Recoil

by Andy McNab

  I waited for a reply.

  ‘That’s all I’m saying.’

  I waited some more.

  Nothing. I wasn’t sure if that was a good or a bad sign.

  Then, to my right, I heard a sniff, then another. Crucial was crying.

  At last Sam sparked up, but it was Crucial, not me, he spoke to: ‘You’re going to have to drill and command them. You OK with that?’

  Crucial jumped up and coughed some stuff from the back of his throat. ‘I’d better get on with it before I change my mind.’

  He strode towards the tent, screaming and hollering like a Foreign Legion drill sergeant with his lungs full of helium.

  9

  Tuesday, 13 June

  02:48 hours

  Crucial had virtually hoicked them out of the trenches by their wrists and had been beasting the shit out of them ever since.

  Sam faced the valley on stag, as if he couldn’t bear to watch. ‘Standish has done exactly what he did on that team job. Pissed off and left everyone else to sort out the mess. He’ll be back, of course, and pick up where he left off. But for me and Crucial, that’s it. The end. We’re going to have to move the church from the strip and start again. There’s enough cash to see us through a year, maybe eighteen months, but after that . . .’

  I looked back at Crucial and the boys. Shoulders slumped, heads down, none of them came higher than his waist. Crucial had to reach down to prod them in the chest, shove them into the mud, or scream into their faces.

  ‘That’s a bit premature, mate. Let’s get out of here first, then start flapping about everything else, yeah?’

  Sam still didn’t want to see what was going on just a couple of metres behind us. He knew I didn’t like what I saw. ‘That’s the only way, God forgive us. Brutalize them, dehumanize them, terrify them. It’s like throwing a switch to repro-gramme their brains to kill. We’ve worked so hard to break that response, Nick. We were making progress with this lot. But now? We’re switching them back on.’

  I watched Crucial do his stuff. Sunday was reacting a lot quicker than the other kids, even though he still had the rope round his leg.

  ‘You know the worst part, Nick? These kids know what’s happening to them, but they can’t help themselves any more. It scares the hell out of them.’

  ‘Better than dead. It just means you’re going to have to work a bit harder later, that’s all, mate. It’ll give you something to do during your retirement.’

  ‘What about you, Nick?’ He still faced the other way. ‘Are you with us yet?’

  ‘There’s no time for that waffle, mate. I’m done thinking for the time being.’ That wasn’t true: I was thinking, but it wasn’t about that. ‘Are we going to get back to the strip? You going to be able to get us there?’

  ‘Sure. We get across the river and head east. Once we’re across the open country, where we had that contact, I know where to pick up the track.’ He turned to me and held out a hand. ‘You still got the sat nav?’

  ‘Sort of.’ I pulled it out, and had an idea. ‘Standish still got his sat phone?’

  Sam took one look at the cracked and waterlogged display, and chucked it in the mud.

  ‘I guess so.’

  ‘And you’ve got yours?’

  ‘Aye.’

  ‘Does he know Lex’s number?’

  ‘I suppose.’

  ‘What about you?’

  ‘I never needed it. I know his home number, that’s it.’

  ‘Well, we might have to give it a fucking ring, tell him what’s happening.’

  ‘He’s not there, son. He’s got five days’ constant flying – strip to Kenya, Kenya to strip.’

  ‘We need to get hold of him. He’s got those twenty-three-millimetres on the back, hasn’t he?’

  Sam swung round. ‘Standish is probably getting hold of him right now, organizing a pickup.’

  ‘Maybe he’s not. Maybe he’s face down in the mud with a couple of holes me and Crucial have drilled into him. Maybe we’ll pass his body on the way out of here. Anyway, fuck him. We have to get hold of Lex. What about Hendrika? You got the airfield number?’

  I tried to think of the mass of sevens and fives I hadn’t even been able to remember at the airport when I’d just written them down.

  ‘I told you, never any need.’

  ‘Crucial?’

  ‘Same.’

  ‘OK, give me the phone. I’ll get the number.’

  He pulled the Prudence-wrapped handset from his chest harness. I took it and ran, AK in hand, to Silky and Tim’s tent to protect it from the rain when I used it.

