Read Online Civilian Slaughter by James Rouch - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: James Rouch
Tags: Fiction, Men's Adventure
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the collection Revell spotted an ornate Nazi dagger of World War Two vintage. Doubtless it had been looted from some abandoned property. It was likely the civvy shotgun came from a similar source. “These Reds may no longer be on the Warpac side, but I've got my doubt that they're on ours either.”
Penned within the confines of the high mesh fences, the Russians strolled or lounged on the ground wrapped in soiled greatcoats. They appeared to be completely apathetic as to their surroundings, taking no interest in anything. There was little conversation among them, not even when their cases and bags had been checked in their full view. No concern, curiosity or resentment was displayed when the finds began to be made, not even when the haul was removed for disposal.
The only spark of animation came when Sampson and one of the pioneers appeared with buckets of water. Then there was a mad scramble for the gate where it was ladled out. It had taken several shots fired into the air to restore any semblance of order.
A thorough search of the transport uncovered another twelve guns and several hundred rounds of assorted ammunition, plus many more edged weapons. Revell was reluctant to, but it was beginning to look as if they would have to body search every one of their prisoners. That was the conclusion he was reaching when Lieutenant Vokes brought one of the Russians to him.
“This one speaks English, after a fashion, Major. He says he wants to ...” “To talk to the major, yes. That is what I am asking.”
“Make it quick.” Despite himself, Revell couldn't help smiling. The man before him looked like a cartoon composite of the typical Russian.
He stood about five foot nine, but was so broad in the chest and across the shoulders that he looked squat. A short bull neck was topped by a heavy jowled slab of a face. His eyes were dark and narrow, made to look the more so by a broad forehead framed by a severe fringe of jet black hair.
All in all the Russian reminded Revell of a younger version of Brezhnev. Moving ponderously to attention, the Russian made as if to salute, but after his hand jerked twice in indecision he didn't.
“Grigori Vladimirovich Galinski at your service, Major. Late sergeant in the 445th Company of the Commandants Service, attached to the 75th Infantry regiment, 3rd Shock Army.”
“I'm surprised you are still alive. Do your present companions not know you were with the military police?”
“To survive, one sometimes has to resort to subterfuge, Major. When I crossed the Zone to defect I assumed the identity of a ... a friend, who unfortunately died on the journey. I tell you this so that you can be assured of my good faith.”
“You think I need reassuring?” Revell would have dismissed the man, but something made him hesitate. Perhaps he could be useful.
“By telling you this, I place myself in your hands, Major. Perhaps by so doing I might gain trust that would otherwise take a long time to establish.”
“Do you have any influence among this rabble?” Indicating the inmates of the compound, Revell saw that they had resumed their apathetic behaviour now the distribution of the water ration was over.
The Russian thumped himself on the chest, raising a puff of dust. “They know that I am a strong man, a tough boss.” He made the familiar Russian gesture of a clenched fist. “A powerful boss is always respected in my country.”
“Like Stalin.” Overcoming his distaste of the prisoner, Revell realized he might be able to use him. “We've wasted too much time here already. I want all the weapons this mob of yours is carrying.”
“Everything?”
Revell knew he was expecting too much if he thought he could net every knife among them, without resorting to a strip search. That would waste the best part of a half day.
“Firearms, grenades, explosives and ammunition. When they come out of there in fifteen minutes I want to see it all in a pile in the middle of the court. Just to be
Penned within the confines of the high mesh fences, the Russians strolled or lounged on the ground wrapped in soiled greatcoats. They appeared to be completely apathetic as to their surroundings, taking no interest in anything. There was little conversation among them, not even when their cases and bags had been checked in their full view. No concern, curiosity or resentment was displayed when the finds began to be made, not even when the haul was removed for disposal.
The only spark of animation came when Sampson and one of the pioneers appeared with buckets of water. Then there was a mad scramble for the gate where it was ladled out. It had taken several shots fired into the air to restore any semblance of order.
A thorough search of the transport uncovered another twelve guns and several hundred rounds of assorted ammunition, plus many more edged weapons. Revell was reluctant to, but it was beginning to look as if they would have to body search every one of their prisoners. That was the conclusion he was reaching when Lieutenant Vokes brought one of the Russians to him.
“This one speaks English, after a fashion, Major. He says he wants to ...” “To talk to the major, yes. That is what I am asking.”
“Make it quick.” Despite himself, Revell couldn't help smiling. The man before him looked like a cartoon composite of the typical Russian.
He stood about five foot nine, but was so broad in the chest and across the shoulders that he looked squat. A short bull neck was topped by a heavy jowled slab of a face. His eyes were dark and narrow, made to look the more so by a broad forehead framed by a severe fringe of jet black hair.
All in all the Russian reminded Revell of a younger version of Brezhnev. Moving ponderously to attention, the Russian made as if to salute, but after his hand jerked twice in indecision he didn't.
“Grigori Vladimirovich Galinski at your service, Major. Late sergeant in the 445th Company of the Commandants Service, attached to the 75th Infantry regiment, 3rd Shock Army.”
“I'm surprised you are still alive. Do your present companions not know you were with the military police?”
“To survive, one sometimes has to resort to subterfuge, Major. When I crossed the Zone to defect I assumed the identity of a ... a friend, who unfortunately died on the journey. I tell you this so that you can be assured of my good faith.”
“You think I need reassuring?” Revell would have dismissed the man, but something made him hesitate. Perhaps he could be useful.
“By telling you this, I place myself in your hands, Major. Perhaps by so doing I might gain trust that would otherwise take a long time to establish.”
“Do you have any influence among this rabble?” Indicating the inmates of the compound, Revell saw that they had resumed their apathetic behaviour now the distribution of the water ration was over.
The Russian thumped himself on the chest, raising a puff of dust. “They know that I am a strong man, a tough boss.” He made the familiar Russian gesture of a clenched fist. “A powerful boss is always respected in my country.”
“Like Stalin.” Overcoming his distaste of the prisoner, Revell realized he might be able to use him. “We've wasted too much time here already. I want all the weapons this mob of yours is carrying.”
“Everything?”
Revell knew he was expecting too much if he thought he could net every knife among them, without resorting to a strip search. That would waste the best part of a half day.
“Firearms, grenades, explosives and ammunition. When they come out of there in fifteen minutes I want to see it all in a pile in the middle of the court. Just to be
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