The Unhappy Medium 3: Wretched Things: A Supernatural Comedy, page 50
‘Ohhh,’ said Andronicus. ‘Nukes. I’ve heard of these.’
‘We don’t have many of those here,’ admitted the officer. ‘The bigger yield weapons tend to be controlled directly from the Kremlin, as you know. But we do have one or two of the tactical nukes, the battlefield tactical weapons.’
‘I’ve heard you can destroy a city with those. ‘Very exciting.’
‘They can,’ agreed, the officer. ‘You knew that already, though, right?’
‘I think the general is just sooooo busy wading through all that Kremlin paperwork to recall,’ said Andronicus, deflecting the question for him.
‘That’s right,’ added Podalirius. ‘And more’s the pity. I love getting my hands dirty with the regular soldiers. I’m always head down on the clay tabl–’
‘Paper,’ blurted Andronicus. ‘He’s always head down in the paperwork … soooo much paperwork.’
‘Can we see this Iskander?’ asked Podalirius.
‘Certainly, Comrade General,’ responded the officer. ‘Follow me, if you please. They are quite close.’
‘Excellent,’ approved Podalirius. ‘Lead on.’
The officer led them off down a dirt track, flanked on either side by a terrifying selection of modern Russian military hardware. Tracked howitzers, multiple launch rocket systems and armoured personnel vehicles were everywhere Andronicus and Podalirius looked, nestling under camouflage netting or pointing menacingly up into the air. Incongruously, their crews were busy hanging their laundry beside them on improvised washing lines.
‘It’s quite a big army,’ observed Andronicus. ‘Just needs a big war.’
‘Absolutely,’ agreed Podalirius. ‘What good is an army without a war?’
‘Not with NATO, though,’ answered the officer. ‘They’d fight back! One of the former Soviet republics would do.’
‘What about the Turks?’ asked Andronicus. ‘I don’t like them at all.’
‘They’re in NATO,’ explained the officer, looking confused.
‘Right,’ said Podalirius. ‘Of course, they are.’
‘Ah, here’s the Iskander detachment now.’ The officer pointed to a blob of camo netting beneath which sat a sinister-looking vehicle with a blank flat cab and eight massive wheels.
Seeing the approaching officer, the crew of three half-dressed men dropped their bottles of vodka, stubbed out their cigarettes and dashed over, standing to attention in a far-from-organised line.
‘Comrade Captain, … sir!’ said their commander.
‘This scruffy bunch of bastards are the crew,’ shrugged the officer. ‘They don’t look the part, I know, but they can obliterate an area the size of Volgograd at a moment’s notice, no questions asked.’
‘Can they now?’ asked Andronicus. ‘Now that is interesting.’
‘Yes, Comrade General!’ answered the commander of the Iskander, his chin high. ‘Ours is not to wonder why.’
‘I should hope not,’ barked the officer. ‘You’re not paid to think.’
‘We are not paid very often at all,’ sighed the commander.
‘How many of these have you … I mean, I … got?’ asked Podalirius.
‘Two, sir. One is in for a service, though,’ explained the officer. ‘The tyres keep bursting, and there’s an oil leak.’
‘I see,’ said Podalirius. ‘But this one is ready to roll, da?’
‘Yes, sir,’ confirmed the officer. ‘We always have one ready to go. Just in case.’
‘And you could destroy, say … Constantinople from here?’ asked Andronicus. ‘I mean … Istanbul.’
‘I’m afraid not, Comrade,’ replied the officer. ‘This is a tactical platform. The range isn’t long enough to hit anything that far away. It’s more for battlefields. Destroying entire armies in the field, that kind of thing.’
‘It could make a bit of a mess of a city, though?’ asked Andronicus. ‘If you pointed it at one.’
‘Oh … da!’ confirmed the officer. ‘A total mess. As I said, though, sir, the range is only three hundred miles. To hit Istanbul, you’d have to get a lot closer than this.’
‘I see,’ mulled Andronicus. ‘Can we … I mean you … put it on a boat?’
‘In theory, yes,’ nodded the officer. ‘I’ve not seen it done, but see no reason why not.’
‘Do I have boats?’ asked Podalirius.
‘We have several barges, yes,’ replied the officer. ‘Just up the coast.’
‘Well, then we should organise a test immediately!’ declared Podalirius. ‘Just to be sure, have a barge sent down the coast immediately for this very purpose. We can test it in the morning.’
