‘Hold it.’ Burke paused before venturing out. ‘Could be a reception committee waiting for us.’
Without hesitating, Dooley took a grenade and tossed it through the remains of the back door. Even as the punishing blast of furnace-like high pressure washed over them, he grabbed Burke and towed him out of the building at speed.
‘I’m not a fucking kite. Let me go or I’ll bloody take off.’ Burke succeeded in freeing himself from the iron grip as they entered another building further down the block.
Rapid machine gun and automatic rifle fire came from somewhere in the front. The pair threaded their way through a maze of partitioned offices and dog-legging passageways. As Burke reached for a door handle the firing abruptly ceased, there was a shout, a curse and then came the concussion of a grenade exploding. A fragment of casing came through the wood and passed between them to bury itself in a wall.
Before Burke could reach for the handle a second time the door swung open, revealing a scorched blood-streaked form, naked save for belt and boots. The bomb’s victim took a staggering step forward, attempted to articulate, then vomited blood. As it crumpled, Dooley fired a burst past it at the Russian climbing in at the window. The brown-clad soldier was thrown back over the sill, his AKM falling into the room.
Another grenade followed immediately and they only just ducked back into the corridor in time. Dooley gave it a couple of seconds then replied with one of his own. The smoke cleared to reveal a Russian corpse laid on those of the Americans by the window…
‘Let’s try somewhere else. My choice this time.’ In fact it had to be his fifth, before Burke was able to lead Dooley into a small supermarket, sufficiently ahead of the approaching enemy infantry teams for them to catch their breath.
The respite was short-lived, a minute later Lieutenant Hogg appeared. He was armed with an AKM and trickles of blood from a scalp wound made red bars down his face.
‘Get out of here you two. We’ve mined this place, we’re going to sucker some commies into it.’
Only then did Dooley notice the satchel charges beneath the shelves, and the wires trailing from them. ‘Shit, I like to watch the game, but not from the crappy in-field. We’re with you, Lieutenant.’
From the vantage point of the attic windows in the modest hotel that Hogg, with eleven other survivors, had turned into a stronghold, they had a good view of the front of the supermarket and of the rest of the street.
The roadblock was a hundred metres away, and the road between them and it was dotted with disabled or burning tanks and other armoured vehicles, six in all. But the rest of the column’s tail had not driven into that killing ground, had held back, and now with the support of dismounted infantry was moving steadily forward, bringing massed firepower to bear on any opposition offered to its progress. Leading the advance was the T84 that had driven out Dooley and Burke. The tank’s armour had been reinforced at all vulnerable points by additional welded-on plates, and every other area was festooned with water cans and tool-boxes.
‘That’s going to be a bastard to stop.’ Burke examined the reinforced protection. ‘Well have a good look at him, he won’t be around for long.’
The speaker was a launcher-toting signaller, with features so wrinkled and tanned he looked like an animated walnut. Burke made a slow, thorough inspection of him from head to toe and back again.
‘If worry gave you a face like that…’ he leant forward to read the name patch on the signaller’s chest,’… York, then you’re about to get a couple more lines to go with those you’ve got. That’s if you can find the room for them.’
‘Funny man.’ York was not amused.
‘Thanks. Compliments are always welcome.’ Turning his full attention back to the street, Burke saw that the T84 had pulled aside to allow a T72 bulldozer tank to pass. ‘With that tough bugger up front, looks like they’re going to crash through.’
An anti-tank rocket flashed from the entrance to an alley across the way, and struck the ‘dozer tank on the big stowage bin fixed to the back of its turret. Tools and spare track links spun through the air. Almost before the crash of the detonation had died away, every enemy weapon sent shot or shell at the gap between the buildings.
Apparently unharmed by the hit, the awesome vehicle held its course for the roadblock, moving at an even walking pace. Its wide blade, held just above the surface of the road, collected odd pieces of furniture which it pushed before it until they broke up under the relentless pressure and passed beneath the bright leading edge, to be crushed by the tracks.
‘Pick off a couple of the infantry when they’re level with the supermarket.’ Keeping a tight grip on the remote detonator device, Hogg kept his teeth-exposing smile focused on the approaching enemy.
Two short bursts from Dooley’s Ml 6 sent the Russians diving for cover, leaving one of their number writhing on the ground. Giving them a moment to get right inside, the lieutenant flicked the switch. The delay lasted only a fraction of a second, but seemed an eternity, then all the glass burst from the store and, as flame followed, the whole fabric of the building disintegrated.
At that signal every weapon in the hotel opened up, and the street was hidden by the cloud of smoke and debris the torrent of fire kicked up., ‘See that?’ York threw down the empty launch tube and took up another. ‘I told you I’d get him.’
‘Better have another go.’ Burke saw the T84 drive into the open, and its cannon swing to bear on the hotel. ‘Those Ruskies aren’t as impressed with your shooting as you are.’ There was what looked like a silver bead bordered dent in the tank’s turret side. He knew those bright globules were the frozen runs of molten metal, where the tank’s sandwich filling of ceramic granules had defeated the shaped warhead, deflecting much of its effect before it could penetrate.
The mortar of the ‘dozer tank had been damaged, as had one of the blade’s arms, but it still moved inexorably towards the distant roadblock.
Lieutenant Hogg swore under his breath. Heck, he’d expected at least to knock out one of the damned things, but they still had tubes left, and the range was closing all the time. The M72s lacked the hefty punch of the Dragons, but a hit in the right place was just as fatal to any tank. He’d see them both burn yet. Strange, the T84 was holding its fire, maybe it had been damaged, a portion of the charge had penetrated; then he heard a sound from the floors below and knew why the enemy gunner was showing restraint.
The crack of the grenade’s explosion had also been heard by Dooley. ‘Fuck that, the shitty Reds are in the building. Now we’ve got a fight.’ He took out his mirror-polished bayonet and clipped it in place. ‘Yeah, now we’ve got a real fight.’
NINE
Hyde waited. He’d seen the building collapse after the Russian squad had entered, and the storm of fire unleashed on the tanks; and he knew that whatever the outcome of the fight further along the road, there would still be work left for him to do.
The Soviet armour was coming on fast now, and the volume of fire from the hotel had been reduced to sporadic bursts. Experience told him what was happening. The Reds were sacrificing their infantry to cover the tank’s breakout, using bodies as shields for steel.
There had been no sound of fighting from the west side of the roadblock. If the head of the column had turned back, then Revell should have been engaging them by now. The silence from that direction was ominous. It meant that the bulk of the Soviet strike force was still racing, unchecked, for Frankfurt. He was glad it was Revell who’d have to pass that information on to Command, not him.