James Rouch - Civilian Slaughter

“The mad bastard was shooting at me all night. Every time I thought he’d finished, he reloaded.” Steering himself, Garrett waited for the wound to be taped. When it didn’t hurt he pulled a face anyway, then saw that Sampson hadn’t been looking.

“Serves you right.” The medic repacked the first-aid kit. “A man doesn’t like a strange lady shitting in his bed, no matter what the reason.”

“She wasn’t a stranger to him.” Very gingerly Garrett rolled down his sleeve. He was pleased to see the light-coloured bandage showed through the tear in the cloth of his camouflage top. “He’d been bonking with her since two minutes after she’d arrived. I expect he’d have been at her sooner, but it took him that long to run her to his room.”

“That’s not the point. Doesn’t matter how long he’s been screwing her, a gentleman doesn’t like his companion using his bed as a latrine. Anyway I reckon all the ladies who belong to Frau Lilly’s mobile whorehouse are a mite strange. She said as much herself.”

“Who? Carrington’s broad?”

“No, Frau Lilly. Me and her got to talking last night, sort of an intellectual exchange.” Sampson saw the sneer of disbelief in the young PFC’s face. “And not that it’s any business of yours, but that’s all we exchanged. Seems she only involves herself with the administrative side of things.”

“Wouldn’t catch me wasting time with an old wrinkly.”

“You didn’t see her, did you. By the time she came in you were already playing mummies and daddies with that puffy faced little tramp with the tattoos”

“She was OK…”

“Sure, whatever you fancy, but for your information Frau Lilly is just forty and she is elegant. Used to be a model…”

“No boobs then.” Garrett grinned, pleased to have scored what he saw as an important point.

“Not everyone likes jugs so big they can suffocate you. But tits or no tits I’d rather have spent time with her than be chased around the garden all night by a vengeful drunk with a gun in one hand and a bottle in the other. You know, you’re going to get yourself a peculiar reputation in this outfit if you’re seen too often being pursued by men wearing nothing but their webbing and bulging ammunition pouches.”

Throwing more wood on the fire, Garrett looked for a change of subject. “Who was on guard last night. I don’t remember anyone missing out on the party.”

“Burke and Old William. Boy, have they got a stack of markers they can call in when they like.” Sampson stretched out on a deeply padded Chesterfield, the heels of his boots scuffing the dust from the dark brown leather. “They took it turn and turn about. Old William because he couldn’t bear to be associated with all the debauchery going on, and Burke because he’s so head over heels for that little Karen he’s gone all prim and proper.”

Lieutenant Vokes put his head around the door, saw the fire and came in. As he crossed to it he slapped Garrett on his bandaged arm. “He didn’t get you then. Pity.”

From his pocket he took four small blackened discs, and balancing them on a small ornamental shovel, thrust them into the heart of the spitting fire.

“Some burgers left over from the barbecue. I took them up with me to bed. Sometimes I am hungry in the night. But as it happened I was too busy to think of food.”

Noticing the lieutenant had a split lip and a gap between his front teeth, Sampson wondered whether to mention it. Garrett saved him from the dilemma.

“You lost your gold tooth, Lieutenant.”

Vokes grinned, and his lip began to bleed. “No I haven’t, it’s in my pocket.” With a splintered table leg he poked the leftovers on the improvised griddle. “One of the girls got over playful. I had my revenge though. When she was going off to sleep I poured something over her lovely little fanny and told her it was superglue. You have never seen panic like it. Took me ages to calm her down and convince her it was only the dregs of a wine glass.”

“How many did you have in there? That was only a single room.” Garret was awed, but tried not to show it.

“Just the one at first, but later we were joined by a puffy faced little girl with tattoos.”

Sampson burst into a laugh, and was still laughing after Garrett had stamped from the room.

Revell stood by his battered old Hummer command car. He couldn’t get used to not being surrounded by the usual mass of armour. The general had been taking no chances of their trying to hang onto some of it. Every last APC and armoured car had been collected by transporters at first light.

Looking over the men who were assembling nearby, he missed a familiar face and form. “Any one seen Andrea this morning?”

“Going through the empties,” Hyde turned from marshalling the company into ranks. “Looking for dregs to drink off a hangover.”

The information didn’t surprise the major. The girl was becoming more and more of a liability. He would not be able to postpone dealing with her drinking problem for much longer.

There was a lot of squealing and giggling from the direction of the garishly painted transport of the mobile brothel. Frau Lilly was ushering the girls on board. She saw the officer watching and walked over to him.

“There is a little matter to be settled, Major.” While most of the girls were in jeans and sloppy jumpers, or voluminous track suits, Lilly was in a tailored jumpsuit. And instead of the sneakers sported by the others, she wore short high heeled boots.

From a pocket Revell took the cloth wrapped packet whose contents they had jointly gone through the previous evening. As he handed it over he placed on top the thick wad of notes that made up the agreed price.

Ignoring the stack of a paper, Lilly uncovered the small parcel’s contents. She prodded through the assorted gem-set items of jewellery. “No offence, Major, but I learned long ago that in business one can never be too careful.”

“None taken. It’s all there.” Despite his reassurance he noticed that she continued her inventory until satisfied.

“Good, I do not have to ask if your men had a good night.” She smiled as she surveyed the bleary eyed and haggard soldiers now finally drawn up in two ragged ranks.

For the first time Revell noticed wrinkles at the corners of her eyes that skilfully applied make-up couldn’t quite conceal. They did nothing to detract from her looks. Blue-green eyes, perfect teeth and skilfully cut and tinted hair made her outstandingly beautiful.

“At this rate you’ll be able to retire soon.”

Cramming the payment into a slim white leather purse, she shook her blond hair. “Another five years perhaps. Much of this goes to the girls. I have to pay well or I lose them to the competition, but this is our last time on the road. Tomorrow we move into a proper establishment. It is in Hanover, the City Hotel on Limburgstrasse, do you know it?”

“No, but if it’s in the centre you’ll be closed down within a week.”

“I do not think so, Hanover is now virtually an open city. Some of the suburbs have changed hands so many times the children understand Russian as well as they do German.”

“Is the overcrowding as bad as ever?” Revell could remember the families of refugees camped in the streets, choking the city centre.

“Worse than it has ever been, but where there are people there is always money, or its equivalent.”

Revell watched her go back to her transport, the tight fit of her outfit across her bottom revealing that she wore no underwear. As soon as she was aboard the ex-Russian vehicles pulled out, wallowing across the heavily rutted grass.

A strongly built girl waved vigorously from an open roof hatch. Her heavy breasts swung unrestrained inside her tracksuit top.