much larger one, pointing in the direction of the village of Aligse. Their hide was a mere two kilometres north from their current position.
Hacker forced the pace, knowing they needed to get to the pilot quickly. Although the two Jaguars would be ensuring the enemy kept their heads down and focused on surviving the onslaught, others may be tracking the progress of the pilot’s chute and following him down. At this very minute, they could be homing in on possible landing sites. Anyway, the Jaguars wouldn’t hang around too long.
Hacker weaved through the trees, Badger following behind, then Tag, with Wilf as tail-end-charlie. Wilf would have preferred the patrol to be moving more slowly, but he knew they would have to sacrifice some caution for speed. Options and outcomes swam around his head. They were in an ideal location for monitoring enemy troop movements. The E45, to their west, ran north to south. South of them was the E30 running east to west, where the Jaguars were still causing havoc. The aircraft wouldn’t stay in the area for much longer, thought Wilf. More and more surface-to-air-missiles would be tracking the RAF strike aircraft, and Soviet fighters wouldn’t be too far away. To their north, running south-west to the north-east, was a further autobahn, Route 3. He didn’t want to leave the RAF pilot to the mercy of the Soviet army, but with troops potentially moving in on the area, they were at risk of being compromised. And if the Soviets brought in dogs to track down the enemy pilot, they could well come across their Mexe-hide. Although deep and well hidden, they had learnt from trials, and experience, that dogs had the knack of finding the most perfectly disguised hide. If not the hide, they would pick up on the CPU’s trail at and round about their base. The thought of their primary mission being aborted and potentially the team ending up on the run was not a promising prospect. After about a kilometre, they arrived at the northern edge of the forest, and Hacker waved them down. Tag and Badger kept watch to their rear and flanks whilst Wilf made his way to the front.
“Clear?”
“Yeah. I suggest we go left, keep in the forest, cut across the k122, then north along that hedgeline, that will take us across to the opposite edge.” Hacker pointed ahead of him.
“Going even further west, staying in the forest, then hanging north, but keeping inside the trees would be better,” Wilf countered, scanning the fields to their north-west and north-east, looking for a sign of the enemy, and at the same time looking for the moving pilot, or the flutter of a parachute.
“I know, Wilf, but we haven’t got the bloody time. That pilot is going to be up and away pretty quickly once he’s got his bearings.”
“You’re right as usual, Hacker.” Wilf grinned, slapping his friend on the shoulder. “Let’s go.”
Hacker adjusted his webbing belt; the twenty magazines of 5.56mm ammunition for his M-16 were quite a weight, along with a Claymore mine, grenades, two small packs of plastic explosive, not forgetting food and water. He marched at a pace along the edge of the tree line, completing a recce of the minor road before leading them across it. Once he was satisfied they were opposite the hedgerow, he beckoned the patrol forward and slipped out of the forest, leading the way. Looking left, across the open ground, scanning for any enemy soldiers, he kept close to the thick hedgerow that separated the two fields it crossed. Tag stepped out after him followed by Badger with Wilf following on. Hacker led them at a brisk pace, conscious that all the time they were out here in the open, in broad daylight, they were at risk of discovery by the enemy who were swarming all around this area in preparation for continuing their drive west. The hedgeline ran north for about 400 metres before switching to the north-east, where they crossed over the Bruchgraben, an irrigation canal. A convenient log, probably left by
Hacker forced the pace, knowing they needed to get to the pilot quickly. Although the two Jaguars would be ensuring the enemy kept their heads down and focused on surviving the onslaught, others may be tracking the progress of the pilot’s chute and following him down. At this very minute, they could be homing in on possible landing sites. Anyway, the Jaguars wouldn’t hang around too long.
Hacker weaved through the trees, Badger following behind, then Tag, with Wilf as tail-end-charlie. Wilf would have preferred the patrol to be moving more slowly, but he knew they would have to sacrifice some caution for speed. Options and outcomes swam around his head. They were in an ideal location for monitoring enemy troop movements. The E45, to their west, ran north to south. South of them was the E30 running east to west, where the Jaguars were still causing havoc. The aircraft wouldn’t stay in the area for much longer, thought Wilf. More and more surface-to-air-missiles would be tracking the RAF strike aircraft, and Soviet fighters wouldn’t be too far away. To their north, running south-west to the north-east, was a further autobahn, Route 3. He didn’t want to leave the RAF pilot to the mercy of the Soviet army, but with troops potentially moving in on the area, they were at risk of being compromised. And if the Soviets brought in dogs to track down the enemy pilot, they could well come across their Mexe-hide. Although deep and well hidden, they had learnt from trials, and experience, that dogs had the knack of finding the most perfectly disguised hide. If not the hide, they would pick up on the CPU’s trail at and round about their base. The thought of their primary mission being aborted and potentially the team ending up on the run was not a promising prospect. After about a kilometre, they arrived at the northern edge of the forest, and Hacker waved them down. Tag and Badger kept watch to their rear and flanks whilst Wilf made his way to the front.
“Clear?”
“Yeah. I suggest we go left, keep in the forest, cut across the k122, then north along that hedgeline, that will take us across to the opposite edge.” Hacker pointed ahead of him.
“Going even further west, staying in the forest, then hanging north, but keeping inside the trees would be better,” Wilf countered, scanning the fields to their north-west and north-east, looking for a sign of the enemy, and at the same time looking for the moving pilot, or the flutter of a parachute.
“I know, Wilf, but we haven’t got the bloody time. That pilot is going to be up and away pretty quickly once he’s got his bearings.”
“You’re right as usual, Hacker.” Wilf grinned, slapping his friend on the shoulder. “Let’s go.”
Hacker adjusted his webbing belt; the twenty magazines of 5.56mm ammunition for his M-16 were quite a weight, along with a Claymore mine, grenades, two small packs of plastic explosive, not forgetting food and water. He marched at a pace along the edge of the tree line, completing a recce of the minor road before leading them across it. Once he was satisfied they were opposite the hedgerow, he beckoned the patrol forward and slipped out of the forest, leading the way. Looking left, across the open ground, scanning for any enemy soldiers, he kept close to the thick hedgerow that separated the two fields it crossed. Tag stepped out after him followed by Badger with Wilf following on. Hacker led them at a brisk pace, conscious that all the time they were out here in the open, in broad daylight, they were at risk of discovery by the enemy who were swarming all around this area in preparation for continuing their drive west. The hedgeline ran north for about 400 metres before switching to the north-east, where they crossed over the Bruchgraben, an irrigation canal. A convenient log, probably left by
Similar Books
