Land of Fire

by Chris Ryan

  "I'll tell you what I reckon," I said. "I think the epidemic has got worse. So bad maybe that most of the garrison is down and that includes the remaining pilots. The only way replacements can be flown in from the UK is by using the refuelling tankers at Mount Pleasant. With those out of action the islands are cut off. I think London is terrified that if the Argies learn how bad the situation is they might be tempted to seize the opportunity to invade. How quickly could the marines here act, do you think?"

  Seb shook his head. "This is winter time, there is no shipping down here to transport large numbers of troops. They would have to come from further north, on the mainland."

  "What about transport aircraft?"

  "None that I have seen. Rio Grande is a bomber base. Always has been."

  Seb was straining to see the road ahead as if searching for a marker. Whatever it was he must have seen it, for he slowed the Toyota and cut the headlights again. "We are near the airfield now."

  Another minute and we were bumping along a disused track with thick undergrowth either side. Seb stopped the vehicle. "We are less than half a mile from the airfield," he said. "From here on we proceed by foot."

  It was half-past three five hours to set up the lying-up point before first light.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Before we set off for the base, Seb produced a detailed map. We squeezed round to study it in the light of a small torch.

  "We came in along the main highway here," Seb indicated. "And we turned off down this track, like so. We are now at this point on the north side of the field," he tapped the map. "The entire airfield is protected by a high wire fence. The military and civilian sectors lie on opposite sides of the single, shared runway. A secondary inside fence topped with razor wire prevents access to the military side with its hangars and revetments. The space between is patrolled, and there are also minefields covering access routes from the sea."

  A couple of the lads chuckled but I was impressed. Seb had done a thorough job. The map was beautifully marked out with the minefields indicated by rows of little crosses. "How accurate is the position of these fields?" I asked him.

  "They are taken off a map issued to officers on the base," Seb answered. "Even so, you will need to exercise great care. Some of the minefields may be dummies, others left over from the earlier hostilities may be unmarked. The route I will show you is safe. I have watched soldiers moving along it."

  "You're coming in with us this time?" Doug inquired sarcastically. He was letting him know he still wasn't trusted, but Seb didn't rise to the bait.

  "I will guide you as far as the inner fence and leave you there. I suggest you set up your observation point as close to the fence as possible. You should have a clear view of all the activity on the base from there. The guards patrol round the inside of the fence. In general they avoid the zone between the fences for fear of mines. So you should be undisturbed."

  "Do the patrols have dogs?" Kiwi asked.

  "I have not noticed any, and I think they would be little use in the winter. Be warned, though, the guards are all drawn from the Third Marine Division. Whatever your general opinion of Argentine troops may be, do not underestimate these. They are highly motivated and well disciplined. Expect patrols to be vigilant and to pursue intruders aggressively."

  I studied the layout thoughtfully. He was right. The zone between the fences would be a good place to lie up. Fear of mines would deter pursuit and the undisturbed vegetation would provide good cover. It was a question of locating a good spot from which to observe the runway. We would also need to survey a quick escape route in case we had to exit in a hurry.

  We established communication procedures. Seb gave me a cellphone I could use if we needed help or evacuation. We would use agreed code words in Spanish to convey messages. "I have been instructed that when the mission is complete I am to drive you to the border, where a helicopter from the Chilean side will rendezvous for a pick-up."

  Doug grunted at that. No more border crossings and ambushes on this trip. And no more yomping out across the freezing pampas either.

  We also agreed a fallback assembly point two kilometres north of the base, to meet at if we had to abandon the LUP, and an emergency rendezvous point we called the War RV; on the edge of town for use in the event anyone became separated. Seb wanted to know how we would transmit reports back to the UK. "I recommend great care. Restrict communications to urgent messages only," he said. "The territory is considered a frontier zone and the authorities monitor all transmissions very closely. They can home in on you within seconds."

