Civilian Slaughter (7 page)

“At this rate you'll be able to retire soon.”

Cramming the payment into a slim white leather purse, she shook her blond hair. “Another five years perhaps. Much of this goes to the girls. I have to pay well or I lose them to the competition, but this is our last time on the road. Tomorrow we move into a proper establishment. It is in Hanover, the City Hotel on Limburgstrasse, do you know it?”

“No, but if it's in the centre you'll be closed down within a week.” “I do not think so, Hanover is now virtually an open city. Some of the suburbs have changed hands so many times the children understand Russian as well as they do German.”

“Is the overcrowding as bad as ever?” Revell could remember the families of refugees camped in the streets, choking the city centre.

“Worse than it has ever been, but where there are people there is always money, or its equivalent.”

Revell watched her go back to her transport, the tight fit of her outfit across her bottom revealing that she wore no underwear. As soon as she was aboard the ex- Russian vehicles pulled out, wallowing across the heavily rutted grass.

A strongly built girl waved vigorously from an open roof hatch. Her heavy breasts swung unrestrained inside her tracksuit top.

It was Dooley, Revell noticed, who sheepishly made an answering gesture. He stopped abruptly when he saw he was drawing attention to himself.

“I hope those Russians are a docile bunch.” Hyde had been scrutinizing the company. “The state they're in, they'd have problems controlling a church choir.”

“They should be, if they're allowing them out of the cages.” Try as he might though, Revell couldn't entirely convince himself of that. He kept recalling the colonel's description of the improvised construction battalion.

Garrett leaned out from the rear radio compartment of the Hummer, nearly strangling himself on the headset cord. “They're almost here, Major.”

“They'd have been here by now,” Hyde glowered at the PFC. “That's if you'd read the bloody map correctly and passed on the right grid reference when they got lost.”

“I wonder what sort of escort they have.” Having finally persuaded his Dutch pioneer platoon to form ranks, Vokes had deserted them so as not to be upset by their constantly changing places to discuss with friends; the events of the night.

“We'll know in a few minutes. Probably got some staff officer from Division tagging along, to make sure we don't goof off. That's why I've had the men turn out, for the sake of appearances.” Revell cast a pained look over his command. “Not so sure it's a good idea any more though. Sergeant Hyde!”

“Sir.” ; “Do something with them, will you. I know they feel awful, but there's no need for them to look it as well, I and Lieutenant Volkes ...”

In anticipation of what was coming, Vokes gave a resigned shrug.

“... From here it looks as if your men are involved in some bizarre slow motion dance. If you can't get them to stand up straight, at least see if you can get them to stand still.”

“They're real close now, Major.” Garrett was more careful this time, and only managed to unplug himself from the set. “Reception is brilliant.”

“Really? Well I must say I'm hardly surprised, seeing as they're driving in through the gate at this moment.”

“No wonder they're three hours late. Looks like they had a bit of an adventure on the way.” Hyde watched a very battered Unimog light truck grind its way toward them, its stately ten-mile-an-hour rate of progress being dictated by severely buckled front wheels.

The panel work of the cab showed further evidence of a hard collision, as did the starred windshield and ripped fabric roof. As it crabbed an erratic course along the drive the Unimog scuffed strange patterns on the gravel. Into view behind it came a procession of equally decrepit ex-civilian single deck buses.

The truck came to a halt beside the Hummer with a screech of brakes more in keeping with an emergency stop from ninety. After what sounded like several hard kicks the driver's door creaked open and an elderly and overweight master sergeant alighted, easing his bulk with care over the jagged remains of the fender. He beat dust from his blood speckled camouflage jacket before looking about him.

“Is there a medic hereabouts?”
The sergeant dabbed at his swollen nose with a red-stained handkerchief.

“You run into trouble?” Revell scanned the now halted column. Faces filled every window of the convoy. Apart from the truck there were only the buses. “And where the hell are the escort?”

“Shit, I'll say I ran into trouble. Some damned crappy refugees, they were all over the road. Wish I'd creamed a few of them, instead of taking to the hill and whacking into the side of a fucking church. Ain't there a medic here? This keeps up, I'm going to bleed to death.”

