James Rouch - Blind Fire

‘Hey, that was an own goal, how about that?’ Dooley realised that the celebration might have been a little premature when a long burst of machine gun fire came up through the boards beside him, and slivers of wood lanced into his calf. ‘Fuck that. Ain’t you broken through that wall yet?’ There was no answer. He backed up a few paces along the corridor, and another crackle of fire came through precisely where he’d been standing. ‘Come on, it can’t be taking you that long. If they can shove stuff up through the floors, you must be able to get through to next door.’

Lieutenant Hogg came down from the staff quarters. ‘Things getting too hot for you?’

‘I ain’t chucking my life away while Cohen could be out cold and cashable.’ A grenade bobbed over the top of the stairs and rolled to Dooley’s feet Without hesitation he reversed his rifle and, using it like a five-iron, sent it back. ‘Fuck this, they’re beginning to cheese me off.’ He took a blast grenade of his own, and tossed it after the other.

Coming almost together, the detonations shook the building and as a wall of dust rushed at Hogg, he became aware of a new noise. It grew louder, a splintering tearing sound. He grabbed Dooley and pulled him back as the stairs and several yards of the corridor vanished, raising still further clouds of dust as they crashed to the floors below. A strong smell of burning came to their noses, and with it the groans and shouts of trapped men.

‘Did you mean to do that?’

‘Of course I did.’

Disbelief shaded Hogg’s expression, but he said nothing further as they made their way to the attic rooms.

‘How’s that?’ York stood by an irregular hole hacked in the gable end. ‘I said I’d make a good job.’ The praise he’d been expecting didn’t materialise. ‘Well I reckon it’s a good job.’

‘All we want is a way out, not a triumphal arch.’ Burke and a two man machine gun team went first.

Hogg supervised the departure of the others. The roof space had filled with smoke, and the floor was growing hot as he made a last check.

The adjoining property was one floor lower, and there was a ten foot drop to its steeply pitched tiled roof. Dooley and a couple of others had already set to work smashing an entrance through it.

‘Here, let me have a go, I’ll show you.’ Attacking the growing opening enthusiastically, York smashed his rifle butt up and down, sending shards of grey tile skittering off the roof on to the road below. ‘Just once more.’ Raising the weapon above his head, he brought it down with pile-driver force. It missed and went straight through the hole, and York went with it.

‘Jesus, hell do anything for a laugh.’ Dooley went next, exercising more caution and making a feet first landing on the bed that had broken York’s fall. ‘You damned near landed on my head.’ There were several cuts on York’s face. ‘With a head that size, I’d have had trouble avoiding it wherever I fucking landed.’

Machine gun fire from the street was breaking tiles as the last man swung in the hole for a moment before dropping down, then his brains showered over everybody and he plummetted to the floor sickeningly hard. There was no need for anyone to check, the top of his head had been shot off.

Lieutenant Hogg shouldered his AKM, and took the rocket launcher from beneath the body. ‘OK, so what are we waiting for. Come on, the Reds know we’re in here, do you want to fight your way out of here as well?’

A tank shell passed through the room a moment after they left and another shower of powdered plaster chased them down the stairs. Letting the rest of the men pass, Hogg ducked into a small front room and crossed to the window. On the far side of the street a T84 had its main gun trained on the building. The nearest turret hatch was open, and a crewman was using the anti-aircraft machine gun to hose long bursts at every window in turn. Hogg just had time to duck when one of the fusillades came his way. Incendiary rounds lodged in the walls, window frame and furniture and began to give off white smoke as their phosphorus content ignited.

It was the first time Hogg had ever used one of the M72 launchers, except for a dummy during basic training. Now he prayed he’d remembered all he’d been told. The safety pins securing the waterproof end seals came out easily, and he gingerly extended the telescopic launch tube to cock the firing mechanism. Supporting the front end with his left hand, the back of the tube on his shoulder, he approached the window again. His right hand played over the top of the launcher, seeking the trigger button. He found, it, and his index finger rested lightly on it as he aligned the flip-up sights, This was what he’d been waiting for, the chance to dish out a bit of what he’d been on the receiving end of for a year. How many times had he watched truckloads of infantry driving over the bridges he’d built, and wished he was going with them as he saw the cluster of improvised crosses in a nearby plot? How many times had he and his company of combat engineers dug in around the approaches to one of their fabrications, waiting for an enemy attack that never came? It had always been the other companies that’d had the heroic struggles. Well if the mountain wouldn’t come to him…

‘Aim for the base of the turret.’

Taking Burke’s advice, Hogg shifted his point of aim. ‘Why haven’t you got out with the others?’

‘For a start I can’t stand that bloke York, and I reckon if I’m going to be lumbered with having to do a bit of the swash and buckle lark, I might as well do it in front of an officer and make sure I get a gong.’

Detecting an unexpected ring of truth in the answer, Hogg didn’t pursue it any further. He held his breath, gently increased the pressure of his grip, and then felt the heat of the rocket’s blast on his back.

A flurry of smoke which quickly drifted clear was all that marked the hit. Hogg felt disappointed, he had hoped for something altogether more impressive and spectacular. He hadn’t even scratched it.

‘Nice one, Lieutenant, you sure you haven’t done this before?’ At Burke’s compliment Hogg took a second look. The T84 still looked the same… or did it? There was no sign of the machine gunner, and grey exhaust no longer blew from the vehicle’s rear. Then he noticed a tiny flicker of flame coming from the turret hatch. It grew as he watched until it was a swirling pillar of orange and yellow, reaching past the tops of the buildings, as though the tank had begun to consume itself in its moment of death. The driver’s hatch flew open and another spiralling tongue grew. ‘Hey, I got it. Will you look? I got it.’

‘If we don’t get out of here he’ll have got us.’ A stamp of his boot, and Burke temporarily checked the advancing small curling flames licking along the edge of the carpet.

‘I really got it.’ Hogg was hardly conscious of Burke propelling him from the room, past the blazing furniture and down the stairs. He felt elated. He’d done it, he’d done it. This must be how a fighter pilot felt at his first kill. It made up for all the mud the commie shells had shovelled over him, all the times they had forced him on to his face and pummelled his body with series of concussions. ‘I got a tank.’

‘Great.’ The tone Burke used conveyed no enthusiasm. ‘That’s just great That leaves about seventeen thousand still to go.’ Hogg stopped his repetitive chant. ‘OK, let’s go find them.’

‘Don’t be in such a hurry, Lieutenant. You can save a lot of energy by waiting right where you are. It’s the Ruskies who come looking for us.’

Horrible bubbling noises were coming from Kurt’s chest as air found its way into his body cavities, past the deeply embedded fragment. Fighting the pain, his face contorted in ugly grimaces, his head lolled from side to side, and there was a constant trickle of blood from the side of his mouth. But still the Grepo clung to life, even hauling himself to a sitting position in the dark corner where Hyde had dumped him. A trail of blood marked where he had been dragged. With both lungs damaged, Hyde hadn’t expected him to last more than a minute. He was drowning in his own blood and the smashed ribs and breastbone must have been agony, so why hang on, why fight it?