ratio, Burke eventually had to settle for the jerking snatch of dropping two, as the convoy slowed to a crawl ‘They’re turning off. Oh bloody Christ, look where we’re going.’
There was no chance to make a break. The first five trucks had already turned into the camp, and half the escort had dismounted to direct the rest of the vehicles off the road. A heavily armed group of military police stood by a BRDM scout car beside the gates and were taking a bored interest.
Boris was sick again, as their turn came to drive into the huge sprawling vehicle park beside the serried ranks of bleak barrack huts, but had nothing left to bring up, and could produce only ugly retching noises and a little spittle.
The guardhouse beside the entrance was a single-storey concrete structure that doubled as a pillbox. A light flak-gun stood on its roof, surrounded by a low rampart of sandbags. Once past it Burke had no choice but to tag behind the last in line of the convoy. The whole place swarmed with Russians, and a large concrete building, unremarkable save for its extreme ugliness, indicated that the place was a headquarters of some sort.
‘Flak-outfit.’ As they motored past rank after rank of soft-skinned transports, further back, outside a large hanger-like shed, Revell noticed two tracked missile systems receiving attention from fitters. ‘No, keep going.’
Burke didn’t need any urging. Instead of parking in line alongside the other trucks, he kept straight on. ‘Have you seen the fence around this place? There’s no way we can crash through in this crate, all we’ll do is pull up a few posts, wrap ourselves in barbed wire and make a hell of a lot of enemies.’
‘We’ve got those already. Steer for that building at the end of the next block. The one with the green roof, standing a bit on its own.’
Bringing the truck to rest beside a huge radio van that looked as if it was either in the process of being built from spare parts, or itself being cannibalised for spares, Burke had a twenty-second fight with the gears to find neutral, and eventually gave up and turned off the engine, keeping his foot on the clutch until the last shuddering over-run had ceased.
‘Someone is coming to tell us off for parking in the wrong place.’ The clipboard waving junior sergeant was shouting at the top of his voice, and going red with the effort of doing that at the same time as jogging towards them.
Waiting until the man was only a couple of yards from the cab, Revell hurled the contents of Boris’s helmet from the window. A little spattered back inside, but most of it went over the clipboard, and the junior sergeant’s boots.
For a long moment the insulted individual just stared, then whirled on his heels and ran back the way he had come.
‘He’s gone to fetch us trouble.’
‘At least it’s bought us time. Get Boris out, I’ll collect the others.’ Time; they needed more than time. Now a miracle would have been useful. Revell recalled his own words to Sergeant Hyde, earlier in the day, about thinking on their feet. Well, look where it had got them, not to safety, but right into the heart of an enemy camp. It was too late now, but maybe Hyde had a point, about the need to find the time for at least a degree of planning. But that wasn’t Revell’s way, oh no, he just went charging on... well the charging was about to end.
Any moment now the Russians would wake up to what was happening in their midst, and then the end would be swift and bloody. He would have to make a point of staying close to Andrea, save a bullet or a grenade for her. She would not do it for herself, not while there was still a chance of one Russian presenting himself as a target.
‘Looks like we jumped out of the frying pan and locked ourselves in the oven, Major.’ Hyde was already ushering the others from the back of the Gaz. He indicated Boris, who, in a state of collapse, was having to be supported by Ripper and Burke. ‘What’s the
There was no chance to make a break. The first five trucks had already turned into the camp, and half the escort had dismounted to direct the rest of the vehicles off the road. A heavily armed group of military police stood by a BRDM scout car beside the gates and were taking a bored interest.
Boris was sick again, as their turn came to drive into the huge sprawling vehicle park beside the serried ranks of bleak barrack huts, but had nothing left to bring up, and could produce only ugly retching noises and a little spittle.
The guardhouse beside the entrance was a single-storey concrete structure that doubled as a pillbox. A light flak-gun stood on its roof, surrounded by a low rampart of sandbags. Once past it Burke had no choice but to tag behind the last in line of the convoy. The whole place swarmed with Russians, and a large concrete building, unremarkable save for its extreme ugliness, indicated that the place was a headquarters of some sort.
‘Flak-outfit.’ As they motored past rank after rank of soft-skinned transports, further back, outside a large hanger-like shed, Revell noticed two tracked missile systems receiving attention from fitters. ‘No, keep going.’
Burke didn’t need any urging. Instead of parking in line alongside the other trucks, he kept straight on. ‘Have you seen the fence around this place? There’s no way we can crash through in this crate, all we’ll do is pull up a few posts, wrap ourselves in barbed wire and make a hell of a lot of enemies.’
‘We’ve got those already. Steer for that building at the end of the next block. The one with the green roof, standing a bit on its own.’
Bringing the truck to rest beside a huge radio van that looked as if it was either in the process of being built from spare parts, or itself being cannibalised for spares, Burke had a twenty-second fight with the gears to find neutral, and eventually gave up and turned off the engine, keeping his foot on the clutch until the last shuddering over-run had ceased.
‘Someone is coming to tell us off for parking in the wrong place.’ The clipboard waving junior sergeant was shouting at the top of his voice, and going red with the effort of doing that at the same time as jogging towards them.
Waiting until the man was only a couple of yards from the cab, Revell hurled the contents of Boris’s helmet from the window. A little spattered back inside, but most of it went over the clipboard, and the junior sergeant’s boots.
For a long moment the insulted individual just stared, then whirled on his heels and ran back the way he had come.
‘He’s gone to fetch us trouble.’
‘At least it’s bought us time. Get Boris out, I’ll collect the others.’ Time; they needed more than time. Now a miracle would have been useful. Revell recalled his own words to Sergeant Hyde, earlier in the day, about thinking on their feet. Well, look where it had got them, not to safety, but right into the heart of an enemy camp. It was too late now, but maybe Hyde had a point, about the need to find the time for at least a degree of planning. But that wasn’t Revell’s way, oh no, he just went charging on... well the charging was about to end.
Any moment now the Russians would wake up to what was happening in their midst, and then the end would be swift and bloody. He would have to make a point of staying close to Andrea, save a bullet or a grenade for her. She would not do it for herself, not while there was still a chance of one Russian presenting himself as a target.
‘Looks like we jumped out of the frying pan and locked ourselves in the oven, Major.’ Hyde was already ushering the others from the back of the Gaz. He indicated Boris, who, in a state of collapse, was having to be supported by Ripper and Burke. ‘What’s the
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