From the direction of the main street came the bellow of engines and the crash and rattle of various calibre weapons. Occasionally a spent bullet would ricochet into the side street, one of them clanging to a stop against an empty ammunition box on the truck.
‘This party sure seems to be warming up a piece. How’s about we find ourselves a spot where we can join in the fun?’
‘We’re just about to.’ Moving to the back of the cab, Libby shouted in to the driver. ‘Find us another alley, close as you can.’ He had to grab hold of the roof hatch as the big six-wheeler surged forward under astounding acceleration for its size. The gearbox paid the price for the abuse, howling a protest as it was further punished by a clumsy shift.
As they pulled away, a 125mm tank shell burst through the front of a house and detonated against another across the street, punching a huge hole and dumping a torrent of brickwork across the spot they’d recently occupied.
Half a block further down, a narrow service entrance offered an opening just wide enough to accept the truck. Libby had their enthusiastic if none too skilful driver reverse them in, until the only thing between them and the main street was a tall spike-topped, double gate.
In the middle of the road sat a pair of T84s. One of them would never move again; a neat circular hole in its turret side was edged with beads of bright metal and the body of its driver sprawled from a hatch, draped over the sloped armour, his fingers brushing the ground. The other tank was closed down tight, its long cannon systematically pumping shells at a steady rate into the facade of the nearest buildings.
Further along, a multiple-barrelled Shilka flak-tank was handing out similar treatment to the structures nearest it The much lighter 23mm rounds didn’t pack the same punch as the T84s 125mm shells, but what they lacked in weight they made up for in quantity. Building after building was sprayed with a storm of high velocity projectiles that tore its frontage apart.
Knots of Russian infantry followed the barrage ready to receive any prey flushed out. They moved cautiously, running bent double from doorway to doorway. As Libby watched, a slab-faced junior sergeant leading a small group reared up clutching at his chest, then toppled backwards on to the men crowding the doorway behind him.
Another of the group fell, and as a survivor pointed up towards a church tower a rifle grenade landed among them.
Limbs and ragged scraps of equipment flew across the road. An officer attempting to rally another squad was hit and fell to his knees, before pitching forward on to his face. His men broke and ran, two more going down before they could find better shelter.
A Dragon missile arced from a shop front and, missing the still active tank, executed a tight turn towards the Shilka, but the manoeuvre demanded too much of the control surfaces. A flick-out fin broke off under the stress and it flopped to the ground to plough a furrow-like crater in the road surface.
‘If we stick our noses out there we’re going to get them shot off.’ There was no way that Libby could see of bringing the mini-gun into play without instantly attracting a great weight of enemy fire, and in the unarmoured truck that could have only one consequence. The brick walls to either side would offer no impediment to the steel-defeating rounds of the Soviet guns.
‘Then let’s get somewhere where we can. I didn’t come out here for the purpose of sightseeing, I was hoping to participate.’ Ripper peered over the top of the gate, then ducked back swiftly as a bullet tore out one of the spikes beside him. ‘But I get your drift about this maybe not being the best location we could’ve picked.’
More Russian armour was moving into view. A pair of self-propelled guns closely following a modified 172. Its main gun had been replaced with a large calibre mortar for demolition work, and it sported a full width bulldozer blade. A Dragon detonated harmlessly against the great steel crescent, and the self-propelled guns fanned out to hug the opposite side of the street.
Ripper and Libby exchanged looks, then Libby dropped down to man the mini- gun while the American clung to the gate, watching the approaching vehicles.
Selecting the highest rate of fire, Libby waited for the word. Above the roar of the battle he made out the growl of the approaching SP gun. It grew louder and its tracks could be heard squealing on the hard surface as its driver made fractional changes of course.
‘He’s all yours.’ Ripper jumped down as the engine note reached a crescendo.
Four hundred armour-piercing incendiary rounds went through the thick timber of the gate as if it wasn’t there, striking the front of the vehicle as it drew level. It stopped instantly, and the driver’s escape hatch was thrown open as blue smoke curled from the access panels of the engine positioned beside him.
‘Move it.’ There was time to lob a couple of blast grenades blindly over the gate, and then Libby was once more hanging on for dear life as their maniac driver bounced the truck from one wall to another, racing down the service road and into the back street.
