anyone how to crap. Hey, can you imagine that?’ The idea appealed to Dooley, and he offered it to the general audience. ‘On the command, wait for it, pants down. Shitting commences now. Arse paper will only be torn off from left to right...’
An outburst of yelling from Nelson blotted out his finale. As the wounded man’s shouts tailed away, and the wracking arching spasm that had accompanied it subsided, before Dooley could repeat his last words, there was the sound of cannon fire.
‘Light stuff.’ Like the others Burke froze in his seat as he listened intently, trying to identify the type and direction of fire. ‘North of the woods, so it’s not between us and the major.’
‘That’s Commie flak, twin 23mm mount by the sound of it.’ There was another noise Rinehart could detect between the rapid bursts. Faint at first, but growing louder, a high-pitched buzzing like a disturbed bee-hive. No, more like the engine of a model aircraft. ‘Hell, it’s an RPV, a sky-spy.’
Even as he said it, at the end of a sustained rattle of cannon fire the tinny note changed, became ragged.
Still on the ramp, Collins looked up and saw the miniature craft for an instant as it flashed overhead. Looking like a six-foot-diameter discus with a lift fan set in its centre, the dappled white-and-blue remotely piloted reconnaissance vehicle swished a leaf-chopping path across the treetops as it plunged towards the ground. The cloudless sky could be seen through a large dark-edged hole near its rim, from which spun a trail of vaporising fuel. ‘That’s one of ours.’
‘What the hell do they think they’re playing at?’ Rinehart fumed. ‘We want the Ruskies around here lulled to sleep, not kept awake and damned well encouraged to shoot at anything that moves. Shit, what did they expect to see, us in full blazing action?’
‘That I don’t know.’ A heavy impact among the trees a few hundred yards away punctuated Cohen’s words. ‘If it was just fitted out for recording and retrieval then they won’t get anything anyway; sounds like it just piled in. But, if it was one of the new ones with a real-time transmitter, then there’s a fair chance that O’l Foul Mouth and an assortment of brass have just had a close-up of the kids’ weapon in action.’
For a moment Collins was about to ask what he meant, then he recalled why he’d been out on the ramp. He sought a way in which to hide his embarrassment. ‘Will they come to look for it?’
‘Who, the Reds? No way. I got a brother in the electrical business in Chicago, if he knew he might make the journey, he deals in a lot of second-hand, but the Russians, no. They must bring down five or ten every day in this sector alone. Unless one falls on a Commissar I shouldn’t think they give it a second thought, maybe not even then. It’s like my suntanned friend says, it’d just be better if all the Commie gun crews got their heads down while we went about their business.’
‘I reckon we’ll get a medal if we pull this off.’ Dooley lit up at the thought. ‘Maybe they’ll ship us back home to the States and put us on TV. I could get my picture in the paper.’
‘Have to be a double page spread to get your head in.’ Ignoring Cohen, the big man went on building his dream. ‘Hey, I’d be famous, like, like...’ he sought examples, ‘like, like...’ ‘Godzilla, King Kong, Hitler, Attila The Hun?’ He was not about to be put down. ‘Just think of it, all those beautiful broads who’d love to be shafted by a big hero like me.’
‘Some hope, brother, some hope.’ There was deep scorn in Rinehart’s laugh. ‘Do we live in the same world, we fighting the same war? The only way that’d happen is if we carved our way to Moscow and stomped the Kremlin flat with our bare feet.
Trips home are for officers and cripples: medals are for guys who look good in the papers. And as for that screwing, what have you got to offer? OK, you don’t have to show me...
An outburst of yelling from Nelson blotted out his finale. As the wounded man’s shouts tailed away, and the wracking arching spasm that had accompanied it subsided, before Dooley could repeat his last words, there was the sound of cannon fire.
‘Light stuff.’ Like the others Burke froze in his seat as he listened intently, trying to identify the type and direction of fire. ‘North of the woods, so it’s not between us and the major.’
‘That’s Commie flak, twin 23mm mount by the sound of it.’ There was another noise Rinehart could detect between the rapid bursts. Faint at first, but growing louder, a high-pitched buzzing like a disturbed bee-hive. No, more like the engine of a model aircraft. ‘Hell, it’s an RPV, a sky-spy.’
Even as he said it, at the end of a sustained rattle of cannon fire the tinny note changed, became ragged.
Still on the ramp, Collins looked up and saw the miniature craft for an instant as it flashed overhead. Looking like a six-foot-diameter discus with a lift fan set in its centre, the dappled white-and-blue remotely piloted reconnaissance vehicle swished a leaf-chopping path across the treetops as it plunged towards the ground. The cloudless sky could be seen through a large dark-edged hole near its rim, from which spun a trail of vaporising fuel. ‘That’s one of ours.’
‘What the hell do they think they’re playing at?’ Rinehart fumed. ‘We want the Ruskies around here lulled to sleep, not kept awake and damned well encouraged to shoot at anything that moves. Shit, what did they expect to see, us in full blazing action?’
‘That I don’t know.’ A heavy impact among the trees a few hundred yards away punctuated Cohen’s words. ‘If it was just fitted out for recording and retrieval then they won’t get anything anyway; sounds like it just piled in. But, if it was one of the new ones with a real-time transmitter, then there’s a fair chance that O’l Foul Mouth and an assortment of brass have just had a close-up of the kids’ weapon in action.’
For a moment Collins was about to ask what he meant, then he recalled why he’d been out on the ramp. He sought a way in which to hide his embarrassment. ‘Will they come to look for it?’
‘Who, the Reds? No way. I got a brother in the electrical business in Chicago, if he knew he might make the journey, he deals in a lot of second-hand, but the Russians, no. They must bring down five or ten every day in this sector alone. Unless one falls on a Commissar I shouldn’t think they give it a second thought, maybe not even then. It’s like my suntanned friend says, it’d just be better if all the Commie gun crews got their heads down while we went about their business.’
‘I reckon we’ll get a medal if we pull this off.’ Dooley lit up at the thought. ‘Maybe they’ll ship us back home to the States and put us on TV. I could get my picture in the paper.’
‘Have to be a double page spread to get your head in.’ Ignoring Cohen, the big man went on building his dream. ‘Hey, I’d be famous, like, like...’ he sought examples, ‘like, like...’ ‘Godzilla, King Kong, Hitler, Attila The Hun?’ He was not about to be put down. ‘Just think of it, all those beautiful broads who’d love to be shafted by a big hero like me.’
‘Some hope, brother, some hope.’ There was deep scorn in Rinehart’s laugh. ‘Do we live in the same world, we fighting the same war? The only way that’d happen is if we carved our way to Moscow and stomped the Kremlin flat with our bare feet.
Trips home are for officers and cripples: medals are for guys who look good in the papers. And as for that screwing, what have you got to offer? OK, you don’t have to show me...
Similar Books
