“Bruno, I want to tell you something,” said Nancy. “If I get hit, don’t come for me. Leave me, keep fighting, it will give me cover.”
Bruno didn’t reply. Instead, he ran through the usual checklist: rules of engagement, objective, weapons, ammunition, support. He kept swallowing, the tension making his saliva glands work. Some men became dry-mouthed before action; he’d always been the reverse.
There was a cold but deeply personal logic to this mission. These men they were about to engage had come to his town and tortured and killed Rafiq. For that, he had vowed to bring them to justice. Then they had attacked him, hurt and humiliated him in a collège full of schoolchildren he knew, kids he had taught to have respect and trust in the police and in the law. For that, these men would face his own justice. And now they were back to kill again, and he would stop them. It was his job, his town, his duty.
Bruno wondered what Nancy was going through. Her kiss had surprised him, unsettled him, triggering feelings that lingered seductively in his mind, a distraction at a time when he needed to focus. Perhaps it had been a sign of her own nervousness. He didn’t know if she’d ever seen action and known the difference between shooting on a range and doing it when somebody was firing back.
“I know you went through West Point,” he said. “But that Iraq tour you mentioned, was that with the military or with the FBI?”
“The military—tail end of the war, and then I was running a communications platoon for ten months, a geek in uniform trying to keep the radios and computers running when dust got into everything and the troops sweated into their handsets. It didn’t really get hairy when I was there and I saw more motherboards than action. My biggest priority was keeping the phone and e-mails open for the troops to stay in touch with home.”
“Any combat?”
“Just a bit, Baghdad airport at the very end, and then we were trying to fix shot-off aerials on some of the tanks when orders came through for a Thunder Run, did you hear about that?”
“Tank columns racing through the city and out again, it sounded crazy to me.”
“It would have been, if the enemy had been organized or had any modern antitank weapons. It was certainly noisy, but I don’t think it was too dangerous. So, yes, technically I’ve been under fire, but for most of it I was on the inside of an armored vehicle.”
“Well, you’re in another one now, or very nearly. There must be a ton of metal in front of us.”
“I meant to ask, how does it drive?”
“Apart from the way I can’t feel the road, can’t feel the steering and think I’m riding on an air cushion, it’s a pretty nice way to travel. If it’s still on the road when we’re done, you can drive her back.”
“It’s a deal. This bridge we’re crossing, that’s Lalinde, we must be turning soon. I’ll check the comms again.”
He heard her check the radios one by one, then her cell phone. He took his own from his belt pouch and handed it back to her.
“All good, chopper in place,” she said. “The brigadier wants you to know the Caïd was in the Algerian army. He was a sergeant in a motorized infantry unit when he quit. That was sixteen years ago, so they have his age as forty-six. That’s it. The Algerians were vague about where he was. They think he deserted and went into GIA.”
She handed him back his phone, and Bruno was struck by the symmetry of it all. The Groupe Islamique Armé had been the name for the militant jihadists who had killed Sami’s family before the boy’s eyes and triggered the whole chain of events that had led to this day, to this mission. It would end here, he told himself.
“Okay, thanks, time to keep the secure channel open,” Bruno replied. “Tell them we’re turning off the main road now, estimated arrival at first likely ambush point about six, seven minutes.”
“Times like this I wish we had a nice discreet drone doing the job. Do you want me to release your safety catches?”
“No thanks, leave them on. When we roll out of the car I want to make sure the weapons only fire when I want them to.”
“In the States, before you go onstage or into something, we say, ‘Break a leg,’ so break a leg, Bruno. What do you say in France?”
“We just say merde.”
“But you’re always saying merde. Don’t you save it for something important?”
“Whenever we say it, it feels important.” The chatter was a sign that she was nervous. That was fine. So was he. If it helped, he was happy to chatter back. “Okay, tell the chopper we’re into the valley and onto the flat land. If the bad guys are watching they may be able to see us coming.”
