Ahead of them there appeared to be a fierce fire-fight in progress. Halting, Revell tried by radio to determine if any SWAT team was already engaging their .objective. He didn’t believe, until they had checked twice, that none of the units under the city’s control were fighting in the area.
“Maybe it’s two Spetsnaz mobs slugging it out with each other?” Hyde tried to identify the weapons in use by their rates of fire, but so many were being employed it was impossible to single out any individual.
Carrington came loping back from the point. “This is about as close as we’re going to get, Major. You could walk on the lead that’s flying about down there.”
“Okay, so find me a vantage point. I want to have a look for myself. We’re not going to stroll into any crossfire.”
“There’s the church tower.”
A spent round zipped past. Two more followed, bursting scabs of soft stone from a door post.
“I hope that tower is well made.” Revell felt to check that his flak vest was fastened.
As they started forward, the gunfire ahead seemed to increase in volume and ferocity.
SIXTEEN
They had no trouble entering the church, a side door was open. But officer and NCO were not prepared for what they found there.
It was full. Every seat, every bit of space in the aisles, even right up to the alter rail the church was crammed with people. A thousand pairs of eyes looked at them as they entered, and followed them as they made their way, with difficulty, towards the tower staircase.
“No, — you must leave.”
A priest ran towards them, tripping frequently on the outstretched legs of his over spilling congregation.
“Please, do not bring the fighting in here, not in God’s own house, I beg you.” He grabbed both men by their arms and tried to turn them. Men among the crowd got to their feet and looked likely to add their efforts.
Revell shook himself free and unslung his submachine gun. “Why aren’t these people in the shelters, or at least down in the crypt?”
With the gun being cradled, the cleric and his would-be helpers fell back. They watched the weapon as much as the major.
“The crypt is full, but these people came here for more than mere shelter. Please, do not bring the fighting in here.”
The gunfight outside had not diminished in intensity, but its crash and clatter was muted by the thick walls. There was multicoloured glass on the floor, where stray bullets had punched through the high-set stained glass windows.
“We’re not here to set up a fire base. All we want is to use the tower as an observation post, for a very short while.”
Partly reassured, the priest still looked uncertain. “I doubt we’ll be in here more than a couple of minutes.”
“But you may be seen, and then the guns will be turned on these people. Look at them, they have been through so much already.”
Revell had been looking at them. Going by their faces, he could see little proof that any of them had found the comfort they had come here for. On every side, tired faces watched him intently, showing their concentration as they strained to catch what was being said. Some were already gathering their belongings together.
The priest saw those actions and turned aside to urge the crowd to stay. The packing was halted, but not undone.
“If you show us the best spot, there will be less chance of our being seen, and we’ll be on our way all the sooner. We’re trying to stop what’s going on out there.”
“Very well, I will. But please, will you leave your weapons by the door?”
There was no way Revell could or would comply with the request. Among the faces of the frightened faithful — and those who had suddenly, if perhaps temporarily, found their faith again — he had noticed several distinctly un-Christian faces. Bulky packs and parcels, carefully guarded by the rough individuals, strongly suggested to Revell that some looters had found the church a convenient bolt hole when the fighting had swept to this quarter.
I’ll give mine to my corporal. He’ll wait down here.” Seeing that was the best arrangement he could make, the priest led the way to a low doorway and up a steep and winding set of stone steps.
As they climbed, the sounds of battle grew louder, when on a landing where a shutter was pulled fractionally open, it burst upon them at full volume.
The intersection, with its wide expanse of pedestrian pavement, was spread out below him. Masses of tracer were converging on a corner property off to Revell’s right. It came mostly from a long building across the way. There was hardly a window in it that was not the source of a near-continuous stream of light-automatic fire.
Moving to another side of the tower, Revell looked in vain for any sign of answering fire from the structure being gradually chipped and flaked to a ruin by the hail of bullets.
“Okay, I’ve seen enough. I know what we’re up against.”
“Thank God.” Securing the shutters, the priest hurried after Revell.
Retrieving his weapon, Revell was about to leave when the priest restrained him.
“I know that if I ask you to put down your guns and implore you to stay, you would not. So I can only hope it is your sense of duty and not a lust for killing that sends you back to that terrible fighting. Before that, join me in prayer.”
“I’m sorry.” Strangely, for an instant, Revell almost felt inclined to do just that. “So am I, for your sake. At least, think of some words of the Lord as you go.” From deep inside his memory came words that Revell had not heard for a long time, to which he’d never given thought. Thou shalt not kill… He said them quietly, almost to himself.
“Yes, man soil nicht toten. It is not too late to stop killing. It is never too late.”
“It’s been too late for me for a long time, Father.” The priest watched them go. Overhead another fragment of coloured glass, in an already damaged window, was splintered to a thousand pieces that rained into his vestments. He turned to the alter. “Then I shall say it for you.”
The interior of the Residence was magnificent, but Revell had no time for its rich decorations and furnishings as he led a squad through its long halls and high-ceilinged apartments.
“Fucking hell, look at this lot.” Dooley paused beside a long glass-topped showcase. It held row after row of neatly labelled silver coins.
Reluctantly he kept up with the others, as they passed many more cases containing the city’s famous coin collection.
“This stuff must be worth a fortune.” He kept attempting to snatch glances at the displays. “You think they’d have shifted it out of the city, what with the Zone being right on their doorstep.”
“A lot has been moved; they’ve had copies made.” Burke checked that he had a round chambered. They were right underneath the floor from which the massed firing was emanating. He could hear empty cartridge cases raining down on a tiled floor. “I suppose they’ve been trying to keep the city abnormal as possible for as long as possible. This little lot should blow the lid off that, I imagine.”
“Where are you going? You can’t come through here, get out, get out.”
“Not again.” Revell wasn’t prepared to go through another sermon.
A fussily officious little man in an attendant’s uniform had bounced out of a side room, almost getting himself shot by Ripper.
“Shit, you got a death wish?”
Wagging his finger at them, the security man kept up with their rapid pace through the building. “You cannot come in here, the Residence is closed.”
An old steel helmet — too small even over his thin face — perched on his head, giving him the appearance of an image stretched in a distorting mirror.