James Rouch: Death March

Outside objects finally stopped moving about. The only sound was the last fragments of debris falling from shattered roof into the heaps of ruin below.

In a corner, holding tight to their prisoner Andrea was sobbing. Boris tried the electrics and some of them functioned. He groped in the darkness for a spare bulb and screwed it in to the socket. Faint red light lit them. It felt strange after the momentary flash of pure white light that had washed darkness from every corner, even though it had found only two tiny holes by which to enter.

Dooley put his arm around Andrea and pulled her away from the body. She was shaking violently. No one had noticed when the Russian had died. His eyes were open, slightly hooded and there was a bead of blood in the corner of his mouth. Lieutenant Andy was bent double on his bench, not moving.

“Hey buddy, it’s all over now. No need to assume the position.” Carson reached out to shake his officer, then carefully lifted his head instead. He was dead. “When, how…”

“Nothing you can do. Samson stood, having to bow his head to do so. He took the corpse by both shoulders and pulled it forward. There was an ugly sound and the remains slid off of the jagged point of broken steel that had been sent spearing through the hovercrafts side.

“I was sure I set it to only point two.” Carson stared uncomprehendingly at the body, now laid out on the floor of the vehicle, the face covered with a spare jacket.

“You know what freaks those pressure waves are. They do the most weird things” Samson had removed the mans dog tags and was now entering the details in a little notebook. “I thought we were going to hang onto our Russian though. Lonely way to go, among strangers. I never even got his name.”

It could have been a lot worse.” Burke started up the engines, previously stopped so they would be less likely to ingest flying rubbish that would damage the blades. “We were only on forty-five percent power coming up that long drag. The damage to the skirts must be pretty bad to be spilling that much air.”

“Good job we made it over the top, or we’d have got an almighty shove that would have dropped us right down in this valley.” Revell used the cupola to view outside. It was starkly black. A long way off, across the far side of the farmyard something was burning but the flames were small and lit only their immediate area. Looking back above the hill that had sheltered them though the whole sky was illuminated. The detonation had opened the many fuel tanks at the gas station, like slicing the tops of eggs and their contents were blazing.

“I reckon we stopped them.” Libby had obtained the same impression through the turret sights.

“Between what we’ve knocked out and the fact that the remaining armour is going to run out of fuel I think there is a fair chance we have.” Dropping down from the cupola Revell rummaged for a bottle of water and took a swig. “A pity it could not have been stopped before those refugees were driven on a death march across the minefields and on to the guns of the NATO line. I wonder what happened to that woman, the dark haired one we met in the underground service area.

Corporal Thorne looked vague. “Don’t remember her. I was wondering what will happen to the Russian commander who sent those poor sods in to battle. He spent a lot of lives to get no-where.”

General Zucharnin. listened on the white telephone. He made no comment as he paid rapt attention and his thoughts could not have been judged from his expression or stance. Finally he put it down, perhaps just a touch harder than was necessary.

So the gamble had not worked. An entire reconnaissance battalion had been utterly destroyed, down to the last man and vehicle. Along with it more than a third of the division had become casualties, mostly with damaged vision and lung injuries from the over-pressure. Many armoured vehicles were immobilised by ruined electrics and blocked engine filters. Seven of the precious self-propelled guns had been wrecked and others partially buried or over-turned. The remaining troops were going nowhere. A few might trickle back but most could only wait until they were mopped up by NATO forces or if they held out, eventually destroyed by air strikes or artillery fire.

No provision had been made for recovery of battle damaged vehicles or wounded men. They were as much a loss as though they had been killed or burned out. Many of the survivors would die over the next few weeks, from the massive doses of radiation they had absorbed. Better the British, Americans and West Germans should nurse them rather than clutter his resources. But overall the cost was not too high. The men had been quite expendable and their equipment was just a drop in the ocean. The refugees, he hardly gave them a thought. They had served a slight purpose in the opening moves of the assault but beyond that they had no value.

Without further thought he ticked boxes and scrawled a signature on the returns his clerk had left for him. The figure for the losses among the infantry were likely about right. The number of armoured vehicles was more exact but that could eventually be modified if an effort was made to bring in crocks from the battlefield.

There was no figure for the dead among the refugees, it didn’t matter. They were of no consequence. There would always be more when he needed them.

A dark haired woman carrying a child limped into Bayreuth, making her way towards an aid station that flew a large Red Cross flag. She paused on the bridge to move the child to a more comfortable position before going on. As she did she felt the bulk of the mobile phone in her pocket.

She took it out and looked at it. Stepping between two corpses and avoiding the debris littering the road surface around a gutted armoured car she crossed to the parapet. Slowly, deliberately, she dropped it in to the water.

HARD TARGET

BLIND FIRE

HUNTER-KILLER

SKY STRIKE

OVERKILL

KILLING GROUND

PLAGUE BOMB

CIVILIAN SLAUGHTER

BODY COUNT

DEATH MARCH

Copyright © 2007 by James Rouch

An Imprint Original Publication, 2007

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without permission of the publishers.

First E-Book Edition 2007

Second IMRPINT April 2007

The characters in this book are the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to living persons is purely coincidental.

THE ZONE

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Produced under licence from the Author, all rights reserved. Created in Australia by Ian Taylor © 2005