by Chris Ryan
I was ten metres away, working my way along the bar, trying desperately to hurry and at the same time conscious that any shaking of the bar on my part would probably break his grip and hasten the end. The best I could do was to get as close as I could and pray he could hang on. It crossed my mind to shout down to the Argentines below. There wasn't time to get a ladder or bring up one of the gantries they wouldn't have reached anyway but it might be possible to rig some kind of tarpaulin to catch him. I knew in my heart though that it was hopeless.
I watched as his head tilted back to balance as his right fingers found the far side of the beam and inched their way up. His eyes were closed, his breath coming in short gasps. Beads of sweat burst from his skin, staining his clothes. His fingers touched the lip of the beam. Now they had to reach round and up. Another inch would do it. I saw his fingers claw their way on to the upper surface of the beam. Every fibre in my body was screaming for him to make it. "Only a little more!" I wanted to shout to him. "Just one more effort and you'll do it, by God!"
Josh seemed frozen under the beam. His head was almost level with the underside. He needed only an inch more to get a purchase with his other hand. His left arm was quivering under the strain of holding the position. I heard him draw in his breath through his teeth for one convulsive final effort. His right hand twitched and abruptly jerked upward. The top two joints slid over and clamped convulsively against the smooth steel. The muscles of the arm tensed. He was facing me now and I heard a long gasp of relief break from his lips.
The sweat was pouring off me in rivers. Josh wasn't safe yet, but he had a good chance. Even if he was too exhausted to bring his legs up, he could probably hang on long enough for me to reach him. I can bench-press two hundred pounds, and I knew that if I could only get to him I could haul him back to safety. I flung myself across the remaining five metres, no longer having to worry about vibration shaking him loose. All that mattered now was to reach him with all possible speed. Any moment I was expecting the guy who had seen us to shout down to the fellows on the ground that there were intruders in the hangar. It seemed impossible to me that everyone else could be unaware of the drama being enacted above their heads.
I needn't have worried though. Josh caught my eye and managed a grin, as if to say, "You didn't think I could do it, did you?" Tightening the grip of his hands, he tensed his stomach muscles and bent his legs upwards towards me as smoothly as if he were putting on a display. He brought them up either side of the beam, crossed them at the ankles and locked them in position. Then, and only then, did he relax.
Josh permitted himself just a quarter of a minute's rest before reaching across the beam with his right hand to grip the other edge. With a smooth flip he brought the weight of his body round and a moment later he was pulling himself back up on top of the beam. He sat there, shoulders bowed, getting his breath back till I came up to him.
I didn't say anything, just patted him on the shoulder. That minute would be a defining moment in his existence. His life had been on the line, with only him to save it. He hadn't panicked or cried out for help. He had saved himself and saved the mission too. He had proved himself a true soldier.
I could guess he was still shaky after his escape but we couldn't afford to lose time. The man we had surprised hadn't given us away yet; maybe he was waiting till he got back down among his friends. Either way we had been compromised and it was vital we got away with all possible speed. Josh knew that as well as I did. We set off together, working our way across towards the side of the hangar as fast as we could.
We were negotiating the last truss when a sudden clamour of shouts from the floor of the hangar made us freeze in our tracks.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
The noise of shouting increased. We heard running feet and any second expected torch beams to flash upon us. Then there came the sound of a crash from the middle of the hangar, followed by the bang of a small explosion. Glancing back, I saw the figure of the stranger clinging to one of the lighting arrays three metres below us, giving vent to high pitched shrieks of terror. He had slipped from a beam he had been crawling on and fallen ten feet. The popping sound we had heard must have been one of the arc lamps bursting. All hell was breaking loose but at least to us it was a diversion.
There was a screech of rending metal and a frightful scream. The light array snapped apart and with a desperate cry the clutching figure pitched downward. I turned away before the thud of the impact as his body hit the concrete floor twenty-five metres below. Poor bastard.
We had no time to stay and watch. We had to get out fast. Josh scrambled forward and slid across the last beam to the end of the hangar. A minute later I was next to him. Out on the floor we glimpsed Argentines running around hunting for ladders and shining torches upward. It would be only a matter of moments before they started climbing into the roof space.
We mounted the ladder, making for the door we had come in by. Although by now there was a great deal of noise we dared not move too rapidly for fear of attracting attention. All it would take was one sharp-eyed person to swing a torch beam our way and we would be done for. If we could only reach the outside undetected I was confident we could make the fire-escape ladder and get down to the ground again before a search got organised.
My heart was in my mouth with every step but our luck held. We climbed back up to the roof door and Josh pushed it open. Freezing air blasted through the gap bringing a shower of rain with it. Hastily we scrambled through and I pushed it shut behind us, searching around for something to wedge it fast.
"Who the hell was that?" Josh was demanding. "The fucker near on killed me."
I used the haft of my knife to bend the metal of the doorframe back into position. It might disguise the route we had taken for a minute or two. "I'm almost sure he came down through here by the same way we did."
I pushed Josh towards the rear of the building and punched the talk button on the UHF set.