  I shrugged. We had our own rules for transmitting messages and they were none of his business. Our orders called for us to check in with a status report twice daily. We also had to report any contact with the enemy or significant intelligence on the target. As soon as we reached the airfield and established our

  LUPI would set up the 320 set and inform Hereford that we were in position to begin observations.

  With Seb's help we disembarked from the Toyota and shouldered our berg ens and weapons. Doug and Nobby had no packs, so we loaded them up with the heavy weapons, including the GPMG, and the satcom set. We were all now wearing winter white camouflage smocks and trousers. One side was all white for use in the arctic; the other was a mix of white slashed with black for use where there was a tree line. Tonight we were wearing all white. Seb carried no weapon but he brought along a set of long-handled bolt cutters. "For the gate," he explained grimly.

  Then we set off. I went in front with Seb. The night-vision scope made the track easy to follow. All of us were vigilant in case someone was following. Seb evidently found our operations procedures strange, but said nothing and tagged along.

  Nothing happened to raise an alarm, and after about an hour we came over a low rise and saw the lights of the airfield shimmering through the falling snow. After a few more minutes the outer wire fence loomed up. The track running outside it looked to be in regular use. "How often do they patrol this?" I asked Seb.

  "The outer fence is checked at dawn and dusk, but the inner fence is patrolled at two-hourly intervals around the clock. A Jeep with a driver and observer. They look mainly for holes in the fence."

  I glanced at my watch, and reckoned we had four-and-a-half hours till dawn. The falling snow would obliterate any traces of our passage well before the next patrol showed up.

  The track led down to a set of double gates, firmly padlocked. Seb applied his bolt cutters to the hasp and together we heaved on the handles. It took our combined strengths to shear through the toughened steel. Seb slipped the lock off and pushed the gate open enough to let us through.

  "This is as far as I go. You are on your own now. Watch for mines and remember the patrols. At first light I will check the beach for any sighting of your comrade and contact you over the cellphone."

  He closed the gate behind us and padlocked it shut with a fresh lock. He handed me a spare brass key with a plastic tag. "This exit is rarely used. Anyone trying to get through will assume the keys have become mixed up."

  I pocketed the key and nodded. "Thanks for your help."

  "I will call you," he said and vanished away into the snow.

  I turned to study the situation. The two fences were approximately a hundred metres apart. On the plan the strip between where we were standing was shown as being sown with anti-personnel mines and the area was thickly overgrown. Just to make the point, there were signs fixed to the wire with a skull and crossbones.

  "Bloody typical of the Argies," Doug grunted. I agreed with him. If they were going to have a mine barrier, they should have done it the East German way spray the ground with weed killer and rake it over regularly, then there's no vegetation to hide behind and any tracks show up.

  The map showed that the mines were clustered in the centre, leaving pathways along the fences where repair parties could work in safety. If we crawled along the edge of the inside fence until we reached a spot from where we could observe the runway,
we should be okay.

  As I looked, details of the airfield started to become clearer. According to the map it was about two miles long by a mile wide. The fence here ran parallel to the main runway, which was laid out east to west. The military sector where we were lay to the north of the runway and the civilian side to the south. The military installations were grouped in two sections; what looked like the control tower and mess blocks could be made out almost directly opposite where we had come in. A little further on and closer to the edge of the field stood the dark silhouettes of aircraft revetments and hangars. Seb had done a good job of leading us to the target.

  On the far side of the inner fence a road ran around the airfield perimeter, presumably the one used by the patrols. We had no means of knowing when the next patrol would be round. Hopefully, though, any check in the current weather conditions would be cursory.

  "Doug, take Kiwi with you and do a recce," I told him. "Keep close up to the inner fence to avoid mines. See if you can find a spot where there's a good view of the landing strip and all the main buildings."

  My intention, if we weren't all blown up in the process, was to establish the LUP not far from the gate in case we needed to get out in a hurry, then set up an observation point about a hundred metres further in, from where we would monitor activity on the base. Two of us would man the OP around the clock on two-hour shifts, while the others rested up.

