Civilian Slaughter (14 page)

“Major, this wasn't quite what I had in mind,” Watts adopted a pained expression. “Office work is what I do all the time. You said hazardous duty. I can't tell my girlfriend this is what I've been doing.”

“You can't tell anyone what you've been doing, boy. If you do, you'll find out just how hazardous this is.”

The surgeon pulled on long rubber gloves as a stretcher holding a light load, a child's remains, was brought to the table. Revell noticed the sudden change of colour in the young clerk's face. “You don't have to look.”

“No, you bloody don't. Take forever to do these autopsies if you keep fainting all over the place. Fall on the table and I might do you before you know it.”

The doc winked at Revell before squaring his shoulders, taking up a large knife and leaning over to make the first cut.

Watts didn't have time to look away. His head started to spin, before he realized that it was only the body's clothing being cut away.

“I thought you weren't going to look.”
“I'm not going to.” Watts caught a last glimpse of the skinny doll-like form on the table. He shuddered, and moved aside as an improvised canvas screen was erected about the table. “How do you ever get used to doing things like that?”

“You don't. Those that try to, go nuts. Me, I divorce myself from reality. For instance I wear frilly underwear and subscribe to Readers Digest before they send me junk mail.”

“Are you serious, Doc?” After choosing a pen from a multi-coloured selection lining his top pocket, Watts turned his notebook to a clean page.

“No, of course I'm not. I prefer part-works.” There was the rumble of heavy traffic from the road. A convoy of six-wheeled M820s shouldered past the burnt-out Hummer and growled to a halt short of the felled trees. Their overhanging van bodies were festooned with masses of artificial camouflage, liberally supplemented by quantities of dead foliage, including whole saplings.

“Where do you want us, Major?”
“Hell.” Revell scanned the line of trucks. “I wasn't expecting you to bring the whole outfit.”

Captain Lee leaned from a cab window. The grin on his face disappeared when from his high vantage point he saw the work going on inside the screened off enclosure, and the seemingly endless lines of small bodies close by. “My CO is off on leave. I thought I'd take them all out on a tactical exercise. Pure coincidence I chose this area, of course.”

“Here's the location we want scanned.” Revell handed up a map. “I've marked it. Can do?”

“No problem.” Lee tossed the folded paper to the corporal beside him in the cab. “Need to get a mite nearer though, and spread out a little. Looks like we'll have to do a spot of cross country motoring. These big brutes aren't so hot at that. Good thing we brought a wrecker. Now that is something that might be missed. It's the only good one in the Division. So how much information do you want?”

“What can you get for me?” Revell was distracted by the next truck in line. From the rear of its capacious body a tall telescopic mast was growing. At fifty feet, topping the highest trees, it stopped and the small dish atop it began to rotate.

“Ignore that. It'll be one of my sergeants getting the football results. He likes to show off with that thing. Has a sticker on the back of the truck that gets us into no end of hassle. Says 'Electronic Intelligence have longer ones than anyone else’.”

“So what else can he get.”
“Between us, anything. Give me twelve hours and I'll give you a printout on every power source, every emission and every transmission, to and from that area. You can have a breakdown of quantity and type of transport operating there and passing through. Usually we can pinpoint flak sites, radars, parking lots ... you name it, we label it.”

“Can you get me transcriptions of radio messages?” “No problem. You'll be wanting the same of landline traffic as well, I suppose. We've got a couple of real hot interpreters who can take care of that.”

“Good, get me the lot.”
“Oh, one last thing. Last truck in the line isn't ours. I took the liberty of inviting him along. Royal Artillery, worked with him before. He's got one of those new mini-drones aboard, specializes in low level work, real low level. Uses real-time data transmission, so you'll get something even if by a miracle the Reds notice it and down it.”

“We can use him. Thanks.” Revell had to move to the side to make more room for the growing line of small corpses.

As each of the trucks made a three point turn, the crews looked out silently at the latest begrimed additions to the sad spectacle. He saw the grim expressions on the soldiers' faces, and knew he'd get every scrap of information he needed.

