The Red Alert Story

The Red Alert Story.
by Gareth Bird

CHAPTER V
Contrary to Davies' plan, they had not woken until nearly six o'clock when Sven had come out of his room, greeted them and asked them what they wanted for breakfast. They were each given a type of porridge or muesli and as they finished, Sven said he'd go and get the truck out of the barn. Davies could not understand what he had said, but knew instinctively where he was going. He bolted up, sending the stool he was on rolling across the room. Dunn spoke up and told Sven that it really wasn't necessary and that they could probably walk it after all.

Sven laughed and waved a hand at them and turned back towards the rear door. The soldiers jumped up and gestured that they were going to help, and upon bustling outside, Gray called for Dunn to stall Sven, who was already doing so. The seven other men threw their back packs, rifles and other equipment into the truck and clambered aboard as Sven pushed through inside. By now, Taylor was already in the driving seat, and between them they had got the engine running. Sven looked angry that they had started the truck without his permission and walked around to the driver's door. Dunn had also rushed in and went over to unbolt the barn's main door when Jack shouted for him to hurry up. Sven had grasped hold of the door handle and it clunked open. Taylor didn't wait, and the truck learched forwards. Dunn jumped back as it crashed into the door. It splintered as its hinges fell from the rotting wooden frame and Dunn jumped onto the step under the passenger-side door, holding on firmly to the mirror.

However, Taylor wasn't expecting the roadway to be quite as bad as it was and skidded immediately on the ice. Sven continued to scream and shout at them, but instead of chasing after them, he ran to a trunk in the barn, where he produced a shotgun and a box of shells. In the cab sat Taylor, Gower and Davies, with Dunn clinging to the mirror, having lost his footing, and the other four were crammed with their back packs in the open-air back of the truck. Gray shouted at Taylor in-front, and Davies slid open the window between the back and front.

"He's..." started Gray, as a shell struck the side of the truck. Instinctively, everyone ducked and Taylor was still struggling to get any traction to the wheels as they had slithered slightly off-road which was enough to almost beach the truck. "He's got a gun!" repeated Gray over the noise of the free-spinning wheels, pointing back at Sven. Shaw had already reacted and poked his rifle over the edge of the truck and let off a few rounds in Sven's direction, although not specifically at him. This proved to do little more than aggravate him as another shell hit the side of the truck. Dunn jumped down and under the cover of the side of the truck, dragged a log under one of the wheels. The next shell hit the passenger side window, sending a million shards of glass flying over Gower. Dunn spun on his heel to see one of the other villagers with a shotgun and firing out at him. Taylor put the power down again and this time the truck slipped forwards and back onto the road. Dunn jumped onto the side of the truck and Jack and Gray hoisted him up as two more shells hit the truck. Taylor turned the truck around to face eastwards, but by this time, there were four of the villagers there with guns blocking their paths.

"Mow them down!" ordered Davies. Taylor hesitated as the windscreen caved in. This prompted Taylor to screech forwards, sending plumes of snow and water spraying into the air. Another couple of shots hit the front of the truck, whilst a third hit the driver-side mirror. Davies reached through the rear window into the back of the truck and pulled a rifle through. Another shell hit the truck and a front headlight blew. Davies fired his rifle out of the missing windscreen; unlike Shaw, Davies shot to kill. One of the men on the road was hit, and promptly collapsed. Two of the three other alive men, including Sven, ran off the road, leaving just one man standing. Meanwhile, a woman ran into the road and dropped to her knees by her dead husband. Either consciously or otherwise, Davies instinctively pointed his weapon at her and fired. Quickly the snow turned red as their blood gushed from their bullet ridden corpses. Davies seemed not to care, and a final shell hit the front of the truck, skimming across the bonnet in a shower of sparks and illuminated an otherwise blackened environment. Davies dropped his gun, opting not to reload. Instead, he grabbed the wheel of the unsuspecting Taylor and pulled it sharply round in a clockwise motion. The truck veered to the right and immediately struck the last villager, who was seen in the solitary headlight beam to be struggling to reload his shotgun.

His body flew onto the front of the truck with a loud crunching of bones, twisting of metal and splattering of flesh. Davies let go of the wheel and encouraged the body to fall to the ground. It did so, leaving a trail of blood and guts across the front of the truck. In the back of the truck, the four soldiers were still being fired upon by remaining couple of the men from the village, and Gray responded with a well placed grenade. It detonated and the brightness of the accompanying explosion revealed the bodies of the villagers being knocked off their feet, as one of the houses erupted in a tower of flame. Had it not been so dark in the back of the truck, Gray would have seen Jack's stare of disapproval, but as it was, he felt his reaction to the villagers was well justified.

