Body Count Page 10

  Ripper vaulted down into the stairwell. “Major, we've spotted a squad of Reds trying to hot-wire a truck. Think it could be the ones who shot their own buddies?”

  “How many of them are there?”

  “Five. Sgt. Hyde has gone after them. He's taken four men and the machine gun.”

  Even as Ripper spoke, from a block away came a rattle of automatic fire, punctuated by several grenade explosions.

  TWENTY

  Andrea had been deliberately edging closer to Sophia, realizing that her proximity made the girl uncomfortable. She tried to see what Revell had seen in her.

  Attractive, in a soft well-manicured way, but the makeup applied hours before did nothing for her now. Lack of sleep, stress, and the conditions below had smudged or removed most of it. Her clothes, too, Andrea noted, were soiled and crumpled. Yet still, she sensed, the major was attracted to her.

  Having reduced the girl to a shivering bundle of nerves, Andrea moved away and contented herself with staring at her, while toying with her submachine gun.

  They moved up to the street when they heard Hyde returning. Sophia hung back at the top of the stairs.

  “Four down.” Hyde was pushing a Russian ahead of him. “This one tried playing dead, until Scully kicked him in the balls.”

  “We'll drop him off at the command bunker on the way. If they've got their act together, they'll be able to carry out some sort of interrogation. I doubt they'll get much though.”

  If the Russian had understood, as was likely, Revell gave him credit for not showing it. His face wore a sullen frown, and he looked out at his captors from under bushy eyebrows as he kept his head bowed.

  Scully produced an antitank rocket launcher. “They had this. I suppose other groups will have them as well.”

  “More than likely.” Revell examined the weapon. A bullet had smashed the trigger group, rendering it useless. “Did they have anything else of interest?”

  “Only these.” Hyde displayed a pack of demolition charges and small antipersonnel mines. “No papers of any description.”

  “We'll hang on to the ordnance.” Listening for the gun-ship, Revell thought he could detect the faint and distant beat of its rotors, but couldn't be certain. “Best we move out to our next objective, before that maniac does another sweep over this quarter.”

  Even as he said it, the chopper lifted over the buildings at the far side of the formal gardens and its roar burst upon them.

  There was no chance to dive into cover. As the machine swooped closer, Revell could only throw himself down in the road. Before he cradled his head in his arms, he had a clear view of the stubby barrel of the chain gun mounted below the craft's fuselage and of the half-empty rocket pods on its stub wings. A salvo pulverized cars on the other side of the road.

  Their prisoner grabbed his chance, tugging himself away from Sgt. Hyde, who tried to pull him to the ground. He looked around once, and then bolted for the entrance to the subway.

  Hyde could only shield his eyes against the storm of dust thrown up as the gunship passed very low overhead. From somewhere he heard a shout that carried even above the noise of flailing blades and screaming twin engines.

  As the blast of sound diminished, it was replaced by another. The first shout was joined by others that blended with it to create a banshee howl. Above that rose a scream of agony that transcended any Hyde had ever heard.

  It went higher and higher, reaching a note it did not seem possible for a human voice to attain and hold. For a moment it dropped to a racking sob, then soared once more, to end abruptly and be replaced once more by the howl.

  With Revell, the sergeant raced for the steps. When they reached the bottom it took a moment for their eyes to adjust to the gloom. Before them a tightly packed crowd backed away in a semicircle from a bundle of rags on the floor.

  The bundle moved spastically, ugly slithering sounds coming from it. Bending closer, hesitating before he reached out, Hyde turned the bundle over.

  Tearing fingernails had clawed the Russian's face until there was nothing left beyond scraps of ragged flesh adhering to cheek and jawbones. Everything else was gone. Close to the still moving man lay an arm, pulled off in a frenzied tug-of- war as he was fought over. The remaining limbs were resting at odd angles to the victim, all were clearly broken. Ends of bone grated together as the Spetsnaz sol- dier writhed.

  Taking out his pistol, Hyde held it close to the Russian's head and pulled the trigger. A final convulsive spasm shook the Russian as fragments of skull and spongy brain matter flew across the floor, and then it was over.

  “Let's get out of here.” Revell was all too well aware that he had come perilously close to meeting a similar fate in that place.

  As he backed out, the mob edged forward to once more engulf the body. Neither Revell or Hyde looked back to see what they were doing with it.

  The same priest was at the door when Revell left Sophia at the Theatiner Church. He had looked out at the men with the major, seen their tired, dirt-streaked faces, the blood on their battle dress and weapons.

  Without having to ask, he knew that his prayers had been in vain. Before closing the door, he watched them go. All his life he had been a pacifist, now as he turned back into the church he discovered a doubt in his mind. He looked at the many young men in the pews. Most were foreign labourers, brought in to maintain production at the many armament factories; others were tourists. But there were a number, a larger number than he might have expected - who were German.

  There had been a time when he had admired the courage, as he had thought of it, of those who had dared to say that they would not fight. Now he was reconsidering his attitude. Pacifism had always been a cornerstone of his belief.

