‘Galenski, are you deaf? Get in here. I need assistance!’
At that moment the DO burst in from the landing in the central stairwell. He carried weapons: stubby Kalashnikov machine-pistols. As Galenski started to his feet he said: ‘You sit there. I’ll go in.’
Without pause for knocking he almost ran into the other room, pulled up short, gasping, as he saw Dragosani crouched over the radio’s panel of blinking lights. Dragosani had taken his glasses off. Snarling soundlessly at the radio, he seemed more like some hunched, half-crazy beast than a man.
Still staring in astonishment at the necromancer’s face, his awful eyes, the DO dumped an armful of weapons onto a chair; as he did so, Dragosani said: ‘Stop gawping!’ He reached out a great hand and grabbed the DO’s
shoulder, dragged him effortlessly towards the radio. ‘Do you know how to operate this damned thing?’
‘Yes, Dragosani,’ the DO gulped, finding his voice. ‘They are trying to speak to you.’
‘I can see that, fool!’ Dragosani snapped. ‘Well then, speak to them. Find out what they want.’
The DO perched himself on the edge of a steel chair in front of the radio. He took up the handset, flipped switches, said: ‘This is Zero. All call-signs acknowledge, over?’
The replies came in sharp, numerical succession: ‘Call-sign One, OK, over.’
Two, OK, over.’
‘Three, OK, over.’ And so on rapidly through fifteen call-signs. The voices were tinny and there was some static, but over and above that they all seemed a little too shrill, all contained a ragged edge of barely controlled panic.
‘Zero for call-sign One, send your message, over,’ said the DO.
‘One: there are things out in the snow!’ the answer came back at once, One’s voice crackling with static and mounting excitement. ‘They’re closing on my position! Request permission to open fire, over?’
‘Zero for One: wait, out!’ snapped the DO. He looked at Dragosani. The necromancer’s red eyes were open wide, like clots of blood frozen in his inhuman face.
‘No!’ he snarled. ‘First I want to know what we’re dealing with. Tell him to hold his fire and give me a running commentary.’
White-faced, the DO nodded, passed on Dragosani’s order, was glad that he wasn’t stuck out there in a pillbox in the snow – but on the other hand, could that be any worse than being stuck in here with the madman Dragosani?
‘Zero, this is One!’ One’s voice crackled out of the radio, almost hysterical with excitement now. ‘They’re coming in a semicircle out of the snow. In a minute they’ll hit the mines. But they move so … so slowly! There! One of them stepped on a mine! It blew him to bits – but the others keep coming! They’re thin, ragged -they don’t make any noise. Some of them have – swords?’
‘Zero for One: you keep calling them “things”. Aren’t they men?’
One’s radio procedure went out of the window. ‘Men?’ his voice was completely hysterical. ‘Maybe they are men, or were – once. I think I’m insane! This is unbelievable!’ He tried to get a grip on himself. ‘Zero, I’m alone here and there are … many of them. I request permission to open fire. I beg you! I must protect myself . . .’
A white foam began to gather at the corners of Dragosani’s gaping mouth where he stared at a wall-chart, checking One’s location. It was an outbuilding pill-box directly below the command tower but fifty yards out from the Chateau itself. Occasionally as the snow swirled he could see its low, squat dark outline through the bullet-proof bay windows, but as yet no sign of the unknown invaders. He stared out into the snow again, and at that precise moment saw a blaze of orange fire erupt to throw the outbuilding into brief silhouette – and this time there came a low crump of an explosion as another mine was tripped.
The DO looked to him for instructions.
Tell him to describe these . . . things!’ Dragosani snapped.
Before the DO could obey, another call-sign came up unbidden: ‘Zero, this is Eleven. Fuck One! These bastards are all over the place! If we don’t open fire now they’ll be crawling all over us. You want to know what they are? I’ll tell you: they’re dead men!’