It was tempting to send over a clutch of terminally guided Merlin mortar bombs, but to do so would be to invite an immediate and heavy retaliation. He would save that risk until he was sure the Russians had reached the narrowest part of the route they had chosen. If one of their huge tracked armoured engineer vehicles was disabled in the defile between the hills it would block or at least seriously hamper their progress until it was towed out of the way.
His mind came back to the question of why there hadn’t been a third air strike. And how had the other two been so precise; indeed, how had the Russian shelling been so accurate, with hardly a round wasted on the slopes below the castle mound?
Perhaps there was a second Spetsnaz operative, in the valley. But though he had no evidence one way or the other, Revell thought it highly unlikely. He had more than enough experience of the communists’ special operations units to know that it was not usual for them to duplicate their efforts. That practice mostly came from their sheer arrogance. It was a failing frequently and successfully played upon by NATO interrogators.
He handed his field glasses to Andrea, who had appeared beside him. ‘Take your time. You’re looking for an RPV.’
It was a hell of a long-shot, Revell knew that, but if any of them was capable of locating one of the small remotely piloted aircraft, it was she.
With bad grace she shouldered her M16and began a systematic sweep of the sky above the valley.
Leaving her to it, the major checked the progress of work on the new Stinger positions. They were fewer this time, and positioned close to bolt holes that would give the operators a chance to make it to the lower levels in the face of an unexpected or overwhelming attack.
From inside the smokescreen came the blast of a large mine exploding, and then a fiercely driven column of grey smoke rose above the chemically created pall.
They wouldn’t yet need to use the Merlins. No need to employ sophisticated top-attack homing warheads while the diversity of the conventional minefield was doing all right on its own. Revell returned to Andrea, in response to her call. Shit, even though it was ‘business,’ it was good to hear her wanting him. If only it was more than that…
Accepting the glasses from her, he let her guide his search until he found the object she had located. Her hands were cool and their grip light but firm.
‘Got it.’ He’d been right, it was an RPV, apparently locked into a wide banking turn some fifteen hundred feet above the valley. It was closer than that to them in their elevated position. ‘The trouble with those little bastards is that they’re damned near impossible to bring down.’
It was galling. The small unpiloted aircraft, with a wingspan of not more than ten feet, represented a tiny target, and if it was the very latest type it offered virtually no emissions to home on, so that ruled out missiles. Carrying its own microwave link, it could receive its directions and beam out its gathered information in short bursts on tight channels that were virtually undetectable.
Back at some Russian HQ they could see real-time transmissions of what was happening in the valley in perfect safety, and pass the information by unjammable land lines to their fighter bases and artillery positions.
‘If we can take it out,’ – Revell knew he was supposing what was virtually impossible – ‘then it would take them a long time to get another on station.’
Andrea selected a grenade from her belt. ‘I have seen tens of thousands of rounds expended to that purpose. All without success.’
‘But it has been done.’ Not for a moment did Revell give consideration to employing the M60 for the task. Only a direct hit on the motor or a vital control wire – or even more freakishly, in the compact data link box – would disable the RPV.
‘Yes, it has happened.’ Andrea loaded the 40mm round. ‘Usually by chance.’
‘Give it a try; we’ve nothing to lose.’ Without his field glasses there would have been little for Revell to see. Even with them he often missed the small puff of white smoke from the air-bursts.
With her seventh shot Andrea exploded a shell just in front of the aircraft, but frustratingly it flew unharmed through the rapidly dissipating cloud.
He was about to call a halt when her thirteenth attempt created a burst above and behind the target. It looked like yet another miss; then the RPV side-slipped and nosed down into a shallow dive. For a while he lost it, then when he found it again, saw that its outline was slightly changed. A piece of the tail was missing. Finally he lost it once more, for good, against the confusing clutter of the far hills. The descent appeared to have been due more to the RPV retaining a degree of aerodynamic stability than to any skilful control.
When he turned to congratulate Andrea she was already gone. It was easy to see why Sampson had made his remark about her, comparing her with Karen. There were times when, strong as his feelings were for her, Andrea could be unbearably independent and arrogant.
The smokescreen about the location of the Russian attempt to broach the minefield was thinning. It was no longer being reinforced by regular flurries of shells. As it dispersed, Revell saw it reveal a total of eight burning or burned-out mine-plough and roller-fitted tanks. An armoured bulldozer wallowed in a large crater at an impossible angle, on the point of tipping over. Both its tracks were broken and an body hung from its open driver’s hatch.
Though the RP V was eliminated, the enemy gunners already had the range of the castle to an inch, and Revell made every use of cover as he moved about. He’d have expected them to recommence firing as soon as it became obvious the first air-strike had failed to neutralize the strongpoint.
It was easy to imagine the report of the surviving pilot from the second wave, on his return to base. Sixty automatic weapons had been aimed at his flight leader and must have given the impression of a powerful defence. And that would have been reinforced by the beating off of the abortive helicopter assault on the valley, plus the continuing punishment of the ground troops trying to establish a land route to the prize offered by the huge dump of materials.
Their need was underlined by the fact that of the eight destroyed vehicles on the track, four were captured NATO tanks, Leopards and Challengers, modified for Soviet-style mine clearing.
‘Here they come again.’ Carrington swung ‘round a machine gun and sighted on the clutch of gunships hovering barely visible between the hills across-the valley.
They were gone as suddenly as they’d appeared, and a pair of Stingers sent against them self-destructed when they reached the limit of their range, well short of their intended targets.
‘What are they playing at?’ Carrington waited patiently.
A single machine rose into distant view, unleashed a wire-guided rocket and hovered among the tops of firs only long enough to guide it to a direct hit on the gatehouse.
‘Fuck knows.’ Keeping a missile tube shouldered, Burke waited for a realistic target to present itself before he fired.
Another Warpac gunship soared from behind a ridge and unleashed a ripple of unguided rockets toward the ruins, diving back into hiding before the projectiles had traversed half the distance. Of the twenty that were fired, none came close. Most fell a long way short, pulverizing a lower bend in the approach road.
‘Maybe they’re the same ships we scared away before.’ Hyde too was puzzled by the evasive tactics. ‘Could be they’re still scared.’
Again missiles were sent against the ruins, one to strike where the brickwork was keyed to the natural rock. The powerful impact left no mark but a black smudge and a slight pitting.