by Andy McNab
The way the soldier’s body fell from Jason’s shoulders, Liam knew he was dead. That, and the dark stains he could see on his clothing, a clear sign that the body was riddled with bullets. Anger bubbled inside him, boiled over.
Liam emptied his magazine and changed it quick and sharp, hurling out another spray of bullets. Along from him, the rest of the multiple did the same. Then he saw a hand signal from Sergeant Reynolds. They were pulling out. He wanted to stay, to take the fight to the Taliban – to the ones who’d killed Cameron, killed the soldier they’d come out here to find – but he knew the sergeant was right.
‘Mike!’ Liam yelled. ‘Hacker! We need to shift it!’
Mike nodded and they both stood up, making to move up to the others; then more fire came in at them, this time from another position. Suddenly the ground between them and Sergeant Reynolds and the other soldiers was kicked up into the air and a dull thud hammered both of them onto the ground.
‘Mortar rounds!’ Mike yelled out. ‘They’ve cut us off! We have to get the fuck out of here!’
‘I know that!’ Liam shouted back and pointed towards Sergeant Reynolds. ‘That way!’
Another mortar round came in, closer this time, quickly followed by another.
Mike zipped a finger across his throat. ‘No way, Liam! They’ve got our position. We go that way, they’ll blow us to pieces or just mow us down. Now shift it!’ He pointed behind Liam.
‘But that’s the wrong direction!’
‘We’ll swing round,’ said Mike, nodding back to the direction the others were going in. ‘No choice. Fire, manoeuvre, OK? Move!’
Liam didn’t argue, wasn’t given a chance, as Mike pushed him to his feet and opened fire. Liam bolted, sprinting hard. After about ten metres, he turned, dropped to his knees, opened fire. Mike was up, sprinted past, and between five and ten metres further on did the same, covering Liam as he moved.
Liam dropped down into a gully, his lungs bursting, sweat pouring down his face. Mike joined him.
‘Where the hell are we going?’
‘At this moment,’ said Mike, ‘away from that lot. If we’d stayed we’d have been torn apart. But we can’t stay here. We need to keep moving and get back to the others.’ He crept to the top of the gully, peered over. The sound of gunfire opened up. ‘They’re on to us,’ he confirmed. ‘We can’t stay here. How are you for ammo?’
Liam checked. He was down two mags, but the other ten he was carrying were fine. That gave him a total of 300 rounds, along with some grenades in his pack.
‘We’ve enough between us to get out of this,’ said Mike. ‘But we’re going to have to keep moving or they’ll be on to us. And we’re just going to have to hope that wherever we’re going is IED-free, because we can’t afford to go creeping around. Understand?’
Liam nodded. He was scared, but if he was honest he would have been more worried if he hadn’t been. Fear, he knew now, gave a soldier an edge, kept him alert. And being shot at by the Taliban, and now being paired up with Mike, was more than reason enough, as Jackson sometimes said, his tongue firmly in his cheek, ‘to stay frosty’.
‘We stick to the drills, Liam,’ said Mike. ‘Use our training. Let’s move!’
Liam followed him down the gully and it wasn’t long before his sense of direction was screwed. The sound of gunfire, though quieter, was still following them and he knew that they could very soon become the focus of a search-and-rescue operation themselves, just like the one they were supposed to be on right now.
Mike pointed skywards. ‘Evening’s drawing in. We don’t want to be stuck out here longer than we have to.’ He nodded to his right. ‘The others will be making their way back to where we were dropped off. Which, if I’m right, is that way.’
‘So what are you suggesting?’ asked Liam, his hands gripping his SA80, not just because he was ready for the Taliban, but because he was wary of Mike.
‘We’ve no choice but to hit open ground,’ said Mike. ‘How fast can you run?’
‘Faster than you,’ said Liam.
‘Then let’s see, shall we?’
Liam and Mike checked over the lip of the gully, peering through the bushes to see if anyone had sussed them yet. The landscape was flat and dusty – the usual series of fields, most dry and barren, bordered by rough scrub, ditches and badly maintained paths and roads. In the distance, mountains rose to stare down on them.
‘We’re clear,’ said Mike, and he was up and out of the gully.
