Hunter Killer Part 6

'Give him a hand, Clarence.' A moment pa.s.sed before Revell realised the sniper had made no move to leave the dark corner where he sat. 'I said help him.'

With slow deliberation, Clarence stood up still kneading his fingers, as he had been doing perpetually since the moment he'd recovered his senses after his brush with freezing death. Without the light from the tubes he couldn't examine them to see if the faint discolouration had gone, but the tips didn't hurt any more. 'You want me to help carry a body?'

'That's it, got it in one. And why not? That poor guy would be happy to cart you, all around the island I should imagine, if that was the price of reversing your positions. Don't make a fuss, just do it.'

Teeth clenched, an expression of extreme distaste on his face, Clarence took hold of the body by the ankles and helped carry it out. It joined a row of six others beside the wall of the house...

'Two more will join them soon.' Private Fraser stared at the line. 'Nothing I can do for them you see. Don't matter what I cover them with, they can't move about, the cold just creeps into them and they slip away.'

'I know what it's like.' Clarence continually wiped his hands down his side to brush away the thought of the contact he'd just had to endure. He hated the feel of another person close to him, and physical contact forced him to fight the urge to lash out and end it, before he was sick. Handling the body, even though he'd only been touching the corpse's stiffened boots, had been as repugnant to him as enduring the jostling proximity of a crowd. He knew the feeling was an abnormal one, but had long since ceased to try to curb or cure it. Somehow it was as if the manner in which he had cut himself off from all emotional contact with others had not been enough. 'Let's get back inside before we stay out here with him perman- ently.'

The silence and near total darkness inside the house were oppressive,b.u.t.that suited Clarence. Even the cold, after what it had almost done to him, seemed on his side; forcing each man to withdraw within whatever lagging-like bundle of rags and dead man's clothes he could gather and hold about him. Feeling his way along the wall back to his place, Clarence squatted and picked up his Enfield. Even the sacking bindings could not hide its familiar detail from him. As though it were an extension of himself, the forged and machined metal slipped comfortably into his grasp. He held it close, bowing forward until he rested his forehead against the jute-draped barrel. Reaching out, he patted his pack and then pulled it closer. Not that there had ever been any danger of it being taken. He would find a use for those special rounds, he was sure of that, absolutely sure. The feeling was one he'd had before, and it had never been wrong yet.

In the pitch-black of the interior Revell was also alone. Command did that for a man, and he did nothing to lessen it. Responsibility had brought him remoteness, as well as, respect and obedience. But it wasn't just the rank: example and tough discipline had been the most important contributory factors. Other officers were able to combine that with an ability to mix, even to be familiar, with the men: but of his own choice Revell didn't, or maybe it was nearer the truth to say he couldn't. That was a hard thing to admit to himself. He'd not formed a stable relationship of any kind, not since his divorce. In a way, it was as if he didn't trust people any more. It was OK to work with them, or in the case of his women, have a brief affair with them, but never anything closer. And here, in the Zone, getting to know someone well could be a mistake. The Zone had a way of ruthlessly breaking up partnerships, friendships... permanently.

'I wonder where Hyde is now, and the lieutenant...'

'And the girl.' It was York who tacked on an end to Libby's sentence.

'Who knows.' Burke's voice floated in from the kitchen, where he was curled up against the warm metal of the generator. 'All I know is that wherever I was with her, I could keep warm.'

Revell almost snapped a slap-down, to put an end to the exchange, but administered one to himself instead, and said nothing. He let the conversation flow on, only half-heard it as it degenerated into an obscene version of tennis, with the men's dirty minds providing the rackets, and their speculations about Andrea, the b.a.l.l.s. Upstairs he could hear Fraser moving about. The medic was having a tough time. All he could do was watch his patients die, and he was taking it hard. But at least he had that to keep him occupied. For the rest of them, there were hours to be pa.s.sed in which there would be nothing to do but sit, or pace, and wait. Anything that prompted them to action before the ships came into range would be bad news, unless it was Hyde returning; and as the minutes ticked by, and the temperature continued to drop, the chances of that became more and more remote '. . .and if I know the Sarge,' Burke was having the last say, concluding with a tone of authoritive finality, 'he'll have found somewhere nice and snug, and he'll be waiting for the Ruskies to settle down before trekking back. I bet you, nice and snug...'