‘Kinda exciting ain’t it?’ Hot shit, Ripper hadn’t had so much fun in years, well not since he’d been drafted. The folks back home had it all wrong about this war, the Zone was a hell of a place. If he’d have known it was like this, he might not’ve waited for the letter from Uncle Sam.
The truck skidded round a corner, the driver fighting to get into gear, any gear, and piled head-on into a Russian APC. The shock of the collision threw everyone on to the floor. It was the turret gunner aboard the carrier who was fastest off the mark. At point-blank range he hosed the truck with heavy machine gun fire.
‘I hope Hyde and the Major are having fun down by the roadblock, it’s fucking murder here.’ Clasping his hands tight over his head, Dooley stayed down on the floor as a third tank shell passed through the building, to detonate somewhere in its rear.
‘Whose bloody murder, that’s the thing?’ At his second attempt, Burke managed to haul the Dragon from beneath the pile of debris and examined it. Little more than a glance told him it was beyond repair. ‘What do you say we get out of here?’ ‘I say yeah.’ Dooley risked raising his head. The T84 was still stationed right outside, but at last seemed to be turning its attention to other targets. ‘And let’s make it now.’
In several places the weight of the collapsed upper floors had brought the ceiling down, and they constantly had to climb over heaps of rubble, between precariously balanced and tottering partition walls. The bodies of two of Hogg’s men, mutilated beyond recognition, had come down with the upper floors and formed a further gruesome obstruction to be clambered over. A stockless machine gun and crushed ammunition belts lay nearby.
‘Hold it.’ Burke paused before venturing out. ‘Could be a reception committee waiting for us.’
Without hesitating, Dooley took a grenade and tossed it through the remains of the back door. Even as the punishing blast of furnace-like high pressure washed over them, he grabbed Burke and towed him out of the building at speed.
‘I’m not a fucking kite. Let me go or I’ll bloody take off.’ Burke succeeded in freeing himself from the iron grip as they entered another building further down the block.
Rapid machine gun and automatic rifle fire came from somewhere in the front. The pair threaded their way through a maze of partitioned offices and dog-legging passageways. As Burke reached for a door handle the firing abruptly ceased, there was a shout, a curse and then came the concussion of a grenade exploding. A fragment of casing came through the wood and passed between them to bury itself in a wall.
Before Burke could reach for the handle a second time the door swung open, revealing a scorched blood-streaked form, naked save for belt and boots. The bomb’s victim took a staggering step forward, attempted to articulate, then vomited blood. As it crumpled, Dooley fired a burst past it at the Russian climbing in at the window. The brown-clad soldier was thrown back over the sill, his AKM falling into the room.
Another grenade followed immediately and they only just ducked back into the corridor in time. Dooley gave it a couple of seconds then replied with one of his own. The smoke cleared to reveal a Russian corpse laid on those of the Americans by the window...
‘Let’s try somewhere else. My choice this time.’ In fact it had to be his fifth, before Burke was able to lead Dooley into a small supermarket, sufficiently ahead of the approaching enemy infantry teams for them to catch their breath.
The respite was short-lived, a minute later Lieutenant Hogg appeared. He was armed with an AKM and trickles of blood from a scalp wound made red bars down his face.
‘Get out of here you two. We’ve mined this place, we’re going to sucker some commies into it.’
Only then did Dooley notice the satchel charges beneath the shelves, and the wires trailing from them. ‘Shit, I like to watch the game, but not from the crappy in-field. We’re with you, Lieutenant.’
From the vantage point of the attic windows in the modest hotel that Hogg, with eleven other survivors, had turned into a stronghold, they had a good view of the front of the supermarket and of the rest of the street.
The roadblock was a hundred metres away, and the road between them and it was dotted with disabled or burning tanks and other armoured vehicles, six in all. But the rest of the column’s tail had not driven into that killing ground, had held back, and now with the support of dismounted infantry was moving steadily forward, bringing massed firepower to bear on any opposition offered to its progress. Leading the advance was the T84 that had driven out Dooley and Burke. The tank’s armour had been reinforced at all vulnerable points by additional welded-on plates, and every other area was festooned with water cans and tool- boxes.