  Where was the courage in letting others give their lives for you? At worst, those young men had to put up with scorn and insults. That might take away their dignity, their self-esteem at times, but it let them keep their lives.

  Making his way to the altar once more, the priest found a quiet corner and went down on his knees, bowing his head low.

  His prayer was an inward thing, the words being framed but not uttered by his lips. Before, he had prayed that the major would not have to kill. This time, the priest added the supplication that he should have the strength not to condemn the officer if he had to.

  As they passed the New Town Hall on the way to their objective, Revell had half-expected to come under fire from the bunker entrance. To ward off the possibility, he tried repeatedly to get through on the radio as they approached. Still he could get nothing.

  Overhead a second gunship had joined the first. They beat back and forth across the city. Sometimes they would dive out of sight, then there would come the sound of rocket and cannon fire. Shortly after came the multiple, devastating impacts.

  “Looks like they're attacking targets of opportunity.” Hyde listened to another long burst of cannon fire. “They can't be under any sort of ground control. They're treating Munich like a free-fire zone.”

  “I'd like to know why.” Revell took a swig from a can of lemonade. “From the shooting we can hear, I'd say there must be other hunting teams engaging the Russians around here. At this rate, how long is it going to be before we bump into one, and get involved in a shoot-out with our own side?”

  TWENTY-ONE

  The door to the bunker was almost off its hinges, partially concealing a body; and from what Revell could see of its condition, a grenade had done the damage.

  Just inside were three more dead and the mangled remains of a machine gun. Sections of splintered furniture were scattered about. Smoke from their smouldering edges bit into his throat and made his eyes water.

  “No bodies outside.” Hyde stepped over a large puddle of blood. “How the hell could the Reds have got close enough to use grenades without getting casualties?”

  Carrington entered behind them, paused, and ran his hand over the back of the door. “Major, that grenade went off right inside. All the gouge marks
are in the back of the timber. If it had been thrown from the street, how did it do that?”

  “Spetsnaz often use NATO uniforms.” Looking at the scorch marks on the walls and ceiling, Hyde knew the corporal was correct. The door must have been almost closed when the explosion occurred. “Maybe they tricked their way inside?”

  “Not very likely.” Revell recalled his own reception by the guards. “The mood these men were in, it was definitely shoot first and ask questions later.

  “The alternative is that they got in through the main building, and came out this way. That doesn't look good.”

  Submachine gun at the ready, Revell started down the stairs. The lights were still on, but the air-conditioning was not. Dust and smoke hung in the air. There was a strong smell of cordite, and other less easily identified odours.

  In the corridor the sentry lay dead. He had been killed by a single shot through the head. The arrangement of his body and the position of the wound suggested he had been turning to see who was coming through the double doors behind him. They were half-open. As Revell stepped through, he knew what he was going to find. Each room contained its quota of dead. The Russians had worked systematically through the bunker.

  “Must have used silencers.” Hyde pulled bodies aside to check if any of those at the bottom still lived. “Got in, killed the staff, opened the door, got the sentry before he could give the alarm and then bombed the door guard. By that time it didn't matter what noise they made. There was no one left to hear.”

  In the communication room Revell found every piece of equipment smashed. In confirmation of their reconstruction, they also found a dead Russian paratrooper. When they turned him over, they discovered his silenced pistol underneath.

  A police officer had managed to unholster his own gun and use it to good effect. The weapon was still grasped in his hand.

  All of the officers were dead. Among them was Col. Klee. Right at the end he had tried to redeem himself. His body shielded that of one of the women telephone operators. It had been a sadly futile gesture. Bullets had passed through his thin frame and killed her also.

  Whirling around as he heard a noise behind him, Hyde's finger tightened over his trigger. The sound came from a small side room. He went through. It was coming from within a storage cupboard, tucked away at the end of a row of lockers.

  A body obstructed the door. He pulled it away and, covered by the major, snatched it open.

  “We could hear you moving. You'd never be any good at hide and seek.” Hyde immediately regretted his flippancy.

  Gebert collapsed into Revell's arms. Sweat poured down his face, soaking his collar. His pants were wet to the knee from another source. “We thought they had come back. I had cramp, I could not help it.”

  Aware for the first time that he had wet himself, Gebert tried to cover the large damp patches with a bloodstained folder.

  From out of the cupboard behind him came Stadler. The chief of police looked grim, despite having to blink and shield his eyes against the unaccustomed glare. “Did they get everyone?”

  “Looks as if they weren't in a mood for taking prisoners. How did they get in?” Revell assisted the mayor to a chair.

  “From upstairs.” Gebert fanned himself with the folder, then recalled what it had covered and put it on his lap. “They must have known the layout precisely. Those damned agents again. There can be nothing about this city that the enemy does not know.”

  “They didn't know about your cupboard.”

  Despite what he had been through, Gebert smiled. It faded as swiftly as it appeared, when he noticed the body that had been pulled aside. “I suppose when they caught him in here, they assumed no one else was hiding.”

  Stadler had brushed himself and straightened his tie. He pushed his hair back into place. “There is now absolutely no control over what is happening in the city, besides any that might have been established at a purely local level. We've got to regain overall control. Do your men still hold the police headquarters?”

