They had finally managed to break out of the area and hide up to lick their wounds. Punctures in two tyres, the back end dented, but they had got away and then burst into nervous laughter. Ever since that day, when Jacko had earned his tour wings, Bradley had felt more confident when they were on operations. He too had been in a similar situation, driving the Range Rover when being chased, once with three flat tyres. It was a hair-raising experience.
Bradley moved around the trunk and crouched down behind the earthen mound. He pulled himself forward on his elbows and, once comfortable, scanned the area with his binos again. He could now see the spur line, the sidings the Soviets used to load and unload their tanks for shipping out of the city. The tanks were no more than a hundred metres away. He pulled out his pocket recorder, checked there was a fresh tape and it was rewound to the start and switched it on, recording what he could see.
“Kilo Sierra, 0725. Ten T-64As unloading. New to the unit. One sentry, AK74, bayonet fixed, mag on. Patrolling the east side, looking pretty pissed off.”
He zoomed in on the tanks and continued his commentary, his voice sounding more and more excited at having discovered new tanks for this unit.
“Turret numbers: 607, 608, 603, 602, shit!”
He dropped the recorder and clutched his binos with both hands, zooming in on one of the tanks furthest away. He picked up the recorder again.
“Mars-Bars. Three T-64s have Mars-Bars. 613, 615 and 616.”
Binos went down as did the recorder and he pulled the camera off his shoulder. Zooming in with the 300mm lens, he clicked away at the tanks and their turret numbers, partly as a supplementary record but also as part of the intelligence build-up on the Soviet units in East Berlin. He snapped away, two or three shots of each tank, some close-ups of key parts of the main battle tanks, their optics, tracks, main gun and, of course, the Mars-Bars. Further analysis would be done when back at the operations room, and the boffins back at MOD, the Ministry of Defence, would also get copies to pore over. Satisfied he had taken enough pictures for now, at this range anyway, he replaced the lens cap and slung the Nikon back over his shoulder and grabbed the portable radio from his pocket.
“Juliet, Bravo, over.”
The call signs for members of the section were the phonetic first letter of their respective first name.
“Go ahead, over.” Jacko’s voice crackled in reply.
“We need to get closer, Jacko. Over.”
“North or south? Over.”
“North, so find us a route. See you in ten, out.”
Bradley secured the radio and picked up his pocket tape recorder again and started to recite. “Tanks being unloaded so probably bound for the local unit. Speed they’re working at should take them a couple of hours. This is a new tank type for the unit, so they are probably unsure of them. Maybe more trains arriving, unless this is just a batch for them to train on. Need to keep a close watch to confirm if any T-54/55s or T-62s are sent out at a later date. Moving to get a closer look.”
He placed the recorder back in his pocket and got back up to a crouching position and made his way into the trees again. The clang of hammers being used by the tank crew to strike the chains and release the tanks continued. He reached the edge of the embankment, checked his surroundings; then, at a running crouch, went up the side and over the top, stepping gingerly over the two sets of railway lines and down the other side. He made his way back to the Range Rover, the steady stream of gases coming from the exhaust indicating that Jacko was ready to move out. Opening the door, Bradley slotted into his seat, peeling the camera and binos off his shoulder and placing them back in the bag by his feet.
“T-64s, Jacko.”
“T-64s?”
“Yes.”
“That’s a new bit of kit for this unit then, isn’t it?”
“Yes, and with Mars-Bars,” Bradley responded excitedly.
“What are those things again?” Jacko asked, remembering being briefed about them some time ago.
“I’ll tell you on the way. We need to move.”
“So, we’re going north to get a closer look, yes?”
“The best place.”
“I’ll take us onto Zweiessler Strasse. Remember it?”
“Sure.”
Chapter 3
Jacko shifted the vehicle into gear and slowly manoeuvred it through the trees until they were back on Bahn Weg, where he turned left, Bradley constantly checking, making a three hundred and sixty degree sweep ensuring they weren’t being observed or followed. The engine growled as the Range Rover picked up speed, and Bradley, satisfied they were not being followed, pulled his kitbag up onto his knee. He pulled out the camera again and unlocked the large grey 300mm lens. It was the better lens to use in poor light, so he could keep the camera speed high, but it was bulky and awkward to use when trying to remain concealed. It was at least a foot long, shaped like a cone, the tip of the lens the size of a double fist.
He clipped on another lens, a 400mm one this time. This one was more compact, a mirror lens, black and tubular in shape. Its downside was it needed more light, so would have a negative impact on film speed. The light was getting better, so he would chance it.
“Well? Mars-Bars?” Jacko reminded him.
Bradley put the bag down into the footwell of the vehicle, close at hand and ready should he need it quickly. Checked the map and scanned the area yet again. They were now on Arnsberger Strasse, still amongst the holiday homes of the wealthier East Berliners. Probably party officials, surmised Bradley, or their families, or others connected to the Communist organisation that now ran the GDR. The select few.
“They were designed to defeat our HESH rounds.”
“High Explosive Squash Head, right?”
“You do listen then.” Bradley grinned.
“I live for your every word.”
“Bollocks. Well, HESH rounds are thin metal shells filled with plastic explosive and have a delayed action fuse. The explosive is squashed against the side of the tank with the force of the strike and spreads out to form a disc.”
“Like a small pizza?”
“Yes, Jacko, if you like.” Bloody truckies, he mumbled jokingly. “Milliseconds later, this is detonated and the shock wave is transmitted through the wall of the armour and, once it meets the crew compartment, the inner wall fragments at high speed, basically causing a mess inside.”