  "Got it," Doug said. He handed Nobby the GPMG, which he had been carrying to give Kiwi a break, and took Nobby's rifle. There was a narrow path, presumably used by fatigue crews carrying out routine maintenance. The pair of them dropped on to their bellies and crawled off into the darkness.

  Nobby, Josh and I crouched down out of the wind to wait in the darkness. I set Josh to watching the gate and the way we had come, in case a vehicle on the road noticed the Toyota tracks before they were covered by snow and decided to follow them down, while Nobby and I scanned the airfield before us. The wind was blowing gusts of snow in from the sea, at times obscuring the control tower completely. At other times we could make out the gleam of headlamps moving between buildings, which may or may not have been patrols.

  On the apron in front of the tower half a dozen aircraft were drawn up. As far as I could make out at this distance through the night-vision scope, they were jet trainers and ground attack machines. I had spent some time studying an Argentine aircraft recognition manual, and had a pretty fair idea of what planes to expect. Presumably the bombers were all safely snugged down in their revetments.

  "No runway lights," Nobby muttered. It was true. The approach lights looked to be switched off too. Evidently no aircraft movements were anticipated in the near future. The tower still appeared to be manned, though but that would be standard procedure at all times.

  There was a scuffling in the grass and Doug reappeared. "I found a good place about 300 metres up," he reported. "There's what looks like an old light array or windsock post located between the fences a fucking great wooden thing set in a concrete base. It looks unused now and all grown over with gorse and crap, but I reckon there can't be any mines there and the five of us could hide up behind the concrete. Beyond that the path goes on the same and you come to a drainage channel running out from the base. I reckon we could use that as a means of entry."

  He led the way back along the inside of the fence, the rest of us following in single file. We moved on our bellies at a crawl, trusting our winter whites to camouflage us against the snow-covered undergrowth behind. It was cold going, but better than standing waiting and shivering. The grass under the wire had grown long over the years and, provided we kept low enough, we were effectively crawling along a narrow trench between areas of vegetation.

  The spot Doug had chosen was just as he had described a concrete platform set back twenty-five metres from the inner fence, surrounded and overgrown by heather and gorse. As Doug said, it was a safe bet that no mines had been set in the immediate vicinity in case access was needed. Even so it was worth taking precautions.

  "I'll go first," I announced to the others, telling them to stay well back. Facing outwards from the fence, I extracted my combat knife, parted the tough stems of gorse and pushed the blade into the ground ahead of me. The earth was hard and tangled with roots, but there was no obstruction that I could feel. I drew the knife out and moved it over to the side a few inches. Modern anti-personnel mines are no bigger than a saucer, but they contain enough explosive to blow your legs off. I slid the knife in again, and this time the tip came up against something strong. From the slight scraping sound it made I was fairly certain it was only a stone, and a couple more prods with the knife a little further over met no resistance so I judged it safe to ease forward on my elbows a few inches.

  Again I repeated the process, starting at my right and working across methodically. Minelayers almost always work to a pattern so many mines to cover a given patch of ground. Mines achieve their effect by fear; once a platoon has seen one of their number blown up, they become very reluctant to move until engineers come up with detecting equipment. There's no sense in sowing the damn things too close. The idea is that you don't find out about a minefield until you're in the middle of it.

  It was a slow business, but we still had a few hours before dawn and it was better than someone losing a foot through being in too much of a hurry. I got into a routine of feeling ahead and inching forward, ignoring the cold and numbness in my fingers, concentrating only on the sensation at the tip of the knife as it slid under the topsoil. I tried to remember all the training courses I had attended in mine and demolition clearance. Sometimes, I knew, minelayers would plant a few mines out of pattern to deceive the clearance team but this was airfield defence and I figured they wouldn't bother with tricks.