  “I presume so. With a couple of platoons and that armoury, it would take more than a plane load of Russians to retake it.”

  “Then we must transfer there, Major. As quickly as possible.”

  They left the way they had entered, slipping and sliding on the partially congealed mess on the door. The air outside tasted better, but carried the stench of smoke from burning vehicles.

  “My poor city. Poor, Munich.” Gebert forgot his own discomfort as he saw several dark columns rising high over the rooftops. “The Russian barbarians are destroying it, piece by piece.”

  Stadler noticed several dead civilians on the road. “And its people, but they are doing that at a much faster rate.”

  It was only a few hundred meters to police headquarters. The journey took them forty-five minutes. Cutting the corner of Marienplatz, they came under fire from a sniper post on the top floor of a bank.

  From the scattering of huddled forms, it was clear the gunman had been active for a while.

  Some civilians, caught in the open, had been pinned down. They cowered behind flower tubs and benches, too terrified to move.

  Revell saw a woman, driven by desperation, make a break from behind a pot of shrubs towards a side street. She had gone perhaps ten steps when the first shot caught her and she stumbled. Dragging her right leg, she tried to go on, but a second bullet passed through her body. Collapsing silently, she lay still.

  Dooley looked to the major for permission, before unslinging the last of their rocket launchers. He sighted carefully before firing.

  The missile soared the short distance to the target in a dead-straight trajectory. As Dooley had intended, the high-explosive warhead impacted immediately below the window from which the sniper was operating.

  Intended to withstand the armour of main battle tanks, the fabric of the building presented no impediment to the jet of molten material projected into the room.

  Every window was blasted out by the pressure generated, as blast and flame flattened thin partition walls and roared through the top floor of the bank.

  When they moved on once more, they attracted no more sniper fire.

  TWENTY-TWO

  “Was Col. Klee among the dead in the bunker?” Stadler took off a headset and rubbed his ears with the palms of his hands.

  “Yes, he was.” Revell had to think for a moment. “In the circumstances, it's for the best. His life would have been very unpleasant when all this was over. Why do you want to know now?”

  “Because if he wasn't, I'd just made up my mind to kick him in the balls. Several times. Very hard.”

  The commissioner looked at the handful of officers working in the communications room. Less than a third of the positions were filled, and those by inexperienced operators. “The men I detailed to accompany his column from the barracks tell me that they're still there, and not likely to move in the foreseeable future. I've men being killed and others working themselves into nervous breakdowns, and they won't move without an order in writing.”

  “What about those gunships? Have you been able to do anything about them?” As he spoke Revell could hear the distant stutter of the chain-guns engaging.

  “I managed to get through to air-traffic control. They're trying to contact them. I'm hoping it'll be soon.”

  “What about the shooting in the centre?” “It seems that groups of my men formed themselves into impromptu SWAT teams. It appears they are having some success, but they need ammunition and reinforcement to maintain the pressure.”

  “You've riot vehicles parked below.” Revell recalled the transport that had sheltered them during the earlier assault on the HQ. “Put a squad in each. Knock out the windows and pad the sides with loads of spare body armour, and there you are, improvised APCs.”

  “Good.” Stadler got through to the armoury on the internal phone. “We'll use police drivers. They will know all the back roads.”

  “If they do draw fire, it'll enable us to locate others of the R
ussian squads.” Through the window Revell could see several pillars of smoke rising in the early afternoon air. He waited until the commissioner had finished on the phone.

  “I think those fires are spreading. What's the position with the fire service?” “That I would like to know, Major. Not long after I went to the bunker, every unit and crew was ordered out of the city. The instruction came from the highest level in their service. I need hardly add that we can not trace Herr Friedmann, who issued it. It is my hope that we shall be able to eventually. Also he lied about summoning help from outside Munich.”

  “Can't you get them back?” In the street below, Revell saw that the trees were swaying in a breeze sufficiently strong to shake a continual rain of leaves. Cinders and sparks were landing with them, and smouldering.

  “Some I have been able to recall. Also machines that sabotage had put out of action are now mobile again. We can deploy those to contain the situation. For once the cleverness of the enemy agents has rebounded on them.”

  Mayor Gebert bustled into the room. “Sorry, Karl. What a time to get the shits. How are we doing?” He scanned the screens, making little sense of them.

  “Not as bad as we might be. I established contact with the out lying police station. They have men standing by to come in as we call for them. Army territorial units can't help much. They've been reduced to cadre level by recent drafts. I hadn't realized just how bad the manpower and equipment situation was after that last call up of reservists and the combing out of depot staffs.”

  “The column from the airport?” Gebert picked up a sandwich from a stack on a side table, opened it up for a look inside, pulled a face, and put it back.

  “Still stalled three kilometres from the centre. Looks like the Reds anticipated such a move and established roadblocks. The column has lost some armour, but they're looking for a way round.”

  “Tell them not to lose contact altogether with the Russian groups. Have diem leave a token force to keep them busy.”