by Andy McNab
‘Who, Sarge?’ asked a voice. A keen, urgent soldier’s voice. ‘Who’re you taking?’
‘You, Billy Finn,’ said Dave. ‘You’re gunner on the .50 cal. But when we leave the compound here, I’ll command from on top because I’ll need a good view.’
Finn’s face broke into a smile and he immediately left the group to prepare.
Dave looked at Mal. His mouth was still, while his lean face and dark eyes were saying: ‘Choose me!’ Mal was the sort of fighter Dave wanted for this mission. But he shook his head.
‘I can’t take you, Mal,’ he said. ‘I’d be leaving the PB with no medic.’
He looked away quickly, but not quickly enough to miss Mal’s disappointment.
His eye ran across the line of faces and Jamie Dermott came into his mind. It was times like this you needed an outstanding soldier like Jamie. Each time he looked around for Jamie Dermott and remembered again that he was dead he felt a small shock and he felt it again now.
‘Right,’ he said. ‘I’ll take Finny, Doc Holliday and Angry McCall in the first Mastiff with me and the driver.’
McCall’s face lit up like Christmas lights.
‘Thanks, Sarge!’
He ran off at once.
‘In the second there’ll be Tiny driving, Binns commanding from the front and Bacon on top with a Minimi. That leaves you with two gimpys, Sol.’
He turned to Binns and Bacon, who had not moved, as if Dave was going to give them further orders. Binns’s eyes had opened wide.
‘Get moving, you two,’ Dave told them. ‘You need to work on reversing together because only Streaky on top will be able to see where you’re going. Binman, eat something now and make sure you take plenty of rations.’
‘Yes, Sarge.’ But Dave knew that pale, sickly look meant that Binns was too nervous to eat.
Binns turned to go with Streaky but paused. He said: ‘I’ve never commanded anything before, ever, Sarge.’
‘I know. But I’ve chosen you because I think you can do it. I’ll be just ahead of you in the first wagon and Bacon will be on top with the Minimi.’
‘Yes,’ said Binman. ‘Yes.’
He retreated into the compound, walking awkwardly behind Bacon. As if Dave had just made him into some new, different, Mastiff-commanding Jack Binns and he wasn’t sure how this new Binns walked.
Sol said: ‘Sure you don’t want the other gimpy?’ He looked tired. His solid frame was suddenly smaller.
‘We’ll be OK with a Minimi on one wagon and the .50 cal on the other as long as we stick together.’
Sol nodded.
‘You could be the one taking a big hit back here,’ said Dave. ‘If they realize how short of men you are, they might bombard you instead of ambushing me.’
Sol grimaced. ‘Or they might bombard me as well as ambushing you.’
Dave did not meet his eye for a moment. It was hard enough to go out there undermanned. It was harder still if he went out unsupported by his best corporal. He looked straight at Sol and said: ‘Sol, I’m doing this because McKinley could die if we don’t go.’
‘I know. And I know that we could lose even more men trying to get to him.’
‘It’s a risk we have to take,’ said Dave.
‘Yeah. You’re right. We have to do this.’ Sol managed to grin. An anxious grin, but it was the gesture of support Dave needed.
The men Dave had named were all busy preparing themselves and their weapons for the mission: the PB had turned from a sleepy late-afternoon base to a hive of activity. Soldiers ran around and outside there was more firing, as if the enemy had heard every word Dave had said and was limbering up for a serious battle the moment he drove out of the gates.
Dave was ready to join the men but something was bothering him. The radio had been silent all this time. There had been no further word from the boss. Stranger still, the major, back at the FOB, apparently had no response to his plan at all.
He stared at the radio, as if that would make the major talk to him. It took a moment to realize that there was no light on. The radio was silent because it was dead.
He shouted for a new radio battery, striding off towards the vehicles, and someone threw him a spare. He fixed it into the radio and switched on thankfully.
‘This is Charlie One One to Zero Alpha. Please confirm that you—’
He stopped. The radio was without hiss, crackle or splutter. He shook it a few times. No light.
‘Zero Alpha …?’