By the time the daylight had broken through the night sky, they had driven in the region of 60 or more miles. It had been expected that the truck might not have been able to drive as far as it had done, but it was the fuel, not the truck itself, that gave up first. They were also surprised that the weather had been as forgiving as it had, but regardless, their marathon journey was still at an infantile stage. They pushed the truck off the side of the narrow, snow covered road into the ditch that ran along side and the hefty machine crunched its way through the ice and frozen forest remnants. They lugged their packs back onto their backs and continued along the road.

Presently the familiar snow storms picked up and visibility was practically nil. The comparative warmth of the fleeting brilliance of the sunlight had long since passed and the men found the trek extremely hard going. Several times they veered off course, and it wasn't until one of the lead pair of Davies and Taylor mirrored the actions of the truck by slipping down the ditch into the shallow, yet freezing depths that they realised they were off the road. Although no-one wasted the energy by talking to each other, they all knew that they could not afford to be out in the open during the night and at no point did they reduce their pace. But by about midnight, the comrades were almost at the point of despair. The snow had cleared, but the baron night sky offered no consolations.

They trudged onwards for about another half an hour, swapping the lead occasionally in order to alternate the pace as the leading pair slowed. Jack was now up infront with Breeze when he noticed something that warranted his speech. With recollections of his time constructing the temporary bridge he had been a part of, he found it difficult to speak due to the inactivity of the muscles in his mouth for much of the day. Instead, he raised his arm and pointed towards the light he had seen. The seven others stopped in their tracks and looked in the direction of Jack's finger. Sure enough, they could all see it, but what they also knew was that it was in a direction perpendicular to the road. Confident Jack had enlightened the others of his discovery, he returned his hands to his pockets.

They huddled in a group and Davies gave Jack a questioning stare, to which Jack merely shrugged. No words were spoken; none were needed. It was simple. Should they keep going, or wander off course? Breeze gave a nod towards the light indicating his preference, then Gray added his approval with a nod. Gower shrugged. Shaw took a futile look into the darkness along the road as if to be giving one last check of the situation, before he to nodded in favour. It was decided, and Davies raised a hand in gesture for Jack to lead the way.

He started off towards the coast, in the direction of the light as the others followed, leaving Dunn to bring up the rear. They trampled their way threw the woods, trying not to get caught up in the drifts of snow which threatened to engulf them menacingly. After about two or three hundred yards, they arrived in a small clearing, which to Jack's astonishment turned out to be a road, or rather a small track. It came from the north west and evidently, they were so pre-occupied in keeping to their road had missed this comparative footpath. It had been heavily tracked, but the snow covering left a lot to the imagination. Jack assumed that they hadn't noticed these tracks on the 'main' road because it was a lot less sheltered and the snow storms must have erased their presence very quickly.

As they neared the light source, Jack got a feeling that things were not quite as they seemed. It became apparent that there were in fact several light sources, the main one of which emanated from on land, whilst the other, fainter lights seemed to originate from the semi-frozen wilderness of the sea. The land source turned out to be from a building, which looked bigger than a typical house from this area and looked more like a hangar. The Allied soldiers came to a halt when they noticed a group of other men. Under the cover darkness and trees, Dunn crept forwards and summoned his strength to whisper to Jack that they were Finnish Policemen, and that it was quite plausible that they had stumbled across a Swedish-Finnish border. It made sense to Jack, as by his estimates they had travelled about 120 miles since Lulea following their good run in the truck.

But Jack put that thought to the back of his mind though, because from inside the building came a couple of other men - Soviet soldiers. A combination of nerves and a chilling wind sent a shiver down Jack's spine. He removed his pack and placed his rifle on the ground. Laying flat along the ground, Jack crept forwards from his vantage point towards another, in the form of a fallen tree. He peered over the truck and now estimated he was within 20 feet of the nearest man. Jack got a good look of him. He was a Soviet soldier alright, but there was something about him that made Jack think it wasn't necessarily what it appeared.

Again the lights twinkled out to sea, momentarily distracting Jack's gaze. When he glanced back at the soldier, all he could see was him standing facing directly towards Jack. He froze instinctively as an orange glow emanated from the man's mouth. He plucked out his cigarette and blew out a plume of smoke and frozen breath, before tossing the cigarette into Jack's vague direction. He let a yawn interrupt his otherwise relaxed posture, then turned and headed back towards the hanger.

