Free Civilian Slaughter by James Rouch Page B

collapsed culvert, we can send working parties out to deal with each day, as they are required. It is a shame we do not have even one power shovel, or dump truck.”
    “Haven't, and aren't likely to get. I'll put in a request all the same.” Revell made a note on a message pad. “A few chain saws wouldn't go amiss either.”
    A blurred outline of the sun was sitting on the western horizon and among the trees the shadows had lengthened to infinity. As they walked back to where the column stood it became rapidly darker. Here, the trees still stood, crowding out the light.
    There might be a truce in force but Revell could take no chances. The previous night had been a rare opportunity to relax in the Zone. Tonight they were right on the edge of the temporary truce strip. A bare six kilometres away was the Warpac side. If anything went wrong, they would be the very first to know about it. A few minutes or even seconds' warning might be enough to save some of their lives.
    The guards that were already posted had a dual function though. They were positioned as much to watch that no one bolted into the trees, or appeared out of them.
    “So they stay on the buses for tonight?” From the rear of the long file of vehicles Hyde heard the clatter of Scully preparing the evening meal. It would be their first, and only, hot meal of the day. The same would be served up for all of them, NATO troops and Warpac prisoner battalion alike.
    “It'll be simpler that way. At first light we'll find a suitable clearing and keep a few of them back to erect a perimeter fence and put up the tents.”
    “They'll be better off than us.”
Revell knew what Hyde meant, and knew it would rankle with the men. For the Russians it would be the comparative space and warmth of the buses. No guard duty for them, stumbling about in the dark, hearing and seeing things that weren't there as fatigue played tricks with eyes.
    At least there appeared to be no mines, but in the major's mind that constituted something of an enigma. Even in its demolished state it was evident that the unit that had previously occupied the site had been able to call on lavish field engineer support. To have completed such extensive work would have called for a prodigious effort, of a sort not usually available to a formation probably not much above battalion strength.
    And yet there were no mines. Hardly any barbed or razor wire either. Without those it was tempting to think the position had been prepared in advance of requirement, needing only those additions to activate it. But that was obviously not the case. Latrine trenches showed it had been occupied, and for some time.
    Even more than the absence of mines, it was the lack of wire that puzzled Revell. He could recall several occasions when he had travelled through a landscape scraped clean by nuclear air-bursts. Every building was pulverized to the last brick, trees and telegraph poles burnt to below ground level. In so surreal a place the wisps of smoke from charring stumps had made it resemble an abandoned camp ground. And yet there had been the wire, partially buried or tumbled into giant rust and flame streaked concertinas, it was still there. Mines might be lifted for re-use, but wire?
    Such a vast expenditure of effort, for what? An extravagant, almost profligate expenditure of man and machine hours to defend an insignificant unit in a quiet sector. Perhaps the answer would become clear in the morning. Time enough to puzzle over it then. At least he wouldn't be waking up with a hangover again, and the nagging worry as to what he might have caught this time.
    “Dooley wants a word with you, Major.”
“Can't it wait until the morning, Sergeant Hyde. And what's come over him that suddenly he should decide to do things the correct way. Usually he simply saunters over and starts a conversation.”
    “I've no idea. He's been acting funny all evening.” “In what way?”
“He's gone quiet.”
    “I see what you mean. Well,