “You don't have to look.”

  “No, you bloody don't. Take forever to do these autopsies if you keep fainting all over the place. Fall on the table and I might do you before you know it.”

  The doc winked at Revell before squaring his shoulders, taking up a large knife and leaning over to make the first cut.

  Watts didn't have time to look away. His head started to spin, before he realized that it was only the body's clothing being cut away.

  “I thought you weren't going to look.”

  “I'm not going to.” Watts caught a last glimpse of the skinny doll-like form on the table. He shuddered, and moved aside as an improvised canvas screen was erected about the table. “How do you ever get used to doing things like that?”

  “You don't. Those that try to, go nuts. Me, I divorce myself from reality. For instance I wear frilly underwear and subscribe to Readers Digest before they send me junk mail.”

  “Are you serious, Doc?” After choosing a pen from a multi-coloured selection lining his top pocket, Watts turned his notebook to a clean page.

  “No, of course I'm not. I prefer part-works.” There was the rumble of heavy traffic from the road. A convoy of six-wheeled M820s shouldered past the burnt-out Hummer and growled to a halt short of the felled trees. Their overhanging van bodies were festooned with masses of artificial camouflage, liberally supplemented by quantities of dead foliage, including whole saplings.

  “Where do you want us, Major?”

  “Hell.” Revell scanned the line of trucks. “I wasn't expecting you to bring the whole outfit.”

  Captain Lee leaned from a cab window. The grin on his face disappeared when from his high vantage point he saw the work going on inside the screened off enclosure, and the seemingly endless lines of small bodies close by. “My CO is off on leave. I thought I'd take them all out on a tactical exercise. Pure coincidence I chose this area, of course.”

  “Here's the location we want scanned.” Revell handed up a map. “I've marked it. Can do?”

  “No problem.” Lee tossed the folded paper to the corporal beside him in the cab. “Need to get a mite nearer though, and spread out a little. Looks like we'll have to do a spot of cross country motoring. These big brutes aren't so hot at that. Good thing we brought a wrecker. Now that is something that might be missed. It's the only good one in the Division. So how much information do you want?”

  “What can you get for me?” Revell was distracted by the next truck in line. From the rear of its capacious body a tall telescopic mast was growing. At fifty feet, topping the highest trees, it stopped and the small dish atop it began to rotate.

  “Ignore that. It'll be one of my sergeants getting the football results. He likes to show off with that thing. Has a sticker on the back of the truck that gets us into no end of hassle. Says 'Electronic Intelligence have longer ones than anyone else’.”

  “So what else can he get.”

  “Between us, anything. Give me twelve hours and I'll give you a printout on every power source, every emission and every transmission, to and from that area. You can have a breakdown of quantity and type of transport operating there and passing through. Usually we can pinpoint flak sites, radars, parking lots ... you name it, we label it.”

  “Can you get me transcriptions of radio messages?” “No problem. You'll be wanting the same of landline traffic as well, I suppose. We've got a couple of real hot interpreters who can take care of that.”

  “Good, get me the lot.”

  “Oh, one last thing. Last truck in the line isn't ours. I took the liberty of inviting him along. Royal Artillery, worked with him before. He's got one of those new mini-drones aboard, specializes in low level work, real low level. Uses real-time data transmission, so you'll get something even if by a miracle the Reds notice it and down it.”

  “We can use him. Thanks.” Revell had to move to the side to make more room for the growing line of small corpses.

  As each of the trucks made a three point turn, the crews looked out silently at the latest begrimed additions to the sad spectacle. He saw the grim expressions on the soldiers' faces, and knew he'd get every scrap of information he needed.

  “You want me to sign them? Or shall I just go out and shoot myself now, save them the expense of doing it after they've finished throwing the book at me.”

  “No need for that. Will you keep one set of the copies? Put them away in a safe place.” Revell leafed through the autopsy reports. “And thanks for your help.”

  “Save it. You can thank me if or when it helps you nail those Communist bastards.”

  The doc stripped off his thickly coated gloves and tossed them onto the pile of discarded clothing.