Liam leaped out after him. Mike was powerfully built and could run, but Liam was quick, always had been, and soon he was alongside.
Gunfire came at them, kicking up dust to their sides. Mike changed direction and dropped behind a large tree. Liam skidded in next to him. Without a word, they both readied their weapons.
‘Thought you said we were clear?’ hissed Liam.
‘I was wrong,’ Mike replied. ‘Sue me.’
Peering round the tree, Liam spotted four men approaching from the way they’d just come. They were all carrying AK47s and firing wildly from the hip in their general direction. Liam raised his rifle.
‘Wait,’ said Mike, his hand lowering Liam’s weapon. ‘We don’t waste rounds. Every shot has to count. Hold till they’re almost on us. You take those two on the right, I’ll have the ones on the left.’
Liam nodded.
The men still approached. They were shouting now, and they sounded happy, like they were already sure of their kill. Liam could hear the blood thumping through his head, racing around his body. Any closer and he’d be able to hug them.
‘Now!’ hissed Mike.
Liam was up, had the first man in his sights, squeezed the trigger, dropping him to the ground like a rag doll. He switched to the other, squeezed the trigger again, and dropped him too. Then he turned to the others to find that neither one was standing.
‘Move!’ shouted Mike, and pushed Liam to take point.
Liam leaped out from their firing position behind the tree and raced on. He turned, dropped to his knees to provide covering fire for Mike, but there was no one coming for them, no gunfire. Perhaps they were in the clear?
Mike bolted past and Liam was up and chasing. Ahead, he saw a tumbledown compound. One of the walls had fallen in completely. It wasn’t much, but it would give them some cover and a chance to work out what to do next. Liam leaped over the fallen wall and dropped against the part of it still standing. He checked his weapon, made sure that if anyone came after them, he was still ready to go.
Mike arrived. But he didn’t sit down.
‘I don’t think any others are coming after us,’ he said.
‘That was insane,’ said Liam, and pulled out his water bottle to take a deep glug. He threw it to Mike, who caught it, but didn’t take a drink.
‘How you doing, Liam?’ Mike placed the bottle on the ground.
‘Oh, I’m just peachy,’ said Liam, laughing to himself at the thought that now, of all times, he was using a phrase of his mum’s.
‘I mean about Cameron’s death,’ said Mike. ‘It must’ve hit you hard.’
‘I don’t want to talk about it,’ said Liam, and he really didn’t, particularly not with Mike. ‘I just want to get back to the checkpoint.’
‘But what if I want to talk about it?’ said Mike, and Liam heard the change in his voice. Before, it had been urgent, but calm and focused on getting them away from the Taliban. Now it was cold and direct. Angry.
‘Why?’ asked Liam. ‘It’s not as though you knew him that well, is it?’
Liam didn’t like this. Mike was rounding on him.
‘It’s hard, though, isn’t it?’ said Mike, turning away from Liam. ‘When someone close to you dies. Tough to deal with. Like it was for my family when you got Dan killed.’
Liam found it hard to believe what Mike was doing, what he was saying.
‘I didn’t get Dan killed,’ he said, trying not to raise his voice, anger Mike further. ‘It was an accident! He tripped. I t
ried to catch him, but—’
‘But nothing, Liam!’ Mike snarled. ‘Dan’s death destroyed my family! You destroyed my family!’
Liam heard a sound any soldier would recognize: a weapon being readied. It was Mike’s SA80. He slid back the cocking handle on his own, just in case.
Mike hurled himself round, weapon at the ready and pointed directly at Liam’s chest.
‘You killed my brother, Liam!’
‘No I didn’t!’ Liam yelled back, his barrel now trained on Mike’s chest. ‘And whatever you’re thinking of doing now, don’t do it! This isn’t what either of us want! Don’t be a fucking idiot!’
‘I know what I know,’ hissed Mike. ‘It was your fault, Liam. Dan’s dead because of you.’
He raised the barrel of his rifle . . .
23
LIAM HURLED HIS right hand towards Mike, launching a cloud of dust and grit into his face. Mike, caught by surprise, ducked, but at the same time squeezed off a few rounds from his SA80. They thumped into the wall above where Liam had been sitting, but now Liam was up on his feet and more pissed off than he’d ever been in his whole life.