‘That’s going to be a bastard to stop.’ Burke examined the reinforced protection. ‘Well have a good look at him, he won’t be around for long.’
The speaker was a launcher-toting signaller, with features so wrinkled and tanned he looked like an animated walnut. Burke made a slow, thorough inspection of him from head to toe and back again.
‘If worry gave you a face like that...’ he leant forward to read the name patch on the signaller’s chest,’... York, then you’re about to get a couple more lines to go with those you’ve got. That’s if you can find the room for them.’ ‘Funny man.’ York was not amused.
‘Thanks. Compliments are always welcome.’ Turning his full attention back to the street, Burke saw that the T84 had pulled aside to allow a T72 bulldozer tank to pass. ‘With that tough bugger up front, looks like they’re going to crash through.’
An anti-tank rocket flashed from the entrance to an alley across the way, and struck the ‘dozer tank on the big stowage bin fixed to the back of its turret. Tools and spare track links spun through the air. Almost before the crash of the detonation had died away, every enemy weapon sent shot or shell at the gap between the buildings.
Apparently unharmed by the hit, the awesome vehicle held its course for the roadblock, moving at an even walking pace. Its wide blade, held just above the surface of the road, collected odd pieces of furniture which it pushed before it until they broke up under the relentless pressure and passed beneath the bright leading edge, to be crushed by the tracks.
‘Pick off a couple of the infantry when they’re level with the supermarket.’ Keeping a tight grip on the remote detonator device, Hogg kept his teeth-exposing smile focused on the approaching enemy.
Two short bursts from Dooley’s Ml 6 sent the Russians diving for cover, leaving one of their number writhing on the ground. Giving them a moment to get right inside, the lieutenant flicked the switch. The delay lasted only a fraction of a second, but seemed an eternity, then all the glass burst from the store and, as flame followed, the whole fabric of the building disintegrated.
At that signal every weapon in the hotel opened up, and the street was hidden by the cloud of smoke and debris the torrent of fire kicked up., ‘See that?’ York threw down the empty launch tube and took up another. ‘I told you I’d get him.’
‘Better have another go.’ Burke saw the T84 drive into the open, and its cannon swing to bear on the hotel. ‘Those Ruskies aren’t as impressed with your shooting as you are.’ There was what looked like a silver bead bordered dent in the tank’s turret side. He knew those bright globules were the frozen runs of molten metal, where the tank’s sandwich filling of ceramic granules had defeated the shaped warhead, deflecting much of its effect before it could penetrate.
The mortar of the ‘dozer tank had been damaged, as had one of the blade’s arms, but it still moved inexorably towards the distant roadblock.
Lieutenant Hogg swore under his breath. Heck, he’d expected at least to knock out one of the damned things, but they still had tubes left, and the range was closing all the time. The M72s lacked the hefty punch of the Dragons, but a hit in the right place was just as fatal to any tank. He’d see them both burn yet. Strange, the T84 was holding its fire, maybe it had been damaged, a portion of the charge had penetrated; then he heard a sound from the floors below and knew why the enemy gunner was showing restraint.
The crack of the grenade’s explosion had also been heard by Dooley. ‘Fuck that, the shitty Reds are in the building. Now we’ve got a fight.’ He took out his mirror- polished bayonet and clipped it in place. ‘Yeah, now we’ve got a real fight.’
NINE
Hyde waited. He’d seen the building collapse after the Russian squad had entered, and the storm of fire unleashed on the tanks; and he knew that whatever the outcome of the fight further along the road, there would still be work left for him to do.
The Soviet armour was coming on fast now, and the volume of fire from the hotel had been reduced to sporadic bursts. Experience told him what was happening. The Reds were sacrificing their infantry to cover the tank’s breakout, using bodies as shields for steel.
There had been no sound of fighting from the west side of the roadblock. If the head of the column had turned back, then Revell should have been engaging them by now. The silence from that direction was ominous. It meant that the bulk of the Soviet strike force was still racing, unchecked, for Frankfurt. He was glad it was Revell who’d have to pass that information on to Command, not him.