Three Kings (Kirov Series) (37 page)

“Major,” he said in English, then
switched to Russian in a low voice. “When might your men arrive on those
jeeps?”

“Soon enough to straighten this
lot out,” said Popski with an indignant look on his face. This cheeky
Lieutenant in front of him had riled his temper, and he was clearly not happy.

Reeves own impatience got the
best of him, as the entire column was lined up behind him and waiting to move
out. He reinforced his demand. “I said how many are you?”

“What does he say?” Fedorov asked
quickly, and Popski translated, arms folded on his heavy chest.

“Tell him we have two squads of
Naval Marines deployed 100 meters behind us with the helicopter. Tell him we
have no quarrel with him, and we’ll stand down and cooperate fully as he
wishes. But we have an urgent need to speak with his commanding officer.

“Look here,” said Reeves. “Do I
have to order my squadron to deploy?”

Popski could hear the urgency in
Fedorov’s voice, though he did not understand why. Yet his own instincts also
argued quietly with him, and he knew this might be a dangerous situation that
he should diffuse as quickly as possible. That tough Russian Sergeant with his
Marines looked to be the sort to shoot first and ask questions later, and that
could be a problem. This Lieutenant here didn’t seem happy to have found
Russians at all, and he wondered why. He also realized the man had a job to do,
orders to comply with, and knew they might only get things resolved by seeing
his senior officer as Fedorov urged.

 “Alright Lieutenant,”
Popski relented. “We’ve ten good men behind us, and two pilots, all well armed
and holding a perimeter around that contraption back there. But we’ll do things
your way. We’ll need to see your commanding officer right away and get this
sorted out.”

“Tell your men to lay down their
arms and come forward,” said Reeves. “And if you have any ideas about doing
anything else, I’ve a column of tanks and infantry behind me five miles long.
Understand?”

Popski grimaced, but swallowed
his pride. “Well enough,” he said. “But I’ll say one thing. We expected we
might get this sort of treatment from the
Degos
or
Jerry out here, but not the Desert Rats!”

While he was talking Fedorov
turned discretely and pinched his own collar microphone. “Troyak,” he said in a
low voice. “All is well. Stand down immediately and stow all weapons in the
helo. Understood? All weapons in the helo. Contact the ship tell me immediately
if they respond. Then come forward, and no man is to carry as much as a pistol
with him. Get it done, Sergeant.”

He looked to Popski and told him
to tell them they were bringing his men up at once, unarmed. At this the
Lieutenant seemed satisfied, and he seemed to stand easier now, shifting his
eye goggles to his forehead.

“Well then,” said Reeves. “Get
your party over there, and Sergeant Williams will see to you. We’ll have a
lorry sent up for your men, and I’ll inform my Brigadier that you wish to speak
with him.”

The winds were beginning to quiet
down now, and visibility was improving. Reeves got a glimpse of the KA-40 for
the first time, and could hear the sound of some activity there, men moving
about, deep voices. He was still very guarded, and he left the odd, unhappy
Major and his Russian officer with one last remark.

“Now if you don’t mind, Major, I
think I’ll have a good look around with my squadron. Any trouble, mind you, and
I’ve got plenty more to share with you and your Russian friends. Understand?”
Then he ordered two more armored cars, which is how Popski saw them, to come up
and cover the helicopter.

“Don’t worry yourself,
Lieutenant,” said Popski. “With those monsters at your beck and call, you’ll
get no trouble from our lot.”

“What? This here?” Reeves
gestured to his IFV, still waiting behind him, gun at the ready. “Those aren’t
the monsters, Major. The big boys are well behind us, as you’ll soon see.”

He gave orders that his Sergeant
should get everyone rounded up, secure the scene, and prohibit all radio
communications. Then he leapt back up onto his IFV, turning and offering Major
Popski the courtesy of a salute, which Peniakoff did not return.

* * *

Brigadier
Kinlan had a
problem on his hands, and one he did not expect. He had finally come up in a
Panther Command Liaison Vehicle with three staff officers, leading the
Regimental HQ Scout Troop of eight Scimitar light tanks. If Popski was
impressed by the eight wheeled IFV that Reeves had rolled off in, the
appearance of these tanks widened his eyes even more.