  The Tilley lamp still cast a faint glow. The fragmentation casualty was now lying beside Tim on his cot. Tim had wrapped his left arm round the bag of bones and was comforting him, like the kid’s parents would have done a lifetime ago.

  Silky stood with a bloodstained dressing in her hand. ‘What’s happening with the children?’

  Tim knew. ‘They’re going to fight, aren’t they?’

  I nodded. Just the other side of the canvas, Crucial bellowed and bullied.

  I pulled the second condom from the phone and powered it up. They both stared at me, desperate to know what was happening. ‘I think we might be able to get some help.’

  The phone sorted itself out and I took off the caller ID, then punched in the numbers. I checked my kangaroo. It said just after three.

  That meant it would be just after four in Hereford. The old fucker would be home, and he’d be fast asleep.

  10

  It rang and rang, but eventually I got a sleepy ‘What?’

  ‘It’s Nick – Nick Stone. I need your help, mate. You got Lex’s sat phone number? Or Hendrika’s – you know, the one you gave me?’

  He was wide awake now. ‘I told you, we’re quits. I don’t want anything—’

  ‘Wait, Dave, wait. There’s people in the shit here. Women. Kids . . .’ I couldn’t waste time or battery explaining; I hoped my tone would tell him all he needed to know. ‘I’m with Sam. It’s life and death.’

  ‘Quits, I said. Fuck off.’

  ‘Listen, I’m sorry about what happened. I was angry, and I’m sorry. But I’ve got people here who are going to be dead soon unless you help. Somebody’s kids, somebody’s grandchildren, for fuck’s sake.’ I was trying desperately to think of a hook to get him beyond his anger. ‘I’ve got a kid here with RPG fragmentation, Dave. We need help . . .’ I shoved the phone near the boy, who didn’t let me down. Especially once Tim had squeezed his damaged arm.

  I walked away slowly, so the whining stayed in the background. ‘I’ve got nine kids here, mate. I don’t want them on my conscience. I’m sure you don’t want them on yours . . .’

  There was a pause. I could almost hear his fingers tapping the calculator as he worked out a price per head for the rescue. But he surprised me. ‘I’ll get you the number.’

  It was going to take him ages to pull himself out of bed and make his way down to his office. ‘I’ll call back in ten, OK?’

  I closed down and hit the ‘numbers called’ register. There was only one. I hit it.

  Engaged. Shit, he was still alive. He was phoning Lex, had to be.

  I called to Silky: ‘Go next door. There’s paper on the floor, and crayons. I need some quick. Here—’ I threw her the torch.

  I tried Standish again, but he was still engaged.

  Tim looked at me while he rocked the bag of bones that lay alongside him. He mumbled to the boy, trying to comfort him and apologize to him at the same time.

  Silky ran back in with two torn sheets of paper and a crayon.

  I took the torch from her and put it into my mouth, then dropped to my knees. As I called Hereford again, I looked at Sunday’s drawings. They showed exactly what Crucial and Sam had said they would. Matchstick men; blood, death, weapons. And after this drama, the rest of them out there would be doing more of the same. But at least they’d have the chance to draw, instead of being face down in the mud.<
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  Crazy Dave answered. ‘I’ve got his Iridium.’

  I crayoned down the number. My saliva dribbled down the torch on to the page. I took it out of my mouth as soon as I’d finished. ‘Dave. I’m sorry, mate. Thank you.’

  ‘Yeah, yeah, right.’ He closed down.

  I hit Lex’s number straight away.

  Within three rings, he was yelling down the line over the engine drone I knew so well. ‘What you want now? I told you – first light – I can’t do anything until first light. I’m over two and a half hours away, man.’

  ‘Lex, it’s Nick – Nick Stone. Sam’s mate.’

  ‘Hey, you survived – good shit, man.’ It was almost like two old friends reunited after years apart. ‘Miles made it too. He’s on his way to the strip. He wants me to attack the mine and wipe out those fucking animals, then pick him up at the strip. We’ll wait for you, man. How long you—’

  ‘Stop. Whatever he said is bollocks. Do not attack the mine, repeat, do not attack. Sam, Crucial, me – we’re still alive. We’re still at the mine. Standish has fucked off and left us to it.’

