‘Your men know their job well.’ Revell watched as a Dutch pioneer improvised a roof, from splintered doors, over the vulnerable ammunition.
‘I think they are enjoying themselves, Major.’ Voke was handed a bulky satchel by one of his men. He glanced into it, then handed it to Revell. ‘A little present for you. Something you asked for.’
Puzzled, Revell accepted it, and from its depths extracted three large drum magazines. ‘I don’t believe it. I’ve been eking out my last seven shells and you come up with these.’
He substituted one for the half-empty box mag on his assault shotgun. ‘Perfect, flechette and explosive.’
‘It is my hope that the communists do not get close enough for you to make effective use of that weapon.’ Voke patted his British Endeavour rifle. Its bull-pup configuration made it look insignificant close to the chunky mass of the wooden-stocked combat shotgun. ‘I prefer a weapon that can engage them before they get that close.’
Revell clipped the spare magazines to his belt. ‘I don’t think the choice will be down to us.’
FIFTEEN
‘Hold your fire! Hold your fire!’ Carrington yelled at the top of his voice, and heard the instruction passed on in Dutch and English.
He looked again through the image intensifies It didn’t reveal a perfect picture, but it clearly resolved into a view of a soft-skin eight-wheeler of NATO type.
‘Is it Hyde?’ Smothering himself in clinging grey mud in the process, Revell hurled himself into the machine-gun nest and grabbed the vision-enhancing night glasses.
‘Ought to be, but there’s too many of them.’ Adjusting the focus, the major saw that their hard-man was right. Six, including Andrea had gone out on the mine-laying detail. He could see at least twice that number moving about the vehicle.
‘Star shell?’
The suggestion made sense, but for Revell there was more than simply the lives of the sergeant’s squad to consider, with action so close. Yes, the truck had to be Hyde’s, perhaps returning with prisoners from their skirmish, but it might be a Russian recon team who’d taken it over and were employing it. It was a stunt the Warpac forces had used many times to approach NATO positions.
‘If it’s Reds we’ll let them get close before we hit them. I’ll want prisoners.’ Oh yes, he’d want prisoners. If they’d captured or killed Andrea he was personally going to make the death of every communist who fell into his hands very painful and extremely protracted.
Rummaging through the truck’s tool kit, Burke swore as he caught the back of his hand on the unguarded blade of a hacksaw.
‘There’s got to be one in here somewhere.’ He cursed again as a sharp object, unseen in the dark, pierced his thumb.
‘What the hell are you looking for?’ Hyde was impatient. ‘Let’s put a torch to this rig and get moving.’
‘You can’t risk those girls to climb up there still wearing those leg-irons. The fetters are made out of what looks like old tin cans. Their ankles are already red-raw. By the time they’re halfway up, the fucking metal will have cut their feet off.’ His hand lit on a familiar shape and he drew his long-handled bolt-cutters from the bottom of the locker. ‘Got them.’
‘Be quick about it.’ Unfastening the gas tank filler cap, Hyde threaded a strip of cloth in until he felt it slacken when it floated on the fuel. As he worked he could hear the repetitive ‘snick’ as their driver severed the girls’ bonds.
‘Why do you bother?’ Andrea watched the sergeant’s preparations. ‘When the Russians arrive it will be destroyed anyway.’
‘If we’re going to scramble up that lot, then we need a light. This wagon should burn for the best part of an hour.’
‘It will also make us perfect targets if they arrive before we reach safety.’ Hyde noticed there was no real concern in her voice; she was simply making an observation. ‘That’s a chance we’ll have to take.’ He applied a match to the protruding material, then hauled several pallets off the back and propped them against the big tank.
The dangling length of cotton had flared at the first touch of the flame. It almost went out when it reached the lip, then, fed by the fuel that saturated it, became gradually stronger and lit the area in an ever-widening circle.
None of them looked back as they began the ascent. The Scammel was simply a machine that had served a purpose. Only by being destroyed was its usefulness being extended.
The girls needed no goading or encouragement at first to make the best possible speed; it was Ripper who more and more frequently needed assistance as. his damaged leg stiffened.
Several times they had to make changes of direction when they struck a patch where the going was too precarious over loose material. In other places they were faced by extensive slabs of unbroken wall that had somehow tobogganed over several hundred meters to come to rest intact. Their thick coating of dust, turned to a gritty lubricant by the rain, made them unscalable and forced further detours.
It was exhausting, punishing work. The wild shadows thrown by the burning truck played constant tricks with their eyes. Sometimes it smoothed deceptively a series of jagged crags, then would threaten them with a bottomless black gulf where none existed.
The way grew steeper and at times Ripper had to be dragged or lifted. Two of the girls were also in difficulty, but their companions helped them, urging them on with earnest words of encouragement.
None of them dared look up. The point they aimed for seemed as far away as ever. And if they looked back all there was to see was the burning Scammel, now alight from end to end as its diesel fuel boiled and ignited the wooden load bed and the cab.
Andrea felt herself to be climbing like an automaton, handgrip following handgrip, instinct taking over from reasoned thought. Her arms and shoulders ached but she pushed from her mind the urge to stop and rest. She suppressed the thought that not all of the thickly sown mines might have been triggered or neutralized by the great mass of falling stone and tiles.
She slipped, and felt the hard rock pummelling her body before her kicking feet and scrabbling fingers found holds to check her slide. Gulping air, she steadied herself, then began cautiously to edge to the left in search of an alternative route.
Looking back, Andrea saw the others, more strung out than they had been at the start, and working in small groups for mutual support. It was not just to avoid unwanted advances that had prompted her to be a loner; it had always been her way to avoid dependence on others or responsibility for anyone. But as now, that could work against her, force her onto her own resources, to near breaking-point.
They were halfway, almost to the top of the fallen rubble. Beyond that was bare rock for nearly a hundred meters before they might find some footing among the broken remains of the outwork.
A stone her foot dislodged tumbled away to miss their prisoner narrowly. She saw his upturned face mouthing obscenities at her, and purposely dislodged another.
Hyde could taste the paste of mortar and ground granite. It clung to him in amounts sufficient to triple the weight of his combat fatigues and drag him down. He felt as though he had been climbing forever. Concentrating only on the next hold and not dwelling on how many more there were to go, he was surprised when he caught up to Andrea. She had stopped in a patch of deep shadow between two huge blocks.