Free Killing Ground by James Rouch Page A

point. ‘But you still haven’t the manpower to defend the whole area. You’re just wide open.’
    There was disappointment in the lieutenant’s expression. ‘I had hoped we could persuade you and your men to stay, but we cannot force you to join us. Look, Major, I know that time is precious, but will you give me just thirty minutes, that is all I ask? Just thirty minutes to show why I believe we can defend this place against whatever the Russians throw at us.’ He could see he was not winning the argument. ‘Listen, it will take at least that time to bring some transport to the surface and fuel and load them with ammunition. Tell me what you need and I will have my men do it right away. When we get back, if you still wish to go, then no time will have been lost.’
    ‘I suppose I’ve nothing to lose.’
‘You just can’t fucking do it.’
‘And why the bloody hell not?’ Scully resented Garrett’s objections. ‘What’s so fucking wrong with it, that’s what I want to know?’
    ‘It’s ... it’s wrong. It’s not decent. You can’t cook a meal in the oven of a mobile crematorium.’
    ‘You are picky, aren’t you? Look, this place has a cold store the size of a house. It’s packed full of food I had forgotten existed. The only kitchens I can find here are run off a ruddy great LPG tank that’s bone-dry.’ Scully patted the steel flank of the trailer-mounted field crematorium. ‘This little beauty has its own bottle already connected. It’s never been used to burn bodies, so where’s the harm in me using it to womp up a meal?’
    ‘Like I said, it’s not proper.’
    ‘Well then, you don’t have to eat what I cook, do you?’ Refusing further discussion, Scully finished levering apart great slabs of frozen steak. He threw the last frost-covered chunks inside. Partially closing the heavy semi-circular door, he played with the setting controls until he had a low steady flame.
    He turned his attention to hammering the contents of the sacks of frozen vegetables into more manageable-sized lumps. ‘Same as usual.’ He grunted as he swung another over arm mallet blow. ‘All welded together. Those civilian contractors must make a fortune out of pushing the old stuff onto the army. It’s probably from the bottom layer of one of the first EEC food mountains.’
    ‘How long is it going to take?’ Hyde tapped the metal tip of his toecap against a portion of meat that had fallen into the mud. It rang, as if it too was metallic. ‘Looks like they’ll take a week to thaw.’ ‘This is not what you’d call a standard catering kitchen.’ A slight touch on the flame control and Scully jumped as they instantly transformed to roaring blue jets. He made a hurried readjustment.
    ‘I asked how long.’
    ‘Give me a chance, Sarge.’ Having finally satisfied himself that the flame was about right, Scully carefully closed the door and secured it. He had to go on tiptoe to see that all was well through a small thick glass porthole in the side of the oven.
    ‘When the major went swanning off he said thirty minutes. I’ve still got twenty left.’ Filling two buckets with assorted lumps of glistening vegetables, Scully added a gallon- of water to each and then they too went in. ‘This lot should be done just before he gets back. It won’t be cordon bleu, but it’ll be done. Salmonella special coming up,’ he muttered under his breath, and then out loud, ‘It was never like this at The Dorchester.’
    The rest of the company were asleep in an underground barracks. A couple of the hardiest had showered but the others had not bothered when they’d discovered there was no hot water. They’d been content with clean clothing. 
    Scully had left them down there as soon as he’d kitted himself out. Even in the lift going down he’d experienced the all-too-familiar sensation of claustrophobia. Volunteering to prepare a hot meal had got him out without having to explain. As much as any of them he needed rest,