  ‘Bateman and Tooley?’

  ‘Dead. Standish killed Bateman when he tried to stop him running. We’ve also got two Mercy Flight people here, and nine kids. None of the patrol’s left. We’re in the shit, Lex. We got two stretcher cases and—’

  Lex didn’t want to know all the waffle. ‘He killed Bateman and left you?’

  ‘Shot him down, then did a runner.’

  His voice vibrated with anger. ‘He’s just told me you’re all dead.’

  ‘Well, you can hear me talking, mate.’

  ‘I was coming in to kill you all at first light, then . . . He’s killing his own fucking people!’

  ‘Lex, we need you to give us fire support with those twenty-three-millimetres of yours, soon as you can. What’s left of the LRA are going to hit us again, most probably at first light.’

  ‘Who’s paying for the fuel and ammunition now?’

  ‘For fuck’s sake! I will. Or have another game of crazy golf with Sam. Whatever, are you going to come or not?’

  ‘I’ll be there. I’ll need a marker to get me on line and for fire control.’

  ‘Done. I’ll give the fire-control orders when you’re overhead.’

  Lex sounded very calm now, the sort of calm that’s one step away from dangerous. ‘I’m going to call that fucking shit right now and tell him he can rot in the jungle. You never desert men in the field.’

  ‘Mate, do you use caller ID?’

  ‘Of course not, man.’

  ‘So he’ll answer when I call?’

  There was a short silence, then he started to laugh.

  Standish answered within one and a half rings. ‘Get straight in there and rake the area. Kill those fuckers who killed the team.’

  I took a breath. ‘Don’t worry, he’s going to – but I don’t think he’ll be picking you up. In fact, he wants you to rot in the jungle, you fucking shit. And the only reason I’m hoping you don’t is that I want to give you a little something from Bateman.’

  The phone went dead.

  11

  I rolled the Prudence over the sat phone again. ‘Silky, got any surgical gloves?’

  ‘None sterile, only discarded.’ She pointed at a small heap of bloodstained swabs and latex.

  ‘I’ll be back for them in a minute.’

  I left the tent. The kids were lined up in four lots of two, all facing down the valley. One of each pair stood trembling next to an RPG launcher; his equally scared number two cradled a round. Crucial screamed down at them, pushing a couple on to their arses to hammer home a point. His voice was choked, but it had nothing to do with him being hoarse from all the shouting.

  Sam was still on stag, his face like granite.

  ‘You all right, mate?’

  ‘Just tell me what’s happened.’

  ‘I got Lex.’ I cut all the Crazy Dave shit; it did-n’t matter. ‘He’s just over two and a half hours away.’ I didn’t cut the Standish shit; he needed to know. ‘I told him if I see him again, I’m going to kill him. And this time I want to see him again.’

  ‘You might need to join a queue.’

  ‘I’m going to make a marker down there. Hold on to this.’ I handed him the sat phone. ‘If I’m not back, Lex is expecting fire control orders.’

  Sam checked the watch round his neck. ‘We’re cutting it fine. First light’s just before six.’

  I picked up four belts of link and dumped them inside the tent. ‘I need you to take off all the bullet heads. Bend them sideways on something hard until they come out. Empty all the propellant into two of those gloves.’ I didn’t give Silky and Tim a chance to ask why. I needed to get to Crucial.

  He had the four skinny, pot-bellied teams doing loading drills. Sunday was nearest me, and number one on his launcher. He held it upright so his number two could put the stabilizer pipe down the weapon, making sure the percussion cap was aligned with the hammer.

  These kids were coming to life, but not in a good way. Crucial was really playing the part, being aggressive, throwing the switch that turned them back into automatons.

  Sunday struggled to get the weapon on to his right shoulder. He didn’t hold it the way I was used to, left hand on the rear grip. He used his right, and had his left on the trigger. The other little one stood immediately behind him so the launcher rested on his shoulder too. He brought his right arm, skinny as a stick, round to Sunday’s front, and the other one went to his left shoulder in an effort to make a stable platform. Even loaded, these launchers weighed less than a GPMG and 200 link, but to these fuckers it probably felt like a ton.

