James Rouch - Hard Target

The door flew open and an avalanche of variously coloured clothes and underwear preceded Burke’s return. ‘Hello there. You look like you’re nicely settled.’

‘No way. At this moment I couldn’t stuff a shitty olive. Marvellous, ain’t it.’ Pushing aside the hands that sought to hold him back, Dooley got up and walked to the pile. ‘Here, come and get this lot on.’

There was a mad scramble as the women fought to salvage their own things and steal all they could of everyone else’s. Dooley had to put his large boot to several similarly dimensioned behinds before he succeeded in reducing the row they were making.

Burke was repulsed rather than sexually aroused by the sight, of the fighting women. Huge rumps, hobbling breasts, all were on show in abundance and had no effect on him.

The major shouted from downstairs and the two men began to propel the women along the corridor while they were still fumbling, hopping and contorting to finish dressing.

‘No one would ever believe this.’ His erection had completely disappeared. Dooley knew it without checking. ‘I ain’t never gonna tell anyone about this, not ever. I spend fifteen minutes in a brothel: the first five I’m trying to grab a broad, the next five I’m trying to keep a load of whores from finding out that I’m not ail I’d like to be and was five minutes before, and the last five I’m forcing them to get dressed and chucking them out. I just don’t like myself at the moment. Maybe m a year I’ll have forgotten all about it; the hell I will.’

Andrea was coming down the stairs.

‘There you are.’ Revell steered her to the women. ‘Tell them to get down to the camp and lose themselves, and don’t take no for an answer. I want them out right now.’

He started up the stairs. In a crazy way he’d be doing the Russian a favour. If the Soviet security services got him to tell the whole story, and they would, including how he had given the enemy an inch-by-inch description of the workshops, then the last few hours of his life would be very painful and unpleasant.

Cradling the 12 gauge assault-rifle Hyde had brought him from the skimmer, he climbed to the top of the building. It would be best if he fired right away, from the door of the attic: no need to make a ceremony of it. He paused at the door, laid the heavy twenty-shot weapon on the floor and took out his pistol. The weight of the silencer unbalanced the Colt and he had to consciously counteract it.

As he put his hand to the door, he paused again, and checked that the safety catch was off. The air held a smell he hadn’t noticed before, like, like overdone meat. Dismissing it from his mind he pushed open the door.

Thick grey smoke filled the room, drifting in layers in the warm, still air. Wisps of it wafted out through the hole in the roof. The smell was much stronger now, almost overpowering. He felt his way to the wall and began to work his way round the room. In a far corner he discovered a smouldering bundle. It was the Russian. Blue and yellow flame still rippled through his hair and what was left of his uniform. Two empty vodka bottles lay nearby.

Revell did not make a close, examination, pumping two shots into the man to extinguish any last vestige of life. At the impact, sparks and clouds of black particles flew up and he had to step back smartly to avoid them settling on him.

The body lolled sideways, scraping off long ribbons of red-streaked black tissue on the wall. Smoke from the still smouldering belt about the lower half of what had been a face, found its way out through the misshapen holes in the charred remains of a nose.

In two years of savage war in the Zone, the deliberate incineration of a bound and helpless prisoner was as inhuman an act as Revell had ever witnessed. It was almost the equal of the worst atrocities the Russians had committed.

He knew: he had no proof, but he knew who had done it. What had happened to Andrea, what could she have been through to turn into a person capable of this? It went far beyond anything that the motives of revenge or hate could justify.

Now there was no question of leaving her with Clarence when the attack went in. He would keep her with him and though that might make him uneasy, he was not unhappy the prospect. If there was more in her than the urge to k then he wanted to know, find out how to get past or through that tough shell she presented to the world. It would be easier or safer than the job they were about to tackle. Hyde was calling him. The men were ready for the first briefing. It was almost time.

The major connected the last wire of the intricate layout booby-traps that Collins had set about the house, then car fully closed the front door before climbing into the command car. Burke already had the engine turning over smoothly. Andrea sat between Revell and the driver. Four of the Grepos crouched on the floor in the back, still wearing the same dull sullen expressions the officer had first noticed; Mother Knoke’s. They had not altered in all those hour: save for the brief strained grimaces while they’d been with the women.

‘Damn it.’ Revell swore. ‘We didn’t rig that Merc’

‘Collins took care of it.’ Burke slowed the car after passing out of the farmyard, while he waited for Hyde, piloting the big truck, to negotiate the narrow opening. ‘It’ll go bang at the same time as the house, or maybe it’ll be the other way round. Either way, any sloppy Commies are in for a hell of a fucking shock.’ There was a lurch as the car left the track and then the vehicle’s four-wheel drive was pulling them effortlessly towards the top of the hill. The sun was still a few minutes from the horizon and sent the car’s long shadow ahead of it to the crest.

‘Take it easy as we go over, then head to your left so we hit the main approach track about three hundred yards from the entrance.’ Scouring the floor of the hollow time and again, Revell searched for other traffic. It was early yet, but as the Ural topped the rise behind them he spotted something. A lone T72 was heading in the same direction.

‘OK, stop here. Give Sergeant Hyde the signal.’ As Burke lowered the window and waved, Revell turned in his seat to watch Clarence jump from the back of the truck and then take the bulky packs handed to him.

Hyde had seen the Russian main battle tank as well, and noted that it was travelling opened up with its two-man turret crew sitting half out of the roof hatches. Dust and thick white exhaust smoke plumed out behind it.

‘Looks nice and quiet down there.’ Libby had to hold tight as they reached the bottom of the slope and Hyde wrenched the wheel over to turn on to the track a hundred yards behind the tank, keeping only a length between themselves and the command car in front. ‘Those tank blokes wouldn’t be so casual if they thought there was any trouble in these parts.’

‘Very likely, but I think we’ve got trouble. There’s something up ahead, at the gap in the minefield where the track goes through. Looks like a traffic control point.’

Libby unclipped a grenade from his webbing and rested it in his lap. A lone military policeman stood beside the track. Two motorcycles were parked outside a small tent, half-hidden by a movable barbed wire barricade that was pulled back out of the way.

The MP waved the tank through, then saw the command car approaching and stepped out into the road to flag it down.

With a noisy grinding of gears Hyde changed down as the lead vehicle slowed. ‘Why in fuck’s name is he doing that? He let the tank through.’

‘Perhaps we should be showing lights, or maybe these wagons shouldn’t be here at all.’ Libby watched the command car. At a couple of lengths from the Russian it had almost slowed to a stop, then with a bellow of its exhaust it surged towards him.