“I asked where the escort had got to.” Revell knew that his tone clearly conveyed his growing anger, but the master sergeant appeared not to notice.

“Oh heck Major, there's no escort, excepting for me and my drivers.” He waved vaguely in the direction of the buses. “We had a handful or so with us for a while but they must have missed a turn, or stopped for a leak maybe ... anyway, haven't seen them for a couple of hours or more. Maybe five, I guess. Don't matter though. These here Ruskies are like pussycats. If you'll just sign, I'll find your medic then I'll be getting back. I got a date for tonight.”

Not accepting the clipboard and greasy pen held out toward him, Revell started toward the new arrivals. “I like to see what I'm signing for, I want a roll call.”

“Hell, you don't want to bother with all that fuss, Major. It's real straightforward. I deliver three hundred and fifty-seven Reds. Or maybe they ought to be called pinks now, heh?” Seeing his little joke wasn't well-received, the sergeant went on. “I deliver, you sign. See, everybody is happy and I make my date on time. If we start messing about with roll calls and the like we could be here all day.”

“A roll call, now.”

“Now Major, I hope you won't mind me saying this ...” “I probably will, so you'd better not.”

For the first time, the sergeant appeared to be getting a glimmering of an understanding that the officer was less than happy with something.

“OK Major, OK, we do it by the book. But maybe it wouldn't hurt if we take a sort of shortcut, just to speed things up a little. See, there's seven buses, fifty Reds on each one, excepting the last. That's got fifty-seven. So we do a swift head count on the tail-end Charlie and that's ...”

“I see only six.”
“Hate to say it, but you're wrong Major, it's seven ...”

The sergeant did a double take and a sickly grin spread across his fleshy face. “Aw crap. Fucking crap. Well, I expect it'll be along in a while. Look Major, can I have a word?”

When Revell wouldn't be drawn aside, the sergeant leaned close to him and lowered his voice to a confidential whisper.

“I'm just sort of doing a favour for my captain; you know how it is, sure you do. He was on to this sure thing, a real hot date, and I figured if I did this favour for him then I'd be OK for a few in return. Happens all the time.” He looked keenly into the officer's face, trying to read his mood, and didn't like what he saw.

“Right, Major, you think I've goofed up. So maybe everything ain't quite kosher, but in the Zone who cares what happens to fifty ...”

“Fifty-seven.”

“... Sure, fifty-seven Reds. Shit, we've got a half million behind wire and there's loads more who've deserted and are just wandering about. Can't we sort of overlook the discrepancy this time? You know I should have been retired years ago. It's not my fault I'm still in this stinking war, I ...”

“It sounds like you and your captain are a good pair.” Revell beckoned Sergeant Hyde. “I want them out of the transport and lined up in fives. Keep a good guard on them.”

“We could use the tennis courts. The wire's still standing around them.” “Good idea. And we'll have that lot down for checking as well.” Revell pointed to the mountain of cases and bags loosely secured and partially sheeted on the roof of each bus.

“Is there anything I can do, Major?” The convoy commander ran his finger around the inside of his collar to loosen it. Blood was again dripping from his burst nose but he ignored it and instead wiped away with the back of his hand the perspiration that was running down the side of his face.

“You're already doing it. And you'll be sweating a lot more blood by the time I'm finished.”

TEN
“The fifty-seven in the missing bus you know about.” Hyde consulted his lists. “There are another thirty unaccounted for from those who did arrive. That gives us two hundred and sixty-eight milling about on the hard court.”

“Should be two hundred and seventy, shouldn't it?” Revell watched the Russians listlessly moving about the makeshift compound.

“There are two stiffs on board the second bus. Seems the MPs who broke up the fights didn't want the bother of hauling them off and sorting out the attendant paperwork.”

“And that master sergeant called them pussycats. What happened to the other thirty?”

“I've had a chat with the drivers. Seems our fat friend accepted a bribe to make regular stops during the night for them to get off and have a leak. The Ruskies were allowed off all at once and no guard kept or recount made when they got back in, and no one has any clue as to when the seventh coach went astray.”

