So he found himself very conscious of the noise his steel shod boots made as he went up the ramp. Every move he made, as he crabbed sideways between Carson and the bomb, every noise as his chair squeaked when he turned it and then sat. Checking the printout his heart sank when he saw it called for an acknowledgement. He knew it would, was certain, but he didn’t want to. His fingers barely brushed the keys and then he was done, except that he should have to go out again. He couldn’t bring himself to do it. It was now obvious why Andrea had occupied the rear bench seat. It was hard to know which was worse, squeezing past the bomb or staying in here with it.
“I’ll stay, here, take it.” Reaching out as far as he could, he just managed to pass the slip of paper to Carson’s fingertips.
Note pad on one knee, the document held on the other Carson began to transcribe the coded message. After completing the first third of the close spaced print he called Andy and gave it to him for completion. When it was done he read it through and then went out to beckon Revell aside.
“Is there any chance you could give us a smooth run from here, across the Warpac lines and in to ours?” Lieutenant Andy looked sheepishly apologetic as he asked, especially as he knew the answer.
“Even if HQ in Bayreuth can give me some indication of the Russian dispositions and some advice on terrain, maybe a few aerial photographs, then there is still no chance we’ll get through without hitting a lot of bumps and very likely having some commie shells bounce off of us pretty hard. Do I take it that our little ticking friend is not in the condition to do the journey?”
“Bumping it about it about does alter all the odds.”
“Reading between the lines it sounds like NATO Head Quarters is worried we’ll get so far then go pop and take out our own front line.” Revell was sure he could imagine the gist of the message. “If we obliterate our front line then that will give the local commies a walk through. This may be a quiet sector but they would be sure to take advantage of such an incident. I can’t pretend otherwise, the run will be bad, real bad.”
Revell had made many crossings of the front lines to get in and out of the Zone. Usually they would be negotiating ground that had been reconnoitred, either by drones or satellites or even by ground patrols. That sort of information wasn’t available to them this time, they would be crossing territory they were not familiar with, encountering enemy emplacements whose position and firepower was largely an unknown factor. Even if Bayreuth HQ told him everything they could scrape together there would still be much that could come as a bad surprise.
“I should think it will be about as rough as you can imagine, and then some. We’re talking about the military equivalent of a blindfold wild roller-coaster ride.”
The lieutenant rubbed his face with both hands and then took off his helmet to run them through his close-cropped red hair. “Then it’s a risk we can’t take. We’ll unload where we are.”
“We’re destroying it?”
“No, we’ve had word and technical advice from the powers that be. They want us to fix it, bring it back. They reckon two hours work to stabilise it sufficiently to take the knocks of a cross country journey.”
It was not the news Revell had been expecting and the squad certainly wasn’t. Their react was mixed, noisy. He had to be loud himself to quiet them down and regain control.
Clarence’s objection was the most valid. “So we’ll be carting it home just as we lose last light. You want us to do the journey in the dark? We are as likely to get shot up by our own side. You know our gunners, none of the pay one jot of attention to the recognition charts. They’ll shoot us full of holes before we can get out any visible recognition signals.”
The point was a good one. Revell himself had been worrying about crossing the territory between the opposing lines. Every conceivable obstruction would be encountered. It was better to wait and go at first light instead. If they lost the cover of the night at least they had a better chance of negotiating the chewed up land between the Russian and NATO lines safely. Revell made that decision. Instantly and instinctively he knew it was the right one and announcing it had the effect of subduing the squad, placating their near insubordinate questioning.
“Well that will give us plenty of time to work, and test the results.” Carson spat on his hands and rubbed them together. “Right, who is going to give me a hand moving my box of tricks to a spot with a tad more elbow room.”
General Zucharnin experienced a sensation of contentment. It was brief, coming from the satisfaction of a plan that was falling in to place. All morning he had been working on staff problems, paperwork. He hated it but he had no wish to get a black mark at this stage because his returns were not up to date. But now it was all done and he could again concentrate his attention on the wall map. Reports had kept coming in all morning confirming that the advance into Nurnberg was definately stalled at the river.
Surprisingly, considering the calibre of the troops he had to work with, to either side of the city some local crossings had been made and tiny bridgeheads established. Heaven only knew what with, they had no bridging equipment. Of course they would not last, he had never expected that any would, but if by a miracle one or two were still clinging on the next day he would allow his local commanders to exploit opportunities.
In the south of the sector Regensburg was still a rock against which he could hurl troops and armour to their destruction if he wanted to, but he didn’t want to, not yet. The time would come, when the cities defences were threatened from behind as well.
The reports from Bamberg in the north was exactly what he expected to hear. After some initial successes the attack had stalled. Probing attacks between the centres, little more than a series of reconnaissance in force type engagements had done no more than tie down NATO troops who might otherwise have reinforced the cities defences.
And that left just Bayreuth a town in the far north of his sector only ten kilometres from the demarcation line between his and another command. It formed a small salient in to the Zone but was of no consequence from any point of view. NATO shunted troops in and out of the area for rest and refitting. It had been Warsaw Pact custom to employ the ground for much the same purpose. Apart from a little sniping and occasional artillery exchange there was nothing much going on there.
At least there hadn’t been. At the side of the map General Zucharnin had a supply of spare coloured pins and arrows. Nice bright shiny new ones that had never been used before. How he longed to plunge those into their appropriate positions and get ready to move them, but he couldn’t do that yet. Not just yet.
Looking again at the map the General sighed and moved the spare markers down the side from the top to nearer its centre, where they would attract no attention or comment.
Captain Pritkov entered and as was his habit when the General had not have been expecting him, would not have had the chance to conceal anything, his first action was to glance at the map, to ensure nothing was happening that he should know about. Lieutenant General Gregori had been delighted with the snippets of information he had initially provided, had promised him promotion on the strength of it. Of late though there had been less to pass on. It was very frustrating. How he wished his mother had never married Zucharnin. She just couldn’t see that the man was after her family influence as well as her money. He had coveted the lovely four-bedroom apartment over-looking the Kremlin wall and spires from across the river. And the dacha on the Black Sea, that was what he was after.
Pritkov had got rid of earlier boy friends. Zucharnin might be harder to ease out, but it could be done. If he could get him demoted, even jailed, then his mother would divorce him fast enough. But he would have to be careful or she might begin to suspect.