“All Steel Falcon call signs, those guys are dead and they can’t feel anything anymore so kick down and drive on!”
As did everyone else, Jim closed his mind to what the 24,500kg vehicles were driving over, and leaving in their wake as the fighting vehicles traversed that length of the firebreak.
The beating of rotor blades brought Colin back to consciousness, and the shape of a British Army Air Corps Apache passed overhead, riding shotgun for the troops on the ground.
He was no longer alone amongst the trees, friendly troops hunted amongst the debris of war for those still living, it had also stopped raining. Hot packs, self-heating bags warmed through a chemical reaction in the contents, had been placed under his smock, warding off hypothermia. A medic had started an I.V drip, it hung from a branch above him and his dressing had been changed by the same medic who was too busy talking triage over a radio to notice his patient’s eyes were now open.
Oz hovered protectively nearby but was also unaware that Colin was awake again, as he was in heated discussion with someone out of view. Arnie Moore saw his eyes were open and Oz knelt to speak reassuringly, but had to put his ear to his friend’s mouth before he could hear what was apparently so urgent. The sound of helicopters which were arriving to casevac, casualty evacuate the wounded to field hospitals, was making his task difficult.
“What does he want?” Arnie asked when Oz finally stood back up after removing the sheets of paper from Colin’s map pocket. Oz looked at Nikoli’s body with regret and then stepped over to the body it was lying next to.
“You got any Russian speakers in this crowd, sir?”
Arnie took a second to think about it before going on the air to call up one of the troopers securing the perimeter. “What’s this about Oz?”
The British sergeant retrieved a computer disc from beside the second body, holding it gingerly by the rim.
“Colin thinks this guy is a General, so this stuff could be important.”
Arnie peered at the body with a dubious expression before shrugging and calling up Jim Popham.
By the time the trooper had arrived Jim had been filled in on what had transpired, and had also looked over the dead Russian sceptically. As the trooper arrived Jim looked at the name badge sown over a breast pocket.
“Beckett, did you study Russian in school?”
The trooper was not one of the regulars, but a reservist called back to the ranks.
“Fourth generation Russian American, sir.” The trooper explained. “Beketskeyev was a bit of a mouthful, so it got chopped a bit.”
Jim handed over the sheets of paper.
“What do you make of these, Beckett?”
The paratrooper read most of the sheets but on reaching those covered in Chinese script he raised an eyebrow and looked at the major with a ‘Are you taking the piss?’ expression.
“The ones in Russian, if you please… what are they?” the major wasn’t feeling particularly indulgent.
“Well sir, they seem to be contact details for various individuals who have code names, and some careless spook wrote their real names down too. At least that’s what it seems to be.”
Jim looked back at the dead Russian, noting once more the absence of any rank insignia before looking back at Trooper Beckett.
“Do you think its genuine?”
Beckett answered the question with one of his own.
“Say Major, did you hear anything about NSA analysts with high I.Q’s being drafted into the army?”
The question caught Jim unawares.
“No?”
Trooper Beckett handed him back the sheets.
“Me neither, sir.”
“You’ve got a smart mouth trooper, how’d you like to walk back from here?”
Trooper Beckett wasn’t put out.
“No more than you’d like trying to park in front of a hydrant in my precinct back in New York, once this is all over, sir.”
“You a cop?”
“Yes, sir.”
Jim pursed his lips for a moment.
“Let’s assume that what this guy was carrying is the real deal.” Beckett was listening respectfully, but he had the air of someone who knew the answer already, after all it was just a logical exercise in evidencing the find from a policeman’s perspective.
“There are people paid to be sceptical who will assess its authenticity, so how would we document it?” Jim finished.
“Sir, we stop anyone else putting their paw marks on it, seal it up and sign the bag. Then we take this guy’s photo, and the scene… someone’s got to have a camera in their kit, probably one of the younger guys.”
“Ok.” Jim hadn’t thought of that, and Arnie went off to hunt a budding ‘jimmy the click’ to fulfil the task. “Anything else?”
“Sure… the battalion Intel officer needs to get in on the act as affidavits need to be done from everyone here, and we take the dead guys prints.”
Major Popham cleared his throat.
“G3 is my other hat so that’s covered, and they are all good points except the last one, we seem to be fresh out of fingerprinting kits.”
Beckett withdrew a notebook from a pocket and knelt beside the body of Serge Alontov. Opening at a fresh page he took hold of the dead man’s right hand and separating a finger he pressed it to the blood matted sweater. The blood was coagulating fast and had long since passed the stage where it had run like water. Beckett rolled it expertly onto the open page, pausing to study his handiwork critically, and then nodding to himself in satisfaction before continuing with the remaining digits.
Jim was impressed with the rather gruesome improvisation. “Anything else you can think of trooper?”
“Yes, sir.” Nodding at the body Beckett carried on. “This guy and all his gear goes stateside or wherever the intelligence guys want him and someone here goes with him along with the documents, of course.”
That left Jim with the decision as to who got an early trip home.
“How long you been with us Beckett, you come with a recent draft of replacements?”
Beckett shook his head.
“Hell no, I joined the outfit at Bragg two days after the army remembered I was still a reservist, sir.”
Stepping forward, Arnie held out a hand to the trooper. “Well I guess you got elected then Beckett, it’s been good having you with us.”
Although he took the offered hand the trooper looked embarrassed.
“Sir, what about the rest of the guys, I don’t like the idea of abandoning them?”
“You go where the army sends you, Beckett.” Jim said reassuringly. “And if this turns out to be a big load of nothing, then I guess we will be seeing you again sooner rather than later.”
Hurried statements were written out by the witnesses and a young trooper with an instamatic camera used up half a cartridge of film before handing it to Beckett with his parents address, extracting a promise that the unrelated snaps would be delivered to them.
Back at the battalion CP Pat Reed was updated on what appeared on the surface to be an intelligence windfall. The brigade intelligence officer wanted the pages, the CD Rom, the body and in fact everyone and everything connected with it to be sent up to brigade for assessment, but a quick call to SACEUR prevented that pointless delay. Having pissed off his higher headquarters yet again, Pat past on the ultimate destination.
Black Hawks appeared overhead and the first pair landed on the deforested strip by the logging track, and the most seriously wounded were stretchered over and loaded aboard.
Oz walked beside Colin’s stretcher, reassuring him for the third time that Beckett had not been bullshitting, the sheets of paper carried intelligence info and not hugs and kisses. He carried in his hand the Yarygin and shoulder holster, which would only find its way into some REMFs kitbag as an un-earned trophy of war if it stayed with Colin, so Oz would give it to Arnie who had still not managed to acquire one of the sort-after items for himself.