Dillon 16 - A Darker Place by Jack Higgins

Author:Jack Higgins
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
ISBN: 0399155503
Publisher: Putnam Adult
Published: 2008-01-01T06:00:00+00:00

9

Grozny, the Chechen capital, resembled hell on earth, and in spite of constant rain, there were fires everywhere. Heavy tanks had thrown everything they had at the place and the aerial bombardment had been constant, and yet the Chechens stubbornly resisted, street by street, house by house, urban guerrilla warfare at its most intense.

Alexander Kurbsky, a lieutenant by rank, was the only officer left in what had two weeks earlier been the Fifth Paratroop Assault Platoon, a special forces unit consisting of fifty men. Now they had been reduced to eighteen men, having spearheaded their way into the heart of the city, using on occasion the sewage system, and in those filthy and foul-smelling tunnels they had found an enemy that fought like rats.

They finally emerged via manholes in the central square, a wilderness of half-standing buildings and fires smoking in the heavy rain, and found themselves facing what was left of the Astoria Hotel.

Yuri Bounine sprawled close to Kurbsky. Bounine was an unlikely-looking paratrooper, with his chubby face and steel army-issue spectacles fastened together with tape. His bulky combat uniform was filthy, but then, so was everyone else’s. His rank of sergeant was temporary, because Kurbsky and he had become friends, and Kurbsky trusted him for his brains as much as for anything else.

“Are we going, then?” a man named Nebit called, someone who didn’t take kindly to discipline and resented Kurbsky anyway because of his youth. “We might get a cup of coffee in there.”

“Keep your head down,” Kurbsky told him, but Nebit was already standing up, and two men next to him followed. A burst of fire blew away his combat beret, fragmented the back of his skull, and hurled him over a pile of bricks. A machine pistol had obviously caused the damage, knocking down the other two also. Instant death, for there wasn’t a sound from them.

“So now we are fifteen,” Kurbsky said.

Bounine nodded. “So what do we do?”

Kurbsky raised his voice. “Follow me back to the sewer. We’ll see where it comes out a little closer to the hotel, slowly and with care and covering each other. Nebit was stupid, so he paid the price.”

He led, disappearing down into the tunnel and proceeding, half bent over, checking the outfalls to left and right. There was water running a couple of feet deep, a mixture of brown sludge in it that didn’t bear thinking about. He came to a kind of concrete chamber, a notice saying “Astoria Hotel,” and paused, and the others closed up.

“I’ll go—you cover me, Yuri.” He went up cautiously, found a steel door, depressed the handle, and pushed, finding himself in a room containing the central heating system. He went to the end door, opened it cautiously, and found what must have been the kitchen staff’s working quarters, white chef’s uniforms hanging from pegs, toilets and a row of open showers. There was a door marked “Kitchen.”

The others cried excitedly, “Great, there must be food,” and Kurbsky turned, saying, “No, wait.”

He was too late.

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