‘What the hell do they think they’re playing at?’ Rinehart fumed. ‘We want the Ruskies around here lulled to sleep, not kept awake and damned well encouraged to shoot at anything that moves. Shit, what did they expect to see, us in full blazing action?’
‘That I don’t know.’ A heavy impact among the trees a few hundred yards away punctuated Cohen’s words. ‘If it was just fitted out for recording and retrieval then they won’t get anything anyway; sounds like it just piled in. But, if it was one of the new ones with a real-time transmitter, then there’s a fair chance that O’l Foul Mouth and an assortment of brass have just had a close-up of the kids’ weapon in action.’
For a moment Collins was about to ask what he meant, then he recalled why he’d been out on the ramp. He sought a way in which to hide his embarrassment. ‘Will they come to look for it?’
‘Who, the Reds? No way. I got a brother in the electrical business in Chicago, if he knew he might make the journey, he deals in a lot of second-hand, but the Russians, no. They must bring down five or ten every day in this sector alone. Unless one falls on a Commissar I shouldn’t think they give it a second thought, maybe not even then. It’s like my suntanned friend says, it’d just be better if all the Commie gun crews got their heads down while we went about their business.’
‘I reckon we’ll get a medal if we pull this off.’ Dooley lit up at the thought. ‘Maybe they’ll ship us back home to the States and put us on TV. I could get my picture in the paper.’
‘Have to be a double page spread to get your head in.’ Ignoring Cohen, the big man went on building his dream. ‘Hey, I’d be famous, like, like…’ he sought examples, ‘like, like…’
‘Godzilla, King Kong, Hitler, Attila The Hun?’ He was not about to be put down. ‘Just think of it, all those beautiful broads who’d love to be shafted by a big hero like me.’
‘Some hope, brother, some hope.’ There was deep scorn in Rinehart’s laugh. ‘Do we live in the same world, we fighting the same war? The only way that’d happen is if we carved our way to Moscow and stomped the Kremlin flat with our bare feet.
Trips home are for officers and cripples: medals are for guys who look good in the papers. And as for that screwing, what have you got to offer? OK, you don’t have to show me… so you got a tool that wouldn’t disgrace a stud stallion, but a decent piece wants more than that. Like always, it’s the guys who stayed home and made the tanks and missiles that have got all the money and they’ll get all the action. When we go back, if ever, we’ll be treated like we carried plague. People have heard so much about radiation counts, bacterial weapons, no one will come within a mile of us, and even your cock won’t reach that far.’
‘Shame, isn’t it.’ Burke had enjoyed watching Dooley’s bubbles being shot down. ‘Still, that’s America for you.’
‘Since when have you Brits had so much to crow about?’ The jibe stung Cohen into a swift re-joiner. ‘If we weren’t supplying more than half your equipment, you’d be down to using sling shots by now. You got so many fellow travellers on your little island it’s a wonder you didn’t open the doors to the Commies a year ago. Is going on strike still your main sport, or have you invented some new way of losing the war?’
‘We’ve locked up all the rubbish now, and striking has been illegal for nine months,’ Burke waded back in.
‘Pulling little girls’ panties down has always been, but that still goes on.’ There was more aggravation to be milked from the exchange, and Dooley went after it. ‘You’re just lucky we’re always around to bail you out.’
‘Would you care to step outside and say that, loudmouth.’ It was Clarence’s voice, floating down from the turret where he’d been listening.
He was half out of his seat, ready to accept the challenge before Dooley saw the expressions about him, and settled back down. ‘Very funny. Save it for another time.’
Clarence dropped from the turret. ‘What a pity. I thought you’d go bouncing out into the minefield. Ah well, never mind, it almost worked.’ He hauled himself back to his eerie and resumed his slow cranking of the manual turret traverse. ‘Don’t that creep ever get dizzy?’ With a jerk of his thumb Dooley indicated the steadily rotating lower trunk and legs. ‘It ain’t like he can see anything, except the damned trees and a few wrecks. Is he bucking for a stripe or what?’
‘You wouldn’t catch me doing any work I didn’t have to.’ Burke found a sentiment he could wholeheartedly agree with in Dooley’s words. ‘That I had already worked out for myself.’ Cohen nodded. ‘Well what’s the point in knocking yourself out. I’ve got enough to do with driving the Cow, and looking after it. I don’t need any more work.’
‘So how about doing the work you’ve got.’ Seeing his remark ignored Cohen added a rider that would carry more weight, and the rest of the crew with him. ‘When we have to move out, it’s going to be in a hurry. There won’t be any time to get out and tighten up a few nuts and bolts; so how about you check this old clunker over, especially that damaged motor. Stay on the hull, keep your feet off the ground and you’ll be safe enough.’
Put that way Burke couldn’t refuse, not with the eyes of all the others on him. With ill grace he grabbed up a tool roll and went out. Rinehart watched their driver haul himself up out of sight on to the roof. ‘It sure has gone quiet in here, but I ain’t gonna miss him for the next hour or so. I think I’ll just catch some shut-eye.’
‘After you’ve changed Nelson’s dressing.’ Cohen saw the smirk on Dooley’s features as the black had to give up the corner in which he’d just made himself comfortable. ‘You want a job?’
‘You going to give me one? I told you to knock off the officer bit, I ain’t impressed.’
‘No. No, for you I’ve got no job. What’s the point. Big thick stiff like you, what’s it matter if when we go into action that old M60 of yours jams up. So you buy it, so what, good riddance.’
A growl was Dooley’s only response, as Cohen ignored him and fiddled with a strap on his body armour.
Begrudgingly, the big man at last reached for the machine gun and began to strip it.
‘Is there something for me to do?’
‘You religious, you believe in the power of prayer?’ Collins didn’t know what to make of the question. He answered hesitatingly. ‘Eh, I hadn’t really thought… I suppose… well I haven’t… not for a long… no, not really.’
‘Pity, that rules out the one useful thing you could have done. OK, so I’m kidding. Help the Hulk with his toy. He’ll show you thirty different wrong ways to reassemble an M60.’
The hasty softening amendment he tacked on to the slap-down had come almost unconsciously from Cohen. Thirteen months he’d been in the Zone, he was a veteran already. His first day of combat seemed a lifetime away. But it wasn’t so far back that he couldn’t remember what it was like to be the rookie in a squad. This British boy was no different; the butt of all the humour, the recipient of all the dirty chores. Not that he was making it any easier for the kid. The hardening process, the acquiring of the tough shell that would at last get him accepted as a member of the team, would only take longer if he didn’t take all the knocks as they fell due.
‘Don’t you listen to him, kid. There ain’t nothing I don’t know about this piece.’ Dooley’s hand flew the practised ritual of disassembly. ‘Only thing you’ve got to watch with these is that you don’t put the piston back in the cylinder the wrong way round. If you do, the gas ports don’t line up and she’ll only fire once before stopping. That’s not even in the Tech. Manual, but we ain’t going that far, not as we might want to slap this old Betsy back together in a hurry if any Ivans come prowling.’ He held the barrel up to the light and squinted up it. ‘I wish I were with the major and that three-stripe horror show right now. I’d be looking up a fuck-sight more interesting hole than this.’