Dooley had managed to avoid being selected as one of those to go out and make a quick search of the site, and he made the most of it, sprawling at full length and enjoying the rare luxury of being able to do so within the vehicle’s cramped interior. ‘I bet you anything you like that those civvies saw the fireworks, got the shits and are heading back home.’ He spoke to the squad in general, but his eyes were on Andrea as she brushed soil from her smock. As her hands passed over the voluminous garment they smoothed it to the full contours of her body.
‘You’re on. How about a hundred marks.’ Their driver’s too ready acceptance of the bet made Dooley deeply suspicious, and he hesitated. ‘Do you know something I don’t?’
‘Lots, and especially that our civvy friends may have turned off the main road, but they’re still heading east. Stubborn lot of sods, aren’t they.’
‘Maybe they’ve an extra reason now.’ Hyde climbed in, handed a bundle of papers to the major and took his place on the bench by the rear door. They’ve lost one of their number already, and we know they’ve got at least one more in a bad way. There were all those bandage wrappings at the inn. Perhaps they’re thinking that their best chance is to get medical help from the Reds.’
‘Translate these, Boris.’ Revell handed the stained documents to their Russian radio man.
Boris turned the pay books over in his hand. They were sticky, many of the pages were stuck together by congealing blood. ‘Are these from the crew of the helicopter?’
‘Crew or passengers, it’s impossible to tell.’ With a scrap of cloth Sergeant Hyde scrubbed his fingers. ‘The way that crate piled in there’s hardly anything left that’s identifiable. Took those from bodies that had been thrown clear, those still in the wreck are partially buried with it. Metal and meat, all tangled together, very messy, and smelly.’
‘I want to know if there’s any clue to be got from them as to why commie gunships have started bouncing their own ground troops.’ Revell waited impatiently as the pages were carefully peeled apart.
By the poor light of a single low powered red bulb, Boris examined the cryptic entries that gave details of the slab faced men whose pictures were pasted inside the stiff front covers.
‘This one belongs to a KGB major, a political officer; this to a member of a KGB film unit, a cameraman.’ He opened the last. ‘And this was taken from a KGB medical officer. In the back there is a list of courses he has attended. The last mentions chemical and biological warfare.’
Taking the papers, Hyde fanned them like a hand of cards. ‘That’s a pretty high powered outfit, not the sort you’d expect to find stooging about in a chopper at night, over the quietest part of the Zone, using the rest of the Red Army for ground attack practice.’
‘Don’t make no sense to me neither.’ Ripper was taking a chance. Playing on his wound he’d managed to avoid being allocated any work, so far. By butting in he risked that, but he hadn’t spoken for ten minutes, and couldn’t resist the temptation. ‘Hell, if the KGB are figuring on barging in on someone else’s show, all they had to do was land and tell the poor shits to bugger off. They always get their own way, don’t they, so why toast the creeps.’
‘Perhaps they could not be sure of getting their own way, and that was their method of ensuring they did.’ It was the first time Boris had seen super napalm in use. What made it even more terrible than in the instance he had witnessed, it had been used by Russians on Russians. ‘Often there is intense rivalry between the KGB and other specialist units, like Military Intelligence, the GRU. Always they are at each other’s throats. Fights are common in the bars and brothels when they meet.’
‘There’s a heck of a difference between a rough house over a whore, and dumping liquid hell on a whole parcel of your own people.’
Boris dismissed Ripper’s objection. ‘Not to men of their type, dedicated communists. The headquarters of both the KGB and GRU are in Moscow. As much as they must strive to succeed themselves, they must work to see that others don’t. If the prize is big enough, of sufficient importance then they will not hesitate to do what you have seen tonight.’
In the absence of any more plausible theory Revell had to accept that. ‘Okay, if that’s how it is then maybe it’s a break for us. If they’re scrapping among themselves it could mean their effort is going to be halved.’
‘If they’re both searching for the civvies,’ a thought struck Ripper, ‘could mean their effort is gonna be doubled instead…’ He had to duck, shielding his arm as an assortment of equipment was hurled at him.
‘I tell you, you got to stop.’
Webb wrenched the wheel over and the power steering sent the Range Rover in a tight tire-scrubbing turn off the road.
‘What for?’
Jabbing his foot hard on the brake pedal he brought the vehicle skidding to a gravel-scattering halt beside a picturesque log cabin. Several more were spaced out among the trees, linked by a network of rambling paths to a large two story building of similar construction that formed the centre of the holiday complex.
Sherry didn’t answer, throwing open the door, gulping air and then walking unsteadily to sit on the steps leading to a raised veranda that ran the length of the front of the cabin. ‘Jesus, I ain’t ever been travel sick before. Oh god, I think I’m going to throw up.’
‘I’ll join you.’ Gross tumbled and lurched from the back of the Rover to spew noisily beside it, coughing and spitting loudly when he’d finished. ‘Must be all the fucking bubbles that do it for me. How those bloody chinless wonders can swill that champagne muck all night and day I’ll never know.’
Retching was all that Sherry could achieve, even with that revolting display only yards from her. Unable to prevent them she gave a series of loud belches that the back of her hand only partially smothered, but afterward her stomach felt more settled.
‘Better?’ Wiping his mouth on his sleeve, Gross plonked down beside her. ‘I knew a fat tart once who did that, not with her mouth though.’ He tried to put his arm around Sherry, but she shrugged him off and got up. Rising unsteadily, Gross joined her in leaning on the balcony rail. ‘And I don’t mean her mouth either.’ From a distended pocket he tugged a bottle, and after a wrestle to extract the cork, took a long pull at it. ‘When we had it off, always in the good old missionary position, I had this trick of almost withdrawing at the end of each thrust. By the time the old juices were ready to flow I’d have her pumped full of air. Soon as I’d finished and climbed off she’d shove her hands down hard on her gut and out it’d all come again.’ Not deterred by the first rebuff, he tried again to put his arm over her shoulders.
‘You touch me again and I’ll stomp your balls off.’
‘Say that again. I like it when you talk dirty. At home I’ve got a video of that scene where the black tries to bugger you in that shop doorway, and you tell him what he can do with his tool. That’s a favourite of mine.’ Offering the bottle, Gross had it pushed back at him.
‘Get lost.’
Impatient at the delay, Webb left the driving seat and brought the woman a drink of water. He carefully peeled the lid from the Tupperware beaker before handing it to her. ‘We are wasting time. Are you ready to go again yet?’
‘Oh what’s up, Webby.’ Pouring a drop of wine on the withered stump of a begonia in a window box, Gross peered closely at it, squinting to see it in the dark, as if expecting an elixir quality in the Mosel to immediately restore it to full bloom. ‘Did that little bit of excitement up ahead earlier get you just a teensy bit frightened? Don’t you like bonfires?’