The radio threw dead sound back at him. It had not heard his words. It had received none and sent none.
‘Shit!’
He delivered the battery into the hands of Lancer Reed, who was shouting something about clutches or brakes at Tiny. The driver’s bad ankle was elevated at an awkward angle against the side of the Mastiff and he was yelling at Tiny through the open door.
‘What?’ demanded Reed rudely when he was interrupted. Swinging around he realized that it was Dave who had tugged at his arm and quickly added: ‘Sarge?’
‘This fucking battery’s dead too,’ said Dave. He glanced up at Tiny’s face, red, shining and anxious, behind the wheel of the Mastiff.
The Lancer rolled his eyes. ‘I had a nasty feeling someone threw a dodgy one in …’ he admitted, lifting his ankle carefully, with two hands, off the Mastiff and lowering it to the ground.
‘We’ve got three batteries and two of them are down. Just get me the third,’ Dave said.
Reed limped off to the back of the wagon.
‘All right, all right, it’s been on charge.’
‘How long has it been on charge?’ demanded Dave, following him. From the corner of his eye he saw Tiny Hemmings’s long legs stamping on the foot pedals of the Mastiff and his hands busy with levers, practising something Reed had shown him. On top, Streaky was looking behind and directing him on PRR.
‘Good,’ Dave told them approvingly. Except it was just the ghost of a practice. They weren’t really reversing or carrying out any manoeuvre. He looked at his watch and then up in the air to assess the way the sky was thickening into darkness. Last time he had looked the sky had still been a light blue. Now it was navy. Next it would be black. No time for driving lessons.
He became aware that Reed was swearing loudly in the back of the wagon.
‘Fuck, fuck! Who the fuck? What fucker’s fucking done this?’
‘I’m guessing maybe that battery isn’t charged?’ asked Dave, his heart sinking, involuntarily looking back up at the sky to assess it again. Was it darker than it had been a moment ago? How long could they wait for the radio battery to get a bit of charge in it?
But Lancer Reed was howling now: ‘Oh fuuuuuuuck, when I find the fuuuuuucker who did this …!’
His threats brought the busy base to a halt. The enemy continued to fire but no one fired back. People began to gather around the back of the Mastiff; men who stayed in their firing positions strained to hear. Even Hemmings got out of the driver’s seat and Bacon came down from on top. Reed appeared, his face bulging with fury.
‘OK, who did it? Tell me? Which of you little shits decided to charge his iPod or Christ knows what with my inverter? Which of you bastards done it? Come on, own up!’
The men stared at him silently.
Lancer Dawson appeared, his hands on his hips, shaking his head.
‘You bastards cannot keep your hands off the inverter, can you? No wonder REME gets so fucking pissed off!’
‘We don’t have time to mess around blaming people,’ said Dave. ‘Right now, just put the battery on charge.’
‘I can’t! Because the fucking inverter’s blown! I can’t charge fuck all!’
There was an awful silence.
‘You can’t charge the radio battery …’ echoed Dave. He looked from Lancer Dawson to Lancer Reed. ‘But don’t we have another inverter?’
The two drivers shook their heads in unison. Dave thought they looked like nodding fucking dogs in the back of someone’s souped-up car.
‘Let’s get this straight,’ he said slowly. ‘You put the radio battery on charge but it didn’t work because—’
‘Because some bastard decided to use my fucking inverter for his own fucking personal use when he didn’t know which way round to put the croc clips. So he’s only gone and blown it. That’s all!’
‘Blown it …’ said Dave, his voice very clear and very quiet. ‘And so we have one knackered radio battery and two which aren’t charged and no way of doing anything about it.’
‘Yep!’ chorused the drivers.
Driver Dawson turned to Reed.
‘It was Slindon,’ he said, simply. ‘Before he went on stag he wanted to recharge his iPad. It was fucking Blue Balls Slindon!’
Reed looked as if he was going to boil with rage.
‘I’m going to get him,’ he announced, glancing over at the tower, which was just visible rising above the inner courtyard and where Slindon was even now returning enemy fire, oblivious to the greater fury aimed at him inside the base. ‘And he tried to cover up what he did by putting the croc clips back on so we wouldn’t notice! Fuck it, I don’t care if my ankle’s broken, I’m going to get that little bastard and …’
Dave felt a new, strange quiet.
