Hunter Killer (6 page)

Though resting at a steep angle, the cabin seemed more firmly settled than before, and as a second torch was brought into action Revell gave the order for the men to release themselves.

Outside there was a strange jostling clinking noise, like broken bottles being rolled together in a blanket. It had a rhythmic quality, regular and even. ‘Hey, we’re taking in water.’ It was York who announced the discovery, as he moved to help a bombardier trying to free a gunner pinned against the wall. ‘Keep calm.’ The babble of sound that’ greeted the information signalled a warning to Revell, and he acted fast to prevent a panic. A quick examination showed that the water was not rising. That and the fact that the cabin was not moving suggested that they were firmly beached at the water’s edge. ‘Sergeant Hyde, take two men and scout our position. Find somewhere for the casualties, preferably with room enough to take the command centre as well.’

Nodding to Clarence and Libby, Hyde left through the small emergency hatch in the roof. As soon as the trio had gone, Revell turned his attention to the chaos of the interior.’

There were eight dead, all gunners, including the battery commander and sergeant-major. Both men had been pierced by the same spear-like splintered floorboard. The fifteen injured included Lieutenant Hogg, whose broken nose was pouring blood in a seemingly endless stream, and Boris, who had been hit in the face by flying rubble and was heavily cut and bruised about the mouth, and eyes. Most of the other injuries were multiple fractures of the chest and limbs.

‘Come on, Burke, you can let go now.’ York was having to prise the driver’s fingers from the back of the seat in front. As fast as he or Andrea levered one digit free, another would snap back to re-establish the vice-like grip. We’ve landed. You’re not fucking hurt, give us a hand.’

It quickly became apparent that the front doors were too badly crushed and jammed into their surrounds to be opened without cutting gear. It was just as obvious that getting the injured out through the roof hatches would be virtually impossible.

‘I want a hole in that wall, Dooley, get to it.’ Panning the torch about, Revell sought someone to wield their other axe. ‘You give him a hand, Burke. If you don’t like it in here, this is your chance to make your own way out.’

The offer worked where nothing York had said had succeeded. In an instant Burke was up from his seat, had snatched the small bright-bladed axe and was attacking the angle-iron braced alloy wall.

An arm floated in the eighteen inches of water that filled one corner, adding the final touch that made the din-filled cabin into an audio-visual modern version of a surrealist nightmare. The blend of the horrific and the absurd was perfect, and the flickering beams displayed each in turn.

Reversing, the axe, Dooley hammered flat the ragged edges of metal left by Burke’s energetic, but more frantic than planned, efforts.

‘That’ll do. Start moving the casualties. I want to get away from this shoreline as soon as Sergeant Hyde returns.’ Re veil helped an artillery man with a broken arm to the improvised exit.

‘He’s here now.’ Moving aside to let the NCO back in, Dooley caught and gashed his hand on a ragged protuberance he’d missed. The annoyance he gave vent to in a burst of voluble swearing was directed more at the tear in his glove than at the cut or its cause.

Learning by Dooley’s example, Hyde climbed in carefully. ‘Our sled came down through the centre of the village. I spotted a house at the far end that’s in better condition than most, still got some of its glass. There’s a bit of a bank to get the injured up first, then it’s near enough level all the way.’ The torches caught and made sparkle the particles of ice trapped in the fur edge of Hyde’s hood. More flying crystals rode the draught past him.

‘Right, post a couple of sentries, everyone else is to give a hand moving the casualties. If a Swedish patrol boat goes past now we’ll stand out like a damned neon sign. Soon as that’s organised I’ll want the other sledges found and their loads transferred to the house or the launch sites. OK, let’s move. There’s lots to do and not too many of us to do it.’

‘What about them?’ Andrea indicated the slumped, immobile forms occupying several seats.

Revell knew her well enough to realise she didn’t feel the slightest concern for what became of the bodies. She was probing him again, testing him for his reaction, his response to a situation. Just for once he found himself thinking her way. ‘Leave them.’ It was what he added that marked the difference between them. ‘The living come first.’