 “They look to be a new
breed of animal,” he said. “Never saw a tank like that one before. Why it’s as
big as a Matilda II, and I hear you boys call that the Queen of the
battlefield.”

A soldier standing by heard that
and spoke. “The Queen? Well you can have a look at the King now. Here he
comes.”

Then Popski got the surprise of
his life. One of the ‘monsters’ that impudent Lieutenant had spoken about came
up in a cloud of blowing dust and he could hardly believe his eyes.

The Challenger 2 tank was truly
an awesome spectacle, a 62 ton beast that dwarfed the biggest tank Popski had
ever seen, which was one of the stalwart Matildas. This tank was nearly three
times heavier, almost twice as long and wide, and with a gun on it that looked
to be a full sized artillery piece, bigger even than the 25 pounder he was
familiar with. It made the 2 pounder on the Matilda look like a tiny popgun by
comparison.

“God in his heaven!” His jaw
dropped as he stared at the tank. If the British Army had things like that at
its command, then all would be well in the world. He simply could not believe
what he was seeing, and there was a second monster right behind this one,
rumbling with the sound of unmistakable power.

“Sweet Jesus,” he breathed,
looking at Brigadier Kinlan now. “Where did you get those?”

“And what part of the British
Army do you say you belong to if you never set eyes on a Challenger?” said
Kinlan.

“Long Range Desert Group,” said
Popski. “Chaps call us the Libyan Desert Taxi Service out here. Italians call
us
Pattuglia
Fantasma
,
the ‘Ghost Patrol.’ I was assigned as a guide for this man here, and we were out
on search and rescue until your cheeky Lieutenant with that scout detail stuck
his nose in it.”

“Long Range Desert Group?” Kinlan
knew something of the history as well, and the name immediately registered.
What was this man doing here, pulling his leg in the middle of a hot zone? Was
he daft?

The Brigadier was a quiet,
intelligent man, somewhat taciturn, and not given to idle chatter. He ran his
outfit with precision and competence, and expected the same from every man
under him. He was taking Popski in with a calm, careful gaze, and he could see
through a brick wall if given the time. Yet there was something about this
strange interloper in the desert and his Russian officer that rang true. These
men were not posing or role playing here, though he could not imagine why they
were here at all, unless to conduct some deep sabotage or special ops raid. He
said as much.

“Well now, Major Peniakoff is it?
My take on this situation is as follows. You’re here on a Russian KA-40, which
would have to come off a Russian naval unit at sea up north, correct? This man
beside you here is clearly an officer in the Russian Navy, and that makes him,
and you by extension, my prisoners of war. Now you can make this a whole lot
easier if you would cooperate and tell me what you’re about.”

“Prisoners? Are you out of your
mind? Yes, we came off this man’s ship—a Russian battlecruiser—and it’s up
north in the Med just as you say, cruising right alongside HMS
Invincible
.
Prisoners? The Russians are
allies
, General, or at least they claim to
be. Where do you get off treating us as hostiles out here? And for that matter,
I’m regular British Army, just like I’ve told you.” He folded his arms again,
ready to stick up for himself and vouch for the Russians no matter how many
stars were under this man’s crown.

“Look, Major, the Russians just
lobbed a missile our way with the aim of toasting every man in this unit alive,
so you’ll forgive me if I’m just a bit touchy about something like that. Lucky for
us we got the damn things before they got us. Then I find you out here with a
couple squads of Russian Naval Marines, and something tells me you were lasing
targets for that ICBM. Didn’t think the Russkies would need to do something
like that, but maybe they wanted to be extra careful, and here you are. Now
what’s this talk about a Russian battlecruiser sailing alongside HMS
Invincible
?
Old Vince was decommissioned in ’05 and scrapped, so you can scrap that line
right along with her.”

He was referring to the modern
day light aircraft carrier HMS
Invincible
, of course, nicknamed ‘Vince’
in the service. If this man thought the ship was still at sea, then it was a
giveaway that something was rotten in Denmark here. He was going to find out
what it was, one way or another.

