we've got no control. Switzerland, France, Italy. They'd have a field day with it. We wouldn't have just one city in trouble, the whole country could panic.”
“You know that down in those shelters, more Russian agents will be earning their bonus by sowing rumours, starting all sorts of stories.”
“I know that, Major.” Gebert offered Stadler a light, but it was waved away. “We'll have to rely on the police keeping control, or at least doing their best. We're having to accept the lesser of two evils. Better a few should have breakdowns in our shelters, than that a whole country should be made to run scared.”
Stadler finally crumpled his cigarette and threw it away.
“We are going after these Russians hard and fast. No finesse, just straight at them hard every time we see them. Anything goes, a gloves-off operation. When it's over, there will be time for considered statements, careful press releases, but you know something, I'm dreading that time as much as I hate what's happening now. When the fighting is over, the witch hunt will start, for the communist agents who came out of the woodwork and helped create this mess.”
Gebert nodded in agreement. “In the long term, Major Revell, it will be difficult to decide which has done the most damage.”
ELEVEN
An ambulance had collided with a parked car. Both were burning fiercely at the corner of the main shopping , street. Close by stood a fire tender. Among the flattened snakes of its hoses sprawled several of its crew.
Revell and Ackerman took to a side road that skirted the scene, using every shred of cover offered by doorways and street furniture until they were well clear.
The moon had set, and where no alleyway funnelled the reflected glare of the blaze, their way led through near-pitch darkness.
Distantly there came the intermittent sound of light gunfire. Once a single shot from closer at hand was followed by a scream of pain that choked away to silence.
Keeping to the darkest route, they passed through an archway of the medieval Karlstor Gate. They passed an entrance to the Stachus underground shopping centre. At the top of the escalator, several bodies lay scattered. Loud cries and moans from below gave evidence that there had been other victims of the sniper's accurate fire. A figure lolled restlessly on the pavement, in pain too great to articulate. There was nothing they could do, except prevent themselves falling prey to the same marksman.
Beyond that there was another broad avenue to cross, but several strings of streetcars offered them a sanctuary halfway. They ran and dived into an open trailer car, throwing themselves full-length on the littered floor. Bullets punched holes through the panel work and seats.
“Soon as we move, Major, they've got us for sure.” A round had buried itself in the timber planking immediately in front of Ackerman's nose. “They're firing down from one of these buildings. When we leave this crate, we'll be right in their sights.”
“Just be ready to run when I say.” Revell clipped the radio back on his belt, and waited. There were no more shots; he hadn't, expected any yet. There was no point in their sniper wasting ammunition raking the trailer. He would have a clear field of fire soon enough.
A storm of tracers burst with a frenzied clatter from the far side of the avenue and flashed across its broad width. The noise of the many impacts on walls and downspouts blended with the shattering ring of breaking glass.
“Move.”
Ackerman didn't need the officer's urging. Scrambling to his feet, he was on Revell's heels as they jumped from the streetcar, and a pace ahead by the time they reached the sanctuary of the far buildings.
The instant they hurled themselves into concealment, the covering fire abruptly ceased.
“We were waiting a few yards further down. I figured you'd be here soon!” Sergeant Hyde hefted the machine gun onto his shoulder. A half-belt dangled from it. “The buggers are
“You know that down in those shelters, more Russian agents will be earning their bonus by sowing rumours, starting all sorts of stories.”
“I know that, Major.” Gebert offered Stadler a light, but it was waved away. “We'll have to rely on the police keeping control, or at least doing their best. We're having to accept the lesser of two evils. Better a few should have breakdowns in our shelters, than that a whole country should be made to run scared.”
Stadler finally crumpled his cigarette and threw it away.
“We are going after these Russians hard and fast. No finesse, just straight at them hard every time we see them. Anything goes, a gloves-off operation. When it's over, there will be time for considered statements, careful press releases, but you know something, I'm dreading that time as much as I hate what's happening now. When the fighting is over, the witch hunt will start, for the communist agents who came out of the woodwork and helped create this mess.”
Gebert nodded in agreement. “In the long term, Major Revell, it will be difficult to decide which has done the most damage.”
ELEVEN
An ambulance had collided with a parked car. Both were burning fiercely at the corner of the main shopping , street. Close by stood a fire tender. Among the flattened snakes of its hoses sprawled several of its crew.
Revell and Ackerman took to a side road that skirted the scene, using every shred of cover offered by doorways and street furniture until they were well clear.
The moon had set, and where no alleyway funnelled the reflected glare of the blaze, their way led through near-pitch darkness.
Distantly there came the intermittent sound of light gunfire. Once a single shot from closer at hand was followed by a scream of pain that choked away to silence.
Keeping to the darkest route, they passed through an archway of the medieval Karlstor Gate. They passed an entrance to the Stachus underground shopping centre. At the top of the escalator, several bodies lay scattered. Loud cries and moans from below gave evidence that there had been other victims of the sniper's accurate fire. A figure lolled restlessly on the pavement, in pain too great to articulate. There was nothing they could do, except prevent themselves falling prey to the same marksman.
Beyond that there was another broad avenue to cross, but several strings of streetcars offered them a sanctuary halfway. They ran and dived into an open trailer car, throwing themselves full-length on the littered floor. Bullets punched holes through the panel work and seats.
“Soon as we move, Major, they've got us for sure.” A round had buried itself in the timber planking immediately in front of Ackerman's nose. “They're firing down from one of these buildings. When we leave this crate, we'll be right in their sights.”
“Just be ready to run when I say.” Revell clipped the radio back on his belt, and waited. There were no more shots; he hadn't, expected any yet. There was no point in their sniper wasting ammunition raking the trailer. He would have a clear field of fire soon enough.
A storm of tracers burst with a frenzied clatter from the far side of the avenue and flashed across its broad width. The noise of the many impacts on walls and downspouts blended with the shattering ring of breaking glass.
“Move.”
Ackerman didn't need the officer's urging. Scrambling to his feet, he was on Revell's heels as they jumped from the streetcar, and a pace ahead by the time they reached the sanctuary of the far buildings.
The instant they hurled themselves into concealment, the covering fire abruptly ceased.
“We were waiting a few yards further down. I figured you'd be here soon!” Sergeant Hyde hefted the machine gun onto his shoulder. A half-belt dangled from it. “The buggers are
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