‘I kinda lost track towards the end.’ Cohen rung a finger in each ear in turn and flicked the wedges of wax from beneath his short nails. ‘Those guns have stopped for only one of two reasons. Do we tiptoe away now, or do we go and see who’s won?’
When he exerted himself to stand again, Revell was astounded to find that he didn’t emit smoke when he exhaled. ‘On your feet, we’re tiptoeing, but towards the main street.’ The confidence he injected into his words was belied by what he felt inside.
Cannon fodder, that was the term that had run through his mind earlier. He was about to find out how near the truth it had been. A call on the radio would have told him at once, but he was in no hurry to find out.
‘Better give Casevac the numbers.’ The major looked at the two groups of wounded sitting, sprawling or lying on the sidewalk in front of the coffee shop. ‘They’ll either have to send a couple of choppers, or work a shuttle service.’ The Russians formed the largest group. Under the watchful eyes of Clarence and Andrea they sat still and quiet, those still conscious staring sullenly ahead at nothing, seemingly oblivious to the pain of multiple wounds, including extensive burns and jutting fractures.
‘You want me to ask for our chopper now?’ Having sent their call-sign, Cohen waited for an acknowledgement.
‘Not yet. When we’ve got our casualties away.’ Revell turned to Libby. ‘Is this all of ours?’
‘Just these six, Major.’ Taking a safety pin from between his teeth and securing a bandage with it, Libby looked back towards the centre of town. ‘There may be more, but we can’t get to them.’
A fierce blaze engulfed several blocks around the scene of the battle. Houses and stores that weren’t already alight were steaming in waves of heat. Budingen was being rough dried before being consumed.
‘How are they?’ Only Kurt’s face was recognisable to Revell, the other five were from among Hogg’s recruits.
Libby moved out of earshot of the wounded. ‘It looks to me like three of them aren’t going to make it. That includes our Grepo.’ He wiped blood-smeared hands down the front of his jacket. ‘There’s another, with internal injuries, who’ll be touch and go, depends how fast they get him back. The other two will pull through, with luck.’
‘Right. When you’re finished here, you’d better see what you can do for the Ruskies.’ Revell held up his hand to stifle the expected protest. ‘I know, that’s not your way, but we’ve been fighting right on the High Command’s doorstep. They’ll be expecting some live ones, well half-alive. Do your best.’
Libby begrudgingly gathered together the various torn strips of tablecloth and the remaining field dressings and went over to the Russians. Andrea stepped forward to stop him as he bent to attend to a senior sergeant who’d lost a hand and a lump of flesh from his side, through which his glistening stomach wall could be seen.
‘They will all die soon.’ She waved her M16 over the Russians. ‘What can it matter if some die sooner?’
Ignoring her, Libby moved on to his next patient. As he did, the man he’d just attended to tore off the wadding that had been applied to his side, and tried to do the same to the swaddling about the stump of his wrist.
‘You see. They want to die, let them.’
Another tablecloth fell in strips about his feet as Libby used his teeth to break its hemmed edge. ‘Why don’t you go away and have a bath in blood, or whatever it is you do for enjoyment? Just let me get on with what I’ve been ordered to do.’
Andrea levelled the assault rifle at the Russians, her finger, as always, on the trigger. ‘We waste time, we should kill them now.’
‘Not bloody now you don’t, not after I’ve torn up this lot. When I’ve finished, if the Major says so, you can cut them up with a blunt steak knife, but right now you’re guarding them, so just bloody guard.’
‘What’s the body count, Sergeant?’ Revell hadn’t waited to overhear the outcome of the argument before turning to the NCO. ‘Including an estimate of those who never got out of their vehicles, I reckon about sixty, plus of course the Ruskies we’ve got here; seventy-five in all’
‘It looks like a flak-tank and maybe a couple of APCs managed an about turn and are now going hell for leather for the safety of their own lines, but that still leaves a heck of a lot unaccounted for. What would you put it at?’
Hyde had already considered that, and had a guess ready. ‘Not too many. These commies are pretty predictable. The majority of those who made it to cover will now be hoofing it as fast as they can for the Soviet side. There can’t be above a half dozen still skulking here, and most of those will be the ones too scared even to run.’
‘Well we’ll leave them to others. I expect a few patrols will be along to mop-up any leftovers in the next day or two. If you’re right about that armour that got away, I can’t see it getting far. They’ll either run out of gas, or bump into our forward positions.’
‘Major,’ Cohen interrupted, ‘that Prowler is going home now. He wants to know how we did. You want to speak to him?’
‘Yes, give me the set. I’ve a report to send as well, so I won’t be needing you for a while. See if you can give the Lieutenant a hand.’ Not needing to be told a second time, Cohen wandered off. Keeping at a safe distance so as not to get involved, he watched Hogg supervising the setting out of the landing markers in the middle of the square, for the casualty evacuation helicopters that were due soon.
‘I knocked out that one.’ York indicated a burning T84. Recognising it as a tank Hyde had destroyed, Cohen was tempted to say so, but didn’t.
‘And that one.’
York pointed to an APC that Revell had knocked out. The notion that a lesson might be in order, occurred to Cohen. ‘That’s good, very good. But you know you should finish them off a bit neater.’
‘Neater?’
‘Didn’t you know?’ Keeping his own deadpan, Cohen enjoyed the incredulous expression on York’s wrinkled face. ‘When the fires are done the engineers come along and clear the route. Can’t leave the place all cluttered up with big black lumps of steel, can we?’
‘No?’ York wasn’t at all sure. ‘No, I guess we can’t. But what’s all this about being neater. This some crazy joke?’
‘No way. A joke it isn’t. Fussy guys these engineers, fussy and tough. If there’s one thing they don’t like it’s having to shift a tank with damaged tracks. Captain I knew did it twice. First time the engineers dumped it in front of his married quarters. He couldn’t get his car out for six weeks. The second time it was worse.’
‘How, how worse?’ Incredulity and curiosity mingled in York’s face in equal proportion.
‘The second time he blew both tracks and half the road wheels off a T84, made them real mad; so they did it up in brown paper and sent it carriage forward to his home in Burbank. He’s still paying, last I heard.’
‘You’re having me on.’
‘On my life, I’m not.’ Deciding there was still room to embellish the fabulous tale, Cohen shifted his angle of approach. ‘Seeing as you’re new out here though, maybe I can fix it for you.’ He gave that a moment to sink in.
‘OK, so go on…’
It couldn’t be that easy. Had he at last found the ultimate sucker in York? Cohen decided to pitch easy this first time, he could try a real wild one later, if this worked. ‘I’ve got this brother, he’s in the metal recycling business.’ The continual nodding by York didn’t appear to confirm understanding, it was more like confirmation that his basic auditory circuits were still functioning, and he could hear.
‘He’s got this contract, to clean up the battlefields. At the moment he’s in Hamburg, building the biggest mountain of junk you’ve ever seen, only he can’t get any of it out because of the siege.’