Killing Ground (16 page)

‘Maybe they weren’t looking our way.’ Revell propped the hefty circular casting of a base plate against an ammunition box. ‘I expect they will be the next time. 

There’s some telephone gear down below. Rig up a line from here to a good observation post on top. Once the fight starts in earnest there’ll be no point in trying to hide. Until then restrict yourself to anti-armour shots at identified targets.’

Far above the ruins, its bursting lost among the rain clouds, a giant star shell crackled into spitting magnesium light. The immediate effect was an unearthly glow that increased in intensity as the parachute-suspended ball of iridescence dropped lower.

‘That’s 155mm.’ Thorne looked at the slim 81mm mortar barrel he held. ‘Hardly fighting fair, is it? They must have some heavy self-propelled artillery supporting the column.’

As the illuminating round continued its slow, gyrating descent, Revell headed for the cellar entrance. He took the stairs three at a time and quickly reached the spot where Voke was directing and assisting in the erection of the sandbag wall.

‘No time for that now. Kill the generator. Get the door open.’ A bolt stuck and Revell grabbed a hammer from a pioneer and smashed at the rusted metal, breaking it with his third blow.

The door was pulled open not to the jet emptiness of an overcast night, but a flood of silver light that made them throw up their arms to shield the eyes. Some- where behind them the generator died. Had it not been for the cessation of its almost subliminal humming they would not have noticed. The few lights paled to total insignificance against the glare.

Burning vehicles on the road, their flames fed by hundreds of litres of fuel, the bodies of their crews and all their ammunition could not compete.

Making the most of it, a young Dutchman started down the steep ramp of the outwork. The path was narrower than previously, and lacked its protecting wall, all smashed and swept away. Twice he had to stop to clear through mounds of broken brick. He reached the second tower, paused to examine the way ahead, then turned to wave for others to follow.

Three more followed, carrying the untidy coil between them. They wedged a pickaxe into a crevice and secured the rope by several turns around it, then began to feed the loose end over the side. As they did the light from the star shell was suddenly lost.

Hyde felt the frayed end of rope brush against his shoulder. His first grab missed and almost sent him over the edge. Regaining his balance, he waited for it to swing back and this time caught it just before it would have hit him in the face.

He accepted the blond girl Burke thrust forward to be the first, and began to fasten it under her arms.

‘I will stay behind with this one.’ Andrea indicated their prisoner. ‘And will come up last.’

‘The fuck you will.’

The little blond girl began to shake as he fastened the rope, and Hyde began to expect trouble from her, but some quiet words from Burke in his appalling German and she was still and made no fuss as she was hauled up. Small pieces of rock rained down. Absently he noticed the sparkle of quartz inclusions as they reflected the light from the fires below.

‘You are not staying here on your own with this crud, because we’d never see him again.’ Hyde knew Andrea’s reputation and had seen in action what it was based on. ‘Eventually this bastard might get shot, or maybe hung, but sure as hell he’s not going to be diced.’

‘You tell her, Sarge, prisoners’ rights. You tell her.’

Hyde’s left hook to the deserter’s face would have sent him to his death if the same fist had not grabbed a wad of his clothing and pulled him back from the brink. ‘Any more out of you and I might let her change my mind.’

His facial wound reopened by the blow, and still dazed by it, the man squeezed himself back into a niche. Slowly he slid to a sitting position and tried to stanch the renewed bleeding by pressing his face against his drawn-up knees.

Twice more the sergeant had to employ the same punch, the last time because he’d instinctively ‘pulled’ the first go at quieting a girl who’d not responded to gentler methods to quell her hysterics when her turn came.

It was Ripper’s turn. He was cracking weak jokes as he started up, but then had to turn all his attention to preventing his wounded limb from making hard and frequent contact with the rock.

A steady cascade of chippings marked the progress of those already on the path, as they cautiously shuffled their way to the sanctuary of the castle cellars. 

‘You’re next.’ Pushing the rope toward Andrea, Hyde waited for the inevitable argument, but there was none. His offer of assistance securing the lifeline was brusquely rejected.