“Well at least that all indicates that those we still have, if they haven't made a break for it by now, then they're not going to at all.” Revell prodded the pile of contraband at his feet with the barrel of his assault shotgun. “Mind you, that doesn't mean we're not going to get any hassle from them. Was this all found among their baggage?”

Bending down he picked up a civilian shotgun that had been shortened by the removal of most of the stock and half the twin over and under barrels. He broke it to check it had been unloaded, then tossed it back on the substantial heap.

“We spotted some of them carrying the stuff, but most of it came from their luggage. There are twenty-six pistols or cut down rifles, forty-two grenades of every type, five pounds of plastic explosive and three detonators.” Hyde scanned his list. “Also four hatchets, eight hammers ... didn't bother to count the knives. Would have been quicker to weigh them.”

“Dump it all in the lake, the whole lot. Pity we can't do the same with the recent owners.” Among the collection Revell spotted an ornate Nazi dagger of World War Two vintage. Doubtless it had been looted from some abandoned property. It was likely the civvy shotgun came from a similar source. “These Reds may no longer be on the Warpac side, but I've got my doubt that they're on ours either.”

Penned within the confines of the high mesh fences, the Russians strolled or lounged on the ground wrapped in soiled greatcoats. They appeared to be completely apathetic as to their surroundings, taking no interest in anything. There was little conversation among them, not even when their cases and bags had been checked in their full view. No concern, curiosity or resentment was displayed when the finds began to be made, not even when the haul was removed for disposal.

The only spark of animation came when Sampson and one of the pioneers appeared with buckets of water. Then there was a mad scramble for the gate where it was ladled out. It had taken several shots fired into the air to restore any semblance of order.

A thorough search of the transport uncovered another twelve guns and several hundred rounds of assorted ammunition, plus many more edged weapons. Revell was reluctant to, but it was beginning to look as if they would have to body search every one of their prisoners. That was the conclusion he was reaching when Lieutenant Vokes brought one of the Russians to him.

“This one speaks English, after a fashion, Major. He says he wants to ...” “To talk to the major, yes. That is what I am asking.”

“Make it quick.” Despite himself, Revell couldn't help smiling. The man before him looked like a cartoon composite of the typical Russian.

He stood about five foot nine, but was so broad in the chest and across the shoulders that he looked squat. A short bull neck was topped by a heavy jowled slab of a face. His eyes were dark and narrow, made to look the more so by a broad forehead framed by a severe fringe of jet black hair.

All in all the Russian reminded Revell of a younger version of Brezhnev. Moving ponderously to attention, the Russian made as if to salute, but after his hand jerked twice in indecision he didn't.

“Grigori Vladimirovich Galinski at your service, Major. Late sergeant in the 445th Company of the Commandants Service, attached to the 75th Infantry regiment, 3rd Shock Army.”

“I'm surprised you are still alive. Do your present companions not know you were with the military police?”

“To survive, one sometimes has to resort to subterfuge, Major. When I crossed the Zone to defect I assumed the identity of a ... a friend, who unfortunately died on the journey. I tell you this so that you can be assured of my good faith.”

“You think I need reassuring?” Revell would have dismissed the man, but something made him hesitate. Perhaps he could be useful.

“By telling you this, I place myself in your hands, Major. Perhaps by so doing I might gain trust that would otherwise take a long time to establish.”

“Do you have any influence among this rabble?” Indicating the inmates of the compound, Revell saw that they had resumed their apathetic behaviour now the distribution of the water ration was over.

The Russian thumped himself on the chest, raising a puff of dust. “They know that I am a strong man, a tough boss.” He made the familiar Russian gesture of a clenched fist. “A powerful boss is always respected in my country.”

“Like Stalin.” Overcoming his distaste of the prisoner, Revell realized he might be able to use him. “We've wasted too much time here already. I want all the weapons this mob of yours is carrying.”

“Everything?”
Revell knew he was expecting too much if he thought he could net every knife among them, without resorting to a strip search. That would waste the best part of a half day.

“Firearms, grenades, explosives and ammunition. When they come out of there in fifteen minutes I want to see it all in a pile in the middle of the court. Just to be on the safe side my men will do random checks. If we find anything in that list, then there'll be no food issue today.”