She was slender, and be felt her pelvis against his thighs and let his hands trace her soft curves. The bed had been only a step away in the small room, and she had lain in the bright square of moonlight that shone through the uncurtained window.
He remembered how careful the lovemaking had been, unhurried, almost measured at first as though they were both inexperienced, then intensifying, gathering urgency and excitement as he entered her and felt the heat of her body envelop him. She had cried out with her orgasm and her fingers had dug deep into his muscles.
The thoughts of her normally warmed him, but now, trapped in the gloomy interior of the enemy vehicle and filled with an inescapable sense of failure, he felt even more lonely and despondent.
There was no retreat from the present. The metal hatch above his head was pulled open, and a thick-set guard gestured that he should climb out. The rich orb of the autumn sun had already dropped below the tops of the trees, and the clearing was streaked with lengthening shadows. Studley began to walk towards the tent where he first met the GRU officer, but the guard stopped him and pushed him in the direction of the woods with the barrel of his AKS-74.
Studley’s calf wound made it difficult for him to move quickly, and the guard was impatient. Studley didn’t understand the man’s Russian, but knew he was being cursed. He wondered if he were about to be shot. It was a frightening thought. He wouldn’t make it easy for them. He decided to wait until he was further into the woodland and then tempt the guard to get closer to him. If the man was foolish enough to prod him with his rifle again, there was a chance he might be able to overpower him and with a weapon in his hands his chances of survival were greatly improved. But there was no opportunity for him to begin to put his plan into operation for only a few paces into the woods, hidden beneath carefully draped branches and netting, was an armoured vehicle. Unlike the BMPs this was wheeled, and Studley thought it was probably a version of the BTR, perhaps a modified command post.
The GRU captain was waiting inside, impatiently, the clipboard of Studley’s details beneath his arm. He spoke brusquely, making no attempt to maintain his apparent former respect for Studley’s senior rank. ‘You have had the hour I promised. Where is the paper I gave you?’
Studley met the Russian’s eyes and held his gaze. ‘I threw it away.’ He could feel the muscles of his shoulders and back tightening, a childhood defence against anger which he had not experienced for many years. He straightened himself deliberately into a military posture he knew would make him appear arrogant.
The Russian noticed the action but ignored it. ‘I have another sheet prepared. We shall work with that.’
‘You’re wasting your time.’
‘We shall see.’ There was the hint of a threat in the man’s voice. He was twenty-nine or thirty years old and clean-shaven. He wore his peaked hat pushed casually back off his forehead, and the hair above his ears seemed longer than the normal Soviet military style. Hi face was sallow, angular, hollowing sharply beneath the cheekbones; hinting at an ancestry in the eastern regions of the USSR. ‘You must realize it will be better for you to assist me. All senior officers of your military services will be required to face a Soviet People’s Court in due time. The decisions they reach will be influenced by our reports. If your records show you have attempted to help us, then the People’s Court will be lenient. If not, your punishment will be greater. At the very least you will face a long term of imprisonment. Do you understand me?’
‘I am not a criminal, I am a prisoner of war. I have committed no atrocities.’
‘The killing of Soviet citizens is an atrocity, regardless of circumstances. A claim you were only obeying orders has been proved to be no defence in war trials; Nuremburg established that fact of law. Many of those found guilty were hanged. You will therefore co-operate.’ Studley was silent, but he shook his head. ‘Very well. I regret that in these circumstances, we do not have time for sophisticated interrogation.’ He spoke to the guard. Studley turned, expecting to be led away, but the man rammed the butt of his rifle into Studley’s side. He felt ribs crack as all the wind was driven from his lungs by the force of the blow, and a spear of pain drove itself across his chest. As Studley doubled forward, the guard swung the weapon again, this time at his face. The slab of the metal breech smashed against his lips and teeth, a blue-white light exploded behind his eyes.
He was on his knees, his throat full of blood, his torn lips and gums feeling as though they were burning. He put his hand to his mouth; his teeth were broken stumps and there were sharp splinters in the wounds. His nose was bleeding.
‘As I warned you, there is no time for finesse. Now. Do you wish to help us? If you do so, there will be immediate medical assistance for you. You have simply to identify the code words.’
Studley coughed the blood from his throat. The GRU officer’s voice sounded distant, and the floor beneath him felt like the swaying deck of a small boat. He attempted to concentrate his mind on a single thought… Jane. He tried to block the pain with memories.
The guard stamped down on to the wound in Studley’s leg.
TWELVE
There were a group of military police on the road ahead of Sergeant Davis, their tempers frayed as they attempted to funnel the civilian refugees to one side to allow the passage of convoys of military vehicles towards the battle area. The number of refugees astonished Davis. He had expected some, but it seemed all the people from the town of Schöningen and villages near the border were trying to get away from the advancing Russian armies. There were queues of every kind of civilian vehicles, barely moving at walking pace along the entire length of the road. He had seen newsreel pictures of the Second World War when refugees had similarly blocked the movement of troops, but hadn’t expected it to be like that now. Cars and lorries had broken down, run out of fuel, and been abandoned at the roadside still piled high with family possessions. Trucks and farm wagons, tractors and their sugar-beet trailers, people on foot or on bicycles, moved in a slow but determined procession towards the west. Davis followed the route of the road, but kept to the fields except where boundary ditches or irrigation dikes forced him back. Angrily, the refugees paused to let him by, and he knew from their contemptuous stares they suspected the two tanks, like themselves, were fleeing from the enemy.
The flood crept past the military police, obeying their desperate signals for only meters before swelling back to occupy the full width of the road. A convoy of Stalwarts was making only a few kilometers an hour eastwards, despite their drivers’ attempts to make use of the verges at the roadside.
A harrassed young corporal, red-eyed with fatigue, clambered on to Davis’s Chieftain. ‘Who the ‘ell are you?’
Davis told him.
The corporal checked a list. ‘Okay, Sergeant. Your re-grouping area is three kilometers on… you’ll see crossroads after Kissleberfeld and then your divisional number on a black sign — that is if some bastard hasn’t moved it. Turn right there; it’s unsurfaced. And keep off this road as much as possible.’ He stared at the scarred hull of the tank, seeking an excuse for further conversation to keep him a few moments longer from his near-impossible task. ‘Was it bad, mate?’ Davis nodded. It was too early yet to find adequate words to describe the previous few hours of battle. ‘Bastards,’ the corporal swore. ‘I’d hang every fuckin’ Russian we catch. Watch out for their bloody Floggers; they’ve been brassin’ the roads every hour or so… civvies, everything. Murdering swine. A bit north of here the convoys are driving through swamps of pulped bodies, it’s the only fuckin’ way they can get the supplies up.’ He pointed towards drifting smoke three hundred meters across the fields. ‘See them… AFVs they caught in the open. And this soddin’ lot…’ He jerked his head towards the slow-moving river of people. ‘Get ’em out of the way, and a minute later they’re all over the road again… they’re fuckin’ deaf… daft. It’s all fuckin’ murder. We heard it’s even worse towards Hannover.’ His conscience nagged him as he heard shouting from his colleagues. ‘Take care, mate. And when you’re in there again, give ’em one up the arse for the Redcaps. So long.’