‘Me next?’ Even craning his neck right back until it clicked, and squinting in the poor light, Burke couldn’t see if all the girls were now safely within the shelter of the massive walls, but he knew the first of them would be.

‘What is this placer

Ignoring the deserter, Hyde watched their driver safely on his way, before turning and roughly hauling the man to his feet.

‘Is it some kind of blockhouse, a command post? What is it? I’ve got a right to know what I’m getting into. I’m a prisoner, right? Well, prisoners have to be removed from the battle zone, don’t they?’

Not responding, the NCO waited for the rope to reappear, then threaded it through the man’s pinioned arms.

‘Here, no. Come on, play fair, Sarge. You got at least to untie me. I’ll get broken to pieces being dragged up there ...’

‘Much the same will happen to you down here if you keep on whining. Be grateful I haven’t tied it round your ankles instead.’

‘Hang on. I’m only a bloody deserter. Hundreds of blokes do it every month.’

‘But not all of them team with the scum of the Zone and start up in the slavery line.’

His anger would have led him to say more but the men on the path, sensing the weight on the line, began to haul. Hyde had to content himself with giving the man a hard twist that was certain to make his ascent all the more uncomfortable.

The wait for his turn seemed to extend into forever. In the distance the Russian artillery fire was perceptibly slackening, with the last of it appearing to be going down about where the river would be. So they must have achieved most of their objectives. NATO forces had lost sixty miles of territory in a few days.

A brief concentration of shells went slamming into a far-distant hilltop. The Russian artillery always had plenty of ammunition.. That had been one constant during more than two years of bloody fighting. 

Once the company had overrun an East German battery of super heavies. The gunners had been in rags, many of them barefoot and all of them hungry, but the stockpiles of shells for the guns and for its air-defence detachment had been vast.

When destroyed, the enormous mushroom of smoke and flame had given rise to the usual local rumours about nukes. The East German artillerymen had surrendered without a fight, after hacking to death their sleek and well-fed Russian commanding officer.

It was hard for him to be sure, but Hyde thought he saw movement on the road. The flames that belched from the hatches and engine-covers of the T72 made bizarre shadows dance between the trunks, and his eyes were tired and sore.

The rope came down and he hurried to secure it, but even as he did he continued to keep watch, and this time he could be certain that it was no trick of the light or his eyes deceiving him. Files of men were moving along the edge of the trees.

As the first harsh jerking tug lifted him off his feet and the rope cut in painfully hard across his back, he heard the sounds of more tracked vehicles. Trees were splintering, motors revving hard to overcome the resistance of mature spruce and fir.

He saw the occasional shaft of light from imperfectly shrouded headlamps and then had to turn all his attention to saving himself from being repeatedly dashed against the cliff.

The men above, on whom his life depended were growing weary and his progress became agonizingly slow. That, despite his efforts to find every hold he could to assist.

‘You are the final?’

Coming from just above his head in an accent so thick as to be almost unintelligible, Hyde was startled by the voice so close at hand. He got a grip on the crumbling edge of the path and experienced a surge of relief through his whole body. It would have brought tears if his face had been capable of producing them.

‘Yes…’ God, he was struggling, don’t let him slip now. ‘Yes, I’m the final. I’m the last.’

Strong hands gripped him and dragged him to safety. Panting from the exertion, aching in every joint, he weakly resisted attempts to make him stand. AH he wanted was just to rest a while, for a few moments. 

They were urging him to get moving. He knew he had to, and began to force himself to his hands and knees. Again the hands grabbed him, some lifting, some pulling him forward. Others plucked at the rope still tight about his chest.

As they neared the door Hyde tripped and went sprawling, cracking his head hard.

Overhead, white light seared the night away as another huge star shell burst above the ruins.

In a far, vague distance, Hyde heard a heavy machine gun rapping out a long methodical burst. Something bumped clumsily against him and made a screaming cartwheel of hands and face and boots down, down toward the waiting mounds of sharp stone.

He saw it impact beside a lifeless rag doll, saw the puff of steam as it ruptured. Then the path, just inches from his face, made a slow-motion million-mile journey up toward him and brought oblivion.