'Frostbite.' Fraser cut away the woman's boot, rolled down her thick socks and pulled them off. To mid-calf, her leg was an ugly purplish-black. 'That's worse than anything I've ever seen.' He tentatively touched the hardened skin. It was rough and cracked, like ill-kept parchment. 'Come to that, it's worse than anything I've ever heard of.'

'Heck, it was hard enough keeping the rest of us from going that way, we couldn't look after that Commie dame as well.' Ripper was bent over, his arms crossed and his hands beneath his armpits, nursing feeling back into his limbs and fighting the pain as circulation gradually returned.

'What about him?' Hyde toed the Swede on the floor. The man was breathing badly, his chest heaving at each laboured breath, every exertion making his eyes roll to leave only the whites showing.

'Looks like a heart attack. I haven't got the time for him.' With those words Fraser dismissed the dying man and went on attending to the woman. 'Back at base hospital it was the MOs who had all the cases like that, all I did was splinters in the b.u.m and routine pox treatment . . .'

'Now he f.u.c.king tells us.'

The medic went on, ignoring Burke's interruption.'...but that's the way my uncle went. Nothing we can do for him.'

Using his elbow Burke gave Dooley's ribs a hefty double-nudge. 'Must've been the big cuddle-up with our German piece that made his ticker give out. A few hours close with her and I reckon mine would overheat as well.'

'f.u.c.k off.' For once Dooley made the effort and kept his hair-trigger temper in check. 'We kept together to keep warm, no one touched her, no one.' If Revell had not been near by, he might have, he would would have smashed their driver in the face, driven his nose out through the back of his head. OK, so maybe he hadn't done all the things with her he'd boasted of to the others in the past, but she was still with him, and though from necessity Hyde and Ripper and the old Swede might have joined in the penguin-like huddle to stay warm, no one had touched her. No one would while he was around. have smashed their driver in the face, driven his nose out through the back of his head. OK, so maybe he hadn't done all the things with her he'd boasted of to the others in the past, but she was still with him, and though from necessity Hyde and Ripper and the old Swede might have joined in the penguin-like huddle to stay warm, no one had touched her. No one would while he was around.

For Andrea, the Swede's collapse at the moment they reached the house had been a final irony. At every step the presence of the two Soviet agents had endangered them all. By increasing the size of the group they had made concealment more difficult, and in addition to slowing their return to a snail's crawl, the sledge had forced them to wait for first light so that they had a chance of picking a manageable route. And now as events had turned out they could have, they might as well have, left them behind. There would be nothing gleaned from either.

'Look's like the fickle finger of fate has done gone and saved you the worry of playing executioner.' Ice crusted Ripper's face, and flaked away as he grinned at Andrea.

'Kinda seems a shame when I bet you got yourself all. keyed up for it. Maybe the major will let you play with the bodies while they're still warm.' 'If he does, she can have this old Commie anytime.' Clumsily using his mittened hand, Libby closed the Swede's eyes. 'Looks like he might have been a school teacher.' He examined the dead man's palms. 'Doesn't seem to have done much real work.'

As the hand was released and flopped back to the floor, Andrea stepped on it, and twisted her boot to grind it until the bones began to crack. 'It is more likely he was from a university. In Sweden, as in most so-called free countries, they are breeding grounds for his type. Strange that men of such intelligence should be so naive, so pathetic as to believe the lies they are fed. He in his turn would have become a recruiter, taking his cue from his KGB control as to which people to ask to his parties, how to slant any article or paper he might write, and how, when there was an important pro-East or pro-West decision pending, to help the men in power reach the conclusion that Moscow wanted.

He is the sort whose whispers, whose carefully phrased suggestions, would make an official think he was learning what the people wanted. The people... worms, to be shovelled first in one direction, then in another, or crushed, or buried.'

