On his return Vokes reported that he only needed two more days. Hyde’s estimate of four to five days to fill a series of huge craters was not so comforting, but it did mean the whole battalion would be on hand for a final effort to complete work within the allotted time-scale.
As the labourers stacked their implements and made their way to where Scully was dishing out stew, many made much play of limping. Others walked bent almost double with hands clutching their backs.
Watching, Revell knew that a few cases would be quite genuine. Several men had taken cracking blows on their feet or shins from carelessly wielded picks or shovels. But there had fortunately been no resulting broken bones and the worst Sampson had dealt with had been cuts and bruises.
Among the malingerers few displayed the sheer artistry of Grigori. Walking stiffly erect, his expression contrived to give the impression of a man who was suffering greatly, but trying heroically not to show it. If he was disappointed at his ploy not succeeding, he didn’t reveal it in any way.
“Are we sure that these men deserted the Warpac armies in order to help the NATO side?” Vokes watched the shuffling rabble speed up as it caught the smell of the food. “If these are typical of their sort then I am forced to believe the KGB planted them on us to slow our war effort.”
A roll call went surprisingly easily, with only three recounts required to reach the correct total. That done, they were herded into their compound. Dooley tried to march them in, but swiftly gave it up as a bad job. He left it to Andrea, who stalked after them like an aggressive sheep dog. The last to enter were pushing hard on the heels of those ahead.
Their slight stock of razor wire meant that only a few strands could be stretched out to surround the compound area. Knowing that was all they could manage, Revell had ensured that the site was level and thoroughly cleared of undergrowth. It had also been kept as compact as possible and the straight sides made the duty of patrolling the perimeter that much easier.
He would have preferred more space between the thirty bell tents, but the extent of the clearing did not permit it. There would be little that could be done to prevent movement within the camp. A couple of lights, powered off a recharging generator, were positioned at opposite corners. They would have the effect of making the centre of the area all the darker. That would have to be a secondary consideration.
There would be no moon, but the major was reasonably confident with the prisoners in their exhausted state, they would be unlikely to create problems during the short summer night. If matters got out of control there would be casualties on both sides of the wire.
A breeze ruffled the tops of the trees. Revell looked up. The sky was still light, with the few wisps of clouds showing as red scars as the sinking sun caught them. It was only a couple of days since the fighting had ceased. He was amazed at the difference it already made to the atmosphere. Now the only smoke he could smell was the faint aroma of pine ash. Visibility had improved markedly, and every breath he took seemed the fresher for it.
“Lieutenant Vokes!”
The Dutchman appeared, still in the act of consuming his third helping of stew. “Take over, will you. I’m going to scout around. There’s a path of sorts, heads to the south. I want to see if it leads to a dump.”
“You should take an escort, Major. And if you find a dump, watch out for booby-traps. I have lost men that way.”
Replacing the buckshot round in his shotgun for a cartridge filled with flechettes, Revell nodded agreement. It was Ripper his gaze lit on first. It wasn’t the best choice he could have made but it was the quickest. Within a couple of minutes he was wondering if it would have been better to take his time and pick some one else instead.
“Sure nice of you to invite me along, Major. Sergeant Hyde had me cramped up, all alone, on radio watch in the Land Rover all day. I feel like the original dead-end kid. Like I told the Sarge…”
Revell let him rattle on, taking little notice. Not that telling him to shut up would have made any lasting difference. He’d only start up again with a few minutes. If indeed he could hold out that long. Burke described the young PFC as having verbal diarrhoea. It was apt.
Most of them had got used to him, but the non-stop chatter, the never ending stream of peculiar stories about his weird family back home, it got to you occasionally. That was very likely why Hyde had set him in such an isolated post all day.
To reach the beaten track Revell had spotted they’d have to skirt the scene of utter devastation that was all that was left of the Warpac position.
Although well trodden where it wound beneath the trees, the path was only wide enough for one. Now Revell reconsidered the merits of his choice of companion. Ripper had the eyes of a hawk. If the route had been mined he’d spot it in good time.
At a cautious but steady pace they followed the track. No others diverged from it. Several times, at irregular intervals they passed discarded vodka bottles. Most were broken, many were cloudy with age.
In their condition, Revell saw further evidence that this was not some fall-back position. Obviously the enemy had been in occupation for a lengthy period.
The path climbed steadily, but they didn’t have to exert themselves. Now and again there were unidentifiable scraps of rag caught on low branches, or trampled into the ground.
After a half kilometre Revell felt sure that it would only lead to some outpost situated on high ground, perhaps with a view of the road. He could imagine the troops of the relief detail swigging from the bottles as soon as they were out of sight of their officers and NCOs.
The track reached its highest point, but there was no machine gun nest or observation post. Down a steep slope lay a small lightly wooded valley. A stream ran through the centre of it.
Of all the sights that in a moment of idle speculation, Revell might have thought he’d see, this was by far the least expected.
Filling the floor of the valley was another scene of total destruction, but a very different one from that they had recently left.
THIRTEEN
The refugee camp had been put to the torch. A few shelters had escaped and they stood forlornly amid the mass of charred wreckage.
“It’s the first one I’ve ever seen with defences like that.” As they walked nearer, Ripper could see the ribbons of rusted razor wire roughly fastened to crude stakes. At regular intervals stood the half burned stumps of watch towers.
Revell too had been noting the unusual features of the place. Experience led him to estimate that it had once held two and a half thousand displaced people. That was twice the number the casual observer might have hazarded, but he was familiar with the lean-to building techniques the refugees used. The method led to a lot of people packing into a surprisingly compact area.
They passed through an opening, stepping across a toppled, strongly built gate. A few curls of smoke still rose from the ruins.
“Those towers wouldn’t give them much of a warning.” From the remains of one close at hand Revell made a calculated guess at the height it had stood. “But it would give someone a good view of the camp.”
“Like a Red with a machine gun.” Ripper plucked a Cindy doll from the remains of a hut. Half the face had burnt away and the little dress had crisped to a brittle shroud.
“So now we know how the Russians could put so many man hours into the defence positions by the road.” Walking across the wreckage, Revell was at least glad to see no evidence of bodies. “Looks like they took their slave labourers with them.”