‘Shuddup, Lancer Reed,’ he said. ‘If anyone’s going to deal with Slindon it’s me. Later. You’re here to deal with the enemy, not my men. I don’t want fighting or arguing inside this base, not with the enemy right outside it.’ He looked around. Doc Holliday was ready, silently waiting with his rifle and day sack by the other wagon.
‘Are you still going?’ asked Sol. ‘With no radio?’
‘Yes,’ said Dave, glancing up once more at the sky. ‘My last radio message was to the boss that we’re on our way with a medic for McKinley. So that’s what we’re doing. Get ready to open the gates.’
Two men ran to the gates. Those who were going put on night-vision goggles and scrambled on board the vehicles. Angus got into the first Mastiff while Finn was up on top with the HMG. Lancer Dawson started the engine. Binns and Bacon high-fived before climbing into the second wagon.
‘Good luck, Streaky,’ said Binns, his voice bleak.
‘Good luck, Binman, my friend, I mean Commander Binns. Remember I’m just on top!’
‘Yeah. Remember I’m just in front.’
They gave each other grim half-grins and then took up their positions. At the front of their Mastiff, Tiny succeeded in starting the engine. He gave Dave a surprised thumbs-up.
‘Go for it, Sarge,’ said Sol.
‘See you in an hour if it all goes according to plan,’ said Dave. ‘As soon as air support can take off again they’ll get here when they realize we’ve lost comms. They could be here before we’re back.’
‘Yeah,’ agreed Sol. He looked unconvinced but held his hand out to Dave. ‘Good luck, Sarge.’
Dave climbed into the back of the first wagon. Angus, Doc and Finn were sitting there and the door slammed shut behind him.
‘Ammo’s ready for you on the HMG, Sarge,’ said Finn.
‘You’re at the front with the driver,’ Dave told him. Finn unstrapped himself and clambered into the front seat and Dave took up his position on the plate which raised him up behind the HMG. He had a 360-degree view. He thought to himself that he should command more often from up here.
Dave looked down at Sol, who raised a hand.
‘OK, open the gates and let’s go,’ he said on PRR.
Dave’s last sight in the base was Sol’s broad face distorted with concern. Well, for Chrissake, Dave thought as Lancer Dawson drove the Mastiff up to the gates, we’re going two k up the track and it’s been dicked so nothing’s going to blow up in our faces. We just have to pick up a casualty, some men and a broken-down truck and drive back again. It’s not much different from picking up a Chinese takeaway and rushing home to eat it before it can go cold. So what’s all the fucking fuss about?
But Dave’s stomach ached and churned as the gates began to swing apart. He glanced at his watch again. It was less than fifteen minutes since he had first formulated the rescue plan. In that time the temperature had fallen and the sky had deepened through many shades of blue. The first stars were visible overhead. A faint crescent moon looked like a fingernail someone had bitten off and thrown skywards. This twilight would turn to darkness in just a few more minutes. It would be pitch black even before they reached the casualty. Night-vision goggles? Check. He knew they were in the day sack in the canoe bag along with the camera Jenny had given him.
The gates were wide enough now and before them the desert glimmered to one side. Ahead the leafy Green Zone looked like an immense streak of darkness. Creating a vast bubble of dust around them, they thundered out on to the track.
Chapter Thirty-two
‘WE’RE WORKING THROUGH this faster than I thought,’ said Eugene. ‘You really are amazing.’
Jenny smiled. ‘It’s a long time since anyone called me that.’ Well, anyone except Eugene.
‘Shall we take a short lunch break and go to the village pub?’
‘As long as it’s just a short lunch break.’
‘I’d like to talk to you about something. I mean, something which is nothing whatsoever to do with the defence committee review.’
She picked up the leather handbag and they drove down to the village in the Range Rover. Jenny had never been in one before. Her father had owned a van so as a child she had been used to sitting high above the other traffic. But not in this sort of luxury. The Range Rover smelled nice and its engine was so quiet that they could talk without raising their voices.