‘You stupid fuck!’ he yelled. ‘You tried to bloody well slot me!’
He didn’t give Mike a chance to reply, slamming his whole body into him to knock him to the ground. Mike struggled, but his eyes were still filled with grit. He swiped at Liam with his weapon, but Liam slapped him hard across his face with the back of his hand, then knelt on his right arm, which was holding the SA80. Mike yelled out, but Liam only leaned on it harder, grinding it into the ground.
Mike’s hand sprang open, dropping the rifle. Liam grabbed it and hurled it away. But now Mike could see exactly what he was doing and he caught Liam hard across the jaw, sending him onto his side.
Liam tried to get up, but Mike was into him hard with a boot. Liam curled up, protecting himself from the kick. Mike came in again, but Liam managed to roll out of his way and was up on his feet again.
‘Back off, Mike!’ he shouted. ‘Don’t be such an idiot! I didn’t kill Dan!’
‘You were there!’ snarled Mike, wiping more muck from his face. ‘If it hadn’t been for you, he wouldn’t have been there in the first place. My brother, he looked up to you. Fuck knows why, but he did. And you encouraged him, didn’t you? Got him into trouble when he should’ve been home studying, sorting a life for himself.’
Liam saw Mike eye his rifle, but it was too far away. Then he went for his pistol.
Liam had no choice. Instead of turning to run, he killed the distance between them in a snap. As Mike raised the pistol, Liam grabbed the hand holding the weapon and pushed it hard and fast into Mike’s gut. Then, giving Mike no quarter, he launched a flurry of ferociously violent punches into his face, smashing his nose in a spray of blood and splitting an eyebrow open. Liam gave no thought to the fact that he could easily break his fingers. At that moment it didn’t matter. With Mike’s nose now broken, blood pouring down his face, Liam turned his attention to the pistol, grabbing it with both hands and tearing it away from Mike with a terrible yank.
Mike yelled out and Liam knew immediately that he’d just broken his trigger finger.
He raised the weapon. ‘Stand still!’ he screamed at Mike. ‘Don’t move! Just stay the fuck where you are!’
But Mike wasn’t listening. ‘I’m going to kill you, Liam.’
‘Just stay where you are, you mad bastard!’
‘I mean it,’ continued Mike. ‘You’re dead, Liam. Fucking dead!’
Liam didn’t know what to do next. They couldn’t stay here for ever, facing each other down. And he wasn’t about to put a bullet in Mike to slow him down. It was tempting, but it was stupid. Despite what the movies portrayed, Liam knew it was nigh on impossible to wound someone on purpose. One shot and Mike would most likely end up bleeding to death.
‘What you going to do now then, Liam?’ Mike asked, wiping blood and snot from his face. ‘You know you’re going to have to shoot me, don’t you? Come on then! Do it! Because if you don’t, I’m going to—’
Whatever Mike was going to say was cut short by the sight of a grenade landing on the ground to their left. They both jumped for their lives, Liam diving behind the remains of the destroyed wall, Mike dropping behind a pile of stones.
The grenade went off, filling the place with smoke. Liam heard shrapnel ping all around, and when he opened his eyes, he could see nothing. There was no sound from Mike. Liam found himself hoping he was at least injured, but binned that thought immediately when he saw his silhouette, about thirty metres away, scrabbling around in the dust for his rifle.
Liam was up and out of the compound in a breath. He made to grab his rifle, but the thing had been caught in the blast and was a mess, smashed up and crushed by flying debris. Where he was going he wasn’t sure, but out of there was his first thought – away from Mike, who he had no doubt was still intent on murdering him; and away from the Taliban, who had obviously found where they were hiding and tossed in the grenade to wake them up.
Liam heard gunfire but didn’t turn round. Then he heard Mike shouting after him, but he ignored it and just kept running.
The evening was almost over now, and night was only minutes away. Soon the whole area would be dark. And dark in the desert of Afghanistan was dark – nothing like the gloom of a city, but a sheer impenetrable blackness lit only by the stars. Liam knew he couldn’t go wandering around, unable to see where he was going; he had to find somewhere to hide up for the night. But where?
