James Rouch: Plague Bomb

During his pacing of the room Rozenkov had approached the radio a dozen times, and the telephone as often. He’d touched neither. If ever he got his hands on Major Morkov… As far as Department A of the KGB was concerned the whole operation had become a disaster, and far worse than that for him personally. To think, only hours before such power had been not just within his reach but actually in his grasp, and now it was about to be torn from him.

At least he had some small consolation in knowing that Military Intelligence was not likely to come out of it well either. The last intercepted message had shown them calling urgently for medical assistance. There would be no impressive press conferences, no television interviews. All that the GRU had gained was a trio of dying civilians. If they had any sense they would not try to make overmuch of that, the capitalist editorials would soon point out which side it was that had seeded the area with toxins and bacteria…

It came to him suddenly, and he knew it was the only solution, the only way by which he could hope to salvage something. He grabbed the phone. ‘Connect me with the Kremlin. I wish to speak with Comrade Politburo member Ivan Forminski.’ The wait seemed interminable. ‘Then put me through to him at his dacha, it is of the highest priority.’ Again there was a long delay as Moscow’s telephone system torturously routed the call through the several manual switchboards involved.

‘Rozenkov, Colonel Rozenkov, Head of Department… Yes, I’ll wait… Comrade Forminski? It is Rozenkov. Forgive my asking, Comrade, is this a secure line?… Then I shall try to be as clear as I can, Comrade Forminski. It is about the deal that was discussed recently at the meeting… yes Comrade, the one that is of special interest… Yes,’ he changed hands and wiped his sweaty palm on the side of his jacket, ‘I have to tell you that the foreign goods have become spoiled… I understand your disappointment, Comrade… The contamination is due to interference and clumsy handling by another member of our cooperative… Then would our customer rather wait for another consignment?’

The minute he waited for the reply was the longest of Rozenkov’s life, dragging on forever. It came, a single word. ‘Thank you Com…’

He was talking to himself. As he shakily replaced the receiver he had to sit, he was shattered, utterly drained.

He would not be getting that immediate confirmation of his appointment, it and the promotion would have to be gained the hard way by three months’ grinding slog at petty detail. But at least he had that second chance, if he tidied the loose ends in a satisfactory manner, discreetly, thoroughly. And in doing just that he could extract a measure of revenge on Military Intelligence, whose meddling had almost cost him his career. He reached for the radio…

On that bare ridge, with no scrap of cover, they were a sitting target. Revell pulled Andrea into a shallow cleft in the rock and used his own body to block it.

As the gunship dipped closer he could see the heavy weapon load slung from its stub wings and the cluster of cannon barrels projecting from its chin turret.

The range closing, Revell sensed the moment had passed when the chopper would use its missiles or cannon, now his attention was on the tear-drop shaped canisters nestling among the rocket pods. All he could hope was that the napalm hit them square on, then it would be fast. If the weapon operator’s aim was a little off then instead of being engulfed by the heart of the fireball they would be spattered by fist sized blobs of the burning mixture that would adhere to them and transform them into writhing human torches.

Others of the squad were firing, emptying the magazines of their rifles and submachine guns toward the gunship. Andrea tried to push past Revell to use hers, but he kept her pinned inside the narrow crevice. Though many must have struck, the gunship’s titanium armour shrugged aside the small calibre rounds.

Closing his eyes, Revell awaited the sheet of flame, but the wall of air that buffeted him was cool, carrying with it not the deluge of blazing petrol-jelly he’d anticipated, but sharp grit and stinging dust.

Banking away, the helicopter began a wide turn down into the valley. Relaxing his grip on the rock, Revell was pushed aside by the girl as she took hasty aim and sent a long burst after the gunship.

That fire was as ineffectual as the rest had been, and unharmed the chopper maintained its wide descending turn. At two hundred feet above the valley floor it levelled out and raced in over the village from the west.

Against the eye-confusing clutter of the rooftops Revell didn’t see the drop tanks go, but the gash of red flame along the main street was clear enough, and its twin that engulfed the houses behind the church.

…two, three, four… To himself Revell counted off the second then watched the expanding white fire envelop every inch of the centre of the village, only the very tip of the bell tower showing above the intensely bright bubble of flame. Many of the houses, their walls bursting under the intense pressure created by the searing blast, seemed to implode, falling in on themselves. Others beyond the circle of devastation wrought by the super-napalm, steamed and smoked and began to burn.

A huge ball of black smoke rose over the village, to reveal blow-torch like feathers of red and yellow roaring from the church’s every door and window.

Only one of the bogged down T-84s brought its anti-aircraft mount into action against the gunship as it flew over, and then only in hesitant bursts, that signalled the gunner’s confusion as to what was happening.

‘Looks like you got what you wanted after all. The Russians have done it for you.’ As the sound of the helicopter’s engines faded into the distance, Revell held out his hand to assist Andrea over the last few feet to the crest of the ridge.

He hadn’t expected her to, but she took it, and her fingers enmeshed with his as she hauled herself up. For a moment he forgot what he was going to say. ‘Right… So let’s put in some distance. There’s a long way to go.’

That was an understatement, but Revell could have made light of anything. As they started down he was aware that Andrea was close by him, even when the going became so treacherous that the descent called for all his attention.

This was what he’d wanted. It had been a long time coming, but she was with him now, and he’d keep it that way. To hell with the past, to hell with Inga, with the bitch, with everything.

So long as Andrea was with him in the Zone he was going to enjoy making war, and together they’d be making plenty of it.

HARD TARGET

BLIND FIRE

HUNTER-KILLER

SKY STRIKE

OVERKILL

KILLING GROUND

PLAGUE BOMB

CIVILIAN SLAUGHTER

BODY COUNT

DEATH MARCH

Copyright © 1986 by James Rouch

An Imprint Original Publication, 2005

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 2005

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