He settled the sports bag onto his lap and tightened the shoulder strap. He removed his seat belt and began settling lower into his seat, watching the road ahead through the narrow gap between the top of the steering wheel and the dashboard. It was like trying to drive through the slit of a postbox, but he wanted the only head they’d see to be the mannequin’s.
“How’s the sun?” he asked. His pulse was fast but steady and he was swallowing almost constantly now.
“Low and bright, a few scattered clouds, it should be shining into their eyes as you planned.”
“Okay, here we go, turning point in sight, get ready … slowing for the bend and turning now.”
At first it seemed clear, but then the windshield to his left shattered, the mannequin’s head exploded, and he saw a bright flash from the left front. He yelled “RPG” and braked as he turned the car toward it to put the engine between him and the explosion.
“Out now and call the chopper,” he yelled, opening his driver’s-side door and rolling out, eyes closed against glare when the RPG hit and still rolling as he landed on a grass verge and then dived for a shallow ditch as the grenade hit the car somewhere in front. The Rolls was still moving but slower, and he saw Nancy’s door was open. He pulled the smoke grenade from his chest pocket, jerked the ignition cord and tossed it ahead of the car. He ripped open the sports bag, pulled out his weapon and released the safety. Another RPG round hit the Rolls and it rocked as the explosion flared and the car stopped, lopsided and sagging now. It must have hit the wheel.
He cast a quick glance behind and saw Nancy was out of the car, staying behind the shelter of the rear wheels. A third RPG hit the Rolls and he saw her stagger and fall back, but she waved at him to signal she was still functional. She crawled into the slight cover of a roadside hedge.
He was crawling along the ditch on his belly to get a field of fire when he heard the ripping sound of the Minimi opening up in long bursts, three seconds for the first one, four for the second. That was almost a full belt. They’d have to change. That gave him four seconds, maybe five.
He felt old skills come to life, awakening from a long sleep. His vision was clear and he felt time slowing so that he could think as well as fight. He popped his head up and saw two shapes bending together through drifting red smoke. That would be the guys on the Minimi, he thought, and gave them three aimed bursts. He pulled out a fragmentation grenade, released the pin, counted to three and, still lying prone, rolled and threw. He followed it with another smoke grenade and another burst of automatic fire before rolling back into the ditch.
Bruno changed magazines and considered. The RPG had come from left front. The sniper round had almost certainly come from straight ahead, roughly where the Minimi had been. So the sniper was with the machine gunner, probably helping feed the belt, which put the RPG man on Nancy’s side of the action. The Minimi’s firepower was now the main threat.
He looked around, keeping his head low, and heard Nancy’s weapon firing short, controlled bursts. There was an open field to his right rear and behind him to the left was the hedge where he’d seen Nancy take cover. About thirty meters ahead to the right he saw the start of a stone wall. It was too far to reach, and the Minimi would chew up the stone into lethal shards. Where in hell was that chopper?
Bruno squirmed backward along the ditch as the Minimi opened up again, short bursts this time
, searching the terrain through the red smoke, looking for the spot where he had been. He kept squirming back toward the stalled Rolls, which was now pumping out its own black smoke. The risk now was that the petrol tank would blow, but he knew it was in the rear and all the smoke was coming from the front of the vehicle.
He thought he might get a clear shot from beneath the car. The smoke was thick so he risked a quick crouching run and dive. He landed and looked back, seeing the fire from the Minimi smashing into the stone wall. He selected single-shot mode, threw another frag grenade over the top of the Rolls toward the gun, and then he had a narrow window of sight between the car and the road. It gave him a clear shot at the Minimi and he aimed and took it.
The man feeding the belt jerked, half rose as if trying to stand and then fell against the gun. Bruno’s grenade exploded uselessly, too far to the left. He fired again, trying for the man behind, but the bulk of the fallen man was shielding him. He paused to take his time with the frag grenade, counted to three before he threw it and then rolled back into the familiar ditch. It was so shallow here it barely gave cover.
Nancy’s weapon fired again, two short bursts and then another that went on and on, too long to be controlled fire. Had she been hit?
