At the back of the fidgeting Russians Revell identified a familiar figure, trying to make itself inconspicuous and drawing attention to itself by so doing.
“Grigori, out here.”
There was a ripple of movement and the ranks parted to let him through. “Is there something you are wanting, Major?”
He held a woollen cap in his big rough hands, and was slowly wringing it until threads started to part. Revell hadn’t seen him with it the previous day, and it appeared that whatever the weather the Russians wore all their clothing, presumably to stop it from being stolen. “You were on that bus. I know there is no point in asking who did this, but I’d like to know why.”
Grigori turned his palms forward and spread his arms in a gesture of ignorance. “I was asleep, Major. I woke when the first fight happened in the late evening, when you yourself came in, but after that… I sleep very heavily…”
“I want to know what happened.”
“You must appreciate my position, Major. You will see the others appear to be listening, very attentively. I do not think any of them understand English, but there are some who keep such things to themselves, if you understand me.” He lowered his voice and took a step nearer the officer. “Perhaps if you would escort me a little distance away, at gun point. A push or two would also look well. For the sake of appearances?”
Unslinging his shotgun, the pushes Revell administered with the butt of it were more than just for appearances. “That’s far enough, now unless you’re also afraid they can lip read as well, let’s have it.”
“You understand I had no part in it…”
“I understand you’d not tell me if you were. Get on with it.”
“There has been bad blood, for some days. The three men who died… Yes, good, keep the gun levelled at me, Major, but with the safety on?”
“I’m happy with it like this.”
“As you wish.” Grigori used the cap to wipe his forehead. “It is going to be a hot day.” He saw the tip of the 12 bore barrel elevate a fraction, toward his stomach. “The three men who died had been stealing tobacco.”
“So you all ganged up on them.” Revell had been expecting something of the sort.
“Oh no, Major. I assure you I was asleep, and so were many of the others, and the three who are laid over there. I explain. They had not been stealing from everyone, they had only been taking it from thieves who had stolen it from everyone.”
“So the thieves got their own back. You know who the thieves are?” Revell got precisely the answer he anticipated.
“Sometimes one suspects, but they are so clever, one can never be sure. After all, if a man is known to be a thief then he is allowed few opportunities.”
Revell gestured with the shotgun. “Get back with the others. I’m going to work you so hard that by tonight you’ll all sleep.”
“Will you not need supervisors, Major? I can…” Grigori saw the expression on the American’s face and didn’t finish the sentence.
The bodies were buried without ceremony in a common grave, actually a partially collapsed dug-out. A few blows with a pick axe brought the remains of the roof down.
The earth had barely settled before working parties under Sergeant Hyde and Lieutenant Vokes departed, to tackle the lighter damage of other sections of the road.
Those remaining under Revell’s command he split into two equal groups. One he set to erect the tents and perimeter fence of their own compound: the other to begin the daunting task of clearing and repairing the road through the enemy position.
For all the rough and burly appearance the Russians presented, the major quickly discovered them to be soft. They tired quickly. In the case of some it was definitely an act. Concentrating the worst of the gold-brickers into a platoon bossed by Andrea and Clarence brought about a marked improvement.
Within an hour it was obvious that manpower alone would not be sufficient for the task of clearing the trees. An attempt was made to clear a particularly dense tangle of fallen timber using fire. After piling every combustible fragment that could be found around the trunks, diesel fuel was poured over and a phosphorus grenade used to ignite the stack.
It roared into flame, giving off walls of heat that drove them well back. Flaring red and yellow tongues would frequently lick out toward the forest, threatening to spread the blaze.
After an hour the brushwood had been reduced to a low mound of grey ash. The waves of fierce heat it radiated meant it had to be smothered with dirt before it could be approached. Above it, although heavily charred, the tree trunks remained intact. Only one had burned through to the point where it had begun to sag under its own weight.
When Revell got through to Divisional HQ on the radio with a request for explosives to speed the work he was turned down flat.
“I guess we’re out of favour at the moment.” He handed the headset back to Garrett, who managed to drop it.
“Back to the dark ages then.” Corporal Carrington threw a large pine cone at a Russian who had stopped work to pick his nose in leisurely fashion.
The missile struck him between the shoulder blades and he instantly resumed work with his shovel.
“Near enough.” Revell was beginning to feel more than a little discouraged. “We’ve got the winch on the Hummer, but from now on most of it is going to be down to brute force and ignorance.”
“Where do we start?”
“Give the axes to the best workers. Pair them up so that as one tires the other can take it over. For what’s left of today we’ll concentrate on trimming side branches so that we can get nice clean pulls.”
“And the rest of them?” Carrington hefted another cone, ready for further targets.
“Put them on getting the debris off the road. There’s tons of the stuff. Have them dump it and compact it where the curb has disintegrated.”
Revell watched the temporary bustle the change of instruction prompted. It was of even shorter duration than he’d anticipated. Despite careful organization, in many cases meaning that individual Russians were allocated specific jobs, the work still seemed to go ahead with an ant hill-like confusion.
While some shovelled at the mounds of soil, others carried the spoil they dislodged to places where fill was needed. There others would spread and compact it. Progress appeared pathetically slow. The more so when Revell calculated that what was going to take more than three hundred men above a week, could be done by a JCB or Cat in a day.
The party working the hardest was definitely that where Andrea was an overseer. She constantly prowled the fringes of the area being worked, finger on the trigger of her M16. Aided by a few basic words of Russian and many threatening looks and gestures she spurred the group to ever greater effort.
Men twice her size would break into a stumbling run when she shouted. They’d hurl their loads into a crater and double back for more.
Every time he passed him, Revell saw Grigori put on an act of frenetic activity, all the while bellowing encouragement to others to exert themselves. He would then look up at the officer, as if noticing his presence for the first time, wipe imagined sweat from his face with his cap and nod confidentially.
Revell often had to look away as he attempted to keep a straight face. Though he passed him over a score of times, not once did Grigori miss his cue.
By late afternoon the speed of work had slowed to a snail’s pace. The men paused frequently to spit on their palms to ease the sting of broken blisters.
At seventeen hundred Revell called a halt, and radioed for the other two groups to return. He found both were ready to come back. Their men were in similar condition, unfit to work any longer.
It did not add up to an auspicious start. During the journey on the previous day Revell had entertained vague thoughts of blitzing through the work and finding something, anything, to do with the remaining time. On current performance it looked like they’d be hard pressed to complete the task if the truce should last three weeks.