He spotted some thick bush about a hundred metres ahead, a small area of woodland with trees and scrub and rubble. It would do, but only if no one saw him. He dropped to the ground, calmed his breath, listened out. Silence. Slowly he edged forward. Then, just ahead, he spotted something. He was on a narrow path, and a few metres in front of him an area of ground had been scuffed up, but in a different direction to any other mark he could see. It looked like it had been swept by a branch to cover something up. Liam knew that if Jason were here he’d have stopped the multiple and gone to investigate. For all he knew, it was nothing, just a patch of ground where a goat had taken a kip. But he wasn’t about to take that risk. So he stepped round it, giving the area a wide berth.
‘Liam!’
It was Mike, and he was closing in.
Liam knew that with Mike so near, the small woodland was now binned – he’d have to find somewhere else. Where? He edged forward, scanning the area ahead, hoping Mike would just give up and back off. Some chance, he thought.
The thump of an explosion pulled Liam up sharp. For a moment, there was silence, then there was a sickening moan.
Liam turned back the way he’d come and knew what he was going to find even before he stumbled on it. A few steps later, and in the half-light cast by the moon, he saw Mike sprawled on the ground. His right foot was gone, bits of it scattered in the bushes and across the ground.
To his amazement, he saw Mike sit up and raise his weapon.
‘You’re injured, Mike!’ said Liam. ‘Don’t be such a prick!’
But the weapon went off and Liam heard a bullet whistle past his head. Then Mike’s arm dropped to the ground, weakness taking over.
Liam ran over and kicked the rifle out of the way. Then he knelt down at Mike’s side and removed his knife. ‘You can try and kill me later,’ he said. ‘Now, though, we have to sort out this mess.’
He started to check Mike over for further injuries, but Mike snarled and attempted to land a punch on his cheek. It missed badly. He tried again, but this time Liam grabbed him tight, leaning his arm across Mike’s neck to choke him.
‘You’ve a choice, Mike,’ he hissed, spitting angrily. ‘Either back down and give me a chance to sort you out, or fuck around and have me walk away.’
Mike glared.
‘Believe me,’ said Liam, ‘I’m seriously tempted to leave you here to bleed to death or be captured by the Taliban.’ Mike’s eyes grew wide and Liam sensed his body rela
x beneath him. ‘Your foot’s gone,’ Liam continued. ‘But you don’t seem to have any other injuries. Must’ve been a small device. However, I still need to stop the bleeding, clean you up and get you out of here. Understand?’
Mike nodded feebly.
‘Good,’ said Liam. ‘Now keep quiet. And if you hear anything, tell me!’
With Mike quickly subdued, not just because of blood loss and exhaustion, but the shot of morphine to dull the pain, Liam dealt with Mike’s injuries. A tourniquet stemmed the bleeding and, once the wound was as clean as he could make it with the water from his pack, he had it packed and bandaged in minutes.
‘Liam . . . voices . . .’
Mike’s voice was barely a whisper, but what it said was enough to silence Liam.
Mike was right: there were voices. Distant, but distinct, and Liam recognized only the sound of locals, not squaddies.
He leaned in close for Mike to hear him. ‘We have to get out of here,’ he said. ‘And that means I’m going to have to carry you.’
Mike said nothing, just nodded.
‘You’re going on my shoulders, fireman’s carry, but I need you to make like you’re dead and keep your mouth shut. Even if it hurts like hell, don’t make a sound or we’re screwed.’
Mike made no effort to contradict what Liam had said. Once Liam was happy that he could carry his kit and Mike’s SA80 securely, he helped Mike up onto his good foot, ducked down, took Mike’s weight across his shoulders, careful not to bash into his mashed leg, and stood tall.
Making his way forward into the ever-darkening night, he did a quick bit of maths. With Mike’s kit, including his rifle, that was at least an extra fifteen kilos he was carrying. He put Mike at around twelve stone, which was another seventy-six kilos. Give or take a few kilos, that meant he was now trying to outrun the Taliban carrying another ninety kilos on his back, at night, and with no idea where he was, or how he was going to get back to the compound. Things weren’t exactly looking good, but worrying wasn’t going to make any difference. He just had to focus on digging deep and getting them out of the shit.
