‘I want two rounds dropped right under the wall, then four more walked back along the road, fifty-meter intervals. Fast as you…’
His last words were drowned and his ears punished by the blast as the first armour -seeking round was sent on its way. The second blast came only a fraction of a second later.
Revell was tempted to grab the pocket-sized fire-control computer and calculate the time of flight, but knew that in his unpractised hands it would take too long. He tried to read the pale green glow of the display ticking away the time on target in Thome’s hand.
‘…three… two… one.’ For an instant, doubt flashed through Thome’s mind, then he heard the vicious screech of the warhead’s detonation on a hard target. It was followed by a more powerful explosion. ‘Set the bastards’ ammo off. Must have impacted beside the driver’s position to do that. Second was either a dud or couldn’t find a tank of its own.’
At short intervals more rounds were slipped down the dull-painted tubes and each time the blast seemed little attenuated by the bell-shaped muzzle-tops.
The transit times of those rounds was fractionally longer, but there were three more audible indicators of successful hits.
‘Right, move, you lot. Time to get our heads down.’ Unfastening a barrel from its bipod, Thorne led his men and Revell in a dash for the cover of a doorway. A makeshift dogleg barricade had been erected in front of it.
‘They’re slow off the mark.’ Thorne checked his watch. ‘The commies have counter battery fire down to a fine art. I’m amazed we got that many away without getting one back in our lap, let alone had time to bolt.’
‘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. Somewhere 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.