‘Of course, Comrade Colonel General,’ said the officer. ‘I will make the arrangements immediately.’
*****
‘Let me get this right,’ said Achilles. ‘First, you wanted to take back your city, now … you want to obliterate it?’
‘I do,’ nodded Andronicus. ‘Is there a problem with that?’
‘You told me I couldn’t even sack it yesterday,’ replied Achilles. ‘Make your mind up.’
‘It’s my city,’ declared Andronicus. ‘I can do with it as I wish.’
‘Well, I don’t see how it will be much good to you if it’s a smouldering ruin.’
‘Oh right!’ sneered Andronicus. ‘Look what you did to Troy! From what I’ve heard, it’s nothing but a few stones now.’
‘I thought we were going to recruit the people of Constantinople into our world-conquering army?’ asked Homer.
‘They’re Turks!’ snorted Andronicus. ‘I don’t want them in my army.’
‘Oh, it’s your army now, is it?’ asked Achilles. ‘I like that. It’s like Agamemnon all over again. ‘
‘Look. My city, my rules,’ insisted Andronicus. ‘I’ve had it with the accursed place. Let’s nuke the bastards.’
‘I think we could use this missile on the city to shock and awe our enemies,’ suggested Homer. ‘Wipe it off the face of the earth and put the fear of the Gods into the Purgatorians.’
‘Exactly,’ confirmed Andronicus. ‘Blow ’em all to crap.’
‘What a waste of a good warrior,’ whined Achilles, suddenly feeling like a third wheel. ‘Why am I even here if all you are going to do is press buttons?’
‘Achilles, hold thy nerve, I beseech thee,’ urged Homer. “Your time will come … later. Once the cities of our enemies are turned to ash, you are destined to rule over them all with a fist of bronze!’
‘I hope so,’ grumped Achilles. ’Cos a hero gotta do what a hero gotta do.’
‘So, when do we launch?’ asked Homer. ‘We will have the launcher and the barge by the morning.’
‘It’s a question of range, apparently. The Iskander has to be three hundred miles from Constantinople, and we are four or five hundred away right now,’ explained Podalirius.
‘When the barge arrives,’ said Andronicus, ‘we’ll use the yacht. We will tow the Iskander across the Black Sea towards our target. We can be in range by tomorrow afternoon or early evening at the latest; then, we hit the button. Blam! Goodbye, infidels.’
*****
Another foggy morning broke over the Sea of Azov. The rust-streaked barge came from the north, towed behind a clunky grey landing craft. It arrived alongside the jetty in front of Viktor’s dacha just after a rudimentary breakfast of cooked meats and flavourless bread.
‘It’s here!’ exclaimed Podalirius excitedly. ‘The Iskander is being driven onto the beach to meet it.’
‘Excellent.’ Andronicus grimaced, throwing away a white sausage of dubious origin. ‘Then we will never have to have one of these godawful Russian meals ever again.’
‘It is easier to eat things you can’t see,’ remarked Homer with feeling. ‘Soon, we will feast again on lamb, fish and Greek yoghurt.’
‘I quite like the sausages,’ muttered Achilles, helping himself to more. ‘I think they might be made with tripe. Nothing wrong with a bit of offal, I always say. Good for the muscles.’
‘Never mind that,’ snapped Andronicus impatiently. ‘We need to get organised. Call Dima in. We have to get everyone back on the yacht.’
‘Comrade Nahrapov? What are your orders?’ asked the gunman, arriving in response to the summons and standing to attention.
‘The Purgatorians,’ said Andronicus. ‘Have them taken back to the boat. We can’t leave them here.’
‘We are leaving?’ enquired Dima, feeling horribly out of the loop.
‘Yes,’ growled Andronicus. ‘And?’
‘Can I ask where we will be going? Only ….’
‘Now you look here, dumbass,’ barked Andronicus, ‘you just do as you are told. Ok? Enough of the stupid questions.’
‘But Comrade Boris,’ continued the bewildered, belittled Dima. ‘I merely wanted to ask –’
‘Just shut up and do as you’re told,’ snapped Andronicus. ‘Get the Purgs out of the cellar and take them to the boat.’
‘Yes, Comrade Nahrapov,’ answered Dima, his face the colour of borscht. ‘I … er ….’
‘NOW!’ bellowed Andronicus.
