Perhaps a few of the refugees would settle there for a while, until every last sliver of furniture and fittings had been consumed by the cooking fires. But it would not be for long. Disease was constantly thinning the numbers of civilians in the Zone, despite the constant replenishment caused by the frequent expansion of its area, as a consequence of fresh battles or advances. Certainly the old hotel would be abandoned the moment the truce ended. A conspicuous building was a dangerous place to be while there was fighting.
That it had escaped serious damage for such a length of time made it all the more likely that its turn for violent demolition would be soon.
For those pathetic displaced persons now struggling over scraps, the only comparative safety would be that offered by the larger refugee camps. There, overcrowding and the total breakdown of any semblance of law made life only marginally better. The Red Cross and the other relief agencies could do little faced with the vast numbers involved.
Taking his place in the front passenger seat, Revell saw that Andrea was already behind the wheel. Her foot tapped out an impatient series of loud revs from the gas pedal. Her action betrayed at least one fresh hole in the much patched muffler.
She looked like she’d been on a three day binge. Her hair was matted and her eyes red-rimmed and bloodshot. From the slack fit of her battledress Revell figured that she was also losing weight. Where it had been tight over her chest and hips, its folds now concealed her shape. As yet her drinking hadn’t affected her fighting capabilities, but then he’d not put her in a position where she’d been really tested. At the rate she was going though, it would not be long before he had to do something about her. Once, because of how he’d felt about her, she would’ve had special treatment. Not any more.
“We’re all set. Give them a blast.” Cradling his assault shotgun, Revell wished his hands were free so that he could stuff his fingers in his ears.
Andrea kept her hand down hard on the air-horn. The blare of the klaxon seemed to make his skull vibrate.
“That’ll do. I think they got the message.” Revell estimated they had a three hour journey. With Garrett occupied on his radio watch in the rear compartment and with this silent and unsmiling driver, it was going to seem a lot longer.
ELEVEN
“Scorched earth. With a vengeance.”
Revell had to agree with Sergeant Hyde. It certainly looked as if those were the tactics that had been employed by the Warpac unit that pulled back from the area.
On his map Revell had it marked as an area of extensive demolitions. That told only a fraction of the story. The road here ran through thick woodland and what had once been a Russian encampment. There was little left by which to identify it as such.
What had been a complex of deep bunkers, skilfully linked by an extensive network of trenches and weapon pits was now a wasteland. Powerful explosions had caved in whole sections, and what had been missed by them showed ample evidence of having been churned and bulldozed. Fire had completed the work of destruction and the air still reeked with the distinctive smell of flame-thrower fuel and phosphorus residue.
Even a motorcycle and sidecar, presumably beyond repair and not worthy of salvage, had been crushed into the soft loam, like a modern-day fossil.
Masses of tall pines and firs had been toppled and now formed an impenetrable entwined and splintered mass across the road.
“It looks like they blasted everything, then ran across the whole lot with a squadron of tanks.” Revell pushed the flattened motorcycle with the toe of his boot. It didn’t yield. “They didn’t mean to leave anything for us, did they? I thought when we drove over the rest of our section our pet Russians were in for an easy time. I see now that they’re not.” He turned to Lieutenant Vokes. “You’re the expert in this sort of work. Where do we start?”
Vokes surveyed the torn and heavily cratered road. In places it was bared to a depth of several feet where spoil from detonations close alongside had rained down. He had tried counting the trees that lay across it, but had given up when he reached sixty, with at least as many more still to go.
“I think the orders are that we have ten days to open up twenty kilometres?” He looked to the major for an answering nod of confirmation. Another glance at the road and he sucked in air through the gap in his teeth.
“This section is by far the worst. I would think it would absorb seventy-five percent of our work force for the whole of that period. We are lucky it is virtually in the middle. I would suggest we camp and concentrate our effort here. The other road blocks, and that collapsed culvert, we can send working parties out to deal with each day, as they are required. It is a shame we do not have even one power shovel, or dump truck.”
“Haven’t, and aren’t likely to get. I’ll put in a request all the same.” Revell made a note on a message pad. “A few chain saws wouldn’t go amiss either.”
A blurred outline of the sun was sitting on the western horizon and among the trees the shadows had lengthened to infinity. As they walked back to where the column stood it became rapidly darker. Here, the trees still stood, crowding out the light.
There might be a truce in force but Revell could take no chances. The previous night had been a rare opportunity to relax in the Zone. Tonight they were right on the edge of the temporary truce strip. A bare six kilometres away was the Warpac side. If anything went wrong, they would be the very first to know about it. A few minutes or even seconds’ warning might be enough to save some of their lives.
The guards that were already posted had a dual function though. They were positioned as much to watch that no one bolted into the trees, or appeared out of them.
“So they stay on the buses for tonight?” From the rear of the long file of vehicles Hyde heard the clatter of Scully preparing the evening meal. It would be their first, and only, hot meal of the day. The same would be served up for all of them, NATO troops and Warpac prisoner battalion alike.
“It’ll be simpler that way. At first light we’ll find a suitable clearing and keep a few of them back to erect a perimeter fence and put up the tents.”
“They’ll be better off than us.”
Revell knew what Hyde meant, and knew it would rankle with the men. For the Russians it would be the comparative space and warmth of the buses. No guard duty for them, stumbling about in the dark, hearing and seeing things that weren’t there as fatigue played tricks with eyes.
At least there appeared to be no mines, but in the major’s mind that constituted something of an enigma. Even in its demolished state it was evident that the unit that had previously occupied the site had been able to call on lavish field engineer support. To have completed such extensive work would have called for a prodigious effort, of a sort not usually available to a formation probably not much above battalion strength.
And yet there were no mines. Hardly any barbed or razor wire either. Without those it was tempting to think the position had been prepared in advance of requirement, needing only those additions to activate it. But that was obviously not the case. Latrine trenches showed it had been occupied, and for some time.
Even more than the absence of mines, it was the lack of wire that puzzled Revell. He could recall several occasions when he had travelled through a landscape scraped clean by nuclear air-bursts. Every building was pulverized to the last brick, trees and telegraph poles burnt to below ground level. In so surreal a place the wisps of smoke from charring stumps had made it resemble an abandoned camp ground. And yet there had been the wire, partially buried or tumbled into giant rust and flame streaked concertinas, it was still there. Mines might be lifted for re-use, but wire?