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across the road from the hotel. Its wheels sank to their hubs in the soft ground as the engine howl died away, and the rotors appeared as individuals from the blurred disc of movement and sent the last stinging shower of spray at the front of the building and towards the road-block and the armoured flank of the Iron Cow. ‘The major is here.’
    ‘Well I didn’t think it was the fucking tooth fairy making a racket like that.’ With more haste than precision Dooley was stuffing his worldly possessions into a couple of scruffy kitbags. ‘You knew I was busy, couldn’t one of you have done this for me?’
‘If your birds weren’t so old,’ through the partially open bedroom door Burke could see the woman’s profile, admired the jut of her mature figure, ‘I might have done something on a tit for tat basis, but as I don’t fancy wrinkled tit, and you’re doing a tatty enough job of packing. . .’ ‘Piss off.’ Cramming in the last few items, Dooley hoisted the lumpy loads to his shoulders. ‘Well, I’ve got everything I want, are we ready?’
    ‘And what about this fucking meal?’ Tearing off his gingham apron, York hurled it into the fireplace. Steam and smoke from the kitchen blended and wreathed him.
    ‘It’s a meal?’ There was a note of incredulity in Ripper’s voice. ‘Jesus, I didn’t know it was a food you were a-cooking, I thought you were working on a new poison gas.’ He craned to look past the cook at the heaving brown sludge filling a pan on the stove, ‘or maybe a new substitute for bitumen…’
    A dagger-laced glare and a snort of contempt was York’s only comment. He grabbed hold of the pan, momentarily looking as if he was about to throw it, then he went to the fire and poured the entire contents over the flames. At least he turned the pan over, but the contents proved reluctant to abandon it and clung tight, until several increasingly vigorous shakes dislodged a solid lump. The fire died instantly.
‘And that is probably the effect it would have had on us.’ Double-checking the fastenings on his sniper rifle’s waterproof cover, Clarence led them from the room, down, and out of the building.
    ‘Get aboard the chopper, we’re leaving the hover-APC here.’ Revell threw them the news while they were still complaining about the cold. Folding his arms and adopting a belligerent air, Burke stood his ground as the others filed towards the aircraft. ‘I’ve been nursing that bastard machine for six months, just got the git working how I like it, and now you bloody tell me I’ve got to leave it here, to be stripped by sodding looters or wrecked by some idiot driver who doesn’t know how to handle her. Major, you know how scarce these wagons are, how the hell will we ever lay our hands on another?’
    ‘You finished?’
Burke opened his mouth to go on, but realised the officer wasn’t offering him an invitation to continue, and closed it again.
    ‘Now, unless you want to be pulling every stinking back-breaking job around for the next thirty days, I suggest you shut up and listen.’ Revell had been expecting an outburst from the British combat driver, but couldn’t let him get away with it, hence the threat. It was a particularly effective one in Burke’s case. Except where his beloved hover-APC was concerned - and even then he’d take every opportunity to hive a task off on to someone else - he was the most dedicated, the most skilful exponent of the art of goldbricking in the whole of NATO. ‘You know damned well that old bus is way overdue for a complete refit The powered traverse it out, the electrics are still held together by prayers and Blu-tack after that last brush we had with the Commies and the port turbine is developing a mind all of its own. There’s a recovery crew on its way, but if you want to say a last goodbye to the ugly great hunk of metal you can go tell the lieutenant I’ll see him and the rest of the squad at the chopper the moment our West German