Revolution (24 page)

Callum pulled up beside the hangar and climbed out with Megan as Severov’s vehicle pulled up behind and the police commander jumped out of his cab.

‘We should not stop here. This is restricted area!’

Megan ignored him and walked up to the huge building where a door hung from one remaining hinge, the blackened interior of the hangar beckoning her inside. She strode in and looked up at the cavernous innards of the almost empty hangar. Smoke still tainted the air about her, debris and dark fluids staining the hangar floor.

‘Done fairly recently, I’d say,’ Callum said as he followed Megan through the hangar. ‘But there hasn’t been any recent fighting in this area that I’m aware of.’

‘Someone was here,’ Megan nodded in agreement.

Drips of moisture splattered about them in muted chorus, echoing through the cold and empty hangar. Megan saw a large bank of what looked like old burned fridges and approached them, kneeling down in front of the blackened metal boxes, each of which had heavy looking power cables snaking from their rears. The plastic sheaths of the cables had melted in the heat of the fire into puddles of congealed black plastic.

‘Look at this,’ Callum said, gesturing to one side of the machines.

Megan walked around to where Callum was standing over a large satellite receiver dish, its once perfect shape now warped with heat, scorched and partially melted.

‘Some kind of transmission equipment?’ Megan hazarded, moving around to the rear of the machines.

Megan stepped over the melted cables carefully, searching the backs of the machines until she found what she was searching for. Kneeling down, she fished her satellite phone from her pocket and dialled.

‘Megan?’

‘Frank, how’s it going?’

‘Not so bad. What can I do for ya?’

Megan scraped some carbon deposits off a series of labels adorning the rear of the computers.

‘I need you to trace a set of serial numbers for me, if you can. Some are partials.’

‘Read ‘em on out to me, Megan.’

Megan read the numbers that she could make out in full and then the partials, before picking up the satellite dish and examining it. For good measure, she read what she could of the identifying marks.

‘You any closer to Amy?’
Frank asked.

‘We’re getting somewhere, I’m sure of that much Frank. Speak soon.’

As Megan rang off, Severov stamped one booted foot impatiently.

‘We’re very exposed here. Is this really necessary?’

Megan cast the commander a brief glance and then looked at Callum.

‘He’s right, Megan. We should get away from here as soon as we can.’

‘Fine,’ Megan replied.

Megan led the way back to the vehicles and Callum resumed their long drive north and away from the airfield. Megan did not speak as they travelled, her thoughts with the eerie abandoned airfield. She barely noticed that the intermittent canvass of forest and snowy fields was breaking up into another scattering of granite–grey buildings, a town a little larger than those that they had encountered up to now. Callum glanced at the map and then out of the windshield.

‘There’s the Tornikov River,’ he said and pointed ahead.

Megan saw through a distant gap in the buildings a dark, cold looking strip of black water, its surface flecked with chunks of ice drifting downstream.

‘Where’s the bridge?’ Megan asked, leaning forward.

‘Somewhere at the end of the main street, there, just ahead.’

As Megan was looking, the truck behind them flashed its lights twice. Callum slowed and stopped on the outskirts of the deserted town as Severov jumped from his cab and jogged to the jeep’s driver’s window.

‘Drive slowly into the town,’ Severov urged. ‘My men will walk either side of our vehicles. The enemy could be anywhere in there, so be ready.’

Callum nodded, and Severov jogged back to the troop–carrier and barked a series of orders. Megan looked at Callum, who reached down and pulled the corner of his jacket back. A 9mm pistol nestled in its holster under his arm.

‘If he pulls anything,’ Callum said, ‘he’ll get a shock.’

Megan watched as Severov’s men deployed around the two vehicles, hugging the edges of the road and positioning themselves under whatever cover they could find, ready to move forward. At a command from Severov they began advancing ahead of the vehicles, shifting fluidly from cover to cover, their Kalashnikovs pointing unwaveringly ahead of them.

The truck behind flashed its lights once again and Callum pulled slowly away.