Bruno knew he had to change his location. They’d be expecting him to come from the right again so he began crawling left, hoping that Nancy had kept moving so they wouldn’t bunch together. Using his elbows and knees to crawl, his weapon cradled in his arms, he suddenly saw his left hand bright with blood. It wasn’t his. Nancy must have been hit. There was a trail of blood ahead, not much, but enough to follow. He couldn’t see her.
And then came the sound of rotor blades and automatic fire coming from a new direction as the men on board fired from the swooping helicopter.
Bruno was clear of the Rolls now and the chopper’s blades were clearing the smoke that had sheltered him so well. He fired three more short bursts at the point where the Minimi had been and changed magazines. He peered ahead and slightly left, where he assumed the RPG man had been. Surely he’d have moved by now? Or would he put another grenade into the back of the car to explode the petrol tank and force Bruno out of cover?
And then he saw him, in camouflage gear and a headscarf, coming from the brush and scrubland on the far side of the road and onto the road itself. Bruno knew that face well, remembered its bland look as the Caïd had walked toward him in the corridor of the collège readying his electric prod. The Caïd was firing from the hip but aiming high, going for the helicopter. It was a doomed attempt, but it might buy time for the others to get away. Even before the thought was formed, Bruno’s weapon was in his hands and firing. But it gave him just one round and then it jammed.
There was no time to clear it. Bruno opened his holster and pulled out the PAMAS, released the decocking lever and took double-handed aim from his position outstretched on the ground. The first shot hit the man in the trunk and spun him around. Before Bruno had time to shift to a head shot he saw the man jerk like a marionette, puffs of red mist and cloth stitching their way up his body as the helicopter guns cut him down.
Bruno turned, looking back to the Minimi. Two dark lumps lay side by side, one moving feebly. The gun was toppled onto its side, no belt in it. Another long burst from the helicopter and the movement stopped.
He got up, the PAMAS still in his hand, and scanned the ground to both sides as he walked along the ditch to the hedge where he’d last seen Nancy. He saw nothing from this side but pushed his way through, careless of the scratches, and looked low to left and right. He saw a small pool of blood, and then two splashes of blood in a row. He followed the trail and found her curled up behind a small, scrubby tree, a spreading pool of blood around her.
“It’s me, Bruno, it’s all clear,” he shouted and saw a pale face turn slowly toward him.
“My leg,” Nancy said. She had been trying to apply a tourniquet, but her hands were too slick with her own blood. Bruno used his commando knife to rip open her slacks, cleaned her with a field dressing and saw two jagged entry wounds in her thigh and one just by her knee. Those weren’t bullet marks. It must have been shrapnel from the RPG that got her. The thigh wound was pumping so he pressed on the field dressing, shouting “Medic, medic,” as he ripped off his belt with the other hand and tightened it around the top of her thigh.
The pumping slowed, but didn’t stop. Bruno tried to remember the pressure point for the femoral artery, but wasn’t sure, so he turned her onto her side, put his fist into her groin at the top of the thigh and leaned down with all his weight. The pumping stopped.
“You did well, Nancy, we got them all. The bad guys are all dead. Now stay with me, keep your eyes open, look at me, talk if you can. Just stay with me. You’re going to be all right.”
“It hurts,” she said feebly. “You’re so heavy, it hurts.”
“It’s just to stop the bleeding, it won’t be long, the medic’s here, you can hear the chopper.”
He heard it flare and land, but the rotors kept churning. He didn’t dare shift position to signal them but kept his weight on that artery. He didn’t know how much blood she’d lost, but she was very pale and weak.
“Medic,” he roared again and suddenly two men were there, the sergeant he recognized and the young soldier with the Red Cross armband taking a bottle from a bulky bag, inserting a tube, attaching a fat needle and sticking it into Nancy’s arm, making her jerk.
“Plasma,” said the medic. “Don’t you dare fucking move,” he said to Bruno. “Keep that pressure on. Sarge,” he went on, “hold this bottle above her and get someone else over here to tell the chopper we’ve got an urgent medevac.”