"Is that you Nobby?" The howling wind and rain made it hard to hear even with the earphone. "Listen carefully," I told him. "I want you to get this message off to Hereford right away, understood? The aircraft in the hangar is a C-17 Globemaster being painted up in R.A.F colours and squadron markings. Repeat, R.A.F colours and squadron markings. Second hangar believed to contain similar aircraft. Transmit that immediately, OK?"
"Roger. Anything else?"
"Yes," I told him. "We've been compromised. Use the mobile phone to send the codeword to Seb requesting a rendezvous for a pull-out. Tell Doug to have the team packed up and ready to move out by the time we return."
"You need any help?" Nobby asked.
"Negative. We should be able to make it to the drain. Then we'll be under cover."
The last thing I wanted was to bring a rescue party blundering about the airfield in the dark.
We made our way back along the roof to the ladder, expecting to hear pursuit at our backs. The conditions were ferocious violent gusts tore at us constantly. The rain had washed away most of the snow and the roof surface was treacherous with melting slush. Hanging on to the safety rail we struggled on, slipping and sliding till we reached the ladder.
Before we could start the descent, though, my earpiece clicked. I felt for the handset and depressed the button. "Nobby?"
"Mark, bad news. Convoy of six plus vehicles heading your direction from south-west travelling fast. ETA your location two to three minutes."
From his vantage point out by the fence, Nobby had spotted headlights moving across the apron. Shit, I thought. The guy we had bumped into must have been brought down and told what he had seen; with the result that an alarm call had been put out for the guard. By the sound of it they weren't pissing about either. Six vehicles could mean anything from twenty men to more than sixty. They'd sent a fucking army out to fetch us in.
"Roger Bravo Two. We'll stay put and keep our heads down."
"Josh," I called up quietly. "Back up on to the roof again and get under cover. Looks like we
'll have company very soon."
Going back was a desperate step. We were effectively putting ourselves into a trap. Once the Argies pinpointed us they could surround the hangar and shoot us off the roof like rats. On the other hand, to be spotted out in the open meant certain capture. There was no way we could hope to reach the drain manhole inside two minutes. The only hope was to lie low and pray.
Luckily we were still at the top of the ladder. Josh swung back under the safety rail and I followed. "Follow me. We'll work our way along one of the valleys towards the front and lie flat," I said. "There's a chance they won't spot us unless they carry out a thorough search."
I was counting on the fact that nobody had put a light on us yet. I picked my way forward along a valley between two peaks of the roof trying to make as little noise as possible, till I reached the front of the building the further away from the ladder the better, and I wanted to catch a glimpse of what was happening. Small chinks of light escaped around the edges of the great doors, showing that the interior was lit up. I threw myself flat, pulled my cap low and risked a quick squint over the edge.
I could make out the approaching column clearly now, moving at a rapid pace past the fuel depot towards the hangars. The lead vehicle was a 4x4 of some kind with a canvas top.
Three more similar followed. Bringing up the rear and dwarfing the others was a pair of massive machines. I could hear the clatter of tracks and, as they swung round to draw abreast of the hangar, the ominous armoured turrets of two American infantry fighting vehicles were outlined against the glow of headlamps. M2 Bradleys with 30mm cannons and co-axial chain-guns, I thought, identifying the silhouettes, and my heart sank. A brush with one of those beauties was to be avoided. Even with an antitank missile I would think twice before taking one of them on.
The stench of diesel fumes wafted up as the column slowed to a halt. The next moment there was a rumbling sound below and a shaft of light spilled out on to the apron. The main doors were opening. Evidently they intended searching the building from the inside. I tried to snatch a glance at the trucks to see how many troops were aboard but the tail-flaps were all lashed down against the rain. Two of the Jeeps drove in, while the rest of them waited outside with the Bradleys, their engines idling.
I tried to figure out the intentions of the officer in charge. Standard operating procedure for a suspected infiltration would be to surround the building and send in search parties from both sides to flush out the intruders. The Argentine commander was doing it by the book. He was posting a cordon outside to catch anyone trying to escape, and at the same time probably sending a squad to the rear to cover the ladder while others of his men climbed up inside to the roof. The IFVs were on hand to provide heavy back-up and run down any leakers who managed to escape the search parties.
From down below came shouts of NCOs bellowing at their men. It looked like they were going about it in a professional manner, and I didn't rate our chances highly. A couple of guys walking down each valley would soon flush us out, and up here we had nowhere to run. If I had been on my own I might have made for the ladder and tried to get down it before the lower party was in place, but with two of us the odds were we would be cut down by machine-gun fire before we had made a dozen yards.
I wondered if there was some way of busting inside, fusing the lights and setting the place on fire with the hope of escaping in the confusion. It was a thin chance, but all I could think of. At the very least it could set all the Argentines shooting at each other. And anything was better than lying here waiting to be caught.
I was about to go back and tell Josh when I glanced down again and something struck me. It was impossible to see the hangar doors because they were right underneath me, and the roof had a slight overhang to keep the rain off the rollers. The rollers ran in guide rails, the tops of which formed a ledge about three feet below where I was lying a narrow shelf about eighteen inches wide below the line of the roof. If Josh and I could somehow crawl down there and lie out, we would be invisible to anyone searching the roof. Even spotlights from the ground would not pick us out.
