The men crowded behind him for a look, as an eight then a ninth appeared. It was Dooley who broke what seemed like a long silence. ‘Jesus Christ. The bastards are rushing us.’
ELEVEN
‘Looks like two cruisers and an escort group, destroyers most likely.’
The radar man’s interpretation of the contacts struck Revell as about right. He’d been expecting a vanguard of approximately that strength. ‘Good, now check the sites, find out what sort of shape your gunners are in.’
As he waited for the information, Revell unwrapped and made a quick visual inspection of his 12-gauge assault rifle. He’d debated with himself whether or not to bring it on this mission. Useful as a close-quarters weapon, he was now beginning to think he might have done better to bring something with a longer range, especially in view of their shortage of fire power, and medium and heavy support weapons.
‘Two of the men at the Lance site have collapsed, Major. Sounds like exposure. Everyone else is ready to go.’
Damn the bombardier, Revell disliked the way the man always had to have an opinion on every matter. If York was the man who thought he could do it all, Cline was the individual who imagined he knew it all. ‘OK, tell site three they’ll have to look after them the best they can for the time being.’
‘At least the manpower shortage won’t matter so much there.’ Hyde was removing some of the ammunition belts with which Dooley had festooned himself. ‘It’s one and two that’ll need the fit men for reloading.’ He left four of the hundred-round belts on the big man, and handed him the others to be replaced in the ammunition boxes.
‘Yeah, chucking those fucking great rockets around they’ll be collapsing from exhaustion. Wouldn’t happen if everyone was as fit as me.’
‘Oh shut up, Dooley.’ There was a note of irritation in Libby’s voice. ‘First you show off by loading yourself until you look like an ammo tech’s Christmas tree, then you go for a new hot air production record. You’re not going to tell us about the time you did five hundred press-ups to get your Kung-Fu black belt, are you? Not again.’
‘Keep your men quiet, Sergeant.’
The officer’s words having been audible to everyone in the room, Hyde didn’t need to repeat them, but he added a rider of his own. ‘Some of you lot have been treating this like a bloody picnic so far; wise up, or you’ll find you’ve got an enemy facing you already. Now settle down.’
In the ensuing silence, the only sound was that coming from the generator. Scuffling movement upstairs announced the commencement of another. Hesitant heavy footsteps on the stairs preceded the noise of a body being dragged down them.
‘Picnic’s over for another bloke.’ Scrutinising the floor, Burke hoped he wouldn’t be detected. His view was suddenly blocked by Hyde’s boots, but to his amazement nothing was said, and the boots moved out of his range of vision. That wasn’t like the Sarge at all, not at all. The scar-faced bugger had never soft pedalled before, probably didn’t know how to. He risked a glance. Their senior NCO had crossed to the radar screen.
Knowing Burke would be watching, Hyde turned slowly and the knife-slash gash of a mouth below where his nose should have been widened a fraction. It was the nearest he could get to a grin. ‘Could be cancelled for all of us. Six more major units are coming out of the Sound, with enough escorts to make ruddy great stepping-stones all the way over to Denmark. You want to stay alive, you’d better put in the maximum effort the major will be expecting of everybody else. For the time being that just means staying awake and staying alert, that should break: you into the idea nice and gently.’
Cline’s application to his task was already total. At present his concentration was focused on the surface radar. The air-watch and perimeter intruder systems were switched to automatic, an audible warning would sound if either detected interlopers. In the case of the air-watch radar there was a further refinement. At the instant of contact the set would interrogate any aircraft with its IFF. Should the Identification-Friend-or-Foe fail to receive the correct answer, then the alarm it blared out would rise to a more strident note that no one could miss. There was no need, while the system continuously monitored and checked its own performance and its tiny green tell-tale glowed, for Cline to do so; but exhibiting religious dedication, Cline double-checked it every couple of minutes anyway.
He did it ostentatiously, moving his whole head, not merely glancing up but taking a long hard look. By the book, that was how he intended to do it. His backside ached, as did the back of his thighs,; the fronts of his legs, and his feet and arms were cold. The numbing chill had crept into his body and even now he could feel it spreading through him. He had tightened-up. To the very last atom of his bones and flesh. Shoulders hunched, stomach drawn in, a feeling of tense, almost painful constriction had invaded him.
‘Try one of these.’
An unthinking refusal of the grubby mint Ripper was •offering was stifled by Cline before it could be expressed. ‘Are they hot?’
‘Only about the hottest thing around here, apart from Andrea that is.’
The off-white disc seared Cline’s tongue on contact, then branded the inside of his cheek as he pushed it aside to suck in cold air.
Ripper watched the radio-man’s reaction, saw the beads of sweat that broke out on his forehead. ‘You like it, heh? I sure do.’ He popped two into his mouth and chewed hard. ‘Really do warm you, don’t they? I used to eat a packet before going home of a night, so my mom wouldn’t, know I’d been having a beer or two. Kinda got a liking for them. Want another?’
As Cline shunted the caustic sweet around his mouth, he became aware of the others watching him. Well he wasn’t about to give them any satisfaction. Taking a deep breath, he gathered all the saliva he could and swallowed. Every inch of the confection’s route down his throat to his stomach was charted by a burning sensation. He could feel a small ball of fire where it finally came to rest in his belly. I’ll have another.’
‘You haven’t the time. Keep your attention on the screen.’
The officer’s intervention came just in time, for the packet was being extended towards the bombardier again. Cline was relieved, he hadn’t been too confident of his ability to palm a mint without being observed.
Having finished his checks of the men and their weapons, Hyde picked a corner of the room and settled down. Within an hour, two at the most, they’d all know whether or not they’d be coming through the mission, and if so in what condition. His small squad were less occupied than York or Cline or the major. Even their Russian had something to do, but for those of them who hadn’t, now was the time to be thinking about all the things that had already gone wrong, and what could still do so.
It was Ripper who showed the pressure most. He had the least combat experience of any of them and was conscious of the fact. Like with the practical joke he’d played on the bombardier, he was overcompensating in an attempt to conceal his fear. All of the others had been through it many times before, only Dooley displayed any nervousness, but then he always did. He reminded Hyde of a big bull, pawing the ground, almost too eager for the action to commence. ‘Where the hell are you going?’
‘I never searched that old guy we chucked outside.’ Dooley halted at the door. ‘The major checked him for papers.’
‘That ain’t what I mean, Sarge… Jesus, do I have to spell it out? Look, the old goat must have had some money on him. If we end up getting interned, might be useful to have a few krona stashed away.’