“Scrapped?” said Popski. “You
might try that one on Admiral John Tovey. He’s out there too, sir. Now, I’ve
told you what we’re doing here and, begging the General’s pardon, you might
think you’d have half a bone in your head and want your General O’Connor
fetched back safe and sound. I’d expect cooperation from the Desert Rats out
here, and not this sort of treatment from our own rank and file.” He gave the
General an indignant look.

Now a Staff Officer, who had been
listening to the whole interrogation, stepped up and quietly whispered
something to General Kinlan, which prompted an odd reaction.

“You’re certain?” he said.

“I’ve just called it up on the
library pad, sir. Have a look at this…” The man handed Kinlan something that
looked to Popski like a small tea tray topped with a glass cover but, to his
amazement, the thing lit up in color with a single touch of the General’s hand,
and he watched as the man studied something there, then stared at him as though
he were looking at a ghost.

“Peniakoff,” said Kinlan. “And
you say you’re called Popski?” The library pad was opened to a file on the man.
Though Kinlan could not believe this could be the same person, the resemblance
to the man in the photograph was uncanny. What was going on here?

“Long Range Desert Group, you
say?”

“Right, sir. We’re a new unit,
set up by Major Bagnold and Captains Clayton and Shaw—all volunteers, just like
me. Long Range Patrol was our first handle. Now we’re the L.R.D.G.”

Kinlan tapped at the strange
thing he held in his hand, and Popski could not help leaning in to try and get
a better look at it. Then the General gave Popski a long look, puzzled yet
penetrating, as if he were trying to see beneath the man’s skin.

Fedorov had been listening, not
following everything, but he did catch a few words, and one of them was ‘ICBM.’
He asked Popski what had been said about it.

“Just gibberish to me,” said
Popski. “Something about us lazing about a target area or some such nonsense.
The man doesn’t make any sense, and he’s looking at me like I was his long lost
uncle or something. What in the world has happened? These aren’t the Desert
Rats I know, and I know a good many. I heard Jock Campbell was out here with
the Royal Horse Artillery, but these lads are way over the top. Get a look at
those tanks. Bloody amazing! This has to be a special unit. Maybe something
Wavell has kept under his hat to surprise old Rommel.”

Jake Kinlan caught those names,
another oddity, and scratched his head. Wavell? Rommel? And didn’t this man say
he was out here looking for a downed British aircraft carrying a General
O’Connor? The name was familiar, and a few taps on his library pad called up
the file soon enough. There were several men by that name, a General Rory
O’Connor who had served with 11th Armored Division, Middle East Command and
Commander of British Forces in Hong Kong before retiring in 1966. This couldn’t
be the man they were talking about, nor the older entry for General Richard
O’Connor dating back to WWII. Yet something about this man seemed to connect in
his mind with these old files. The L.R.D.G. had fought here in Egypt and Libya,
along with this ‘Popski’ character as well. Wavell was the man in charge;
Rommel his enemy. And this General O’Connor had fought here as well. Was this some
sort of elaborate hoax, a man playing at WWII in the desert?

No, he thought. Not possible. I
don’t know who this Popski fellow is, but there’s no denying those are bona
fide Russian Marines in that truck over there, and that’s a KA-40 sitting
there. They came here for a reason, and they were up to no good.

He was interrupted again by his
Communications Officer, who reported they had another message from Lieutenant
out on point. The column was moving now, the continuous rumble of the heavy
vehicles shaking the earth itself as the heavy tanks of the Scotts Dragoons
were now passing by, obscured by the sand storm. Popski kept looking over his
shoulder, a look of alarm as he listened to it, as if he thought a freight
train might come crashing in on them at any moment. The sound of the moving
column had a deep, threatening tone that spoke of power and steel on the move,
and the unmistakable sound of tanks on the desert sand.

“It seems we have another group
out there sir. Reeves is beside himself. Says six jeeps came up the road from
Siwa
.”

“Berbers again? I thought we had
that problem solved for the time being. They must have seen that fireworks
earlier, and you’d think they’d want to stay out of it.”

“No sir… Not Berbers. Listen to
this!”

Chapter 32