groundsheet was spread across the track that ran parallel to the line of the border. A desperate, lonely place, Carter reckoned, the
Roteriede at night. No life here. except when the moon passed beyond the wire and threw colours of light between the bushes.
Not a job for Carter, not his end of the business, not here wet and half frozen. Should have been someone half his age.
There was an owl somewhere in the tree above. Could have been a tawny from its call, Strix aluco and fifteen inch wingspan. An awkward, cussed creature, for ever stamping at its perch. Each time it shouted, Carter flinched. Lucky bugger, with its night sight, and elevation. Carter could see damn all from the level of the groundsheet.
'If he comes, do you know where it will be, how far either side of us?'
Carter whispered in Charlie Davies's ear.
'Right here.'
'Where we are now?'
'Where we're lying is where he stood, right here, there's something of a path that comes out opposite us…'
Nothing more to be said, and Davies offering no encouragement for conversation. Only the waiting and the straining for a sound of the coming of Johnny.
Why did the bastard jeep come so often?
Johnny had clocked it, watched the pattern. When it passed them going north it returned in two minutes, when it passed them going south it was with them again in six minutes. Shit, that was tight time. Six minutes, but that took no account of the speed with which it would return once the automatic guns were detonated. Then it would be racing, accelerator down, roaring forward on the patrol road. So much to bloody do. The run to the fence, the fastening of the ropes, the exploding of the SM 70s, the climbing of the wire. And the jeep could never be more than three minutes from the firing of the SM 70s, never more and always less.
Not a yard of cover from where they knelt in the undergrowth beside the patrol road to the wire.
He could do it on his own, no sweat, he was not alone. One old man and one girl to go first. Johnny was down the order. Otto Guttmann, scientist from Padolsk, had first priority on the fence.
Should they lie up another night and hope the patrol pattern tailed off?
But when daylight came and the foot patrols were out by the Hinterland then there would be the trampled grass, the disturbed earth from the sharpened poles. The dogs would come, heaving their handlers along Johnny's trail.
Has to be tonight, Johnny. What's the problem, Johnny? Frightened?
Scared witless, what else.
It's a hell of a way to the fence. I can bloody see, every time the bloody jeep goes by.
The guns are set close here. They're set close every bloody place.
Johnny reached out, felt Erica's shoulder, slid his fingers down the sleeve of her coat, found her hand and held it. There would be another time for them, wouldn't there? Somewhere removed from this bastard evil place.
The jeep went past, the regular throb of its engine, the regular speed of its wheels.
There had to be another bloody chance, for Johnny and Erica, somewhere as comforting as the hand that held his own. Somewhere, anywhere; any time, all the time. Over the other side of that bastard fence.
'Doctor Guttmann. It's the last time I say it, I promise, but you have to listen…'Johnny whispered and a nervous smile flickered at his lips. 'The patrolling is very thorough, so it won't be easy but we can manage.
Nothing to spare but we can manage. When we go, then you and Erica run straight for the ditch, down on your faces, take all the cover the ditch gives you. I go first to the fence with the ropes, then I come back to you and we fire the guns. I can't over-emphasise it, but we have very little time after the guns go. Very, very little. We stop for nothing, we wait for nothing. Doctor Guttmann goes first, then Erica. There are no guns, no mines on the other side, but you must run straight for the trees, at least fifteen metres and you must make a hiding place. Don't call out, don't shout… or you'll be fired on. Can you do it?'
'You ask me to do nothing,' Otto Guttmann said. 'You take everything on yourself. You are a fine boy. Both of us think that.'
Johnny let go of Erica's hand, took the long loops of rope.
'As soon as the jeep is past, we go.'
'We are ready.'
'Remember your hands on the top of the wire… Pull your cuffs right into the palms of your hands.'
'Yes.'
'You too, Erica.'
'Yes, Johnny…'
The engine sounds of the jeep. Johnny saw the glow of the driver's cigarette. No door on the jeep, because on the border a door could mean delay. He closed his eyes.
The jeep was ten yards gone. Johnny was on his feet and running forward, hunched and fast and stretched. Slower steps behind him, he did not look back. Go, Johnny, go. All the way, darling. All the way, you crazy bugger. Off the patrol road and into the ploughed strip his feet sinking and slipping into the loose earth, over the ditch his fingers clawing at the top rim of cement blocks and he pulled himself up. Only the fence now.
Calm, Johnny, calm for God's sake. You have to take time to find the wires, find the rope ends, tie the loose knots. Twenty-five yards killing range the bastard guns have, and there's one that's white and protected in its shield and it's five bloody feet from your guts. They rip your insides out, Johnny, it'll spread you back over the ploughed zone. They're razor sharp, the bits inside, Johnny. Cut your face, your bones, your veins, gouge your eyes, strip your skin. Two firing wires you have to find. You have to take time, you have to be right.
There's no bloody time.
The ropes were looped over the upper two of the three firing wires, the knots tied with leaping, fumbling fingers. johnny turned, played out the twin ropes, stumbled back, plunged into the ditch, fell on Otto Guttmann's legs. He looked at his watch, found the second hand. Give it a little while, darling, let the jeep run to its extremity.
Carter had surged to his knees.
Charlie Davies's fist was embedded in Carter's coat, wrenching him down.
'Someone was there… at the fence.'
'Get down.'
'It'll be Johnny…'
'Or the aufklarer, or the NVA… or Johnny.'
Carter fell back. 'It has to be Johnny.'
'And if it is, how do you help him? I told you before there's nothing The twin explosions raked the night. Two sheets of flame streaming from the separated posts. A fraction of time before the third detonation.
The singing howl of the shrapnel in the air, the whine of ricochets from the fence. Brilliant, echoing noise cascading through the trees.
Johnny jumped from the cover of the ditch, slid at its rim, scrabbled for support, found it, felt the stench of the explosive charge at his nostrils, twisted back with his arm outstretched. He grappled for a hand to seize, found none, swept his fingers through the darkness. He touched the coat of Otto Guttmann, pulled it, dragged it. God, he was heavy. And stiff too, rigid, unhelping, an old man and disorientated and confused, cringing back from the smoke and the noise.
A Very light burst in the sky, showered the tree tops with slow falling stars.
Can't move him, Johnny, can you? Can't lift him if he won't help. He has to help, the bloody fool, he has to help if he's to go over. It's four feet above your eye level, the top of the wire. He has to respond. He has to want to climb.
'Erica… you have to help me…' Johnny desperate, Johnny in panic.
All of them stumbling in the darkness and the chaos rampant and contagious.
The howl of the first siren. The powered roar of a jeep engine. Closing on you, Johnny, and the sand's running, the time's spilling. The second hand's spinning on the watch face. The jeep's eating the yards.
Johnny circled his arm round Otto Guttmann's waist. Gently, darling.
