The Zone – Northern Sector
Attempts by the Royal Navy to sweep the Elbe estuary of mines, as a preliminary to forcing a passage to Hamburg, have been called off after the loss of the minesweepers HMS Brecon and HMS Middleton. The modified torpedo recovery vessel RNAS Tormentor is on its way to the area, and it is thought attempts will be made by RN divers to recover one of the new Russian mines.
Lieutenant General K. I. Pavloskii has been relieved of his command of the Soviet forces surrounding Hamburg, following the defeat of the third major assault in six weeks by the West German and British defenders. He is now in Moscow. His successor has not yet been announced. He will be the third to be appointed in five months. It is understood that there is no competition among the Russian General Staff for the post.
Polish and Hungarian divisions have now been positively identified opposite the Hanover salient. The increased use of satellite forces on this most active front is thought to be due to two reasons: ONE: The Russians’ aim to reduce their own losses in experienced combat units, currently running at four per cent per week. TWO: A desire to strengthen the ‘involvement’ of other members of the Warsaw Pact by increasing their casualty lists.
The Cuban battalion operating with the Soviet 2nd Guards Army near Munster is now known to have suffered eighty-seven per cent casualties in two days of fighting with the 2nd Battalion of the RAF Regiment. British losses are put at one dead, two missing believed killed, seven wounded.
SIX
The little country town of Budlingen was close enough to the western fringes of the Zone to have suffered extensively from looting. Added to the dereliction brought about by almost two years of neglect and nature’s unchecked advances, was the clutter of abandoned furniture and other goods outside virtually every shop and house. Most of it was weather-ravaged and scattered, but here and there stood neat stacks of televisions and other electrical appliances, still awaiting collection by gangs who had been unable or unwilling to return for them.
Tissue-thin wood veneer peeled from once polished cabinets, drooping down on to the clouded plastic covers of music centres. Grass and weeds flourished about and between them, adding an incongruous touch. ‘These places give me the creeps.’ Dooley looked around warily as they stood waiting for Revell and the sergeant to return from scouting for suitable sites and premises. ‘It’s no fucking wonder the refugees build their camps out in the country.’
‘Spooky or not, I’d rather have a decent roof over my head than live in one of the camps. A tent isn’t any substitute for tiles.’ Rubbing accumulated grime from a shop window, Burke peered in at the dusty shelves. They were empty save for a few large wicker baskets that had held loaves long ago. A mouse scurried across a counter top, tumbling noiselessly to a bouncy landing on the floor, before hurrying from sight.
There was a loud bang. Everyone jumped as Dooley smashed his boot through the screen of a large colour set and was showered with thick fragments of glass. He ignored the shouts of protest. ‘I always wanted to do that.’
‘You’re a bloody hooligan, a vandal.’ There was irritation in Libby’s voice. ‘If you have to do bloody stupid things like that, do it thoroughly. Use your thick head next time.’
‘You want to start calling names, save it for the shits in the Kremlin who started the whole stinking business. They’re the fucking vandals.’ Dooley had been about to hand out similar treatment to a second television, now he held back. ‘Fuck it, can’t I even have a bit of fun without someone having a go at me. You lot get on my tits.’ He stalked away, kicking a Hoover from his path.
Clarence sat on a twin-tub washing machine, scraping every last speck of brick dust from his rifle, stripping the bullets from the magazines and cleaning each one individually. The tension that was getting to the others had not touched him. He finished the last checks, loaded the re-chambered Enfield and slowly took aim at a street sign two hundred metres away. An instant after firing, a large area of paint jumped from its face, as the heavy bullet punched through the centre of the circle of sheet metal, deeply denting the post behind it. A second shot ploughed into a shop sign some yards further away and frosted glass and fluorescent tubes cascaded on to the path.
Satisfied, the sniper reloaded the magazine. The fight to come was more to his liking. Given good concealment, with just a little luck, he would push his score to over two hundred. It was a start. He had set the price of revenge at a hundred Russians for each member of his family. At his current rate he would achieve his target in about seven months. He had not as yet considered what he would do when he reached it. There would be time enough for that when it happened.
‘Here we go again.’ Burke watched Revell and Hyde returning. ‘I’ll be bleeding glad when we’ve used up the last of these things. Jesus but my arms ache.’ He prepared to pick up a case of reloads for their Dragon anti-tank rocket launchers. ‘I’m supposed to be a ruddy combat driver, not a sodding pack mule.’
‘Be grateful we’ve got them. This scrap is going to be at close range, we’ll be using the contraptions almost like bazookas, flight time will be too short for effective gathering and guidance. It’ll be a case of see, point and fire.’
‘Is that supposed to cheer me up, Sarge?’
‘No Burke, just keep you informed. You’re always complaining no one ever tells you anything. Come to that you’re always complaining.’
For a moment Burke considered contesting the statement, but decided not to. ‘Well in future I’d rather stay ignorant, better for my peace of mind.’
‘OK Sergeant, let’s get set up.’ Revell was counting the ammunition cases when he heard the approaching engines. A black staff car and a half-ton truck were coming down the main street. ‘Damn it, don’t you know this road is closed? It’s going to be full of T84s inside an hour.’ He shouted at the car’s driver, who had pulled up nearby and had stuck his head out of the window.
‘Good. I’m in the right place then.’ Not put off by the greeting, a young lieutenant climbed out, as an assortment of variously armed cooks, clerks and combat engineers jumped from the back of the truck.
‘What the hell is this?’ Revell looked on incredulously as the lieutenant had the new arrivals lifting cases of grenades and M72 Viper launchers from the truck.
Undeterred by the brusque demand, the lieutenant sauntered forward and threw a casual salute. ‘I heard there was a chance of a skirmish with stray Russian armour, so I rounded up some, eh, volunteers from the hangers-on around Corps HQ, borrowed the General’s car and a truck the supply boys didn’t seem to have too much use for, and motored out here looking for a slice of the action. When does the fun start. I’m not too late am I?’
‘You sure you heard his name right? Lieutenant Hogg? He’s not a grunt is he? You sure you heard the name right?’
‘Sure I’m sure.’ Cohen was stung by Dooley’s scepticism. ‘I heard him talking with the Major. He’s an engineer with 373rd Bridge Building Company. He was hanging about VII Corps HQ waiting for transport when he heard about us.’
‘I don’t give a fuck what he’s called. I just wish he’d stop smiling all the fucking time.’ By pretending to be making adjustments to the support legs of the Dragon missile launcher, Burke avoided helping the two Americans carry the sealed reload rounds in from the doorway. ‘It’s fucking unnerving having someone around who grins like a bleeding Cheshire cat all the time. Where is he now?’
Broken glass from the smashed front of the hardware store crunched under heavy ammunition boxes as they were set down beside the launcher. Dooley took out one of the Dragon rounds and clipped it to the side of the sight-and-command module. ‘He’s upstairs with the Major.’