Samson had stayed quiet during their witnessing of the chemical attack. He felt bad that he had been powerless to help the population stricken by the worst of all weapons of war and to him it made no sense that the Commies would volunteer to take on fleeing refugees, even encourage them to move their way. “That’s weird, they are usually doing everything they can to get rid of them, lumber us with the administrative and supply problems they bring.”
It was unlikely, Revell knew that, unheard of even, but he trusted the accuracy of the work Boris did. A look a the screen, which he couldn’t help himself doing even though he knew the data would be as stated, confirmed what he had been told. The plot of the impact areas was a crescent across the most populated parts of the city, coming down just where they would be guaranteed to block civilians trying to get out of the Zone, heading west.
“Could be an aberration by a crazy local commander. Let me know if you spot anything else those swine are up to this time. In any event give me an update every fifteen minutes.”
Ripper had heard the exchange and now taxed Clarence. “You’re the brainy one. Why would the Commies be turning around the refugee columns? They ain’t never got enough food to feed their own troops, hell they were eating their own dead at Hamburg. A load of starving civvies would just be a nuisance to them, so what they up to.”
“Stocking their larder?” Dooley joined in.
“They’ve used refugees before.” Corporal Thorne had been in Hamburg, and Munich, he knew the extremes of which the communists were capable. “They’ve used them as hostages, to prevent us hitting some juicy targets of theirs.”
“You reckon?” Simmons had heard so many stories during training, from instructors, and since he had entered combat in the Zone just six weeks before. They had mounted and mounted until the sheer number of them and their ghastly detail had seemed to become so bizarre it was impossible to believe them all.
“It’s a fact. Up north they built a mock-up of a section of a camp right next to the real thing, to conceal an under-ground tank repair shop.” Clarence watched the young Americans unbelieving expression.
“Heck, I learn something new about that load of cruds every day. Nasty lot of sons of bitches, ain’t they.”
Boris huddled closer over his board, and said nothing.
Carson had been taking what looked like temperature readings on the bomb and now he moved to sit next to the major and spoke quietly to him. “I’d like us to pull in somewhere so we can have a look at it.”
He said no more, made no drama of the request but Revell had seen enough of him in action to be impressed by his quiet efficiency when it came down to serious work. If he wanted to take a look at the bomb then there was a reason.
“OK.” The major switched to speak to their driver. “Find us some where quiet for a short stop. But first a bath or shower would be a good idea. That crap they dropped was likely non-persistant but why take chances.”
Burke managed to find them two in succession. A farmyard produced a broad but shallow pond and their passing through it at various speeds produced cascades of water to wash down the hull. Soon after leaving that the next water they found was a stream where a fallen tree had partially blocked the course to restrict it and form a flood meadow . Twice he sat the iron Cow down in the still water and then spun it, uncomfortably for the crew and passengers as the skirt was re-inflated.
“That should do, now we’ll hope for rain to finish the sluicing.”
Ten minutes later the major got his wish and a short sharp shower ensured that every nook and cranny of the Iron cow was thoroughly washed clear of the poisonous residue.
They motored across country slowly, and in fits and starts. Frequently running parallel to a distant secondary road they cut through a succession of hedges and fields and negotiated farmyards. Forced by heavy woodland to change course they crossed the road, finding themselves a hundred metres behind a Russian armoured personnel carrier whose crew failed to notice them. Tempting though it was as a close range target, with its fuel cell filled rear doors; they let it pull ahead out of sight.
By chance the unwelcome detour brought them to what looked like a gated development of large detached houses. A remotely controlled double wrought iron barrier went down before them.
“The Ruskies haven’t been in here yet, they’d never close the gate behind them.” Driving in to a dead end street, Burke slowed, looking for a house with an adequate double garage.
Several of the properties showed the signs of a hurried departure. Front lawns and driveways had odd pieces of luggage where owners had packed more than their vehicles could accommodate. Prominent among the urban litter were large children’s toys, trikes, pedal cars and dolls houses. A set of golf clubs were propped against one front door and there were quiet a few adult cycles lying about.
It was one of those that a lone Russian infantryman was riding. He was wobbling along, balancing a plastic storage box on the handlebars, an assault rifle balanced on top. From improvised straps over his shoulders hung a selection of colourful shopping bags. All bulged and clinked as they swung together. His knees stuck out as he tried to propel the load down the middle of the road. He ignored his brakes, took his feet from the pedals and slothered along the ground to a stop when suddenly confronted with the APC.
His face was a mix of befuddled alarm and confusion. Clearly he didn’t know what the Hover APC was. He’d never seen one before and with no insignia showing he could not identify it.
Undecided, the infantrymen took a long time to make up his mind as to what course of action to pursue. Eventually he decided to ere on the side of caution and bolt. Hob-nailed boots scrabbling on the ground either side of its frame he began to tug the laden bike around.
The rear ramp lowered and Revell heard some one go out. Glaring brightness from a sun low down on the western horizon temporarily blinded him and he couldn’t see who it was. He could only call out. “Let him go, he’s so drunk he doesn’t even know where he is.”
Having completed the ungainly turn the Russian got his feet on the pedals and with the front wheel swinging from side to side began to ride away. A single shot rang out and he stopped pedalling. For an instant he was balanced, stationary. Then he fell sideways and the bags hitting the ground split and cracked and spilt their contents. A single vodka bottle spun in a circle before rolling towards the side of the road.
Andrea walked forward and kicked the prone body. It made no movement. Surrounded by a small lake of liquor, the man was dead.
Andrea said nothing to explain what she had done, or why, but the act injected crude fear into their prisoner. The men of the squad didn’t say anything, though several looked as though they wanted to and were having to make an effort to stop from shouting at her.
Sensing, if not understanding their attitude she kept away while the hovercraft was backed into a capacious three-car garage and the bomb hauled out. She would have done in any event. The presence of the bomb made her skin crawl and she did not want to display any weakness while the men were around.
Looking towards the dead body she saw that the slight camber of the road had drawn a sluggish mixed run of blood and spirits down to the curb where it had formed a partially congealed puddle.
Over at the garage several of the squad had overcome their fear of the nuclear weapon and were watching Carson. Assisted by Lieutenant Andy he had delved inside the largest of the inspection covers and removed an object that he put gently on a tray covered with a pure white napkin. Obviously some one had been exploring the nearest houses.