'There's s.h.i.t like them in every country. Sweden doesn't have a monopoly.' Hyde indicated to Libby and Ripper to remove the body. The hatred that poured from her never ceased to surprise him. All of them loathed the Communists, he had more reason than most to feel that way, but with Andrea it was an obsession. And yet when they'd first found her she'd been with a gang of Grepo deserters, ex-East German border guards, sc.u.m, the lowest of the low. Hatred she might have in her, but to survive she was capable of tempering it: even better than Clarence, in whom no compromise was possible. A savage, brutal killer with a high degree of base animal cunning, that was how Hyde saw her. And yet her face was incredible, the features such that a man who appreciated beauty for its own sake could look at it for hours. Hyde was well aware that looking was as close as he would ever get. It was probably as close as any of them would get, but while the others could entertain hopes, he couldn't. Not with his appearance, not ever...

Revell checked his watch. It was time to start living dangerously once more, really dangerously. Since the Ruskies had landed, there had been little chance of their being detected unless the enemy took the unlikely step of patrolling the whole island, but now they had to switch in all the systems again, and any detectors pointed their v/ay, even by chance, would immediately pick up the emissions of their active radars. 'Let's have the generator going again. I want all systems functioning the moment the d.a.m.ned thing settles to a reasonably steady beat. Then get on to the gunners at the launch sites. I want status reports.

The silky material of the dead Swede's outer garments was making him difficult to lift, and the pair a.s.signed to remove him had resorted to taking hold of a foot each, and dragging him unceremoniously. There was a dull thudding crack as the corpse's head b.u.mped over and down the step. Jolted open by the rough pa.s.sage, the man's locked stare contemplated the lightening sky. Walking to the door, Revell watched him being placed with the others.

He would have almost certainly have succ.u.mbed to the weather, even without their intervention. The old Commie had probably waited most of his adult life for this day, when Soviet troops would set foot on Swedish soil. All that time the traitor had plotted and schemed and waited, and when the moment had finally arrived and he'd been here ready to see it, Hyde and his section had spoilt it for him. No wonder his heart had given out. For a while, as he travelled to the island and began to get ready, he must have believed that this was the dawning of his ambitions. He must have held the conviction that the limited landing was simply a first step that would eventually lead to Sweden falling into the Soviet net, and his a.s.sumption of some position of puppet power. Now there would be none of that. His body, stiffening but still showing a degree of elasticity, struck the frozen form of a gunner, and flopped off to sprawl untidily in the snow.

Ripper paused before going back in, s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g up his face as he examined the unnatural colour of the sky. The dawn had been tinged a distinctive red, but now it was rapidly whitening. Ice formed on the rims of his nostrils and around his mouth as he peered at the phenomenon. 'That's kinda pretty. I ain't never seen a sky that colour.'

'Most people who see it never see anything else ever again.' Standing behind Revell, Boris had also seen the effect. 'The red you saw first light was caused by all the dust and contamination in the air, that is nothing; what you see now though has been given many names, usually it is called diamond dust. Look at your sleeves, move them.'

'Hey, I'm going solid,' Not knowing what to expect, what to look for, Ripper flexed his arm. A white crust had formed on the surface, and as the coated material reluctantly creased, splits appeared in it. 'Will you look at that, it's like the d.a.m.ned stuff had been dipped in dry ice.'

'My country sees the most severe of weather, but even there such a thing is a rarity.' Boris moved aside to let the men in. 'It only happens when the temperature drops below minus sixty. Ice particles form on the dust, they settle and cover everything they touch with a mantle of white death. In minutes a man can suffocate, even faster than the lieutenant did, as thicker and thicker deposits build up around the mouth. So it would seem we now face a new enemy.'

'We've been facing that enemy since we landed.' Carefully, but still painfully, Revell chipped, prised and peeled the frozen crust from his mouth. 'Just seems like Jack Frost is getting reinforcements.'

In the kitchen the generator fired at Burke's first attempt, making an infernal racket until the covers were hastily replaced and it warmed to run at a steady pace that reduced vibration.

'Everybody to stations. Sergeant Hyde, I want anyone who doesn't have a specific task to be armed and ready to move at a moment's notice. The intruder alarms don't allow much of a margin, so you'll have to be prepared to respond to any incursion immediately.'

