Civilian Slaughter Read Online Free PDF Page B

ours? Three-quarters? It's usually around that isn't it. Of course it is, without captured equipment they'd have been back to horses and carts a long time ago. Come to that, some of their units are already. So are some of ours. The Zone is the biggest battle of attrition the world's ever seen, bigger than you can ever imagine from the little bits you see. Another week, maybe less, and more than two thirds of our armour would have been immobilized by lack of spares or ammunition or both.”
    “That bad?”
“That fucking bad, and worse. The West German Airforce has almost ceased to exist as a viable combat arm ... Same goes for the Brits'. Every Harrier that comes off the line is issued immediately. Some go into action unpainted. You must have seen that for yourself.”
    He'd seen it, but never realized the full implications. Their small battle group was almost self-sufficient, replenishing itself by battlefield salvage. It had given him a false impression of the overall picture. “So how many Hail Mary’s are we to do?”
    “By the time it's over you'll wish it was that simple.” Lippincott dabbed at his eyes as an engulfing cloud of wood smoke made them water. “Let's walk, before that chef of yours has us first on the menu as smoked hors d'oeuvres.”
    They picked their way past a solitary bomb crater, skirting tangled heaps of uprooted and wilting hedges. Revell made a point of steering a path away from the lake. Just audible was the whine of the pumps serving the decontamination sprays.
    “It might not be for long, of course.” Lippincott glanced sideways at the major. “Depends on how the cease fire holds up.”
    They reached a boundary fence, reinforced by entwined razor wire. Beyond it the heath land stretched away in a series of gentle folds. In the middle distance stood an isolated stand of fir trees. Farther off a few scattered rooftops were just visible.
    Close alongside the fence was a huddle of improvised refugee shelters, looking as if they would all collapse if any one wall were removed. Sitting on either side of a small fire consisting mostly of cones and twigs, an elderly couple were taking turns to spoon beans from a can.
    They ate slowly, savouring every mouthful. When the hot can was passed from one to the other, elaborate care was taken not to spill anything from the cloth wrapped container.
    Revell watched them, wondering if the food came from the company's reserve stock. He noticed a clean bandage about the woman's wrist. That would be Sampson's work, and tended to confirm the source of the meal. “So what will we be doing? Riding herd on a load of these poor devils as they're shunted around the countryside?”
    “No,” Lippincott looked away from the scene. It was too common to hold his attention for long. “No, you're going to be riding shotgun on a load of Russians.”

    SIX
    “My men will be wasted as prison camp guards.” Even as he felt his anger rising, Revell knew protest would be useless. Instead, his mind switched to considering the first problems which would arise from such a change of assignment. First and foremost would be the need to keep a careful watch on Andrea and Clarence. Both had a self-imposed vendetta against the Communists. It was hard to say which of them was the most ruthless in its pursuit: Clarence with his merciless sniper's precision or Andrea with her less cool but just as deadly blood lust.
    “... it's not quite so simple, Major.” Spitting a last fragment of wood, Lippincott selected another pencil. He crunched off the eraser and nibbled thoughtfully at the paint down one side, like he was sampling a doubtful stick of celery.
    “Of course we're all hoping the cease fire will become permanent, but I guess there's not many who believe it really will. Leastways none of the staff officers reckon it's likely to make it into a second week. So, in exactly the same way as those bastards on the Warpac side will be doing, we're going to get ourselves ready for