He checked Nancy’s pulse and lifted one of her eyelids. He looked grim but focused. The lieutenant arrived running, panting as he tried to tell Bruno the terrorists were all accounted for.
“Forget about that,” the medic snapped, not even looking at him. “There’s another medical bag in the chopper, bring it here now and get that pilot to bring the chopper to land as close to me as he can. Then bring the stretcher.”
The lieutenant ran back even faster, and Bruno heard the engine revs mount to screaming pitch and then the wind came and the chopper seemed just a few meters away, rocking on its skids. The lieutenant put the extra medical bag beside Nancy and got busy with the folding stretcher. The bottle the sergeant was holding was almost empty. The medic attached a second tube to the one pumping the last drops of plasma into Nancy’s arm and then the second bottle was there to take over.
“Stay in that position,” the medic said to Bruno. “You’re doing fine and so is she. Now we’re going to roll her onto that stretcher and I want you to move with her. As soon as we have her on that chopper you get that pressure back on just as you had it, understand.”
“Yes, but when we move her …,” he began.
“It’s fine. We always relax the tourniquet, remember. We want to keep some circulation in that leg. That’s what the second bottle is for. She might lose a drop but we’ll get this done in three seconds, right, Sarge?”
“That’s right, son. When you’re ready.” The stretcher was in place, the chopper side door open.
“On my count of three,” the medic said. “One, two and three, now.” He deftly rolled Nancy onto the stretcher, and then he and the lieutenant picked it up and Bruno scrambled sideways with them, his fist still in place and the sergeant on Nancy’s far side still holding his plasma bottle. As they slid the stretcher into the chopper, Bruno noticed the bottle was still almost full. Clumsily, he scrambled aboard using his knees and one hand as he struggled to keep his fist in place on the artery. The medic followed, took the plasma bottle and attached it to a hook by the chopper door.
“Thanks, Sarge,” the medic said as the engine screamed again and they began lifting off, leaving the sergeant and lieutenant behind, mouthing what looked like “Don’t worry” at Bruno as they scurried back, bending low to stay beneath the blades. The sergeant would k
now what to do, secure all weapons and ammunition, clear the battlefield.
Back in place, his arm aching from the pressure, Bruno could see that Nancy’s eyes were open, but most of what he could see were the whites. That was a bad sign, he remembered. He gestured with his head, and the medic bent over, lifted her eyelids, checked her pulse and the plasma bottle and then gave Bruno the thumbs-up. He bent down, put his mouth to Nancy’s ear and shouted, “You’re gonna be fine. We got you stabilized. Try to stay awake.”
He took a set of earphones from a row of them hanging on a hook and put them on Bruno’s head, pulled out a mike from another set of phones, and now Bruno could hear him clearly.
“We’re going to St. Denis medical center where there’s a doctor waiting. I’m going to put this other set of earphones on her, and I want you to keep talking to her while I get an injection ready. Okay? We’ve got to keep her awake.”
Bruno nodded and felt the medic adjust the mouthpiece so it was directly in front of Bruno’s face. The medic put a set of earphones on Nancy.
“It’s me, Bruno, still here, and you’re going to be fine,” he said. Too tired and drained to work out things to say he just babbled and watched the whites of her eyes. “You got the jihadis, all three of them down. The bleeding has stopped and we’re on our way to hospital in my hometown. It’s St. Denis and you’ll always remember that. You’re doing well and it’s going to be all right and we’ll have that dinner together when you come back here to visit and we’ll take a walk over that ambush site and relive it all. You’ll be as beautiful as ever and if I’m very lucky you’ll kiss me again.”
The medic edged around him, a syringe held point upward in his hand. He squeezed gently and a little spray of liquid spurted from the needle. To Bruno’s surprise, he didn’t put it into Nancy’s arm but into the tube from the plasma bottle.
“Go on, keep talking, she liked that bit about the kiss,” the medic said. “Her eyes are coming back, look!”
The Children Return Page 27
