“Whose…bloody idea…was…this?”
“If I remember…rightly, Jacko…i…t…was yours.”
Jacko maintained a steady speed, instinct wanting him to slow down, but his training kicking in, and the momentum upwards was maintained. Crunch. Both hit their heads on the roof as the Range Rover hit a rut and faltered, but the powerful engine pulled it forward again.
“Shit.”
“Geronimo,” yelled Jacko, enjoying every minute of it.
Bradley clutched the grab handle above him as they weaved around one of the pine trees, crossing tracks that helter-skeltered down from the top. They reached the summit but didn’t hesitate as they sped across the crown then careered down the other side. Their bodies shook and their teeth rattled as the vehicle, almost out of control, ran and occasionally surfed down the side of the hill, branches from the trees whipping the sides of the car making both men inside flinch.
Once at the bottom, they clawed their way to a metalled road. The dif-lock was disengaged and, within minutes, they were heading towards their original target.
“That’s sorted the buggers.” Jacko laughed as he weaved in and out of the traffic.
“Well done, mate.” Bradley joined in the laughter. “But I wish I hadn’t had such a big breakfast.”
They drove through various residential areas, Jacko weaving in and out of traffic, turning down different roads, completing circuits, constantly checking in his rear-view mirror to confirm they had truly lost their tail.
Bradley looked over his shoulder and scanned the cars behind them. “All clear by the looks of it, Jacko.”
“For now at least.” Jacko heaved a sigh of relief.
They drove past more of the concrete tower blocks that were trying to pass themselves off as flats, and, after about fifteen minutes, found themselves on Langer Weg. Now they they were amongst row upon row of garden plots and summer houses, some simple one-room structures, others more grand with maybe two or three rooms: places where families could escape the hustle and bustle of the city at the weekend, or those retired staying there for a proportion of the summer months.
They were close now, and Jacko slowed down as he turned right onto Balzer Weg, a partially metalled road, but he was glad they were in a four-wheel drive vehicle all the same.
It was still quite early so the road and surrounding area were relatively quiet.
“Take the next left, Jacko.”
“Roger.” He turned the wheel and the vehicle leant over slightly as he turned into Bahn Weg, the area quite leafy, most of the plants and trees in full bloom. So, the homes were partly hidden but, more importantly, the two operators were partly hidden from the occupants. They were now travelling south, running parallel with a railway line on their left that ran from north to south. Their target a spur on the far side where the local Russian tank battalion loaded or unloaded their tanks and other equipment if they were going on exercise somewhere outside of the city, or on returning from an exercise.
“Here will do.” Bradley pointed to a gap in the copse that ran alongside hiding the railway line from view, except for the occasional glimpse of the upper embankment. He wound down his passenger window so that he could listen and smell the air as well as look.
Jacko steered off the hard-packed road, and the vehicle disappeared in amongst the trees. The Range Rover snaked through the undergrowth, the occasional low branch of a conifer screeching along the bodywork as they edged closer and closer to the railway line.
“That’s my paintwork buggered,” exclaimed Jacko, proud of the condition he kept his vehicle in.
“Stop moaning. You’ve had worse,” responded Bradley, tapping the dashboard. “This’ll do.”
“Engine on or off?”
“Turn it round so we can make a quick exit; then off.”
Jacko manoeuvred the four-wheel drive until they were facing the way they had entered the copse while Bradley pulled the kit he would need from his bag. He grabbed a pair of binoculars, a pocket tape recorder, Nikon camera and handheld radio, a Teleport 9. Jacko switched the engine off and ensured his driver’s door was locked.
“I’ll do a radio check as soon as I’m out.”
“OK.”
Bradley eased the passenger door open and slung the binos and camera over his shoulder, put the recorder in his parka pocket, and eased the door shut with a click. Jacko leant over and closed the window, locking the door after him. Bradley moved away from the vehicle and spoke into his handset in a hushed voice.
“Juliet, Bravo, radio check, over.”
“Bravo, Juliet, five and five, over.”
“Roger, out.”
His driver had informed him that the signal was strong and the clarity perfect. He shivered. Although June, the morning was quite fresh and he was glad of his Bundeswehr, green German Army parka.
Bradley stopped and listened. He could hear a rhythmic clang of metal against metal coming from the direction of the railway line. He knew it was a good sign. He gave the thumbs up, the excited response from Jacko indicating he knew his tour commander had heard something, which could only mean they might get a meaty target today. It also told him to be on his guard as the Soviets would be more alert than usual.
Bradley moved west, making his way through the trees in a half crouch, instinctively keeping his profile as low as possible. He arrived at the edge of the copse, the trees giving way to the railway embankment, some twenty-five metres away, that sloped down towards him. He looked left and right; all was clear, and he jogged over to the embankment scrambling up its shallow sides until he could peer over the top. In front of him were two parallel rail lines and, down in the dip on the other side of the embankment, a thin line of trees. Slowly, he moved across the tracks until he was able to see more and more, conscious that he was also becoming more and more exposed himself the closer he got to the other side. He crouched down, pulled his binos off his shoulder and scanned the area through the trees. Apart from some of the larger trees filling the lens of his binos, he was finally rewarded with a view through the gaps that brought a smile to his face. Tanks!
He quickly ran across the lines, shuffled down the slope on the other side and made his way to the treeline which was only a few paces away. Creeping through the pines, no more than a couple of trees deep, he soon reached the edge on the far side, finding a good-sized trunk to hide behind, next to a small mound covered with a sprinkling of grass and scrub. It was enough to conceal him, he thought.
He leant against the tree. In front of him was a line of heavy-duty flatcars, some with T-64 tanks still onboard. There were other tanks on the ramp and a few lined up on the track ready to leave the sidings and head for the barracks, less than a quarter of a mile away. The hammering he had heard earlier was the Soviet tank crew releasing the chains so they could offload their main battle tanks.
Bradley grabbed the radio from his pocket. “Juliet, Bravo. Over.”
In a matter of seconds, his radio crackled in response. He turned the volume down although he was sure he couldn’t be heard.
“Juliet.”
“Jackpot, I’ll be ten, over.”
“Roger, but signal three, three. Out.”
The radio went back in Bradley’s pocket. The embankment and large amount of metal in the area, from the railway lines, was clearly affecting the signal. There was no need for a long conversation. Jacko was an experienced operator and knew the score. Bradley trusted him. In fact, his life often depended on Jacko’s skills and experience. It was only four weeks ago when they had come across a Soviet exercise, and the Soviet soldiers had swarmed around them like flies. They had raced through the wood close by, Jacko’s arms a blur as he kept the Range Rover under control, the back wheels sliding in the mud, missing trees by mere millimetres. They had shot out of the wood, climbing up a verge onto a main road where a three-axle Zil 131, a Russian heavy goods vehicle weighing some six and a half tons, accelerated as the military driver caught sight of them. Jacko had pressed his foot to the metal. Sprays of earth and mud splattered the trees behind them as the Rover finally got a grip and careered onto the road, the Zil clipping the rear wing spinning them around, Jacko’s arms twisting left and right as he fought to get control. He finally managed to straighten up and headed back into the woods they had just left. It was imperative they escaped as they knew the Soviets would be closing in.