Dima hurried away to the cellar doors, his pride in tatters. In twenty years of criminal co-working, his beloved oligarch had never spoken to him like this, and it hurt as surely as if he’d been shot in the groin. Confused, the gunman kicked open the cellar door and bustled downstairs.
‘It’s room service!’ said Newton, as Dima flicked on the light. ‘Where’s my club sandwich?’
‘Shut the hell up!’ barked the gunman. ‘Or I shoot you some new nostrils.’
Dima leant down behind Gabby, cutting the zip ties fastening her to the pre-revolutionary central heating system.
‘You,’ ordered Dima, jabbing a pistol in her ribs, ‘move over there and don’t try anything. Is time to go.’
‘Was that you getting shouted at upstairs?’ asked Bennet, as Dima cut him free. ‘Is your boss always that abusive?’
‘No,’ grumped Dima. ‘He’s not … himself.’
‘Of course, he’s not himself,’ insisted Viv. ‘He’s someone else.’
‘Don’t bullshit me,’ snarled Dima. ‘I not in mood. I know what you imply. You think I wouldn’t notice if my own boss had been possessed?’
‘Seemingly, you haven’t,’ answered Viv. ‘Look, mate. We know for a fact he’s been taken over.’
‘Taken over by who?’ demanded Dima, starting to give in to his doubts.
‘The Ancient Greeks,’ replied Bennet. ‘Achilles, for starters.’
‘You talk crap, priest. Get up the goddamn stairs, bitches. You think I born yesterday?’
‘Don’t bother trying to convince him,’ said Gabby. ‘He’s totally in denial.’
‘I’m not in denial … dammit!’ snapped the gunman.
‘Let him find out the hard way,’ shrugged Viv. ‘Such a shame.’
‘Shut the hell up!’ barked Dima, cocking his weapon. ‘We go … now.’
‘Ok, Ok,’ said Newton, raising his hands above his head as he climbed the narrow stairs. ‘Keep yer hair on.’
Moving through the now empty dacha, the five of them emerged onto the decking to hear the horrendous engine of the Iskander launch vehicle. It howled passed them, wallowing across the powdery sand towards the barge, now beached on the foggy shoreline.
‘Holy crap,’ gasped Newton, startled into a stand-still by the monstrous vehicle. ‘What the hell is that?’
‘You tell me,’ replied Dima, grumpily. ‘No one tells me anything.’
‘Out of the loop, eh?’ asked Gabby. ‘That’s gotta hurt.’
The Iskander, pouring blue-grey diesel out of what seemed to be five separate exhausts, rattled metallically onto the barge, then screeched loudly to a stop.
‘Walk, dickhead,’ barked Dima, keeping them on the move with a jab of his gun. ‘Did I say you could stop?’
As the gunman marched them out onto the jetty, in the distance, Andronicus, the former colonel general, and Achilles could be seen getting onto the sleek grey silhouette of the Black Sea Princess. The Zodiac then zoomed back from the superyacht before pulling up for the Purgatorians beside the jetty.
‘Get on,’ said Dima, waving his AK at them. ‘Now!’
With all of them aboard, the inflatable tore away, heading for the superyacht, Newton watched the Russians hurrying onto the barge where the soldiers were busy securing the evil-looking vehicle in place with heavy gauge steel cables. From the back of the Zodiac, Newton could now see what the launcher was carrying only too clearly. Perched atop the eight-wheeler was a vast missile, painted overall in a sinister grey-green.
It was BIG … too big for something as pedestrian as high-explosive.
Newton nudged Bennet, then nodded towards the barge, his face ashen. Bennet looked over, then lost the small amount of colour he had in his thin English face.
His small eyes widened.
‘Nuke,’ mouthed Newton
.
Chapter 39
To Kill A City
Leaving the confused aide-de-camp on the jetty behind it, the Black Sea Princess towed its deadly cargo away into the fog. In the cab of the missile launcher, its crew of three sat awkwardly alongside Achilles, blissfully unaware of what the day had in store for them.
Once out of sight of the shoreline, the superyacht hit the gas, her powerful engines dragging the cumbersome barge away towards the Kerch Strait.
As if the worry about what Andronicus, Homer and the Myrmidons were planning wasn’t enough, Newton, Bennet, Gabby Viv, and Valenti now had the added horror of incarceration in the Black Sea Princess’s ample freezer. Perched on top of the frozen bodies of the Crusaders, things were already getting uncomfortable, their hands above their heads, zip-tied to the frost-covered piping.
