I’ll ask Carrington; he’s been out and about.”
“No need, Sarge.” Ackerman had given up trying to get a quick grope with either of the women. “What sort of grub do you want? Chinese, Turkish, Indian -”
“We want the sort you don’t have to cook.” Revell cut short the recital. “In case you haven’t noticed, everyone is down the shelters. There are no chefs waiting for us to march in and order.”
“Got just the place, Major. Right around the corner, close by the Hof Garden.”
“That’ll do. Sergeant, tell Garrett to report in our new position. Well see the women back safely on the way. The city seems fairly quiet at the moment.”
“Lull before the storm perhaps.” Hyde began to herd the men downstairs. “I think I prefer it when I can hear shooting coming from all over. At least then we know that not all the Reds are hanging about around here.”
Ackerman pushed past others to get into the lead. He felt like rubbing his hands. He never imagined he’d have stood a chance to make money out of a day like this.
He’d managed to pocket a few trinkets from the haul the Russians had stashed in the getaway car. Now he was set to make a handful of cash. Old Frau Schmid had told him she couldn’t afford to decorate or buy new tables and chairs. She had joked that a moderate amount of war damage would be nice, if it could be arranged. A friend had told her the compensation was quite generous.
Then he’d been joking, too, when he’d said he would see what he could do. It rather looked as if he actually would be able to arrange something after all.
EIGHTEEN
“Looks like the major’s not very happy.” Ackerman put his feet up on a table and scuffed them as hard as he could across its polished surface. He’d already wiped them with the tablecloth.
“I don’t think he’s getting a lot of sense out of them.” Dooley cut a thick slice from a sausage and made a sandwich of it between two crackers. “Whoever is running this show appears to be suffering from a nasty case of conflicting objectives.”
“Long words for you at this time of day.” Burke licked the remains of a slice of cheesecake from his fingers. “At any time of day, come to that.”
“Overheard the major say it. Sounded good, I thought.”
“So it does, but what’s it mean?” Helping himself to another slice, Burke picked cherries from its top before biting into it.
“If you want a free translation, it means that the committee of generals who are bothering the chief of police are adding indecision to incompetence.” Carrington paused at the table on his way to the kitchens. “Common sense says locate and contain the enemy. Wait until we’ve got the strength to tackle them properly.”
“Why don’t we?” Burke dropped a large blob of cream. He was about to wipe it up, when Ackerman smeared it into the threadbare carpet.
“Because the politicians want the city back to normal as fast as possible.” Not too fast, Ackerman thought. Not until he’d finished here. He went through into the food preparation area and surreptitiously wrenched an electric socket from the wall. So far all he’d done was minor acts of vandalism. He’d have to come up with better than that. On her return, doubtless Frau Schmid would add a few touches of her own, but if she was to get sufficient reparations to redecorate and refurnish, the damage would have to be more than superficial. The more she was able to claim, the bigger his rake-off. He looked about for inspiration.
“Give the men another ten minutes.” Revell knew the rest was as much for himself as the others. He took a swig from his bottle of wine. It didn’t go well with the food he had eaten.
His conversation on the radio had been frustrating. Even during the course of it, his orders had been modified twice. It was as if plans were being changed from moment to moment, as fresh incidents were reported in and circumstances altered slightly. He could get no information at all as to what other groups might be working on his flanks.
He’d gained the impression that his was the only group hunting down the Russians in the city centre. From the sounds of gunfire coming from every point of the compass, he realized that was not the case.
A helicopter passed overhead, but their guard on the door was unable to identify it from the brief glimpse he had. The throbbing beat of its rotors indicated a military type, but that could mean anything, or nothing. It gradually faded from hearing.
Revell looked at his map. Their next objective was on Marienplatz, Munich’s main square, the heart of the city. What, he wondered, had decided them on that as their priority target.
There were several large public shelters there, as well as subway entrances. That meant a lot of people under dire threat. But a factor that might have weighed as much was the fact that the New Town Hall adjoined it on one side. Either way, with large numbers of civilians in the area, it had all the makings of a messy fight.
Ackerman was alone in the kitchen when the order was passed to move out. Obvious means of creating damage, like causing a gas explosion or turning the fat-fryer up full, he’d had to reject.
Destroying the whole restaurant would be going too far. The only thing he could think of was to leave the doors of the fridges and freezers open.
As he did so, he noticed that a lot of the packs displayed long past use-by dates. That didn’t come as any surprise. It tended to bear out the complaints he’d heard from several of the men, about the quality of the food. Most — after tasting such cold dishes as were to be found — had elected instead to dine off brought-in food, such as cheese and sausage.
No wonder the old girl was short of cash. No local would eat there, and most tourists would sample it only the once. He’d be helping the NATO cause if he didn’t wreck the place. At least if she went out of business there’d be fewer cases of food poisoning.
As they began to file from the building, Revell heard the return of the helicopter. Its distinctive beat definitely marked it as a gunship, but it still stayed out of sight behind the skyline of buildings.
The noise diminished and he pushed it from his mind. He had counted the last man out of the restaurant, when suddenly the air was filled with its roar. It raced in low across the formal gardens, its downwash throwing the shaped hedges into frantic movement.
He began to run as the beat of the blades and howl of its engines swamped everything. Behind him the front of the restaurant was blasted apart by a long burst of fire from a 30mm chain gun.
At a speed he hadn’t known he could achieve, Revell made it to a subway entrance and threw himself down the steps. He buried himself against an angle of the wall, as he heard the aircraft banking and coming in for another strafing run. But this time it was not the cannon it employed. Instead it rippled a salvo of three rockets.
The first landed short, smashing into the road and gouging a crater that lashed the front of the building with chunks of hard material. Both the second’ and third missiles plunged straight in through the shattered frontage of the eating place. Their detonations blended and sent jets of dust and debris from every window.
In slow motion, the front wall began to sag. As it folded and fell, so the edge of the roof began to dip, sending a shower of tiles slithering to the road in a clattering hail that went on for a long time.
“That’s one of ours.” Ackerman vaulted over the edge of the staircase and landed next to the officer. “That was an Apache. What the fuck are they playing at?”