The Kremlin File

I fought down through the scrub brush where the trail dropped out of sight behind the nose of a rock. If I could make that spot before a soldier appeared, I would be in range to pick them off with the Luger as they came around. I had barely gotten there when the first man walked into sight. He was short, very dark, his face streaming sweat. He stopped to pant, then came on, moving slowly, eyes on the trail. I lifted the Luger, then lowered and holstered it. There was a better way. He didn’t know I was there.

My ammo was already in too damn short supply, and there was no gun shop handy. I shook the stiletto out of the arm sheath; when the soldier came under me, I leaped on his back. He bent forward. My feet hit his spine hard. He went on his face, flat, the air driven out of him. Normally I don’t kill unconscious men, but one luxury I couldn’t afford now was taking prisoners. I cut his throat, cut off his cartridges, kicked him into the downhill brush, took his rifle and sprinted around back to my nest. If my wind held out, I could take the lot of them and also stockpile a lot of arms. Nice.

The next man turned the bend and stopped, eyes following the trail up. He looked startled when he saw the blood in the dirt. His head lifted higher, turned, and he looked into my face. He carried a machine gun across his belly. It swung toward me. This one was not for knives. I snapped out the Luger and blew his head apart.

He fell only three or four steps from the blind bend in the road. But I wanted that machine gun. With the Luger in my hand, I dropped down, sprinted to the body and, my eyes on the path, worked quickly. He not only had the ammunition loop in the gun but two more over his shoulders. A gold mine. I slipped those off, rolled the soldier over the edge into the brush, gathered up my prizes, and ran.

Nobody came around the bend. Not while I was on the trail. Not while I settled down to wait for another target. Time ran on. They must have stopped when they heard the Luger. I stayed on for fifteen more minutes, but no one had showed. I went up to Mitzy with my load. From there I looked down on the truck and the jeeps. The soldiers were straggling down the trail, gathering around a man with a walkie-talkie who was looking uphill. He wanted new orders from somebody higher up in the chain of command. Mitzy whistled in appreciation of our new guns. I grinned at her.

“They won’t stop everything Jerome can throw at us, but they’ll put a dent in the front. This army will know it’s been somewhere.” I indicated the group at the bottom. “They’re changing plans. The trail’s too tough and I think they won’t try a frontal advance again. Stay here and watch and come tell me if I’m wrong.”

Her tongue darted out and around her lips. She said, “Leave me the rifle, will you? I may get a chance to do some hunting. Head hunting.”

I left her the rifle and the cartridges. I went off in a hurry, hearing another sound — a sort of growl on the shore highway. It was time to get ready for more dynamite.

I was ready with the fuses when the new cars stopped at the road’s end and men tumbled out. A walkie-talkie was being used in the lead car, so these soldiers wouldn’t advance in a bunch. I didn’t wait for them to separate but got the first charge on its way. It went off under a jeep and took two carloads with it. When it was quiet, I poured a burst from the machine gun into the next row of cars. Those still functioning slammed into reverse for a discretionary retreat, out of range. It looked as if they’d stay back awhile, so I headed into the fortress.

It was noisy on the roof. Everybody kept down while bazookas and long-range guns raked the parapet. Noah beckoned to me for a look through his bamboo peeper. By now the soldiers had discovered the breakwater, found where it ran under the surface, and were nursing men from along it toward the steps. Some of these had reached the wall and were starting up. Noah’s mouth turned down.

I used the viewer again. Under cover of the heavy barrage, a line of soldiers was climbing toward us. In a few minutes the boats would be picking off their own people if they kept shooting. But at the moment the firing was too heavy for another rock party. I patted the machine gun and told Noah, “Tell me when they’re near the top.”