They found a table and ordered rapidly.
‘Don’t you want to take a selection from our Sunday carvery, General?’ asked the waitress.
‘Sorry, Mary, not today. We only have time for a sandwich,’ Eugene told her.
Jenny was aware that her presence in the pub with Eugene was attracting a lot of staff attention. They all took the opportunity to stare at her as they passed.
‘Do you often eat here alone?’ she asked.
‘Not so much now that I’m learning to cook more. But I did when Fiona first went. Ate here and probably drank too much. The staff were all very nice to me.’
‘What did you want to talk to me about?’ Jenny asked him curiously.
‘Thank you for being so kind when my divorce papers arrived.’
‘I’m glad you weren’t alone when you got the letter.’
‘I explained to you that Fiona tried hard to clean me out and I only hung on to the house by the skin of my teeth. The house does matter a lot to me. I really felt that if I lost that I’d lost everything.’
‘It’s very big for one person,’ said Jenny.
‘A time will come when it’s too big, but not yet. And it feels full enough when my brother and his family all arrive from Singapore.’
‘It must cost a lot to run.’
‘If I want to stay there, I’m going to have to produce a bit more income. That’s what I wanted to tell you. Believe it or not, I might just be able to do that soon.’
Jenny looked at him. Her heart began to beat faster. She felt as though he was about to say something significant, and significant to her.
‘I’ve been offered a job.’
She stared at him. For some reason, she wanted to object violently.
‘But you’ve already got a job!’
‘Not really. The defence committee is a one-off and we’ve nearly finished with that now. I do a bit of commentary and consulting … but not much.’
‘What sort job have you been offered?’ she asked.
‘It’s in Libya.’
‘Libya!’
‘A nation which is anxious to rebuild itself. The United Nations is sending people out to both observe and advise – in fact, the Libyans have requested it. I’d be advising them on military matters.’
Jenny felt herself plunging into sadness. She didn’t know why his news affected her so deeply
but she knew that if she let herself she could cry. So it was important not to let herself.
‘But … when?’
‘I’d start quite soon.’
Men were always going somewhere. They were always leaving. Dave was always piling on to a bus to Brize Norton, or he was off in some big army vehicle going training. And now Eugene was doing the same. She realized one of the things she liked about Eugene was that he was always there, always at Tinnington. And now he was going.
‘Would you have to live in Libya?’
‘I’d spend quite a bit of time there.’
‘Is it safe?’
He laughed. ‘That’s a good one, coming from the wife of a front-line soldier!’
Their sandwiches arrived. Mary took the opportunity to sneak glances at Jenny, grinning broadly.
When she had gone, Jenny asked: ‘Eugene, do you want this job? Or are you just doing it for money?’
He laughed again. ‘Well, money isn’t such a bad motive for doing a job, is it? I certainly wouldn’t do it for no money. It will be both very interesting and very demanding. I simply don’t know what to expect out there but not only will my experience be useful to the Libyans, everything I learn might be interesting for the British.’
Jenny felt desolate. She did not know why. She said: ‘You’re speaking as if it’s all signed and sealed.’
‘It isn’t. Yet. But if I agree to take it, I’ll be away for the best part of six months. My daughter and her family would come and live in the house for that period. My problem, Jennifer, is what to do about you.’
She sighed. ‘My job’s not looking very long-term all of a sudden, Eugene.’ Was anything long-term? Or was life just a series of brief events, full of fleeting relationships and friendships which could be easily snapped?
‘That’s something we should discuss.’
‘Let’s wait until we know for sure that you’re going,’ she said wearily. ‘Today we should concentrate on the report.’
His eyes found hers. He reached out and, just for a moment, stroked her hand.
It was like driving into a swarm of killer bees. Within a few metres of the gates, rounds began to bounce off the Mastiff. Dave’s stomach turned and turned again, like a washing machine. Misgivings about the expedition assailed him as inside his head he heard Sol’s voice, worried and puzzled: ‘We could lose even more men trying to get to him.’
