‘Shit, I didn’t know that. Why didn’t you bloody say something? I could have landed myself right in it.’
‘And miss the look on your face if he’d suddenly come back down and heard you!’ The joke was being hugely enjoyed by Dooley. ‘I was hoping you might come out with an opinion or two on what you thought of officers, just to spice it up, make sure as much crap hit the fan as possible.’
‘You’re bloody warped.’
‘Ain’t we all.’ Dooley patted the launcher, set up to fire out into the street. ‘Ain’t we all?’
‘We’ll let about half the column pass by.’ In the thick dust of the table top Revell sketched the main street. ‘We’ve tried hitting the head twice, but with all that weight of armour and fire-power the Reds just charge straight through. I’m betting that if we chop off a large enough section of the tail, the vanguard will turn around and come back to help it out. If it works, we might be able to tie them up until late afternoon…’
Lieutenant Hogg bent over the crude map and doodled in details with the tip of his bayonet, occasionally glancing out of the window. ‘How many do you aim to knock out?’
‘As many as we can, but I’m hoping we can hit the APCs first. Without infantry support the commie tanks are going to be at a disadvantage in these narrow streets. If they stay closed down they’ll be as good as blind, if they open up we’ll have snipers ready to knock off the commanders as they poke their heads out.’
‘You’ve what, thirty men? We’ll parcel them out among our Dragon positions. That’ll give my tank busters a chance to get on with their job without having to worry about any red infantry that survives to make trouble.’
‘Spread out on both sides of the street.’ Hogg examined the dotted-in anti-tank teams. ‘It’s not going to be easy organising a withdrawal.’
‘There won’t be any withdrawal. We’ll slog it out until we’ve used all the Dragon rounds, then we’ll mix it with M72s and finally finish them off with half bricks and two-by-fours if need be. You can change position if you have to, but maintain close contact at all times.’
The words did nothing to wipe the smile of faint amusement from the lieutenant’s face. If anything, it broadened a fraction more. ‘Do you mind if I ask what your exact orders are, Major. It seems to me, from the impression I got before I came out here, that you were just to harass and delay the column, not try to finish it off single-handedly.’
‘Your impression’s near enough correct, but I’ve got my own way of ‘harassing’ enemy armour. You didn’t have to come, and you don’t have to stay.’
‘Oh I’m staying, Major.’ Hogg patted the grenades clipped to his belt. ‘I’m not sporting these babies because I think they look pretty. I’ve got fed up with shoving bridge sections around while commie artillery shovel stinking mud all over me. Now I reckon I’m about due to get a bit of my own back. Here will do as well as anywhere.’
‘OK, so long as you’re happy, and you look like you are,’ Hogg’s permanent grin was beginning to grate on Revell, ‘let’s get on with it. First we’ll sort your men out. It’ll spoil the surprise if they’re still milling about like a load of lost sheep when the lead T84 arrives, and that could be soon.’ A thought struck the major, though he half-suspected it had been hovering at the back of his mind and he’d unconsciously suppressed it until now, when it could be put off no longer. ‘You fought tanks before?’
Now why the hell had the major had to ask that? Hogg saw the interrogative look aimed at him. Oh what the hell…‘Not exactly… I guess…no.’ Brother, did that sound lame, even to him. Heck, so what, this hard bastard wasn’t going to turn him away, he needed the help. ‘We’ve all got to learn sometime, Major. Shall I set up my men now?’
‘Yes, get on it. Make sure there’s a good mix of weapons at each strongpoint. I’ll be along in a minute.’ Cannon fodder. It was a term Revell had always despised, and one he’d always sworn would never be applied to any men under his command. Now, as he heard Hogg descending the stairs, he crossed to the window and looked out at the newcomers.
They were typical of the hangers-on, supernumeraries and supplicants to be found skulking about any large headquarters. A good third were obviously veterans, men who’d been trying to locate their units, and having lost patience with a staff too busy with other matters to help, had opted to join the lieutenant’s expedition as an alternative to kicking their heels. Another ten or so were painfully conspicuous. Uniforms as yet unsoiled, clutching factory-fresh M16s, they somehow had an air of ignorance and eagerness. They might have stepped off the plane only an hour or two before. If that was the case, then from now on jet lag was going to be the least of their problems. Within an hour at the most, they were going to get a crash course in total warfare.
It was among the last ten that Revell noticed one or two soldiers who did not appear entirely happy with their situation or surroundings. It crossed his mind to wonder just how many of that contingent had actually gone through the formal process of volunteering. Included in their number were a few who bore the stamp of men well versed in the arts and skills of keeping out of officers’ paths – and the firing line. Flushing them from hiding, from their card games, their bolt holes, would not have been easy. Their presence on the battlefield indicated the existence of qualities in Hogg that Revell would not have expected, judging from their short acquaintance.
If a man was going to turn and run though when the fight got nasty, it wasn’t certain he’d be from that last group. Sometimes it was the veteran of twenty or more actions who broke under the strain. The shysters would measure the risks and, unless a building was burning around them, would stay put and keep their heads down. The youngsters would muddle through, probably supported and encouraged by more experienced men, like Cohen, who always saw himself as a father figure, although he was only in his mid-twenties. And if one of those kids did fail the test, then most likely he’d freeze, or do something real stupid and, either way, die so fast no one would ever know.
Every man had his breaking point, those who lived to reach it swelled the numbers suffering from battle exhaustion to over twenty per cent of all casualties. This war, more than any other, had proved itself capable of wounding minds as freely and as savagely as it did bodies.
Revell knew that if no bomb or bullet found him first, sooner or later he’d be joining the neurotics in the army’s many psychiatric hospitals. It might happen suddenly, without any warning, or if he was alert he’d detect the minor symptoms developing: the nightmares and consequent fear of sleep, or maybe hypersensitivity to shellfire, or exaggerated caution in action. If he turned himself over to the shrinks in time, he’d be among the third who made it back into the line, if he was lucky – if that was being lucky.
He could see that Hogg had just about sorted his men out, and picking up his 12-gauge assault shotgun he went to check the arrangements. It felt comfortable in his grasp as he started down to the street. He’d long since grown accustomed to its weight, accepting that penalty in exchange for its murderous effectiveness in close combat situations, where the edge it gave him had saved his life on several occasions.
‘Cohen, with me. Find out how much longer we’ve that prowler overhead. It must be near the limit of its endurance.’ Without waiting for the radio-man, Revell strode out into the street. The rain had stopped, and fitful bursts of sunlight slanting through gaps in the overcast sky made the buildings and road surf ace sparkle. ‘What do you want to do with this?’ Hogg indicated the multi-barrelled mini-gun in the back of the truck.