SEVENTEEN

‘One more word out of you, man, and I’m not just going to sew your lips up, I’m going to sew them together.’ Sampson flicked a tangle from the surgical thread as he pulled the curved needle through for the last time. He snipped it off carelessly, leaving a long strand dangling.

‘You’re not going to win any beauty prizes, but in a day or two you’ll be able to sneeze without your head falling in half!’

‘Can’t you give me something? It hurts.’

‘That’s Andrea’s fault, not mine.’ Sampson dropped an instrument into a sterilizing solution. ‘You want me to go and ask her for you? After all, it’s her handiwork I’m repairing.’

The deserter waved a hand to signal a negative and went to lean with his head against the wall, cupping his face in his hands and moaning softly.

Sampson flexed his fingers. ‘Always thought sewing was a sissy game; never knew it could be so much fun. He’s all yours.’

From the deep shadow at the far end of the long room, Burke came forward. A blond-framed pale rounded face watched him from the corner.

‘Where you going to put him?’ Pouring surgical spirit over his hands, the medic took a swig from the bottle before recapping it. ‘Oh, man, that is one hell of a mouthwash. Seems pretty crowded down here. Where can you stash him where he can’t do any harm?’ For a moment he was about to step forward, thinking their driver was about to unleash violence on his patient, but was relieved to see him halt his menacing approach and make an effort to calm himself.

‘The major’s put a guard on the wine cellar. This specimen is going in there, but he won’t be enjoying himself.’ Very slowly and precisely Burke reached for, and between thumb and forefinger took a tight hold on the length of dangling surgical thread.

‘You’re coming with me, like a good little boy, aren’t you?’ Burke accompanied the last two words with jerks on the thread. ‘There, I knew you would.’

When they’d gone out, Sampson shook his head. ‘I don’t think the commies have got to bother with employing psychological warfare. Our boys are doing that sort of harm to themselves.’

‘It’s happening to their men as well.’ Hyde got to his feet. His head ached and felt as if it had been worked over with a large steel-shod boot. But he felt a lot better than he had ten minutes before, when he’d regained consciousness. He’d been reluctant to take it at the time, but now he was grateful for the medic’s advice to rest for a while. ‘So now will you tell me what’s been happening in the last hour?’

‘It’s two, actually, Sarge; check your watch. Now don’t get mad at me. Major’s orders were to let you come ‘round in your own good time, and I wasn’t to tell you nothing about the great big outside world until you’d rested.’

Hyde began to gather his equipment together. A new M16 and several pouches of magazines had been left for him. ‘So am I rested?’

‘You’re as fit as you’re going to be, without being pulled out of the line for a spell. I can tell you, though, it was as much your general physical state as the knock on the head that put you out cold. That was your body showing more common sense than your brain. You’ll know when you’re about to crash out the next time. When it’s due, the major and Andrea will collapse a few minutes before you.’

Without fuss or drama, Hyde gently pushed home the pin of a white phosphorus grenade that had become partially dislodged.

‘Sarge, that knock on the head must have made you stupid.’ Sampson breathed deep, looked hard and rose to his full height, his marine beret almost brushing the ceiling. ‘You ever do something so fucking half-witted as that again, anywhere near my patients, and sergeant or no fucking sergeant, I’ll ram that grenade up your ass and shove you out the door. And I’ll keep the pin as a souvenir.’

Hyde choked down his instinctive reaction to the tirade and threat. He knew the medic was right; it had been a stupid thing to do. A look around the cellar showed him the row of bruised and injured girls, some of them heavily sedated. The results of his action could have been horrific. ‘I wasn’t thinking. You get so used to ... sorry.’

Closing the door behind him, Hyde leaned his back against the wall and waited for the cold and damp to penetrate and ease the sudden prickling sweat that itched so much.

An ammunition detail passed, bowlegged under the loads of mortar bombs and belts of machine-gun ammunition. He followed them toward the surface. It would be good to breathe clean air. Down here it was foul, laden with dust, thick with imperfectly vented exhaust fumes and heavy with the smells of gun oil, raw explosives and stale bodies.