The rapid advances of the first Russian attack on West Germany had triggered a defeatist attitude among many politicians. Many had even tried to convince themselves that occupation was for the best. In their eyes, it would at least result in reunification.
But the stalling and then staying of the onslaught, resulted in the formation of the huge north-south no-man’s-land-the Zone. With the armies locked in battle within that well-defined area, those who opposed the shelter program had been able to get it cut back. What was happening in Munich was the consequence of that.
Ripper vaulted down into the stairwell. “Major, we’ve spotted a squad of Reds trying to hot-wire a truck. Think it could be the ones who shot their own buddies?”
“How many of them are there?”
“Five. Sgt. Hyde has gone after them. He’s taken four men and the machine gun.”
Even as Ripper spoke, from a block away came a rattle of automatic fire, punctuated by several grenade explosions.
TWENTY
Andrea had been deliberately edging closer to Sophia, realizing that her proximity made the girl uncomfortable. She tried to see what Revell had seen in her.
Attractive, in a soft well-manicured way, but the makeup applied hours before did nothing for her now. Lack of sleep, stress, and the conditions below had smudged or removed most of it. Her clothes, too, Andrea noted, were soiled and crumpled. Yet still, she sensed, the major was attracted to her.
Having reduced the girl to a shivering bundle of nerves, Andrea moved away and contented herself with staring at her, while toying with her submachine gun.
They moved up to the street when they heard Hyde returning. Sophia hung back at the top of the stairs.
“Four down.” Hyde was pushing a Russian ahead of him. “This one tried playing dead, until Scully kicked him in the balls.”
“We’ll drop him off at the command bunker on the way. If they’ve got their act together, they’ll be able to carry out some sort of interrogation. I doubt they’ll get much though.”
If the Russian had understood, as was likely, Revell gave him credit for not showing it. His face wore a sullen frown, and he looked out at his captors from under bushy eyebrows as he kept his head bowed.
Scully produced an antitank rocket launcher. “They had this. I suppose other groups will have them as well.”
“More than likely.” Revell examined the weapon. A bullet had smashed the trigger group, rendering it useless. “Did they have anything else of interest?”
“Only these.” Hyde displayed a pack of demolition charges and small antipersonnel mines. “No papers of any description.”
“We’ll hang on to the ordnance.” Listening for the gun-ship, Revell thought he could detect the faint and distant beat of its rotors, but couldn’t be certain. “Best we move out to our next objective, before that maniac does another sweep over this quarter.”
Even as he said it, the chopper lifted over the buildings at the far side of the formal gardens and its roar burst upon them.
There was no chance to dive into cover. As the machine swooped closer, Revell could only throw himself down in the road. Before he cradled his head in his arms, he had a clear view of the stubby barrel of the chain gun mounted below the craft’s fuselage and of the half-empty rocket pods on its stub wings. A salvo pulverized cars on the other side of the road.
Their prisoner grabbed his chance, tugging himself away from Sgt. Hyde, who tried to pull him to the ground. He looked around once, and then bolted for the entrance to the subway.
Hyde could only shield his eyes against the storm of dust thrown up as the gunship passed very low overhead. From somewhere he heard a shout that carried even above the noise of flailing blades and screaming twin engines.
As the blast of sound diminished, it was replaced by another. The first shout was joined by others that blended with it to create a banshee howl. Above that rose a scream of agony that transcended any Hyde had ever heard.
It went higher and higher, reaching a note it did not seem possible for a human voice to attain and hold. For a moment it dropped to a racking sob, then soared once more, to end abruptly and be replaced once more by the howl.
With Revell, the sergeant raced for the steps. When they reached the bottom it took a moment for their eyes to adjust to the gloom. Before them a tightly packed crowd backed away in a semicircle from a bundle of rags on the floor.
The bundle moved spastically, ugly slithering sounds coming from it. Bending closer, hesitating before he reached out, Hyde turned the bundle over.
Tearing fingernails had clawed the Russian’s face until there was nothing left beyond scraps of ragged flesh adhering to cheek and jawbones. Everything else was gone. Close to the still moving man lay an arm, pulled off in a frenzied tug-of-war as he was fought over. The remaining limbs were resting at odd angles to the victim, all were clearly broken. Ends of bone grated together as the Spetsnaz soldier writhed.
Taking out his pistol, Hyde held it close to the Russian’s head and pulled the trigger. A final convulsive spasm shook the Russian as fragments of skull and spongy brain matter flew across the floor, and then it was over.
“Let’s get out of here.” Revell was all too well aware that he had come perilously close to meeting a similar fate in that place.
As he backed out, the mob edged forward to once more engulf the body. Neither Revell or Hyde looked back to see what they were doing with it.
The same priest was at the door when Revell left Sophia at the Theatiner Church. He had looked out at the men with the major, seen their tired, dirt-streaked faces, the blood on their battle dress and weapons.
Without having to ask, he knew that his prayers had been in vain. Before closing the door, he watched them go. All his life he had been a pacifist, now as he turned back into the church he discovered a doubt in his mind. He looked at the many young men in the pews. Most were foreign labourers, brought in to maintain production at the many armament factories; others were tourists. But there were a number, a larger number than he might have expected — who were German.
There had been a time when he had admired the courage, as he had thought of it, of those who had dared to say that they would not fight. Now he was reconsidering his attitude. Pacifism had always been a cornerstone of his belief.
Where was the courage in letting others give their lives for you? At worst, those young men had to put up with scorn and insults. That might take away their dignity, their self-esteem at times, but it let them keep their lives.
Making his way to the altar once more, the priest found a quiet corner and went down on his knees, bowing his head low.
His prayer was an inward thing, the words being framed but not uttered by his lips. Before, he had prayed that the major would not have to kill. This time, the priest added the supplication that he should have the strength not to condemn the officer if he had to.
As they passed the New Town Hall on the way to their objective, Revell had half-expected to come under fire from the bunker entrance. To ward off the possibility, he tried repeatedly to get through on the radio as they approached. Still he could get nothing.
Overhead a second gunship had joined the first. They beat back and forth across the city. Sometimes they would dive out of sight, then there would come the sound of rocket and cannon fire. Shortly after came the multiple, devastating impacts.
“Looks like they’re attacking targets of opportunity.” Hyde listened to another long burst of cannon fire. “They can’t be under any sort of ground control. They’re treating Munich like a free-fire zone.”
“I’d like to know why.” Revell took a swig from a can of lemonade. “From the shooting we can hear, I’d say there must be other hunting teams engaging the Russians around here. At this rate, how long is it going to be before we bump into one, and get involved in a shoot-out with our own side?”