“You want me to sign them? Or shall I just go out and shoot myself now, save them the expense of doing it after they've finished throwing the book at me.”

“No need for that. Will you keep one set of the copies? Put them away in a safe place.” Revell leafed through the autopsy reports. “And thanks for your help.”

“Save it. You can thank me if or when it helps you nail those Communist bastards.”

The doc stripped off his thickly coated gloves and tossed them onto the pile of discarded clothing.

“In twenty-five years I've never seen anything like it. What those kids must have gone through. The one with the bullet through the side of his head was the lucky one. The others ... well it's all in the reports. If there's anything else I can do?”

“Can't think of anything, Doc. You'd better scoot now. You haven't even got a lame excuse for being here like the others.”

“How in hell's name did you get them all here. Same as me? Calling in markers I suppose.”

“And making a few promises I hope I’ll be able to keep.” “So what do you do now?”
“To be honest I'm not sure. I've several options, among which is to do fuck all ...”
“Can't see you adopting that course of action.”

“Nor can I, but maybe I'll be forced to. We've had a lot of pressure already. But in any event, I'm still waiting for the report from the intelligence boys. I'll make my final decision when I have that.”

“Good luck.”
The doc took a last look at the never-ending rows of young dead, and made for his Land Rover. A Russian labourer who crossed his path saw his expression and shrank back.

Revell had already sensed how uptight everyone was. Anger had added an air of menace to every order the NATO troops gave members of the Russian labour battalion. In their turn the deserters were becoming nervous and edgy, as the realization dawned of what a tightrope they walked.

They kept their heads down, avoiding eye contact, and working hard enough to bring little extra attention to themselves. Their main task now was the clearing of a tract of virgin land and the preparation of one hundred and ninety two individual graves. Others prepared the plain wooden crosses for each. Even Grigori worked, trying to blend in among the others.

Watching them was an alert circle of troops with fingers on the triggers of their rifles. There had been no incidents so far, but Revell was all too well aware that a trivial act could bring one about at any moment.

The arrival of the nurses had helped calm things a little. Working in teams of three they had begun washing the bodies, and wrapping them in clean white sheets.

Men of the combat company kept them supplied with water from the tanker, and soap, sheets and body bags from the stores truck parked beside it.

The elderly officer of the West German army's service corps who had arrived with them, had already volunteered himself and his drivers to join in any action Revell might take.

That accounted for four of the six couriers he had sent out. It would be midday tomorrow, Friday, before he would know if the other two had been as successful. If they hadn't been, then all this would have been for nothing.

Well, not quite for nothing. He stood to the side and observed as the nurses finished washing dirt and blood from yet another young victim. It was a girl, very thin, and as white as the neatly folded sheet beside her. Hair brushed back from her face, she looked no more than eight or nine. Her arms and legs- flopped about like those of a disjointed rag doll when she was lifted for the wrapping to pass under her emaciated body.

Very gently the crisp material was enfolded about her, after a generous dusting with a sickly sweet smelling disinfectant powder. Then again she was lifted and placed into a body bag. She made a pitifully small load within it.

“A terrible business, Major. A truly terrible business.” The middle-aged chaplain who had come out with the nurses had been constantly trotting back and forth between the scene of preparation and the graves. He looked and sounded exhausted, both mentally and physically, but it was as though he couldn't stop.

“Some of the men have said they would like to speak with me. Under no circumstances I wonder if that would be in order.”

“I have never stopped my men from attending a church parade if they want, even though we don't hold them ourselves. Certainly they can talk to you.”

“You misunderstand, Major. I have spoken to several of your men and to a number of the Dutch pioneers already. No, I have been approached by one of the Russians...”

“Grigori, by any chance?”
“Yes, that was his name. When they have finished their work, they would like a service. I can well understand that feeling is running high, but they are not the men who... who did this terrible crime.”

There was a horrendous scream, or the start of one, from the direction of the improvised graveyard. Revell had hardly started toward it when Hyde approached.

