“Fuck off, granddad, there’s a war on.” Dooley brushed an attempt at obstruction aside.
Still the German skittered along with them, using a peculiar, hopping crablike motion as he persisted in his efforts to halt their progress.
“The Residence is closed.” His voice hit a high falsetto, and he flew in to a passionate rage at being ignored. “Closed, closed, closed.”
“Right, it’s closed. Pretend we’re not here.” Burke gave the old man a gentle push.
The move caught him off balance, and he fell back, to land hard on his bottom. Lost for words, he went bright red and beat his fists on the floor.
At the end of the gallery, high folding doors opened out onto a movie-style marble staircase with glittering gilded handrails. There was no need for them to exercise caution as they started up. The noise of the gunfire coming from the top floor was deafening and non-stop.
Reaching the top, Revell indicated a doorway to Sgt. Hyde. “All yours.”
Slinging his submachine gun, Hyde stepped into the opening and drew a deep breath.
“Cease fire. Fucking cease fire.”
SEVENTEEN
In a reflex response to the bellowed command, twenty uniformed figures leapt back from the windows.
Not giving the surprised machine-gunners time to recover, Hyde employed his drill-sergeant bellow once more. “Make your weapons safe.”
“Thank you, Sergeant.” Revell entered the long room. At his every step, cartridge cases rolled under his feet.
“Jesus, it’s bloody women.”
Dooley and the rest of the squad paused in the doorway, and gawped as they took in the scene.
Revell walked to the nearest window and looked out at the building across the way. Its stonework had a kind of stippled finish from the number of rounds that had sprayed it. Every window and frame was shattered, and every piece of external ornamentation had been shot away, as had the downspouts.
“Who’s in charge?” He hadn’t been expecting any, but Revell was relieved all the same when he withdrew his head without it attracting any fire.
“Actually we all are, sort of, sir. Only I’m the most senior, by six days, so really I suppose I am. Private Sharon Henson reporting, sir.”
“At ease. Do you mind telling me what you were shooting at, and where you got all this ammunition?”
“There are, there were Russian paratroops in the offices overlooking the intersection. The guns and ammunition we had in the armoury at our headquarters. It’s just down the road a little way.”
“So, who gave you your orders?” Revell looked over the women. They were of all ages, all builds, and all were nervous, now that the adrenalin of action was draining away.
“We’re here on our own initiative, sir, Major.”
“Any casualties?”
Private Henson looked down. “Just one, she’s over at the back.” Sending Sampson to investigate, Revell swept a mass of cartridges aside with his boot. “No men in your HQ, no officers?”
“Only the guard detail, Major. They wanted to come along, but we thought it best they stay there. They’d have been deserting their post. We happened to be working a late shift. The officer had gone back to quarters.”
“The lady bought it, Major.” Sampson handed dog tags to Henson. “You better have these. Must have been real fast.”
“She was leaning out to get a better shot. We got excited and forgot what we’d been taught.”
“It was the fact that I could see the tips of the barrels resting on the sills that told me you weren’t Spetsnaz. You should have been firing from further back inside the room. We’d best have a look at what sort of a job you’ve done.”
The women all crowded forward to go with him. “No, not all of you, just a couple. The rest of you, get some showcases and set them up just in from the windows. Rest the weapons on those. And find a few chairs or benches, something strong to stand on, so you can fire down into the street without showing yourselves.”
“Wonder how long they’d have gone on firing if we hadn’t turned up?” Ackerman had been leering at a plump girl who busied herself with gathering the submachine guns together and pointedly ignored him.
“They’ve still got a few more cases of ammo.” Dooley watched with amusement as one of the women produced a broom from somewhere and began to sweep up the brass cases. “Until it was all gone, or that place fell down, I suppose.”
A touch was all that was needed to push down the stout oak door at the entrance to the office block. The timber had been gouged from the hinges, leaving just the tips of the screws still holding it up, and the lock had been burst and battered.
The fall of the door brought down a set of stepladders just inside, and a large pot of paint was thrown down to splash its contents over the dust sheets partially covering the carpet.
“This will upset someone.” Hyde skirted the sluggish puddle of eggshell blue. “Looks like they’d almost finished refurbishing the place.”
Carrington and his team went ahead, while Revell looked cautiously into the ground-floor rooms. All the walls that faced the windows were liberally sprinkled with bullet holes. Once smart lined curtains were now slashed and bedraggled tatters. They smouldered gently where tiny pieces of phosphorus had lodged in them.
At a call from Carrington, Revell led the two women to the third floor. At the head of the stairs lay two bodies. Both were smothered in blood. Nearby was a broken Kalashnikov rifle.
Sampson knelt by the corpses. “Hey, those little girls are dead shots. Both through the head.”
“Look again.”
“I’m not mistaken, Major, but if you say so.” Sampson turned and prodded the bodies. “Hot shit. Sorry ladies. Hell, will you look at that.”
On the first Russian, Sampson pulled at his camouflage jacket and pointed to a neat puncture wound immediately below the rib cage on the right-hand side.
“No exit wound, but from the position, I’d say that went clean through his liver. The man was dying.” He turned to the second body.
This time he had had to look harder, but he found what he knew the major had expected him to look for. “Must have been a ricochet to get him through the leg. That would have been below the window level. It’s broken alright. He wouldn’t be going anywhere in a hurry.”
“They’re shooting their wounded, that’s horrible!” Sharon put her hands to her face and stared at the remains. “How can they do that? They could have lived, with treatment. Certainly one of them would.”
“They’re indoctrinated to think of cruelty as a virtue. By those standards, this would have been almost maudlin.” Revell walked through the rooms. In an alcove behind a big old-fashioned photocopier, he found what he was looking for.
A pile of brick and plaster debris, below a ragged man-sized hole in the wall, showed where the rest of the Russian squad had mouse-holed out of this building and into the next. He could be confident that if they investigated they would find a similar thing in there, and very likely in the building after that. By this time they would be far away. Pursuit would be pointless, and dangerous. There had to be a strong possibility that the escape route would be mined. That he would happily leave to the experts to deal with.
“Sgt. Hyde.” Until he caught sight of an empty soup carton, Revell had not even thought of food. Now he realized he was hungry. “Do you know anywhere close by where we can help ourselves to a bite? Doesn’t have to be anything fancy. So long as it’s likely to have a well-stocked fridge.”
The question showed how little the major knew about Hyde’s life outside of the Zone. With his fire-ravaged facial disfigurement, he’d hardly been out at all during their week in the city. During the day he’d stayed in his room, watching television. If he did go out, it was at night, away from the well-frequented quarters. What sort of fancy restaurant would have even let him through the door, to frighten the clientele.