'We'll be ready, Major, not many of us, and not with much, but we'll be ready.' There was no need for Hyde to pa.s.s on the instruction, the others had heard and were already checking weapons and ammunition. Except for Burke, Hyde watched the man as he pretended to busy himself with a minor detail about the generator.

'You've never been keen to do a job in your whole life, Burke, you're not conning me. That mechanical marvel sounds fair enough, put your gear together and join us in here where I can keep an eye on you.'

'Isn't it good.' Burke saw the sergeant watching him from the doorway. 'For a b.l.o.o.d.y year you've been on at me to do this, that 'and the other, and now just as I get me teeth into a job you want me to drop it and go play bleeding Cowboys and Indians again.' He went to wipe the grease from his hands, then decided against it, leaving on the protective layer and pulling his mittens over his still slippery palms.

'A ruddy combat driver I'm supposed to be, a bloke who pilots battle-taxis. Alright, so I've been a silly sod and made a cross for me own back by taking on every piddling job that's had anything to do with mechanics, but why the h.e.l.l are you always roping me in to do the do-and-die bit?'

'I don't always need a reason, but this time it's because we need manpower, and even you might be some use.'

'As a human shield, maybe.' Making no attempt to conceal his amus.e.m.e.nt, Dooley poked their driver with the snout of a light machine gun. 'Anyway, don't worry, little man, you can just stand around trying to look ferocious until the action starts, and that won't be for ages yet.'

'You're wrong.' The instant the surface radar screen glowed into life, Cline spotted the distinct traces. He began to count. 'There's five, six, no, seven,' he added the correction as yet another blip materialised, 'seven ships coming out of the Sound.'

The men crowded behind him for a look, as an eight then a ninth appeared. It was Dooley who broke what seemed like a long silence. 'Jesus Christ. The b.a.s.t.a.r.ds are rushing us.'

ELEVEN.

'Looks like two cruisers and an escort group, destroyers most likely.'

The radar man's interpretation of the contacts struck Revell as about right. He'd been expecting a vanguard of approximately that strength. 'Good, now check the sites, find out what sort of shape your gunners are in.'

As he waited for the information, Revell unwrapped and made a quick visual inspection of his 12-gauge a.s.sault rifle. He'd debated with himself whether or not to bring it on this mission. Useful as a close-quarters weapon, he was now beginning to think he might have done better to bring something with a longer range, especially in view of their shortage of fire power, and medium and heavy support weapons.

'Two of the men at the Lance site have collapsed, Major. Sounds like exposure. Everyone else is ready to go.'

d.a.m.n the bombardier, Revell disliked the way the man always had to have an opinion on every matter. If York was the man who thought he could do it all, Cline was the individual who imagined he knew it all. 'OK, tell site three they'll have to look after them the best they can for the time being.'

'At least the manpower shortage won't matter so much there.' Hyde was removing some of the ammunition belts with which Dooley had festooned himself. 'It's one and two that'll need the fit men for reloading.' He left four of the hundred-round belts on the big man, and handed him the others to be replaced in the ammunition boxes.

'Yeah, chucking those f.u.c.king great rockets around they'll be collapsing from exhaustion. Wouldn't happen if everyone was as fit as me.'

'Oh shut up, Dooley.' There was a note of irritation in Libby's voice. 'First you show off by loading yourself until you look like an ammo tech's Christmas tree, then you go for a new hot air production record. You're not going to tell us about the time you did five hundred press-ups to get your Kung-Fu black belt, are you? Not again.'

'Keep your men quiet, Sergeant.'

The officer's words having been audible to everyone in the room, Hyde didn't need to repeat them, but he added a rider of his own. 'Some of you lot have been treating this like a b.l.o.o.d.y picnic so far; wise up, or you'll find you've got an enemy facing you already. Now settle down.'

In the ensuing silence, the only sound was that coming from the generator. Scuffling movement upstairs announced the commencement of another. Hesitant heavy footsteps on the stairs preceded the noise of a body being dragged down them.

