Juggernaut

The scene of the air strike hadn't changed much except that the bodies had been moved off the road and the fire was out. Sadiq was waiting impatiently. 'How long to clear it, sir?' he asked at once.

Kemp looked dazed.

'How long, please?' Sadiq repeated.

Kemp pulled himself together. 'Once the tractor arrives, we'll have the tanks off the road in an hour or so. We don't have to be too gentle with them, I take it.'

I wasn't listening. I was looking at the ridge of hills ahead of us, and watching the thick black haze of smoke, several columns, mingling as they rose, writhing upwards in the middle distance. Sadiq followed my gaze.

'My scouts have reported back, Mister Mannix. Kodowa is burning.'

'Still reckoning on buying fresh vegetables there?' I couldn't resist asking Kemp. He shook his head heavily. The war had happened, and we were right in the middle of it.

McGrath and Proctor were experts in their field and knowledgeable about moving heavy awkward objects. They estimated angles, discussed the terrain, and then set about connecting shackles and heavy wire ropes. Presently McGrath shifted the first of the stricken tanks off the road as though it were a child's toy. The rest of us, soldiers and all, watched in fascination as the tank ploughed to a halt deep in the dust at the roadside, and the team set about tackling the next one.

Sadiq went off in his command car as soon as he was satisfied that our tractor could do the job, heading towards Kodowa with a cycle escort. The work of clearing the road went on into the late afternoon, and Kemp then drove back to the convoy to report progress and to bring the rig forward. He had decided that we would stop for the night, a wise decision in the aftermath of an exhausting and disturbing day, but he wanted to cover as much ground as possible before total nightfall.

McGrath and Proctor were resting after moving the upturned tank, which had been a tricky exercise, and gulping down the inevitable mugs of hot tea which Sandy had brought along for everyone. I went over to them and said, 'Got a spade?'

McGrath grinned. 'Ever see a workman without one? We use them for leaning on. It's a well-known fact. There's a couple on the tractor.'

Proctor, less ebullient, said quietly. 'You'll be wanting a burial party, Mister Mannix?'

We buried the bodies after giving the soldiers' identity tags to Sadiq's corporal. Afterwards everyone sat around quietly, each immersed in his own thoughts. McGrath had vanished, but presently I heard him calling.

'Hey, Mister Mannix! Bert!'

I looked around but couldn't see him. 'Where are you?'

'In here.' His voice was muffled and the direction baffling. I still couldn't see him, and then Bert pointed and McGrath's head appeared out of the turret of the tank that he hadn't needed to shift, the one that had run into the ditch. He said cheerily, 'I don't think there's anything wrong with this one.'

'You know tanks too?'

The army taught me. There isn't anything on wheels I don't know,' he said with simple egotism. Proctor, alongside me, nodded in his grave fashion.

I said, 'Can you drive it out?'

'I'm pretty sure so. This thing never got a hit. The crew just baled out and she piled herself up in the dust here. Want me to try?'

'Why not?'

His head bobbed down and after a lot of metallic noises the engine of the tank burst into noisy song. It moved, at first forward and digging itself deeper into the ditch, and then in reverse. With a clatter of tracks and to spattered applause it heaved itself out of the gulley and onto the road. There was a pause and then the turret started to move. The gun traversed around and depressed, pointing right at us.

'Stick 'em up, pal!' yelled McGrath, reappearing and howling with laughter.

'Don't point that thing at me,' I said. 'Once a day is enough Well, it looks as though we've just added one serviceable tank to the Wyvern fleet. Captain Sadiq will be delighted.'

CHAPTER 9

It was an uneasy night. Nothing more happened to disturb us, but very few of us got a full night's sleep; there was a great deal of coming and going to the chuck wagon, much quiet talking in the darkness, a general air of restlessness. The day had been packed with incident, a total contrast to the normal slow, tedious routine, and nobody knew what the next day would bring except they could be sure that the routine was broken.

The rig had reached the valley where the tanks had been hit, and was resting there. Kemp had no intention of moving it until we knew much more about what had happened in Kodowa, and Sadiq had taken him off at first light to look at the road. I had elected to stay behind.