Standing at the top of the bank down which the cabin had made the final plunge, the bitter wind plucked at them. The snow was beginning to settle, gathering in the ruts gouged out of the grass slope by their descent and softening the harsh outlines of the partially demolished house twenty feet above their heads.

The clattering, clinking noise they’d heard was less noticeable now, as the sea refroze and bound together the shattered slabs of ice.

It had been Libby’s idea to use one of the seats from the cabin as an improvised litter on which to hoist their casualties to the top. With three men hauling from above, and two climbing alongside to prevent it tipping, the contraption had made the task of moving the fracture cases to the higher ground easier, and much faster, than it otherwise would have been.

‘That was the last of them, Major.’ As Libby sought a large block of rubble to which he could secure the rope, a tottering chimney hanging over the ruin finally gave up resistance to the wind’s pressure and fell.

Tumbling over the mound of debris, the heavy mass of battered brickwork bounced down the bank, narrowly missing Dooley, who was arranging a corner of the camouflage netting draped over the cabin. It skidded across the ice-crusted gravel at the water’s edge and on to the frozen sea, breaking through and disappearing. The fragments of ridge-crossed ice closed over, and the trail of bubbles that rose to the surface was trapped by the lace-like layer that filled the gaps between the pieces.

Revell tugged his hood closer about his face, pulling the fur over his mouth and breathing hard into it so that it warmed his lips. The sensation was quickly lost. He felt the fur harden to frosty spikes the instant it was touched by the wind. That weather forecast, bad as it was, must have been on the optimistic side, it was far colder than he’d expected: far colder even than anything he’d experienced on exercises in the Arctic, and he’d thought them tough at the time.

They’d got off to a bad start. The effective strength of the artillery contingent had already been halved, and their command structure wiped out down to the level of a bombardier. There would be a lot of work for those who were left, and much of the responsibility would fall on the gunner NCO. If he shaped up, it would take some of the load off himself, Hyde and Lieutenant Hogg; but if he didn’t, then nursemaiding him would be yet another burden. Even as he speculated the bombardier appeared at Revell’s side.

‘Casualties have all been transferred, Major. I’ve got my men sorted and I’d like to get cracking and find our equipment as soon as possible, sir.’ That had been unexpected. The bombardier had slipped on the mantle of command very quickly ... too quickly? It was tempting to give him his head, but Revell decided that until he knew the youngster’s capabilities it would be sensible to restrain, or at least contain, his enthusiasm. ‘We’ll be doing that in just a minute. What’s your speciality?’

‘Radar and fire-control systems, sir.’
‘OK, pick what men you need, as few as possible, and stick to that. The rest of us will take care of moving and sighting the launchers.’ For a fraction of a second it seemed that the bombardier might dispute the order, his face had fallen when most of his men had been removed from his command; but he obviously decided against it, executed an impeccable salute and departed.

Checking his watch, Revell noted that they only had nine hours of darkness left. If they couldn’t get finished they might have to risk working during the day. Speed was everything now. ‘Sergeant Hyde, stop those men clowning about and get them up here, now.’

Hyde had already observed the antics of Dooley and York as they attempted to mount the slippery bank. They were hauling themselves up by the rope, but even so, making hard work of it. His annoyance was increased substantially by the fact that the American officer had noticed and commented on the charade before he’d done so himself.

‘Get a bloody move on, Dooley. You’re the one who’s supposed to be super fit, the muscle man. I’ve an old grey-haired aunt who could climb that faster.’

Reaching the top, Dooley paused before attempting the final heave that would pull him on to level ground. ‘I’ve already been up and down the fucking thing a couple of dozen times, shoving that crappy seat and its passengers. Shit, even I run out of puff sometimes.’ The sergeant’s boot hovered above his fingers, threatening to crush them into the frozen soil. ‘But maybe I can summon up a little extra,’ he added as he saw the danger to his precarious handhold. 

Still clutching the rope, unable to climb past Dooley’s obstructing bulk, York started complaining.
‘Shut your racket.’ Hyde reached down and jerked the radio-man to his feet as soon as Dooley was out of the way. ‘Useless pair of buggers, join the others.’ For a moment York thought he might risk a reply, but Revell was close by, and though he might have chanced it with the British sergeant, there was no way he’d take the same risk with his own officer. Hyde was hard, but Revell was just plain cruel. Even a tough nut like Dooley never tried anything with the major around.

