James Rouch - Plague Bomb

Of one thing he could be sure, both aircrews would now be piling on all the speed they could. Normally there would have been conversation between the two craft, but they knew he would catch every word and so communication was kept to a bare minimum, mostly the passing of information and advice about the faulty drive shaft.

Rozenkov listened dispassionately as first an increase in vibration, then a rise in the temperature of the transmission oil, and then a fire were reported. He heard the frantic efforts by the flight deck crew to get the automatic extinguishers to function, and their anguish and desperation when they failed and the flames began to spread. Their words came as a garbled stream of curses and invective and pleading. Though he didn’t touch the volume control Rozenkov heard the shouting go louder and louder until suddenly it was gone.

It was a little while before he heard the call-sign of the remaining craft. The pilot’s voice was a shade too high, his delivery a little too fast.

‘…report that KGB helicopter gunship seven-four-nine has exploded in mid-air at low altitude. There are no survivors. I… I await your further orders.’

‘There is no change. You are no longer handicapped by the other craft, that is good. Now you should make better time…’

Bullets ricocheted about the entrance to the church, smacking razor-like fragments from the stone with every impact.

Andrea’s reaction was fastest, finger already on the trigger, she swivelled and fired a whole magazine from the hip, then followed it with a rifle grenade in the direction of the Russian scout car that had appeared at the end of the street.

‘Back inside.’ More of the heavy machine gun rounds followed the first long burst as Revell grabbed the fat man by a wrist made slippery by the obnoxious pool it lay in and towed him back into the shelter of the building. ‘Clarence, find the entrance to the bell tower, see what we’re up against. That little wagon wouldn’t have had a go at us if it’d been on its own.’

All of the squad were safe, though Thome’s face bled from cuts made by slicing stone chips, but in the confusion of the scramble to get into cover, Webb had seen his chance and made a break.

Revell saw the civilian run to the Range Rover and jump in to start it. He levelled his shotgun at the vehicle, but held his fire as it began to accelerate toward the armoured four-wheeler, now joined by a second, turretless, version.

Having to duck while more of the tracer laced bursts drilled and smashed the fabric of the porch, when he looked again Revell saw that the Rover was stalled after a glancing collision with a derelict truck. He could hear the starter motor whirring fruitlessly, see Webb furiously wrenching the ignition key in and out time after time.

The centre section of the peaked roof of the second armoured car began to elevate, and beneath it as it rose could be seen the snouts of a row of anti-tank rockets. Flame spurted from the rear of that mounted on the far left and the missile shot from its launch rail.

Thrashing filaments of wire snaked behind it as it dipped and arced along the road. Webb had his head down, was trying to ram home the gearlever with both hands, and never saw it coming. At the instant before impact the missile rose and almost soared over its target, but the side of the warhead clipped the roof of the Range Rover and that grazing impact was enough.

There was hardly any smoke. The interior of the estate car filled with raging fire that blasted every window from the bodywork. An arm and a head topped by blazing hair were briefly visible before flame totally enveloped the vehicle with the explosion of its fuel tank.

Another missile leaped from the elevated launcher.

Throwing himself into the church to escape the concussion of its detonation against the steps, Revell ran into Clarence.

‘It’s going to get rougher, Major. There’s only those two made it so far, but there’s a troop of tanks struggling to get through that flood beyond the town and a couple of APCs trying to work their way around. They’re making heavy going of it, but they’ll be here inside of fifteen minutes or so.’

Again the porch was blasted by the shock wave from a near miss, and both doors were ripped from their wrought iron hinges and toppled into the church, their landing adding to the dust already raised. ‘Clear the side door, we’ll get out that way.’

‘And what about them?’ Hyde had pulled the three sick civilians well inside to make sure they escaped the attention of the lethal fragments and chunks of debris beginning to find their way further and further inside the building as the Russian vehicles closed in for the kill. ‘We’re kidding ourselves if we think we can take them with us. The old guy has been near enough skinned alive by that mustard, the flesh is just peeling off him. That woman is running such a fever her heart could give out any moment and the fat bloke looks like he’s got cholera just as bad as he could have. He’ll never last, none of them will.’

‘Let me finish them.’ Pushing in front of the NCO, Andrea confronted the officer. ‘It is not possible to take them, mine is the only way.’

‘No, no. We’ll leave them for the Russians to nurse and bury.’ Revell reached the side door as Boris and Thorne pulled the last of the barricade down. He stooped to leave through the low doorway, then hesitated and ushered the others through first. ‘You too.’

Andrea had hung behind, and was fitting a fresh magazine to her M16 when the major beckoned. ‘Do you think I would risk being left behind just so that I could kill those animals?’

‘I know you would.’

The alley was a dead end, and the buildings to either side were too substantial for the Marder to bulldoze its way to safety through them. Burke was left with only one alternative, a high speed run up the main street, offering the Russian gunners a clear shot at their light rear armour. ‘Hang on, you lot.’

‘Be ready for a fast bail-out if we take a hit.’ Checking the hatch above his head, Revell tried the quick release catch and was relieved to find it worked smoothly.

‘Fucking marvellous, ain’t it.’ Like the others Dooley was divesting himself of as many encumbrances as possible, anything that might impede a hurried exit.

‘Here we are whose shitty paper-thin armour is hard put to keep out a heavy machine gun round, and now we’re about to offer an easy up-the-arse shot to a commie tank destroyer.’

‘I’ve been watching it in action, its crew are not the world’s best.’ That was the only consolation Revell could offer. ‘Let’s go, and try to keep that fire and the wrecks between us and that tank-killer.’

Burke took the engine revs as high as they would go before crashing the Marder into gear. The big machine leaped forward and carried away a corner of a building as it skidded through a canting turn into the main street.

Using the remotely controlled rear mounted machine gun Ripper poured tracer and armour piercing rounds at the unmoving armoured cars, concentrating his fire on their vision ports and periscopes. ‘They ain’t following!’

‘They don’t bloody have to. Firing from a side ball mounting Dooley let fly with an Uzi at a Russian infantryman aiming an anti-tank rocket from his shoulder.

Thrown back by the several impacts, the man sent the warhead on its way as he fell, but it flew wildly astray, taking the tiles from a distant shop roof. More of the squad were engaging infantry targets, and a long jet of red flame shot from the turret to splash and lick around the sides of a rusting bus. A section of Russian soldiers staggered into view wreathed from head to foot in rippling flame.

‘Those commie shits have left their battle taxis for once and come in on foot.’ Throwing the Marder in a lurching side swipe at a handcart, Burke succeeded in overturning it on the machine gun team using it as cover to pour a storm of bullets into the APCs front quarter.