'Picnic's over for another bloke.' Scrutinising the floor, Burke hoped he wouldn't be detected. His view was suddenly blocked by Hyde's boots, but to his amazement nothing was said, and the boots moved out of his range of vision. That wasn't like the Sarge at all, not at all. The scar-faced b.u.g.g.e.r had never soft pedalled before, probably didn't know how to. He risked a glance. Their senior NCO had crossed to the radar screen.

Knowing Burke would be watching, Hyde turned slowly and the knife-slash gash of a mouth below where his nose should have been widened a fraction. It was the nearest he could get to a grin. 'Could be cancelled for all of us. Six more major units are coming out of the Sound, with enough escorts to make ruddy great stepping-stones all the way over to Denmark. You want to stay alive, you'd better put in the maximum effort the major will be expecting of everybody else. For the time being that just means staying awake and staying alert, that should break: you into the idea nice and gently.'

Cline's application to his task was already total. At present his concentration was focused on the surface radar. The air-watch and perimeter intruder systems were switched to automatic, an audible warning would sound if either detected interlopers. In the case of the air-watch radar there was a further refinement. At the instant of contact the set would interrogate any aircraft with its IFF. Should the Identification-Friend-or-Foe fail to receive the correct answer, then the alarm it blared out would rise to a more strident note that no one could miss. There was no need, while the system continuously monitored and checked its own performance and its tiny green tell-tale glowed, for Cline to do so; but exhibiting religious dedication, Cline double-checked it every couple of minutes anyway.

He did it ostentatiously, moving his whole head, not merely glancing up but taking a long hard look. By the book, that was how he intended to do it. His backside ached, as did the back of his thighs,; the fronts of his legs, and his feet and arms were cold. The numbing chill had crept into his body and even now he could feel it spreading through him. He had tightened-up. To the very last atom of his bones and flesh. Shoulders hunched, stomach drawn in, a feeling of tense, almost painful constriction had invaded him.

'Try one of these.'

An unthinking refusal of the grubby mint Ripper was *offering was stifled by Cline before it could be expressed. 'Are they hot?'

'Only about the hottest thing around here, apart from Andrea that is.'

The off-white disc seared Cline's tongue on contact, then branded the inside of his cheek as he pushed it aside to suck in cold air.

Ripper watched the radio-man's reaction, saw the beads of sweat that broke out on his forehead. 'You like it, heh? I sure do.' He popped two into his mouth and chewed hard. 'Really do warm you, don't they? I used to eat a packet before going home of a night, so my mom wouldn't, know I'd been having a beer or two. Kinda got a liking for them. Want another?'

As Cline shunted the caustic sweet around his mouth, he became aware of the others watching him. Well he wasn't about to give them any satisfaction. Taking a deep breath, he gathered all the saliva he could and swallowed. Every inch of the confection's route down his throat to his stomach was charted by a burning sensation. He could feel a small ball of fire where it finally came to rest in his belly. I'll have another.'

'You haven't the time. Keep your attention on the screen.'

The officer's intervention came just in time, for the packet was being extended towards the bombardier again. Cline was relieved, he hadn't been too confident of his ability to palm a mint without being observed.

Having finished his checks of the men and their weapons, Hyde picked a corner of the room and settled down. Within an hour, two at the most, they'd all know whether or not they'd be coming through the mission, and if so in what condition. His small squad were less occupied than York or Cline or the major. Even their Russian had something to do, but for those of them who hadn't, now was the time to be thinking about all the things that had already gone wrong, and what could still do so.

It was Ripper who showed the pressure most. He had the least combat experience of any of them and was conscious of the fact. Like with the practical joke he'd played on the bombardier, he was overcompensating in an attempt to conceal his fear. All of the others had been through it many times before, only Dooley displayed any nervousness, but then he always did. He reminded Hyde of a big bull, pawing the ground, almost too eager for the action to commence. 'Where the h.e.l.l are you going?'

'I never searched that old guy we chucked outside.' Dooley halted at the door. 'The major checked him for papers.'

'That ain't what I mean, Sarge... Jesus, do I have to spell it out? Look, the old goat must have had some money on him. If we end up getting interned, might be useful to have a few krona stashed away.'

'Don't try lying to me, Dooley, you're just no good at it. Why do you think you always lose at cards?'