‘We’ve got to get out of here,’ declared Bennet, stating the obvious.
‘You think?’ said Newton.
‘What temperature do you think it is?’ asked Viv. ‘Minus ten or something?’
‘And the rest.’ Newton looked down. ‘Enough to kill these guys.’
‘Aren’t these the morons from the villa next door?’ asked Gabby.
‘I think they are,’ agreed, Viv, scraping the ice off an England top with the toe of her boot. ‘Damn … how the hell did they get here?’
‘Beats me,’ answered Newton. ‘They were pretty bloody irritating, but I’m not sure I’d have wished this on them.’
‘We’re gonna go the same way if we don’t get out of here,’ shivered Bennet.
‘So much for our holiday in the sun,’ laughed Newton. ‘Does anyone think they can get out of their zip ties?’
‘I’m trying,’ said Gabby. ‘It’s cutting badly into my hands, though. What about you, Viv?’
Viv winced. ‘Same.’
‘I’ve got a knife in my sock,’ announced Bennet.‘But don’t get your hopes up; it’s nothing fancy. I got it in one of those luxury Christmas crackers the year before last at the bishop’s house.’
‘Well, what are you waiting for then?’ asked Newton. ‘Cut us free.’
‘Do I look like a contortionist?’ replied Bennet. ‘I can’t get my leg anywhere near my hands.’
‘Try and move your leg towards one of us, then,’ suggested Gabby.
‘It will never work,’ answered Bennet. ‘We’ve all got our hands strung up too high.’
‘Don’t be so “no can do”,’ said Newton. ‘You’re always boasting about how supple your martial arts make you. Prove it.’
‘Yes … but,’ began Bennet. ‘That’s easy for you to say. I can’t use anything to push off against. Everything here is covered in ice. Heaven help me, I can’t get a purchase.’
‘For God’s sake, Vicar,’ griped the impatient Gabby. ‘You can try, can’t you? You want us to freeze to death, or what?’
‘Oh, for goodness’ sake,’ sighed Bennet, tilting himself around. ‘Have it your own way. It’s never gonna work, but hey, what do I flipping know?’
So Bennet turned himself painfully around to face Gabby, his restraints squeaking as they tightened against the freezing metal of the pipes. Grinding his teeth, the vicar began to attempt the sort of manoeuvre only highly experienced yoga teachers and Stretch Armstrong had a right to try.
‘Arggghhhhh,’ wailed Bennet.
‘Keep going,’ encouraged Gabby, trying to force her hands within range. ‘You’re nearly there.’
‘I’m nowhere near!’ protested Bennet. ‘I’m going to do myself an injury. I’ve got to stop.’
‘Don’t stop, dammit!’ barked Newton, as Bennet slumped back. ‘A sore hip has gotta be better than hypothermia. Try again.’
‘Yeah,’ agreed Viv. ‘Try again.’
‘Give me a second,’ sighed Bennet, teeth grinding like worn brakes. ‘I’m not as young as I used to be.’
‘Chop-chop,’ urged Gabby, unsympathetically. ‘Try again.’
*****
Even as Gabby and Bennet were trying to connect in the freezer, the Black Sea Princess was approaching the Kerch Strait, gateway to the Black Sea. Looming out of the thick mist, the mass of the newly opened Kerch Bridge appeared in the murk, provoking an inevitable response from Russian navy patrolling the contested waters beneath.
‘Attention,’ came the radio call. ‘Unknown craft, … please identify.’
‘Get rid of them, Dima!’ ordered Andronicus, as one of them eased alongside.
‘Give me radio,’ said Dima, taking the handset.
‘I repeat, unknown vessel. Please state destination and purpose,’ insisted the patrol boat.
‘This is the Black Sea Princess,’ replied Dima. ‘Carrying Colonel General Viktor Nahrapov and his brother Boris. We are on official business.’
‘Reading you, Black Sea Princess,’ crackled the radio. ‘Please state destination.’
‘Where are we going?’ asked Dima. ‘No one has told me anything.’
‘Make up something,’ ordered Andronicus. ‘Somewhere down the coast.’
‘Ok,’ said Dima. ‘Hello, patrol craft. This is Black Sea Princess. Destination is south. Town of Sochi. Delivery of a missile system.’