We would have to act fast, though. At any moment now troops would appear on the roof and we would be lost.
I crawled back to where Josh was crouched and told him my idea. "I know I can do it, but it's quite a drop. Are you up for it?"
"Hell, anything's better than giving in to the Argies. I can manage it if you can,"
Already we could hear booted feet clanging on metal stairs inside the hangar. We scrambled forward quickly. "If you hang on to a stanchion and lower yourself down, I'll keep a grip on your webbing," I told him.
Josh didn't hesitate a moment. He wrapped one arm around the safety rail and lowered himself down, legs first, while I supported him until he was lying face down on the ledge. It was wide enough to hold a man just. Luckily there were brackets every few metres, supporting the roof overhang. Josh latched on to one of these. "Okay," he whispered. "I'm fine. You can let go-'
Now it was my turn. I moved along a little and slid under the rail. There was no one to hold me but then I hadn't nearly lost my life a few minutes ago. Holding on to the rail like grim death, I reached down and fumbled in the dark for a bracket. It felt horribly insubstantial. I tried not to look down at the IFVs and the figures of the soldiers moving about. Tensing my stomach muscles, I bent my legs down until my boots touched the ledge, and drew myself down on to it. There was a film of slush on the surface of the ledge and it felt slippery.
Right, I thought. Now comes the bad moment when I have to make myself let go of the rail. Sweat broke out on my body and my hands started to shake. My right hand was gripping the roof stanchion so tightly it seemed to have developed a will of its own.
Jesus, I told myself, pull yourself together man! Josh managed it and he's already had one bad fright tonight. The ledge is perfectly wide enough. All you have to do is relax and lie still. But my right hand wasn't listening. Fear was keeping it closed tight.
There was a bang overhead as a door opened and a bunch of men came pouring out on to the roof at the rear. Flashlight beams jinked across the valleys. In a few seconds they would spot me. I felt that age was catching up with me and I was losing my nerve.
Take charge! I told myself. Breathe deeply and slowly. The only thing that is going to kill you now is fear. I forced my legs to straighten out on the ledge and increased my grip on the bracket with my left hand. I pulled myself in against the side of the hangar as close as I could. Then, one finger at a time, I willed my right hand to relax.
A torch beam flashed across the rail overhead. There was a hoarse shout. With a sudden effort I tore my hand away and dropped down into the cover of the recess below. Had I left it too late? I could hear feet thumping along the roof directly overhead. Droplets of water cascaded over the edge. The Argentines were shouting to each other with the heady excitement of troops on the chase. More voices were shouting from below. Had they seen us? I kept my face turned into the side of the hangar. If they found me they would have to drag me out. I'd never be able to move from here. I had to fight down a mad urge to let go and roll out from the ledge and end it all.
Calm down, I said to myself. If you think this is tough, try and imagine how much worse it would be getting captured and interrogated.
There were more orders shouted above; it sounded like an officer was organising some sort of systematic search. They appeared to be starting at the rear and working forward in a line, coordinating over the roof peaks by voice command. This was the really dangerous bit. Someone with a bit more sense than the others might take it into his head to check over the edge of the roof and, looking down, spot the ledge.
In the meantime more troops were moving about on the ground below. They must have finished searching the inside of the hangar. I reminded myself that Josh and I would be invisible from down below, lost in the patch of shadow above the roller track.
The team on the roof was getting nearer, working its way steadily forward along the
valleys. I tried not to picture what it would be like if we had remained where we were, listening to the searchers approaching, expecting any moment to feel a bayonet thrust between the shoulder blades. There was a sudden cry as one soldier lost his footing and landed on his back with a thud.
It was at that moment that another sound caught my attention a quick scuffle overhead, quite close, or so it seemed to me. Light steps moving hurriedly across the roof, as if a person who had been hiding at the end of a peak had made a wild break for the edge.
The sound came nearer, and I caught a quick glimpse out of the corner of my eye of a dark shadow moving against the sky. I shifted my head a fraction and saw a small, solid body in the act of flinging itself under the rail and sliding down as we had done, to conceal itself on the ledge beside us. A second later a small hand reached out to close around the same steel bracket that I was holding.
Out of the darkness came a whisper. "Forfavor," it begged, lpor favor, socorro."
A woman's voice.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
The marines carried out two thorough sweeps of the roof before giving up and retreating from the vile weather. A few torch beams jinked above our heads, but luckily for us no one seemed anxious to hang out over the edge and peer downwards on to the ledge.
After they had gone the roof fell silent. The rain continued to pour down but we were sheltered from the worst effects by the overhang. It was only when the wind blew horizontally that we got really wet. From the sounds below I judged that a search of the surrounding area was in progress. The troops were being deployed in a wide sweep of the neighbouring premises -evidently without success, because after about twenty minutes we heard whistles being blown summoning them back. Boots clattered on the concrete apron. Radios crackled and NCOs' shouts split the air, as they mustered their formations and chivvied their men aboard the vehicles. I risked a quick glance down and saw the body of the man who had fallen from the hangar roof being dragged out and thrown into the back of a truck.
