“There is a silencer on that pistol,” the General said, all trace of an accent suddenly vanished. “Do as I say or you will be shot instantly. Now turn and walk to that plane with these men. One word, a wrong action, and you are dead. Now go.” Then he added in Hebrew, “Inject him and leave him there.”
When the last engine had been shut down the computer in the control tower disconnected the landing and taxiing program and shut it down as well, signaling that the operation was complete. One of the operators verified with a visual check using field glasses. All of the planes were wound down now. A lot of trucks and busses about; he wouldn’t start clearing the ramps until they had moved out of the area. The convoy officer was going into a plane with two of the newcomers. Probably had a bottle in there. German soldiers were probably just like their American counterparts. Brawling, boozing and banging. Good thing they locked them behind wire most of the time.
“In the back, not here,” the Corporal said as the soldier opened the cab of the truck and started to climb in.
“Ja, Ja, gut,” the soldier said, ignoring the command.
“C’mon, Christ, I don’t speak that stuff. In backski, fucking quickski…” He looked down in amazement as the newcomer leaned over and slapped him on the leg. Something stung. He opened his mouth to protest, then slumped forward over the wheel. The Israeli clicked the safety in place on the palm-hypo and put it into his pocket, then dragged the Corporal from behind the wheel as the door opened on the driver’s side. Another Israeli slipped in, taking off his helmet and laying it on the seat beside him, then putting on the corporal’s fatigue cap in its place.
General Blonstein looked at his watch. “How much longer to go?” be asked.
“Three, four minutes, no more,” his aide said. “Boarding the last coaches now.
“Good. Any trouble?”
“Nothing important. A few people asking questions have been put to sleep. But we haven’t bit any of the guarded gates or buildings yet.”
“And we’re not going to until everyone is in position. How much longer to jumpoff?”
“Sixty seconds.”
“Let’s go. These last people can catch us up. We’re not going to change the attack schedule for any reason.
Dvora sat next to Vasil who was driving the heavy lorry; her squad was jammed into the back. Her long hair bad been tied into a bun and hidden under her helmet, her face was bare of any cosmetics.
“How much longer?” Vasil asked, his foot tapping the accelerator, the motor rumbling in response. She glanced at her watch.
“Any second now if they are keeping to plan.”
“This is a big place,” he said, looking up at the service towers, gantries and warehouses that stretched into the distance behind the wire fence. “We can maybe take it — but we can’t hold it.”
“You were at the last briefing. We’re getting reinforcements to consolidate.”
“You never said where they were coming from.”
“Of course not. So if you’re captured you won’t be able to talk.”
The big man smiled coldly and patted the bandolier of grenades hung about his neck. “The only way they’ll capture me is dead. So tell.”
Dvora smiled and pointed skyward. “Help will come from there.” Vasil grunted and turned away.
“Now you sound like a rabbi,” he said, just as her radio sounded a rapid series of high-pitched bleeps.
“Go!” Dvora said, but he already had his foot down on the accelerator. “Gunners ready?” she said into her radio.
“In position,” the voice said inside her head. She tightened her chin strap to keep the bone conduction headphone secured in place.
The big truck rolled around the corner of the warehouse and stopped by the military police box there. The gate that blocked the entrance remained shut. The MP leaned out and scowled.
“You’re going on report, buddy, because you are stupid, and you are lost. That thing isn’t cleared to come in here…”
The time for harmless drug injections had passed. Through a slit cut in the canvas cover of the truck the muzzle of a machine gun emerged, firing, sweeping back and forth. Because of the long silencer on the end of the barrel it only made a muffled coughing sound; the crash of broken glass and punctured metal was much louder. A second gun on the other side killed the MP there.
“Ram it,” Dvora said.
The heavy truck lurched forward, crashing into the gate, pulling it down with a shriek of torn metal, drove over it. An alarm bell began sounding somewhere in the distance; there was the muffled sound of explosions.
Dvora had memorized their route, but she did not believe in taking chances so had the map unfolded on her lap. “Left at the next corner,” she said, her finger on the track marked out in red. “If we don’t meet any resistance on the way this should take us directly to our target.
The service road they were on cut through an area of office blocks and warehouses. There was no other traffic. Vasil put his foot to the floor and the heavy truck picked up speed. The gearbox screamed as it shifted into top gear, the soldiers in back grabbing for support as they jarred through a pothole.
“That’s the building we want, the big one…
Her words ended in a gasp as the road surface ahead stirred and cracked, crumbled, then split from curb to £urb. Vasil was standing on the brakes, the wheels locked, the tires screaming as they skidded, scarcely slowing, burning rubber. They looked on, horrified, braced themselves, unable to do anything else as they saw the concrete fall away in chunks and slabs as a meter-high steel plate levered up to block the road. The slide ended in a metallic crash as the truck drove headlong into the rust-splotched barrier.
Dvora plunged forward, her helmet cracking hard against the metal dash. Va sil clutched her by the shoulders and pulled her erect.
“Are you all right?”
She nodded, dazed by the impact. “This barrier… wasn’t mentioned in the briefing.”
A hail of bullets tore through the metal of the truck, crashed through the windows.
“Bail out!” Dvora shouted into her microphone, raismg her gun at the same time and putting a long burst into the doorway of a nearby building where she thought she had seen someone move. Vasil was already in the street and she dived after him. Her squad were dropping down and seeking cover, returning the fire.
“Cease firing until you see a target,” she ordered. “Anyone hurt?”
There were cuts and bruises, no more. They had survived their first combat encounter and had all found cover, either under the truck or against the building wall.
The firing started again and slugs screamed off the road, sending up spurts of dust and fragments from the sidewalk. At the same time there was the bark of a single shot from under the truck and the firing stopped. A metallic clatter sounded, loud in the silence after the firing, as a gun fell from a window across the main road; a man’s motionless arm hung down across the frame.
“There was only the one,” Grigor said, snapping the safety back on his rifle.
“We’ll advance on foot,” Dvora said, looking at the map. “But away from this main road now that the alarm is out. The alleyway across the road. Scouts out, proceed as skirmishers. Go!”
The two scouts, one after another, rushed across the empty road and into the security of the alley mouth. The rest of the squad followed. They double-timed now, aware of the quick passage of the minutes, Vasil grunting to keep up, running heavily under the thirty kilos weight of the big recoilless 50 calibre machine gun, his two ammunition carriers at his heels.
They crossed one other main avenue, in quick rushes, but met no more resistance. Steel barriers had also risen through the road’s surface here; they could see more, at regular intervals, stretching away in the distance.