‘There’s no rule book in the Zone. Tell lead-foot to get ready for a fast exit.’ Using the last of the belt, Libby sent a second fusillade against the personnel carrier’s turret front, and its short-barrelled main gun immediately jerked to maximum elevation and stayed there.
‘Hey, will you look at them go.’ Ripper stood and watched the Russian crew and infantry bale out, as smoke began to wreathe their transport, then had to jump to one side to avoid a. savage kick from Libby. ‘Don’t just bloody look at them, kill them.’
‘Shit, there’s no need to get nasty, I was going to.’ Belatedly, almost casually, Ripper shouldered his M16 and snapped off fast single shots at the escaping enemy.
Only two men made it to cover. With just eight shots they’d hardly seemed to aim, Wilson and Ripper had brought down eight Russians.
A long slow whistle escaped Libby. ‘We’ve got a sniper you should meet.’
‘Heck, we’d be no good at that.’ As usual Ripper spoke for the two of them. ‘We just like to pick up a gun and fire. I guess that’s why our instructor on the range didn’t take too kindly to us. All that lying down and doing it by numbers, for us it just kinda took all the fun out of it.’
From the direction of the main street came the bellow of engines and the crash and rattle of various calibre weapons. Occasionally a spent bullet would ricochet into the side street, one of them clanging to a stop against an empty ammunition box on the truck.
‘This party sure seems to be warming up a piece. How’s about we find ourselves a spot where we can join in the fun?’
‘We’re just about to.’ Moving to the back of the cab, Libby shouted in to the driver. ‘Find us another alley, close as you can.’ He had to grab hold of the roof hatch as the big six-wheeler surged forward under astounding acceleration for its size. The gearbox paid the price for the abuse, howling a protest as it was further punished by a clumsy shift.
As they pulled away, a 125mm tank shell burst through the front of a house and detonated against another across the street, punching a huge hole and dumping a torrent of brickwork across the spot they’d recently occupied.
Half a block further down, a narrow service entrance offered an opening just wide enough to accept the truck. Libby had their enthusiastic if none too skilful driver reverse them in, until the only thing between them and the main street was a tall spike-topped, double gate.
In the middle of the road sat a pair of T84s. One of them would never move again; a neat circular hole in its turret side was edged with beads of bright metal and the body of its driver sprawled from a hatch, draped over the sloped armour, his fingers brushing the ground. The other tank was closed down tight, its long cannon systematically pumping shells at a steady rate into the facade of the nearest buildings.
Further along, a multiple-barrelled Shilka flak-tank was handing out similar treatment to the structures nearest it The much lighter 23mm rounds didn’t pack the same punch as the T84s 125mm shells, but what they lacked in weight they made up for in quantity. Building after building was sprayed with a storm of high velocity projectiles that tore its frontage apart.
Knots of Russian infantry followed the barrage ready to receive any prey flushed out. They moved cautiously, running bent double from doorway to doorway. As Libby watched, a slab-faced junior sergeant leading a small group reared up clutching at his chest, then toppled backwards on to the men crowding the doorway behind him.
Another of the group fell, and as a survivor pointed up towards a church tower a rifle grenade landed among them.
Limbs and ragged scraps of equipment flew across the road. An officer attempting to rally another squad was hit and fell to his knees, before pitching forward on to his face. His men broke and ran, two more going down before they could find better shelter.
A Dragon missile arced from a shop front and, missing the still active tank, executed a tight turn towards the Shilka, but the manoeuvre demanded too much of the control surfaces. A flick-out fin broke off under the stress and it flopped to the ground to plough a furrow-like crater in the road surface.
‘If we stick our noses out there we’re going to get them shot off.’ There was no way that Libby could see of bringing the mini-gun into play without instantly attracting a great weight of enemy fire, and in the unarmoured truck that could have only one consequence. The brick walls to either side would offer no impediment to the steel-defeating rounds of the Soviet guns.
‘Then let’s get somewhere where we can. I didn’t come out here for the purpose of sightseeing, I was hoping to participate.’ Ripper peered over the top of the gate, then ducked back swiftly as a bullet tore out one of the spikes beside him. ‘But I get your drift about this maybe not being the best location we could’ve picked.’
More Russian armour was moving into view. A pair of self-propelled guns closely following a modified T72. Its main gun had been replaced with a large calibre mortar for demolition work, and it sported a full width bulldozer blade. A Dragon detonated harmlessly against the great steel crescent, and the self-propelled guns fanned out to hug the opposite side of the street.
Ripper and Libby exchanged looks, then Libby dropped down to man the mini-gun while the American clung to the gate, watching the approaching vehicles.
Selecting the highest rate of fire, Libby waited for the word. Above the roar of the battle he made out the growl of the approaching SP gun. It grew louder and its tracks could be heard squealing on the hard surface as its driver made fractional changes of course.
‘He’s all yours.’ Ripper jumped down as the engine note reached a crescendo.
Four hundred armour-piercing incendiary rounds went through the thick timber of the gate as if it wasn’t there, striking the front of the vehicle as it drew level. It stopped instantly, and the driver’s escape hatch was thrown open as blue smoke curled from the access panels of the engine positioned beside him.
‘Move it.’ There was time to lob a couple of blast grenades blindly over the gate, and then Libby was once more hanging on for dear life as their maniac driver bounced the truck from one wall to another, racing down the service road and into the back street.
‘Kinda exciting ain’t it?’ Hot shit, Ripper hadn’t had so much fun in years, well not since he’d been drafted. The folks back home had it all wrong about this war, the Zone was a hell of a place. If he’d have known it was like this, he might not’ve waited for the letter from Uncle Sam.
The truck skidded round a corner, the driver fighting to get into gear, any gear, and piled head-on into a Russian APC. The shock of the collision threw everyone on to the floor. It was the turret gunner aboard the carrier who was fastest off the mark. At point-blank range he hosed the truck with heavy machine gun fire.
‘I hope Hyde and the Major are having fun down by the roadblock, it’s fucking murder here.’ Clasping his hands tight over his head, Dooley stayed down on the floor as a third tank shell passed through the building, to detonate somewhere in its rear.
‘Whose bloody murder, that’s the thing?’ At his second attempt, Burke managed to haul the Dragon from beneath the pile of debris and examined it. Little more than a glance told him it was beyond repair. ‘What do you say we get out of here?’
‘I say yeah.’ Dooley risked raising his head. The T84 was still stationed right outside, but at last seemed to be turning its attention to other targets. ‘And let’s make it now.’
In several places the weight of the collapsed upper floors had brought the ceiling down, and they constantly had to climb over heaps of rubble, between precariously balanced and tottering partition walls. The bodies of two of Hogg’s men, mutilated beyond recognition, had come down with the upper floors and formed a further gruesome obstruction to be clambered over. A stockless machine gun and crushed ammunition belts lay nearby.