'Honest, Sarge...'

'Honest my a.r.s.e.' Hyde raised his voice. 'Sit down. I know what you're up to. Ever since Cohen got in the way of that tank sh.e.l.l at Frankfurt you've been trying to copy him, build a little fortune for yourself. Forget it, you haven't the wits to ama.s.s it or the brains to hold on to it, so quit trying. Anyway, if we get grabbed by the Swedes, what do you imagine they'll think if they find we've been killing and looting the bodies of their nationals. Leave that frozen carcase alone, find something else to occupy your time.'

'I don't see the harm in trying to come out of the war with a bit more to show for it than a load of scars.' Grumbling in an undertone, Dooley sat down beside Andrea. She went on polishing her bayonet, appearing not to hear him, so he persisted in nudging her until he had her reluctant attention. 'Well, what do you think? You remember Cohen, the little runty Yid who had the pockets of his flak- jacket stuffed with money and rings. Why shouldn't I do that?'

'If you wish to, you can.' Andrea folded the soft pink cloth and tucked it into a pocket. 'There are fortunes to be made in a war. Even in the camps there are refugees who have done well out of the suffering of others. Many Russian soldiers have also profited. When I was with the GDR people's militia, many times I had to help load trains and convoys of trucks with goods the Soviets were stealing from my people. So if you wish, then gather what money you can, but while you do it remember all those you have seen die because their need, or their greed, made them reach too far, just once too often.'

'What a nice little moral tale.' Sitting on the other side of the girl, Libby couldn't resist the sneer. 'Since when have you been writing sermons? I thought all your energies were devoted to learning new ways to kill.'

'p.i.s.s off, this is a private conversation.' Dooley could feel tension growing like a physical thing inside him.

Clarence knew what she meant, understood the point she was trying to make. It was stupid, he'd only started to understand her since she had deserted him in favour of Dooley. There was something deep inside Andrea that drove her on. Her fanatical hatred of the Communists was real enough, but that was only a surface manifestation of what lay beneath. With her brains she could have got out of the Zone, or at least used her looks to better her situation, but she had chosen to stay among the people at the bottom of the heap. Even now she operated with this ragbag unit when she could have found something much better. It was as if she needed it to be that way, needed to see and experience the suffering. And what she saw at first-hand fed her hatred and helped her kill and, coming full circle, the killing then compounded the horrors she'd witnessed. A fruitless cycle of death, whose beginning was unknown and whose inevitable end, after many, many turns, must be violent and b.l.o.o.d.y.

'Those Ruskie sailors aren't the best at station keeping, Major.' Cline had to revise his log entries as the enemy ships veered from heading to heading. 'If I allow for the wandering about, take a sort of average course, then it looks like they'll pa.s.s within three miles of the island. We'll be able to take them on at point- blank range. You want me to alert the launcher crews?'

'We're not engaging the vanguard.' Revell saw the look Cline gave him, and was tantalisingly slow in adding, 'Not yet. Once those Ruskies figure out what's coming at them, and from where, our target practise will be over. I want to engage the maximum number of targets in the shortest possible time. Let the lead group pa.s.s, we'll give the cruisers a few rounds from astern, but save most of the rounds for the next bunch. We might not get the chance to use our reloads. I want to do all the damage we can with what rockets are in the tubes now.'

'What about the Ivan Rogov? Ivan Rogov? That d.a.m.ned tub is sitting in our laps.' York had turned to an ill.u.s.tration of a sister ship. 'That baby packs a h.e.l.l of a punch. Says here she's got guns and missiles of her own. If her captain decided to join the fight, we're a sitting target.' That d.a.m.ned tub is sitting in our laps.' York had turned to an ill.u.s.tration of a sister ship. 'That baby packs a h.e.l.l of a punch. Says here she's got guns and missiles of her own. If her captain decided to join the fight, we're a sitting target.'