  Within a few minutes I was hidden from view under a canopy of gorse. It was hard stuff to work in, but it kept the wind off and provided cover from any observer. As far as I could, I tried to bend the stems aside rather than cut them and run the risk of chucks carrying away in the wind. Swath by swath I edged onward, scanning a track as far as I could reach either side of me. I was three metres short of the concrete plinth when the knife blade slid a fraction deeper than before and I felt the tip skim the edge of a curved shape. Instantly my heart-rate leapt. Carefully I withdrew the blade a fraction and probed to left and right. Each time the point connected with the same smooth surface. It felt exactly like the hard ceramic shell of a modern antipersonnel device. Shit, I thought. Whoever laid this was smart enough to guess an intruder might make for the plinth as being a safe spot and planted a mine to catch him. Bastard.

  I lay still a minute, wondering what to do. The obvious course was to back off and try somewhere else to hide up. That wasn't going to be so easy though. This was our best chance. If the minelayers had been as thorough as this there would be precious few other options. In all probability we would find ourselves reduced to using the pathway and trusting our camouflage nets to cover us.

  On the other hand I was close up to the plinth now. If this was a mine there was a strong possibility it was the only one. Maybe the layers had one too many in the batch and had stuck it in here without thinking.

  "Doug," I called behind me.

  "What's up?" he whispered back.

  "I think I've found one!"

  "Fuck!" There was a moment's pause, then, "What you going to do?" he asked.

  "Christ knows. Lift the bastard thing I suppose."

  "You want help?"

  "No, just tell everyone to keep well back. And hunt around in case there are any others back there I missed."

  Most mines require a certain minimum pressure to set them off, generally around five kilograms otherwise they could be detonated by every passing rabbit. So you have a bit of leeway to play with. Not much, but some. Generally, so long as you are careful, it's a fairly straightforward matter to dispose of them. I set to, scraping away the soil and working as gently as if I were a palaeontologist uncovering a piece of a dinos
aur. It didn't help that the ground was frozen hard and I had to prise the earth away in lumps. Behind me I could hear the rest of the team prodding away to either side to locate the edges of the minefield.

  After ten minutes' cautious digging and scraping I had the top of the thing uncovered. I started excavating away around the edges, trying to get the blade of the knife underneath. There was a danger it was fitted with an anti-handling device, but they take time to rig up and are dangerous to set they're just not practical when you're laying hundreds of the fuckers. In spite of the cold my hands were clammy and beads of sweat were trickling down my face into my eyes.

  "How's it going?" Doug called softly.

  "Nearly got it," I told him. "Just a little bit longer." I glanced at my watch. It had taken us an hour and a half to get twenty-five metres.

  "We can't find anything back here. Looks like yours is the only one."

  That wasn't a lot of comfort. If this thing went off it would take my hands and probably my head with it. Everything considered, it would be better all round if it took my head. At least it would be a quick way to go. I scraped some more earth away from around the back of the mine and prepared to lift it.

  At that moment there came a warning hiss from Doug behind me. "Lights! Shit, there's a patrol heading this way!"

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Every muscle in my body went tense instantly. We were lying out in the open in single file. The wind was driving snow in great gusts and we were clad in winter whites with hoods pulled over our heads, but if a torch beam were played in our direction we'd be picked out for sure.

  I didn't dare look round in case my face showed up. "How far off?" I called softly.

  "Four hundred metres," Doug whispered back. "Coming alongside the nearest hangar now. Estimate another four or five minutes till they reach us."

  Fuck, I told myself angrily. There was only one thing I could think of to do continue. I slid the blade of the knife underneath the base of the mine and levered slowly upwards. After a brief resistance the black ceramic casing freed itself from the surrounding earth and came smoothly out. I picked it up gingerly and laid it as far away to one side as I could reach. Taking up the knife again, I started to probe the short strip of ground remaining between me and the edge of the concrete plinth. I thought it unlikely there would be another mine placed so close to the previous one but it was necessary to make sure.