The road ahead continued between rows of two–storey buildings that had clearly once been shops and apartments. Megan could read faded signs advertising bakeries and tailors, salons and restaurants in Arabic, Russian and English. For a brief moment she had a vision of the village, alive and bustling in the summer, locals sitting in what had once been a small park, children playing on brightly painted swings that glistened in the sunlight. Young girls walked and giggled, young men watching them as they cruised through the streets in their cars. A man walking his dog, distant music from a sandwich bar, birds flitting across the blue sky above.

The jeep jolted as it crunched awkwardly through a mortar crater that had punctured the road, and Megan’s vision was shattered. The broken shells of the apartment buildings stared vacantly back at her, the shattered fronts of shops scorched with flame and grime. The swings were broken and twisted, the park churned with mounds of earth blasted by artillery shells, and every wall was peppered with small–arms fire. Megan watched Severov’s men advancing through the wreckage and felt herself enveloped by a deep sense of loss, of pity and remorse for what man was capable of doing to mankind, all in the name of power, of a dominance that was only ever temporary. She wondered how many previously happy lives had been lost or irrepairably damaged in Mordania by this war.

‘There’s the bridge,’ Callum pointed.

The road curved gently, and as they followed it so it straightened and led to a causeway bridge that spanned the bitter blackness of the Tornikov River.

And all at once, everybody stopped. Callum braked as the troop carrier behind them slid to a halt on the slushy road. The policemen all froze or dove for cover in doorways and alleys either side of the main street.

‘Bugger,’ Callum muttered.

The bridge was blocked by a Soviet T–72 tank and surrounded by Mordanian troops and vehicles.

*

Megan stared through the windscreen as the rebel soldiers, perhaps as many as one hundred in number, all turned to stare at the little convoy. They were around one hundred metres away, smoking and talking amongst themselves. None of them made for cover, instead they simply watched the convoy through the falling snow.

‘They’re smarter than I thought,’ Callum said.

Megan saw Severov climb from his truck and run forward in a low crouch, coming up alongside Megan’s window. Megan wound it down.

‘End of the road,’ Severov said in a harsh whisper. ‘We’re outnumbered.’

Megan watched the rebels through the windscreen and then turned to Callum.

‘Where are our binoculars?’

Callum reached behind her to one of their rucksacks, rummaging around and pulling out a pair of 10x50’s. Megan took them and levelled them through the windscreen, scanning the rebel troops. It took her a few seconds to identify the NCO with the huge beard she had met in Anterik, watching them as a subordinate whispered in his ear.

‘I’ll take care of this,’ Megan said.

She climbed out of the vehicle, as did Callum. Severov stared at them both in surprise.

‘You cannot go there,’ he protested in a harsh whisper. ‘They will skin you alive for pleasure!’

‘Not these ones,’ Megan said. ‘Do you have any cigarettes?’

Severov stared at Megan as though she had gone mad, but none the less he reached into his pocket and produced half a packet of what were probably Mordanian produced cigarettes, taking one for himself before handing the packet to Megan.

‘Whatever you do,’ Megan cautioned the commander, ‘don’t shoot, no matter what.’

Callum hurried around the front of the jeep and whispered in Megan’s ear.

‘You pulled this off once, but trying again is asking far too much.’

Megan began walking toward the tank.

‘It’s much harder to kill someone that you have met,’ she replied, ‘even as little as that man knows me. He won’t do anything.’

‘This time I stay close, just in case,’ Callum insisted.

Behind them, Commander Severov watched them walk completely exposed down the centre of the main street toward the ranks of the enemy. His dark eyes scanned the tank and soldiers, the machine guns and rocket–propelled–grenades they were brandishing, and the length of the main street. A tiny smile curled from one corner of his lips and he turned, walking back to the truck to where a couple of his men were standing awaiting orders.

‘Send the word,’ Severov whispered to one of them, ‘pull back, quietly.’

The soldier hurried off as Severov walked to the rear of his truck, hauled himself up and clambered inside. Amongst the kit of his men, several canvass–wrapped bundles were strapped to the rear of the cab. Severov loosened the straps on one of them and removed a camouflaged cylinder concealed within, before re–securing the bundle and hurrying out of the back of the vehicle.