Jack clenched his fists as if to reassure himself he was safe to move. He lay down again and swam through the snow back to his original observation point where the others impatiently anticipated a clearer picture of the situation. Jack caught his breath and told the others that he was sure the lights which were apparently off-land, were indeed off-land and the soldiers were, at best, probably amateurs.

"Ammeters?" discredited Davies. "You mean these guys are doing it for the hell of it?"

"No," reassured Jack. "I think they're probably just civilians in Soviet jackets." he clarified. "None that I could see were armed, and I'm not too sure this lot really means all that much." Jack paused for a moment, but the overwhelming stares of his comrades urged him to continue. "Well," he started, "perhaps those lights are just fishing boats or something."

"Who the hell would be fishing at two in the fucking morning? Or whatever fucking time it is?" replied Gower. Shaw screwed up his face in order to suggest to Gower to talk a little quieter.

"Well I don't know!" answered Jack, after a little thought. "But they're hardly likely to be warships are they? They aren't exactly renowned for their naval supremacy."

"They pretty much kicked the shit out of us." stated Taylor.

"Yeah, well, I suppose so," admitted Jack, "but as I say, I still reckon its just a bunch of civilians who've got roped into this war." Jack looked around for support. "They pose no threat to us or our objective." continued Jack, "We should ignore them and carry on." he concluded. "Well, that's my view." he added.

"And go where?" inquired Gower, giving Jack a few futile seconds to come up with an answer. "If they are boats, and they are just civilians..." started Gower, before looking around him at the seven sets of eyes protruding from balaclavas and hoods.

"Are you serious?" asked Breeze, as he began to understand Gower's thoughts.

"What?" asked Jack, who had not.

"Well, like you say," repeated Gower, "if they are civilians, they 'pose no threat to us'." he mimicked. Jack and Gower stared at each other for a few seconds.

"No." said Jack, finally. "I don't like it."

"For God's sake, Rivers!" objected Davies. "Look around you," he continued. He stared hard at Jack. Jack stared back, but the falling snow was blowing into his eyes making it difficult. "Well, go on. Take a look!" repeated Davies sternly. Jack sighed and reluctantly obliged. He turned back and shrugged. "Nothing. No-one." reported Davies. "See? We could walk right up to that hanger, spend the night - what's left of it - inside, then jump aboard one of those fishing tugs..."

"What good would that be?" interrupted Jack.

"Well, it'd be a damn sight warmer in that hanger..." replied Gower.

"No, I mean the boat." clarified Jack.

"It'd take us in the right direction." informed Davies.

"How d'you know it'd be going the right way?" inquired Jack.

Davies gently waved his rifle. "It'll be going the right way."

Jack looked at him disapprovingly but felt he would be unable to convince Davies to do anything else. "OK, then what?" asked Jack. "We could take it all the way across the Gulf."

"Where abouts?" asked Gray, pulling out his map. Gower looked at Davies who looked back at Gower. Taylor had meanwhile reached out his cigarette lighter and was trying to illuminate the map. After several attempts, Davies pointed his finger down on the map.

"There." he said, triumphantly. "Oulu, or whatever it says."

"Why don't we take it all the way down here..." asked Gower, slowing down the speed of his speech as he ran his index finger down the coast of Finland. "Hey, we could take it all the way to St. Petersburg."

"No we couldn't." replied Davies.

"OK, Leningrad then." answered Gower, correcting himself.

"No, I mean we couldn't get further than about here." continued Davies, moving his finger towards a place called Rache. "Remember?" asked Davies, but it became obvious that no one did. "We were told that there are Soviet forces positioned all the way from here, and on into Russia."

"Yeah," argued Taylor, as his flame went out, "but we'd be in a Russian boat, or Finnish. Either way, we could easily get by."

"Shit, yeah, of course." cursed Davies, smacking the palm of his hand against his forehead. "In that case, roll on Leningrad!" smiled Davies. He looked around for any support and the general mood was that of agreement. "Any objections?" asked Davies to Jack.

Jack sighed, and tried to voice his objection but decided otherwise at this stage. He looked up, then straight ahead. "OK." he said.

"Good." responded Gower. "Let's get somewhere a bit warmer!" Jack replaced his pack to his back and picked up his rifle, after which, they set off, cautiously, yet briskly towards the hanger.


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