“Can you get me transcriptions of radio messages?”
“No problem. You’ll be wanting the same of landline traffic as well, I suppose. We’ve got a couple of real hot interpreters who can take care of that.”
“Good, get me the lot.”
“Oh, one last thing. Last truck in the line isn’t ours. I took the liberty of inviting him along. Royal Artillery, worked with him before. He’s got one of those new mini-drones aboard, specializes in low level work, real low level. Uses real-time data transmission, so you’ll get something even if by a miracle the Reds notice it and down it.”
“We can use him. Thanks.” Revell had to move to the side to make more room for the growing line of small corpses.
As each of the trucks made a three point turn, the crews looked out silently at the latest begrimed additions to the sad spectacle. He saw the grim expressions on the soldiers’ faces, and knew he’d get every scrap of information he needed.
“You want me to sign them? Or shall I just go out and shoot myself now, save them the expense of doing it after they’ve finished throwing the book at me.”
“No need for that. Will you keep one set of the copies? Put them away in a safe place.” Revell leafed through the autopsy reports. “And thanks for your help.”
“Save it. You can thank me if or when it helps you nail those Communist bastards.”
The doc stripped off his thickly coated gloves and tossed them onto the pile of discarded clothing.
“In twenty-five years I’ve never seen anything like it. What those kids must have gone through. The one with the bullet through the side of his head was the lucky one. The others… well it’s all in the reports. If there’s anything else I can do?”
“Can’t think of anything, Doc. You’d better scoot now. You haven’t even got a lame excuse for being here like the others.”
“How in hell’s name did you get them all here. Same as me? Calling in markers I suppose.”
“And making a few promises I hope I’ll be able to keep.”
“So what do you do now?”
“To be honest I’m not sure. I’ve several options, among which is to do fuck all…”
“Can’t see you adopting that course of action.”
“Nor can I, but maybe I’ll be forced to. We’ve had a lot of pressure already. But in any event, I’m still waiting for the report from the intelligence boys. I’ll make my final decision when I have that.”
“Good luck.”
The doc took a last look at the never-ending rows of young dead, and made for his Land Rover. A Russian labourer who crossed his path saw his expression and shrank back.
Revell had already sensed how uptight everyone was. Anger had added an air of menace to every order the NATO troops gave members of the Russian labour battalion. In their turn the deserters were becoming nervous and edgy, as the realization dawned of what a tightrope they walked.
They kept their heads down, avoiding eye contact, and working hard enough to bring little extra attention to themselves. Their main task now was the clearing of a tract of virgin land and the preparation of one hundred and ninety two individual graves. Others prepared the plain wooden crosses for each. Even Grigori worked, trying to blend in among the others.
Watching them was an alert circle of troops with fingers on the triggers of their rifles. There had been no incidents so far, but Revell was all too well aware that a trivial act could bring one about at any moment.
The arrival of the nurses had helped calm things a little. Working in teams of three they had begun washing the bodies, and wrapping them in clean white sheets.
Men of the combat company kept them supplied with water from the tanker, and soap, sheets and body bags from the stores truck parked beside it.
The elderly officer of the West German army’s service corps who had arrived with them, had already volunteered himself and his drivers to join in any action Revell might take.
That accounted for four of the six couriers he had sent out. It would be midday tomorrow, Friday, before he would know if the other two had been as successful. If they hadn’t been, then all this would have been for nothing.
Well, not quite for nothing. He stood to the side and observed as the nurses finished washing dirt and blood from yet another young victim. It was a girl, very thin, and as white as the neatly folded sheet beside her. Hair brushed back from her face, she looked no more than eight or nine. Her arms and legs-flopped about like those of a disjointed rag doll when she was lifted for the wrapping to pass under her emaciated body.
Very gently the crisp material was enfolded about her, after a generous dusting with a sickly sweet smelling disinfectant powder. Then again she was lifted and placed into a body bag. She made a pitifully small load within it.
“A terrible business, Major. A truly terrible business.” The middle-aged chaplain who had come out with the nurses had been constantly trotting back and forth between the scene of preparation and the graves. He looked and sounded exhausted, both mentally and physically, but it was as though he couldn’t stop.
“Some of the men have said they would like to speak with me. Under no circumstances I wonder if that would be in order.”
“I have never stopped my men from attending a church parade if they want, even though we don’t hold them ourselves. Certainly they can talk to you.”
“You misunderstand, Major. I have spoken to several of your men and to a number of the Dutch pioneers already. No, I have been approached by one of the Russians…”
“Grigori, by any chance?”
“Yes, that was his name. When they have finished their work, they would like a service. I can well understand that feeling is running high, but they are not the men who… who did this terrible crime.”
There was a horrendous scream, or the start of one, from the direction of the improvised graveyard. Revell had hardly started toward it when Hyde approached.
“That was one of the Russians. The silly bastard got a mouth full of dirt and spat it out into one of the graves. Old William swung a shovel at him.”
“How bad is he?”
Hyde glanced at the chaplain. “They don’t come any worse. It took his head clean off.”
NINETEEN
Revell had only been studying the electronic intelligence data for a few minutes when the Military Police arrived.
“There’s a general who would like to see you, Major. And I think he’ll be wanting those as well.”
“Help yourself.” Revell made no further comment as the print-outs, photographs and typed sheets were gathered together.
“Am I under arrest.”
Both the MPs were sergeants, and both were big, seeming to fill the interior of the tent. It was the older of the two, the one with several medal ribbons who spoke again.
“Those aren’t our orders, Major, but the general gave us his instructions in person. You could say he was not happy. I haven’t ever been spoken to by a general before. If they all get as mad as he was, I’m content for it to never happen again.” He shuffled the papers together. “Are there any copies of these?”
“Here? No.”
The MPs exchanged looks. Again it was the veteran who spoke. “I would like to be able to take the word of an officer, Major. But if I go back and tell the general I accepted that then he is quite likely to nail my balls to my kneecaps. Well have a look around.”
The search of the tent and its sparse furnishings took only a moment, but it was done thoroughly. Outside a third MP waited by a highly polished Hummer. He had his hand close to his holster and had unbuttoned the covering flap.
As Revell was escorted to the waiting transport a growing crowd of his men encircled it and a threatening rumble of noise came from them.