“That was one of the Russians. The silly bastard got a mouth full of dirt and spat it out into one of the graves. Old William swung a shovel at him.”

“How bad is he?”
Hyde glanced at the chaplain. “They don't come any worse. It took his head clean off.”

NINETEEN
Revell had only been studying the electronic intelligence data for a few minutes when the Military Police arrived.

“There's a general who would like to see you, Major. And I think he'll be wanting those as well.”

“Help yourself.” Revell made no further comment as the print-outs, photographs and typed sheets were gathered together.

“Am I under arrest.”
Both the MPs were sergeants, and both were big, seeming to fill the interior of the tent. It was the older of the two, the one with several medal ribbons who spoke again.

“Those aren't our orders, Major, but the general gave us his instructions in person. You could say he was not happy. I haven't ever been spoken to by a general before. If they all get as mad as he was, I'm content for it to never happen again.” He shuffled the papers together. “Are there any copies of these?”

“Here? No.”
The MPs exchanged looks. Again it was the veteran who spoke. “I would like to be able to take the word of an officer, Major. But if I go back and tell the general I accepted that then he is quite likely to nail my balls to my kneecaps. Well have a look around.”

The search of the tent and its sparse furnishings took only a moment, but it was done thoroughly. Outside a third MP waited by a highly polished Hummer. He had his hand close to his holster and had unbuttoned the covering flap.

As Revell was escorted to the waiting transport a growing crowd of his men encircled it and a threatening rumble of noise came from them.

“Tell your men to keep back, Major. We're just doing our job.” It was obvious the MPs were nervous. Tall and wide as they were, Dooley was more than their match when he planted himself in their path. He fixed them with a glare that was almost hypnotic in its intensity.

“Move over, Dooley. That's an order.” For a second Revell thought he was going to disobey, but begrudgingly he stepped back among the throng.

During the brief delay the young MP had been looking through the photographs, concentrating on one that showed a long line of children's bodies.

“Have you guys been killing babies?”
The fist that hit him in the side of the face came from the second rank of the crowd, but for all the distance it had to travel, it came with crushing force.

A bone cracked loudly and following the impact of the blow the MP went down, bouncing with a heavy thud off the hood of the Hummer. He slid to the ground, eyes rolling, jaw hanging limp. Blood spurted from the back of his throat.

“That's enough.” Revell had to shout.
Both standing MPs had their pistols out, with safety catches off. In reply to that action came the distinctive click of a round being chambered in an M16. The circle about the group tightened.

“It's OK. I'll be back. I'll be back soon.” Revell had to think fast to do something to defuse the situation.

Before he could say more he was bundled into the back of the Hummer. He had to slide across when the semi-conscious MP was shoved in beside him.

“They broke my buddy's jaw.”
The big sergeant climbed into the driver's seat. He sent the vehicle surging forward. Its fenders brushed those slowest to get out of the way.

“You ain't the only one who'll be coming back, Major. Difference is, I won't be on my own.”

“What the hell are you playing at out there. Don't orders mean anything to you?” Revell held his tongue. The general had worked himself into a fine old lather and wasn't about to allow interruptions.

“I'll bet you've got some smart ass explanation about how you thought the order didn't cover a second mass grave. Well I'm telling you, you can be as big a smart ass as you fancy, you're not talking your way out of this one.”

Stalking back and forth across the room, the general opened his mouth to speak several times, but couldn't find the words. Finally he turned to Colonel Lippincott.

“He's your damned subordinate. Don't you have any control over your men? Can't you impose any discipline? Do you have any idea who I've had on the phone in the last hour? I'll tell you. Two damned politicians and a lieutenant general from the staff at Army Headquarters. He has the army commander's ear. God only knows what sort of influence the other two can swing.”

“I've spoken to the major.” Lippincott took advantage of a pause to jump in. “He does feel that the discovery of the second mass burial changes the situation. Using his own discretion he thought it wise to make a record.”