Greg Iles - The Spandau Phoenix

those Arabs back, Hauer? Five minutes?

Ten? Horn will probably lower them himself, so that the Arabs can kill

us for him."

"Scheisse! " Hauer cursed. "That's why the firing stopped!

They're already coming, Stern. We've got to get control of that turret

gun. You can do what you want, but I'm taking the South Africans with

me."

Without hesitation Stern and Gadi started down the stairs.

Hauer, General Steyn, and the South Africans started up, with Hans and

Ilse bringing up the rear. On the top-floor landing Hauer put his ear

against the green metal door and listened. He thought he heard voices

on the other side, but he couldn't be sure. Backing away, he saw the

South Africans preparing to blow down this door just as they had the one

in the courtyard. He signaled them to wait. Taking hold of the

aluminum knob, he applied a very slight circular pressure.

The knob turned.

He glanced back at the South Africans, nodded toward the door, held up a

fist, and shook his head. The CT trvups gut the message: no grenades.

Hauer licked his dry lips beneath his respirator. Then he raised his

leg and kicked open the door.

Five men-Hess, Smuts, and three of Smuts's security troops-looked up in

stunned surprise. After one frozen moment, Smuts's men made the mistake

of going for their guns.

General Steyn's troops instantly killed all three with shotgun blasts.

Smuts himself did not xesist. He stepped calmly away from the

observation window and set down his field glasses.

No one seemed to know what to say. General Steyn stepped from behind

Hauer and looked down at the wizened old man in the wheelchair.

"Thomas Horn," he said rather pompously, "in the name of the Republic of

South Africa, I place you under arrest."

Still wearing his black eyepatch, Hess looked up with contempt.

The general cleared his throat. "You are Thomas Horn?"

"I am not," Hess said with disdain. "I am Rudolf Hess.

And you, General, are a traitor to your nation and to your race."

General Steyn's mouth fell open. "You're who?"

"Ignore him, General," Hauer snapped. "He's mad as a sewer rat."

Hauer turned to Smuts. "Why aren't you firing on the Arabs?"

Smuts wiped his still-bleeding face on his sleeve and smirked.

"They'll kill you too," Hauer pointed out.

"Probably," Smuts conceded. "But they might not."

Hauer moved to the bullet-starred polycarbonate wall and looked out.

Half the Libyan commandos had already crossed the bowl, and more were

coming-black phantoms gliding across the moonlit earth. Hauer looked

back and studied the cage that controlled the Vulcan gun.

"General Steyn, can your men operate that gun?"

At a nod from the general, one of the black-suited South Africans pulled

off his gas mask, climbed into the cage, and opened fire. The noise was

shattering. The gunner knocked down a dozen Libyans in less than twenty

seconds. When Smuts's bunker gunners saw the Vulcan resume firing, they

assumed that their chief had gone back over to the offensive, and they

added their machine guns to the fray.

Pieter Smuts eased his hand toward the console that controlled the

shields on the ground floor.

"Touch that and you're dead," Hauer warned.

Smuts's hand lingered over the switch until Hauer backed him off with a

flick of his rifle. The Vulcan thundered on, vomiting shells and flame

into the darkness.

"Listen to me!" Hess said, struggling to make himself heard.

"You ..." He pointed to Hauer. "You're German. In the name of the

Fatherland, join me!" The old man looked around in sudden confusion.

"Where is Frau Apfel?"

As if on cue, Ilse stepped through the door. Hans had held her outside

until he was certain the skirmish in the turret had ended.

"She understands!" Hess wailed. "You should all join-" At that instant

the first shell from Major Karmni's howitzer struck the tower.

The explosion rocked the entire structure on its foundations.

"Everyone out!" Hauer shouted. "Move!"

Pieter Smuts darted across the room, lifted Hess out of his wheelchair,

and carried him bodily into the stairwell. Everyone else hurried after

them. Only the South African manning the Vulcan remained in the turret,

probing for the howitzer through the smoke below. The group had reached

the second-floor landing when the second howitzer shell tore through the

turret window and exploded, incinerating man and machinery in a blinding

fireball. Stunned by the explosion above, everyone looked to Hauer for

instructions.

"Follow him!" Hauer shouted, pointing down at Smuts.

Even with Hess clinging to his neck, the Afrikaner.had already managed

to reach the ground floor. General Steyn and his men started after

them, but Hans and Ilse hung back.

Hans grabbed Hauer's arm. "Come with us!" he begged.

"You'll die here!"

Hauer pointed through a narrow slit-window on the second-floor landing.

With the Vulcan out of,action, a strong Libyan force had begun charging

toward the burning house.

And more dangerous, the big howitzer was actually being towed across the

bowl under human power. Its progress was slow but steady.

"Find Stern," Hauer told Hans. "There's nothing you can do here.

The basement is the only safe place now. I'll buy you all the, time I

can. Hurry!"

When Hans hesitated, Hauer shoved him down the stairs.

Hauer felt a startling surge of emotion when Ilse stood up on her toes,

threw her arms around his neck, and kissed him on the cheek. She drew

back and looked into his eyes.

"Thank you for coming for us," she said. "You are a good father."

She smiled once, squeezed Hauer's arm, then took Hans's hand and hurried

down the steel steps into the darkness.

Hauer smashed the narrow window with the butt of his sniper rifle and

thrust the long barrel through. He rolled his shoulders once, took a

deep, breath, and put his eye to the scope. The Libyan infantry were

the closest targets, but he ignored them. He had to slow down the

artillery piece. He lined up the reticle, laid his forefinger against

the Steyr's trigger, and squeezed.

He knocked down four men in eight seconds. Down on the ground, the big

howitzer slowed, then stopped as the men towing it scrambled for cover.

Hauer began searching out the infantry, hearing as he did a calm voice

in his head: Running target, fifty meters ... fire! Eject shell, close

bolt, fire! As he picked off the commandos one by one, he wondered how

long he had before the howitzer team pinpointed his muzzle flashes and

decided to redecorate the second level of the tower with a 105mm shell.

Alan Burton lay prone on the rim of the bowl, watching the Libyans cross

the killing zone. He had seen the howitzer destroy the rotating gun

turret, and he had almost decided to try to cross the bowl himself when

he saw the Libyans falling to Hauer's rifle. At least somebody up there

knows what he's doing, Burton thought with admiration. Clearly he would

have to find an alternate route into the house.

The renewed chatter of the bunker guns gave him the idea. He peered

through the darkness at the nearest one, a concrete pillbox dug into the

shallow slope forty meters to his right. All he could see was a narrow

horizontal slit with a flashing machine gun barrel protruding from it.

The bunkers serve the tower, he thought. They're permanent

installations. So how are they supplied? From the sur ce?...

.la No from the house. But how?