'So is he.' The cold must be more than numbing his body. That was something Revell should have thought of for himself. What else had he missed, what else was there that he was overlooking? For many hours now the Rogov Rogov had been a part of the local scene, he'd grown used to its presence until it had merged into the background and he'd come close to forgetting, d.a.m.n it, he had been a part of the local scene, he'd grown used to its presence until it had merged into the background and he'd come close to forgetting, d.a.m.n it, he had had forgotten it. 'If it'll put your mind at ease, York, then we'll give the tub the undivided attention of half a dozen rounds, how does that suit you?' forgotten it. 'If it'll put your mind at ease, York, then we'll give the tub the undivided attention of half a dozen rounds, how does that suit you?'

'Just fine, Major. Want me to let you know of anything else I think of?'

'I believe you may be, as you Americans say, pushing your luck.' Boris rapped the radio-man's ankle with the steel-shod side of his boot., He said the words quietly enough not to carry to the officer, but still managed to inject the urgent note of warning he intended.

'Vanguard is coming into camera range now.'

Under Cline's practised guidance a TV camera panned over an expanse of slab- dotted sea. He switched to a second, and instantly the screen was filled with a bow- on shot of an ice-coated destroyer. An arcing bow wave carried a crescent of ice and foam up and away from the knife-edged hull.

'Pennant number is five-six-four.' Having retrieved his book, Cline sought the vessel's ident.i.ty. 'Here it is, Strogiy, Strogiy, modified Kashin cla.s.s destroyer. Last reported in Leningrad yards for extensive refit.' modified Kashin cla.s.s destroyer. Last reported in Leningrad yards for extensive refit.'

'Find and identify the others, especially the two cruisers.'

Revell stood away from the bombardier's chair. The operator would be under sufficient pressure without his appearing to hover over him. One after another the vanguard escorts jumped into focus, were identified and logged. In several cases the ships could only be identified by cla.s.s or type, their pennant numbers were as new as the hulls, and unlisted. A guided missile frigate was of a cla.s.s never seen before, and defied Cline's efforts to positively identify it.

'There's one of them.' A Kresta cla.s.s cruiser jumped 'into vision. Going for a close-up, Cline panned along its impressive length. The ship bristled with a staggering array of antenna complexes and weaponry. A moment later he found a second, and this one he was able to identify. 'It's the Marshal Voroshilov, Marshal Voroshilov, another that was last seen in the yards.' another that was last seen in the yards.'

'That's an anti-submarine force. Our subs are going to have a tough time with that crowd.' Revell scanned the list.

'If we used all the tubes, we could do them a fair bit of damage, give our blokes a chance.' Only two b.u.t.tons had to be depressed and Cline could immediately transmit the ships' positions to the launcher crews. He'd been with the battery long enough to know that it would take the gunners mere seconds to align the tubes and get clear. In a matter of minutes the Russian ships would be on the receiving end of a storm of fragmentation warheads that would rip through their complex radar equipment and mow down any crew on deck or behind light protection.

'No, they'll have to take care of themselves. Our orders say we go for the big tubs.' On the screen the view of the ships was changing from side-on to a three- quarter rear shot. 'Have number one site prepare to engage the cruisers. Seven rounds each. Site two can put a half dozen rounds into the Rogov.' Rogov.' Revell turned to York. 'And this is where you start to do your work. The moment we open fire, start playing with your fireworks. I want any Commie tracker who so much as glances this way to get thoroughly confused. Use chaff, ECM, whatever you need to decoy any radar homing warheads they throw, but go easy on the pyrotechnics. Libby salvaged what he could, but we're still short, so make it last, be sparing. I want maximum value from what we've got.' Revell turned to York. 'And this is where you start to do your work. The moment we open fire, start playing with your fireworks. I want any Commie tracker who so much as glances this way to get thoroughly confused. Use chaff, ECM, whatever you need to decoy any radar homing warheads they throw, but go easy on the pyrotechnics. Libby salvaged what he could, but we're still short, so make it last, be sparing. I want maximum value from what we've got.'

With his headphones on, Boris could only half-hear what was going on, he would have preferred not to have been able to hear at all. When he had been drafted into the Russian forces, especially when he took the military oath, the penalties for desertion had been drummed into him. They were harsh, and usually demanded the ultimate sanction, but he was discovering that there were other penalties that no one had warned him about.