Having laid out six of the thirty-round clips at his fire position, Dooley looked across and shook his head. “We’ve got it, we might as well use it. When we get back in the Zone, it’ll be a case of counting every last bullet, and making it count. I’m enjoying not having to worry on that score.”
“What the hell is that vandal doing?” Garrett had been watching Carrington pull down drapes and flimsy partitions between room displays in the upstairs showroom.
“Maybe they offend his sense of taste.” Sgt. Hyde looked pointedly at the pair of rocket launchers beside Dooley. “Or maybe he doesn’t want the backwash from those to start a fire. You should have thought of that. I know you’re tired, so am I, but that’s no reason to get sloppy. Give the corporal a hand.”
Through his binoculars, Revell could see activity on the bridge. Although it was partially obscured by the overhead trolley car power lines, he could make out the hull shape of a big eight-wheeled Luchs armoured car.
Moments after he saw the stab of flame from its cannon muzzle, he heard the savage crack of its firing. Another drew up alongside and added its firepower.
It wouldn’t be long. The Russians wouldn’t be able to withstand that sort of pressure for any length of time. And when they fell back, it would be to run right into his sights.
TWENTY-FIVE
Edging forward in turns, the armoured cars continued to blast away with their main and secondary armaments at an unseen target. Most of their stray shots were soaked up by the trees that flanked the long avenue, but some skimmed over the broad surface of the road to destruction elsewhere.
Chunks of stone and scabs of metal were punched from the big monument in the middle of the road, as high explosive and armour-piercing rounds struck it. Other cannon shells self-destructed against parked trolley cars and street signs.
From unseen sources behind the massive eight-wheelers came a storm of small-arms fire. Through his glasses, Revell could see bark flying from trees under the combined impacts, and stationary cars shuddering and bouncing on their suspension, due to the same cause.
“They’ll have to back away from that lot.” Sighting on the last of the long line of trees, Dooley waited for his targets to come into view. “Here, you don’t think they’ll slug it out to the finish with those wagons, do you?”
“I imagine their orders are to create the maximum disruption to the life of the city.” Revell had already considered and dismissed the possibility. “When things get too hot, they’ll move on and make a nuisance of themselves elsewhere.”
“Looks like you’re right, Major.” For a brief moment, Hyde thought he saw a figure moving among the trees.
“I’ve got him as well.” Ripper confirmed the sergeant’s sighting. “About ten trees up on the left-hand side. Heading straight towards us.”
Revell examined the area pinpointed, but saw nothing.
”Just the one?”
“Just the one. Don’t know if it’s the same one though.” Ripper eased the safety off his MP5. “It’s a mite far, but you want me to see if I can stir anything up?”
“No, hold your fire-. They’ll be more than one. We want them all in the open.” Switching his attention back to the armoured cars, Revell saw that they had started to move forward cautiously. There were short nervous bursts of fire from their coaxial machine guns as they came on.
“They’ve lost sight of the Russians. They’re just playing safe.” Coming along behind the armoured cars, Revell could see a dozen men on foot, hugging close to the big hulls for cover. Much further back a larger body of men was fanning out to take advantage of the cover offered by the trees.
“Shouldn’t be long.” Before him, Hyde took in the wide expanse of the intersection. From above, its surface was confused with a wild, seemingly illogical pattern of road markings that made his eyes go funny as he looked at them. I’ve got them. Corner of the building opposite, the fur shop.”
“Not yet. I’ll say when.” Revell had seen the two Russians. His caution was warranted. A moment later three more appeared on the other side of the carriageway, at the end of the line of trees.
Their targets were at the extreme effective range of their weapons. Revell was having to take the gamble that the enemy would elect to come straight on, across the intersection. If they chose instead to break into a building and mouse hole further along the block, then his men would not get another chance. That was the choice, fire now in the certainty that some would get away, or gamble that they would maintain their straight line retreat. Being wrong would mean they’d all get away.
Through his binoculars he watched them, trying to read their intentions. They were all together now, partially hidden by an angle of the wall. Gestures and movement within the group seemed to suggest that there were two options heatedly debated. Strange that at such a time they should employ democracy, when they were far more used to dictatorship.
The decision they came to was acted on immediately. With the nearest of the armoured cars only a couple of hundred meters off, they broke from their partial cover and sprinted into the road.
Tracking them, Revell had already decided on the point at which he’d order his men to fire. He was about to, when the chance was taken from him.
Out of the large ground-floor windows of an imposing building on the other side of the crossroads, someone spurted several streams of tracer.
One struck short and began to skip towards the runners, scattering lethal ricochets before it. Three more found their targets immediately.
Taken in the flank, the only Russian to get time to turn and level his AK47 never got off a shot. He fell riddled with bullets, across his companions.
“Who the fuck did that?” Dooley still sighted on the centre of the crossroads, finger on the trigger.
Saying nothing, Revell observed the armoured cars drive forward until they drew up twenty meters from the bodies. A turret hatch opened cautiously and a commander looked out His companion in the other vehicle followed suit, and the two of them looked uncomprehendingly at the corpses.
“Are we going down, Major?” Hyde gathered up the magazines he had laid out, and returned them to his pouches.
“Well, we’re doing no damned good up here. Have the men shoulder their weapons. I’ve no wish to get smeared by a trigger-happy turret-gunner by mistake.”
The two armoured cars, and a third which had joined them covered the intersection. By the time Revell had pushed his way through to the bodies, the men of the column had stripped them of anything that could be remotely considered a souvenir.
Each of them hit by ten or more bullets, they lay grotesquely sprawled, half-naked, in mud largely composed of their own blood.
It was several minutes more before a group of camouflage-dad men came from the ambush point. There were seven in all, four of them were armed with general purpose machine guns.
They walked casually but confidently forward. Revell sensed they were more alert to their surroundings than their bearing suggested. Instinctively he picked out the officer among them, even though none wore any insignia.
“Your work?” He indicated the remains.
“Yes. Pip you at the post, did we? Saw you breaking in, figured we could get in first.”
The officer patted the GPMG carried by the man next to him. “As you only had squirt guns, I thought you’d wait until they got in close. I’m Capt. Chester, 7th Squadron Special Air Service. You’ll be Major Revell; we were briefed you were in the area.”
“Pity you weren’t briefed that an infantry outfit was moving in as well.” Almost imperceptibly a shade of his self-assurance was shaved from the captain’s manner. “Why’s that.”