Before he started out for the house, York made a final examination of their handiwork. That was a good job they’d made of camouflaging the sledge and cabin. With the snow beginning to fall heavily, sprinkling the mottled fabric strips sewed to the net, the whole thing was starting to merge with its surroundings. It would already be virtually invisible to the naked eye at more than a few yards.

For the next couple of hours there would be sufficient residual heat from the bodies for the cabin’s temperature to remain above that of the terrain surrounding it. Revell knew it wouldn’t be much, but it would be enough to stand out on the infra-red screen of any patrolling Swedish or Russian craft doing a sweep of the islands. It was no longer sufficient to hide an object from sight, and camouflage of that sort was not always worth the vast effort frequently involved.

Multi-spectral surveillance made it virtually impossible to keep anything from the prying lens and sensors of the latest photographic and electronic detectors. It was crazy, but maybe the time had come when it would be better to leave important installations such as radar sites and headquarters out in the open. With an enemy like the Communists, who never took anything at face value and who attributed the same evil cunning to others that they practised themselves, maybe they’d get away with it. It was a tempting idea ...possibly a bright-eyed young staff officer back at the Pentagon was already pushing such a proposal ...but as he stood beside York surveying the cabin, he was well aware it was an experiment they dare not try here and now. As it was, in this frozen landscape their every move would stand out like a neon sign. The odds stacked against them were long enough already, there was no reason to help them lengthen.

Eight dead and nearly twice that number injured, with the severity of their wounds varying in degree from Lieutenant Hogg’s broken nose to the gunner who’d lost his forearm. Revell knew the calculations as to the minimum numbers of men necessary to carry out the mission had been finely worked out. Now there was a double, a triple workload for those still fit to do it. As he turned into the wind, felt his face smart and his eyes start to water, he could only hope that the worst misfortune likely to befall them before they went into action was now out of the way.

It was their sniper, Clarence, who blamed a malevolent God for everything that went wrong. Not that he had much time for religion himself, but Revell had a feeling that in this war God was neutral, had seen the horrors of the Zone and washed his hands of it. There were many mere mortals inside the Zone who wished they could do the same.

‘I’ve had it. I’ve fucking had it up to here.’ Burke picked up a piece of track plate and shied it at the growing pile of broken weaponry. ‘You just wouldn’t fucking credit it, would you. I get dropped from the back of a ruddy plane, watch blokes getting smashed to bits all around me. I flog meself to bleeding death carting the poor sods to cover, get dragged out into the wilds of bloody Scandinavia to hunt the sledges before I’ve even had time for a sodding fag, and now I bloody find the reason I’m bloody here in the first place don’t ruddy exist any more.’

‘The rocket launchers and the electronics equipment is intact, that is all that is important.’ Andrea had hardly paid any attention to the shattered remains of tractor unit. She was sorting through the scattered debris of the sled and its load, joining the others in search of the squad’s support weapons and ammunition.

‘We’re lucky the whole lot didn’t just go up on impact.’ Dragging aside a .twisted girder that had braced the underside of the sledge, Libby scrutinised the battered contents of a crushed ammunition box by torchlight. ‘If this stuff alone had gone off,’ he removed a mangled anti-tank missile from the tangle of two others, ‘the Swedes or their Commie mates would have been down on us like a ton of steaming shit. They’d have had us pinpointed in seconds.’

Burke took in the overturned tractor and the splintered remnants of its packing case load, sticking out from beneath the broken track-festooned wreck. ‘Sod it. What am I going to do?’ To Burke’s mind the sole redeeming feature of a mission concerning which he’d always had the very deepest misgivings had been torn from him. He wasn’t about to find consolation in Libby’s words.

‘How’s about you stop blubbering over that old bus that you can’t put together again anyhow, and start giving a hand with some of the chores. This stuff gets kinda heavy after the first three.’ Staggering under the weight of the cased ammunition already in his arms, Ripper had to accept a fourth heavily-dented box from Hyde before he was allowed to totter off towards the house.