ice-cold to their ankles.
Throwing himself against the illusory cover of the rock, Revell edged back a few paces. ‘No wonder they didn’t bother with the guard post.’ His breath came in gulps and he could feel his heart hammering inside his ribs.
He had seen it for only a second, but it was locked vividly in his mind’s eye. A massively strong bunker seemed to grow from the rock itself. Perhaps a meter of concrete faced with inches of steel, the snouts of machine guns protruded from step-sided embrasures. The weapons could sweep a hundred-meter straight stretch of road that offered no shred of cover. Even attempts to rush the position using smoke would have been doomed. Firing blind, the guns could not have failed to hit anyone attempting that suicidal run.
Armour would have been no protection. Niches cut in the rock held well- protected directional anti-tank mines. At point-blank range the hull sides of the toughest main battle tank would be penetrated effortlessly.
‘Maybe the Russians are here before us.’ Carrington too had seen what lay in their path. ‘Anybody who strolls that way is going to get creamed. I’m impressed.’
Revell was too, but someone was going to have to go out in the open and ... ‘You can come forward.’
The bull-horn blared into life without crackling a pre-warning. ‘I promise you are quite safe.’ Each heavily accented word bounced back and forth in echoes that gradually diminished to a confused babble.
‘It is no trick. We are on the same side. We have been watching your approach on remote cameras, but only in the last few moments have we picked you up on our microphones.’
There was a pause, and Revell made no move. He laid a restraining hand on Carrington’s arm. ‘We’ll take no…’
‘I see that you doubt me.’ The disembodied voice blasted out again. ‘That is understandable. I shall expose myself.’
Dooley tittered. ‘That’s supposed to set out minds at rest?’ He had to shove fingers in his mouth to comply with Sergeant Hyde’s order for silence.
There came an electronically amplified thud and then a resonant ‘click,’ as if the bull-horn had been put down while still switched to full power. There was a brief period of dead silence and then from behind the machine gun nest strolled an unarmed officer. Walking into the open, he turned to beckon behind him and was joined by three young soldiers. Their battledress was immaculately new, but long hair straggled from beneath their helmets.
The trio lounged against the blockhouse, masking the machine guns. Reassured, but still maintaining a degree of caution, Revell went forward with Andrea and Carrington. Advancing to meet them, the first man made a careless salute.
‘Lieutenant Hans Voke, commander of Dutch Pioneer Company seven four nine.’ He grinned a broad grin that exposed a gold tooth. ‘I am welcoming you to NATO supply depot number twelve. You may have heard of it; the unofficial name is Paradise Valley.’
‘Doesn’t look much like paradise to me.’ Keeping a tight grip on the side of the truck, Thorne was bumped by others as the eight-wheeled Foden wallowed through huge potholes.
The basin of land dominated by the castle was over two kilometres in diameter. They were nearing a small village set in its centre, and dwarfed by the jagged ridges and precipitous slopes around it.
Apart from the straggling collection of about twenty houses and a small church, the only other sign of habitation in the valley was a picturesque farm on the slopes opposite the castle.
All of the buildings were from another and gentler age. Half-timbered for the most part, some with shutters and fenced gardens, the only sign that the twentieth century had created any impression on the place was the abandoned hulk of a farm tractor beside a rotting woodpile.
Pulling into the yard of a small sawmill that was little more than an open-sided shed beside a house with blue shutters, the truck came to a stop with a
Throwing himself against the illusory cover of the rock, Revell edged back a few paces. ‘No wonder they didn’t bother with the guard post.’ His breath came in gulps and he could feel his heart hammering inside his ribs.
He had seen it for only a second, but it was locked vividly in his mind’s eye. A massively strong bunker seemed to grow from the rock itself. Perhaps a meter of concrete faced with inches of steel, the snouts of machine guns protruded from step-sided embrasures. The weapons could sweep a hundred-meter straight stretch of road that offered no shred of cover. Even attempts to rush the position using smoke would have been doomed. Firing blind, the guns could not have failed to hit anyone attempting that suicidal run.
Armour would have been no protection. Niches cut in the rock held well- protected directional anti-tank mines. At point-blank range the hull sides of the toughest main battle tank would be penetrated effortlessly.
‘Maybe the Russians are here before us.’ Carrington too had seen what lay in their path. ‘Anybody who strolls that way is going to get creamed. I’m impressed.’
Revell was too, but someone was going to have to go out in the open and ... ‘You can come forward.’
The bull-horn blared into life without crackling a pre-warning. ‘I promise you are quite safe.’ Each heavily accented word bounced back and forth in echoes that gradually diminished to a confused babble.
‘It is no trick. We are on the same side. We have been watching your approach on remote cameras, but only in the last few moments have we picked you up on our microphones.’
There was a pause, and Revell made no move. He laid a restraining hand on Carrington’s arm. ‘We’ll take no…’
‘I see that you doubt me.’ The disembodied voice blasted out again. ‘That is understandable. I shall expose myself.’
Dooley tittered. ‘That’s supposed to set out minds at rest?’ He had to shove fingers in his mouth to comply with Sergeant Hyde’s order for silence.
There came an electronically amplified thud and then a resonant ‘click,’ as if the bull-horn had been put down while still switched to full power. There was a brief period of dead silence and then from behind the machine gun nest strolled an unarmed officer. Walking into the open, he turned to beckon behind him and was joined by three young soldiers. Their battledress was immaculately new, but long hair straggled from beneath their helmets.
The trio lounged against the blockhouse, masking the machine guns. Reassured, but still maintaining a degree of caution, Revell went forward with Andrea and Carrington. Advancing to meet them, the first man made a careless salute.
‘Lieutenant Hans Voke, commander of Dutch Pioneer Company seven four nine.’ He grinned a broad grin that exposed a gold tooth. ‘I am welcoming you to NATO supply depot number twelve. You may have heard of it; the unofficial name is Paradise Valley.’
‘Doesn’t look much like paradise to me.’ Keeping a tight grip on the side of the truck, Thorne was bumped by others as the eight-wheeled Foden wallowed through huge potholes.
The basin of land dominated by the castle was over two kilometres in diameter. They were nearing a small village set in its centre, and dwarfed by the jagged ridges and precipitous slopes around it.
Apart from the straggling collection of about twenty houses and a small church, the only other sign of habitation in the valley was a picturesque farm on the slopes opposite the castle.
All of the buildings were from another and gentler age. Half-timbered for the most part, some with shutters and fenced gardens, the only sign that the twentieth century had created any impression on the place was the abandoned hulk of a farm tractor beside a rotting woodpile.
Pulling into the yard of a small sawmill that was little more than an open-sided shed beside a house with blue shutters, the truck came to a stop with a
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