  Crucial wiped a sleeve across his face. He wanted me to think it was sweat, but I could see it was tears. I filled him in on what had happened on the sat phone, and what I was going to do.

  ‘Hurry back, man. I need to get them into the trenches and drilled. I need your help.’

  ‘Soon as I can.’

  I grabbed the plunger and the firing cable.

  12

  ‘Nick! Nick!’ Crucial shouted and waved. ‘I need you now! I need you!’

  I picked up my AK and started heading his way. Two cots were being carried out of the second tent by four little people. Sam still stagged motionlessly on his gun.

  ‘OK, here’s the drill, Nick.’ Crucial looked like an air steward pointing out the emergency exits. ‘Two launchers in each trench. The first trench, both of them fire on my command. Then the next trench does the same while the other one reloads. Got it?’

  I wondered if he’d been watching Zulu. It was like Michael Caine’s boys at Rorke’s Drift, one rank firing while the other loaded. I nodded.

  ‘Good. I want you to stay in the second trench. Make sure they’re doing their drills right. They keep forgetting to cock the weapon.’

  I ran over to Bateman’s trench. One of the cots was on the floor; four boys were standing on it, with two launchers. Twelve rounds were jammed between the cot and the front of the trench.

  Sunday and his number two were one team, the Chuckle Brothers the other. I hesitated: the Chuckle Brothers were crying. I realized I wanted to hug the little fuckers and say it was all right; I wanted them not to have to do this. I wanted a lot of things to be different, but it wasn’t going to happen.

  I stood between the two teams and squatted down against the front of the trench. ‘All right, mate?’ The Chuckle Brothers’ fear-filled eyes did everything they could to avoid mine.

  I tried Sunday. ‘All right, Sunday?’

  Crucial harangued the boys from the next trench. The number twos went through the drill of putting a round in.

  I watched Sunday and the number one Chuckle Brother get their weapon on the shoulder, and wait for their number twos to come round behind them and create the platform. Sunday cocked the weapon once he was in position, and waited.

  The Chuckle Brothers were wobbling. I raised my hand up and supported the front
of the launcher while they sorted their feet out. They begged and implored me; they must have thought I was about to kick the shit out of them.

  I tapped the forward pistol grip. ‘Cock it – cock it.’ I had to take a leaf out of Crucial’s book. I wasn’t helping them otherwise. ‘COCK IT!’ In the end, I resorted to sign language.

  He cocked the weapon as best he could.

  Crucial jumped into the backblast channel and grabbed hold of both launchers from the rear, pushing them down to get the right elevation and aim. Once he was satisfied with the angle, he bellowed at them and they gripped the weapons as if their lives depended on it.

  He screamed the order to fire.

  Both weapons clicked. The crews knelt down automatically and started the reload.

  My teams resumed the fire position, and cocked both weapons this time.

  Fuck it. I didn’t have time to drill them over and over. I left them to it.

  I ran across the back of Sam’s fire trench. ‘I’m going down now, mate. Marker time.’

  I picked up the end of the cable and the wooden crate top, and ran back into the tent. I was starting to feel dehydrated again. Everything was getting heavy.

  I took big gulps from the jerry-can as I inspected their handiwork. Both the gloves were on Tim’s lap. The boy was still lying next to him. The floor was littered with discarded link, cases and bullet heads.

  Silky handed me the first glove. ‘What’s it for, Nick? What’s going on?’

  ‘I need to ignite a drum of diesel down in the valley. The pilot needs something to use as a reference point so I can aim the guns for him.’

  Tim held up the second glove as I knotted the wrist of the first. ‘Good luck, Nick.’

  ‘You got any surgical tape in that magic bag of yours?’

  Silky scouted around and came up with a small roll of narrow white tape.

  Crucial was still out there, screaming and shouting as the kids repeated the drills. It felt strangely quiet and safe on this side of the canvas by comparison.