Hunter Killer by James Rouch

climbed in carefully. ‘Our sled came down through the centre of the village. I spotted a house at the far end that’s in better condition than most, still got some of its glass. There’s a bit of a bank to get the injured up first, then it’s near enough level all the way.’ The torches caught and made sparkle the particles of ice trapped in the fur edge of Hyde’s hood. More flying crystals rode the draught past him.
    ‘Right, post a couple of sentries, everyone else is to give a hand moving the casualties. If a Swedish patrol boat goes past now we’ll stand out like a damned neon sign. Soon as that’s organised I’ll want the other sledges found and their loads transferred to the house or the launch sites. OK, let’s move. There’s lots to do and not too many of us to do it.’
    ‘What about them?’ Andrea indicated the slumped, immobile forms occupying several seats.
    Revell knew her well enough to realise she didn’t feel the slightest concern for what became of the bodies. She was probing him again, testing him for his reaction, his response to a situation. Just for once he found himself thinking her way. ‘Leave them.’ It was what he added that marked the difference between them. ‘The living come first.’
    Standing at the top of the bank down which the cabin had made the final plunge, the bitter wind plucked at them. The snow was beginning to settle, gathering in the ruts gouged out of the grass slope by their descent and softening the harsh outlines of the partially demolished house twenty feet above their heads.
    The clattering, clinking noise they’d heard was less noticeable now, as the sea refroze and bound together the shattered slabs of ice.
    It had been Libby’s idea to use one of the seats from the cabin as an improvised litter on which to hoist their casualties to the top. With three men hauling from above, and two climbing alongside to prevent it tipping, the contraption had made the task of moving the fracture cases to the higher ground easier, and much faster, than it otherwise would have been.
    ‘That was the last of them, Major.’ As Libby sought a large block of rubble to which he could secure the rope, a tottering chimney hanging over the ruin finally gave up resistance to the wind’s pressure and fell.
    Tumbling over the mound of debris, the heavy mass of battered brickwork bounced down the bank, narrowly missing Dooley, who was arranging a corner of the camouflage netting draped over the cabin. It skidded across the ice-crusted gravel at the water’s edge and on to the frozen sea, breaking through and disappearing. The fragments of ridge-crossed ice closed over, and the trail of bubbles that rose to the surface was trapped by the lace-like layer that filled the gaps between the pieces.
    Revell tugged his hood closer about his face, pulling the fur over his mouth and breathing hard into it so that it warmed his lips. The sensation was quickly lost. He felt the fur harden to frosty spikes the instant it was touched by the wind. That weather forecast, bad as it was, must have been on the optimistic side, it was far colder than he’d expected: far colder even than anything he’d experienced on exercises in the Arctic, and he’d thought them tough at the time.
    They’d got off to a bad start. The effective strength of the artillery contingent had already been halved, and their command structure wiped out down to the level of a bombardier. There would be a lot of work for those who were left, and much of the responsibility would fall on the gunner NCO. If he shaped up, it would take some of the load off himself, Hyde and Lieutenant Hogg; but if he didn’t, then nursemaiding him would be yet another burden. Even as he speculated the bombardier appeared at Revell’s side.
    ‘Casualties have all been transferred, Major. I’ve got my men sorted and I’d like to get cracking and find our equipment as soon as possible, sir.’ That had been unexpected. The bombardier had