  “In twenty-five years I've never seen anything like it. What those kids must have gone through. The one with the bullet through the side of his head was the lucky one. The others ... well it's all in the reports. If there's anything else I can do?”

  “Can't think of anything, Doc. You'd better scoot now. You haven't even got a lame excuse for being here like the others.”

  “How in hell's name did you get them all here. Same as me? Calling in markers I suppose.”

  “And making a few promises I hope I’ll be able to keep.” “So what do you do now?”

  “To be honest I'm not sure. I've several options, among which is to do fuck all ...”

  “Can't see you adopting that course of action.”

  “Nor can I, but maybe I'll be forced to. We've had a lot of pressure already. But in any event, I'm still waiting for the report from the intelligence boys. I'll make my final decision when I have that.”

  “Good luck.”

  The doc took a last look at the never-ending rows of young dead, and made for his Land Rover. A Russian labourer who crossed his path saw his expression and shrank back.

  Revell had already sensed how uptight everyone was. Anger had added an air of menace to every order the NATO troops gave members of the Russian labour battalion. In their turn the deserters were becoming nervous and edgy, as the realization dawned of what a tightrope they walked.

  They kept their heads down, avoiding eye contact, and working hard enough to bring little extra attention to themselves. Their main task now was the clearing of a tract of virgin land and the preparation of one hundred and ninety two individual graves. Others prepared the plain wooden crosses for each. Even Grigori worked, trying to blend in among the others.

  Watching them was an alert circle of troops with fingers on the triggers of their rifles. There had been no incidents so far, but Revell was all too well aware that a trivial act could bring one about at any moment.

  The arrival of the nurses had helped calm things a little. Working in teams of three they had begun washing the bodies, and wrapping them in clean white sheets.

  Men of the combat company kept them supplied with water from the tanker, and soap, sheets and body bags from the stores truck parked beside it.

  The elderly officer of the West German army's service corps who had arrived with them, had already volunteered himself and his drivers to join in any action Revell might take.

  That accounted for four of the six couriers he had sent out. It would be midday tomorrow, Friday, before he would know if the other two had been as successful. If they hadn't been, then all this would have been for nothing.

  Well, not quite for nothing. He stood to the side and observed as the nurses finished washing dirt and blood from yet another young victim. It was a girl, very thin, and as white as the neatly folded sheet beside her. Hair brushed back from her face, she looked no more than eight or nine. Her arms and legs- flopped about like those of a disjointed rag doll when she was lifted for the wrapping to pass under her emaciated body. />
  Very gently the crisp material was enfolded about her, after a generous dusting with a sickly sweet smelling disinfectant powder. Then again she was lifted and placed into a body bag. She made a pitifully small load within it.

  “A terrible business, Major. A truly terrible business.” The middle-aged chaplain who had come out with the nurses had been constantly trotting back and forth between the scene of preparation and the graves. He looked and sounded exhausted, both mentally and physically, but it was as though he couldn't stop.

  “Some of the men have said they would like to speak with me. Under no circumstances I wonder if that would be in order.”

  “I have never stopped my men from attending a church parade if they want, even though we don't hold them ourselves. Certainly they can talk to you.”

  “You misunderstand, Major. I have spoken to several of your men and to a number of the Dutch pioneers already. No, I have been approached by one of the Russians...”

  “Grigori, by any chance?”

  “Yes, that was his name. When they have finished their work, they would like a service. I can well understand that feeling is running high, but they are not the men who... who did this terrible crime.”

  There was a horrendous scream, or the start of one, from the direction of the improvised graveyard. Revell had hardly started toward it when Hyde approached.

  “That was one of the Russians. The silly bastard got a mouth full of dirt and spat it out into one of the graves. Old William swung a shovel at him.”

  “How bad is he?”

  Hyde glanced at the chaplain. “They don't come any worse. It took his head clean off.”

  NINETEEN

  Revell had only been studying the electronic intelligence data for a few minutes when the Military Police arrived.

  “There's a general who would like to see you, Major. And I think he'll be wanting those as well.”

  “Help yourself.” Revell made no further comment as the print-outs, photographs and typed sheets were gathered together.