As he moved back to see the street he could see his men falling back towards him, moving discreetly from cover to cover as they did so. Further toward the rebels, Megan Mitchell and her big friend continued walking.

Severov lit the cigarette he had taken from his packet and lifted the cylinder in his hands.

‘Goodbye, Megan Mitchell.’

*

Callum was watching the rebels, trying to gauge their strength and morale as he walked alongside Megan. They showed no signs of aggression toward the approaching strangers, but then neither did they show any signs of greeting.

‘I don’t like this,’ he muttered under his breath to Megan.

‘Not exactly a riot for me either,’ Megan whispered back. ‘Just stay calm.’

The NCO with whom Megan had spoken before in Anterik recognised her and moved out in front of his men, a brief smile flickering beneath his beard. His men seemed to relax around him, sensing their commander’s lack of concern.

Megan nodded at the NCO in recognition, then glanced to one side at the shattered hulk of what was once a mini–market, its shelves now collapsed behind broken windows. As she looked, she saw one of Severov’s men dropping back and away from them.

Beside her, Callum looked over his shoulder and saw others doing the same. Instantly, he checked the other side of the street.

‘Severov’s pulling out,’ Callum said quickly.

‘We don’t need him,’ Megan replied. ‘We can do the rest alone from here.’

‘Are you sure?’

Megan was about to reply when a sudden commotion ahead caused a spark of fear to lance her spine. The rebels let out a sudden howl of protest as their NCO shouted a command and dove down into the cold slush.

Callum whirled and ploughed into Megan and sent them sprawling through the snow even as Commander Severov levelled the bazooka he carried on one shoulder and pulled the trigger.

The projectile blasted from the muzzle of the weapon amidst a cloud of smoke and with a whistling howl accelerated with frightening speed toward the rebel position. A trail of smoke followed it as it screeched straight down the centre of the street and struck the tank on its forward quarter with a terrible rending of tortured metal.

The explosion ripped through the ranks of the rebels, hurling shrapnel into the air amidst an expanding black and orange fireball that lifted both Callum and Megan off the ground and propelled them away from the blast.

Megan hit the ground hard, rolling as fragments of debris and shards of shrapnel blasted past her. Her ears rang violently, her vision blurring and her sense of direction and balance completely lost. She peered through the cloud of smoke and devastation at the rebel tank, its forward tracks now hanging from their wheels, the vehicle immobilised and the blood of fallen rebels splattered across its flanks. Rebel troops were variously lying motionless on the ground or crawling and screaming in agony, trailing shattered body parts across the crimson–stained snow.

It was then, at that critical moment of shock and confusion, that Severov’s men attacked.

***

‘Stay down!’

Callum’s command reached Megan’s ringing ears just as she heard Severov’s muffled voice in the distance, shouting something in Mordanian at the top of his lungs.

The crack and cackle of machine gun fire ripped the air above Megan’s head, bullets whipping and thudding as they cut into the rebel soldiers still alive and huddling around their tank and support vehicles.

Megan turned to see Callum roll over on the ground, his pistol in his hand as he scrambled to his feet and dashed in a crouch to Megan’s side.

‘Time to go!’ he bellowed.

Megan scrambled to her feet and with Callum ran to one side of the street, pinning herself flat against a recessed wall as Severov’s men began advancing back down the street toward them, firing as they went.

‘That bastard’s going to pay!’ Callum shouted above the din of gunfire.

Megan winced and flicked her head aside as a bullet gouged out a nearby chunk of wall and spat chips of mortar and brick over them both.

‘He wants us dead!’ Megan shouted. ‘So will those rebels if they survive. We need to leave!’

Callum tried to ignore the gunfire and peeked around the corner of the wall at the advancing troops, Severov waving his men to advance and shouting as he did so.

‘We need the jeep,’ Callum shouted.

Megan was about to reply when a new wave of gunfire burst out from the rebel positions. Megan turned and saw that they had recovered from the initial shock of Severov’s attack, had regrouped and were beginning to return fire. At their front the bearded NCO was leading them, blood smeared across his face, firing an AK–47 at the advancing government troops.