“What is it this time?” Zucharnin was finding himself with less and less patience
with the boy. Certainly that was how he thought of him, as just a kid. He might have the grand title of Staff Captain but it conferred almost no authority on him, and certainly as little responsibility as was possible.
“The units in the sector south of Bayreuth.”
“What about them.” Zucharnin was instantly on his guard, the boy had been trawling for information quite a lot recently. For a basically lazy person it appeared strange that he was taking an active interest in anything, but especially that he should be curious about that location.
“Alright, what about them. Get a move on.”
Trying to appear casual, Pritkov put a stapled wad of papers on to the general’s desk. “They have been taking delivery of large quantities of ammunition lately. A very large amount for reserve units. They have also been trying to obtain stocks of petrol and diesel, far more than their vehicle scales and static situation would require normally. Is there a reason?”
Zucharnin pursed his lips and allowed himself a few moments to gather his thoughts. He was certainly not going to reveal his plans to the boy. The alternatives were to bawl him out and frighten him off or to offer some plausible explanation that would satisfy him. It just wasn’t in his nature though to handle a situation by taking the soft option.
“What the bloody hell has it got to do with you? You’re job is not to oversee such things so keep your damned nose out of business that is no concern of yours, that you don’t understand. If you did a half decent job of sorting out my transport problems you wouldn’t have time to go poking your nose where it doesn’t belong.”
The blast made Pritkov take a step back and his bottom lip trembled. “I was just asking why…”
“Well don’t bloody ask. Get on with your own work, stay out of mine.”
As Pritkov closed the office door the staff in the outer officer hurriedly bent over their desks, simulating activity. Of course they had been listening and they certainly could not have helping hearing the tearing off he had got from the general. God, how he hated the man, loathed him. Uncouth, ill mannered. A peasant. What on earth did mother see in him.
Making his way back to his own office he could feel his face burning and a bitter fury burned inside him. Now he had to get him, claw him down from his lofty position and have him thrown into a penal battalion. Yes, that would be nice. But how to do it. So far he had passed to the Lieutenant General Gregori no more than tittle-tattle, nothing of any real substance.
He found he still had the papers in his hand. Throwing himself in to the deep-buttoned leather armchair beneath the window he scanned the list gain. What little he had absorbed of what the army had tried to teach him told him that these fuel requests and ammunition quantities were far in excess of the requirements of units in a static reserve condition.
Nothing was planned in that area. The hard look he had taken at the general’s map told him that. So why would they need anti-tank rockets and gasoline on these scales. What could it all be used for? He rang for one of his staff.
The officer who came in was a good choice. A bookish looking lieutenant he was one of those irritating men who studied his subject hard and was always able to show up his superiors by being better informed, better grounded in any of his specialities. It was why he had never got beyond his present position.
Pritkov handed over the sheaf of close typed sheets. “If I gave you that to execute, what would you think was planned?”
The officer gave a weak smile in acknowledgement of the instruction. He flipped back and forth through the information. “I would say you are asking me to equip a reinforced infantry division for an assault and follow up pursuit.”
“Follow up?”
“Yes Captain. The fuel requirement is too much for attacking a limited objective. It is insufficient for massed armour but the proportions of diesel to petrol would suggest an anticipated high mileage by light forces; scout cars and armoured personnel carriers for an assault and break-out.”
“Anything else?”
“Yes.”
The officer ran his finger down one of the pages.
“The engineers supplies, it is strange. If it is an assault against prepared defences then there is no provision for mine lifting. And the artillery stocks. Sufficient I would say for some long range counter battery work but most of the weight is close support munitions, mortars and Katushas. I would say that some one, judged by the absence of armour is embarking on an infantry assault against anticipated light opposition. Unless their Intelligence information is flawless they are taking an enormous risk.”
Zucharnin had enjoyed giving vent to his feelings. He had said what he had wanted to say for a long time. Of course he risked making an enemy of the boy, but what harm could that do. The wimp was in no position to do him any damage. Beyond office tittle-tattle what could he have that would make trouble. He looked again at the map and plucked out one of the new pins and let it hover over the north of the area. The tip of the shining point rested on the paper. It had a pink head. He looked at the others and ran over what they would represent in his mind. There was something missing. Of course, something to mark the refugees. He buzzed the intercom to the outer office.
“I want some more map markers. I want red ones. Blood Red.”
The bomb felt hot to the touch, or at least Revell imagined it to be. But then he had also thought he had seen it glowing. Fear was capable of doing strange things to the mind.
Andrea had gone off to the far side of the site and now crouched on the ground, hugging her grenade launcher, her eyes closed. None of the others had such extreme reaction but all were showing the strain. Their ways varied, from Ripper’s forced light-heartedness to Burke’s veneer of nonchalance.
Four of them carried the bomb from the APC to a corner. Some slabs of broken concrete were stacked close by to use as improvised tables to hold the tools.
Corporal Thorne began preparing detonators for the thermite blocks. If a sudden need arose to employ them there would not be the time for such delicate precision work. He moved well away from their transport, taking out only two blocks at a time. He was happy to get the distraction, laying them on a rusty steel cabinet door ripped from some storage room.
“OK.” Carson looked up at the clouds and then down to tiny sliver of light that came from a heavily masked torch. “Let’s hope the sky stays clear.”
A few wisps of cloud were scudding past, occasionally concealing the wafer thin slice of a new moon. Lieutenant Andy was laying out tools and testing meters. “If the weather is the worst we have to worry about, I am happy.”
Dooley took up an M60 to go to the guard post he had been allotted. “I wish I was as easy to please.” He took a look at the bomb, almost invisible in the dark save where a small patch inside an inspection panel was illuminated by a narrow beam from a torch. “And I wish I wasn’t so shit scared.”
The work on the device took far longer than expected, with Lieutenant Andy twice having to relay questions through the local HQ about technical matters. When tools were dropped or the shielding from a torch slipped and filled the ruined building with glaring light it stretched all their nerves to breaking point. A couple of times the two specialists walked away from the job, to quietly discuss some problem, to ease the tension they were experiencing.
For long hours Revell watched them work, breaking off occasionally to check the guard posts. Always though he returned to keep his vigil. Strangely, he had been thinking about the dark haired woman when his mobile phone vibrated fiercely in his pocket. Shaking himself fully alert he took the call. He recognised her voice.